Discipline

If you have been on this earth as long as I have, you have been on both the giving and receiving end of discipline.  My minister says that discipline is to be used to “train” and not to punish.  Although when you are a child I am sure that it is hard to tell the difference between being trained and being punished.

Different parents used different tactics to keep their children in line.  My mother, even though she doled out the occasional “whipping” used scare tactics more than anything else.  My grandmother was know to use her hand on us but very sparingly.  When my brothers got older, she was not beyond taking the broom after them to get her point across.

Remember, my grandmother was a petite woman.  Being a “farm” woman she was strong and sinewy.  But, as my brothers grew, it was harder for her to “smack” them because they were bigger than she was.  I can remember my oldest brother putting his had on my grandmothers head and holding her at arms length while she kept swinging at him with all her might.  (much like Granny Clampett with Jethro)  That is why my grandmother took to using the broom.  Even if he kept her at arms length, the broom added length to her stretch and often made contact.  It was much like the chasing Smokey episode I recounted.

What ever way we were disciplined, the point ususally go across that the behaviour that had caused the disciplining was undesireable and should be amended in some way.  Luckily, we were all pretty good kids.  So that did not happen too often.  Oh don’t get me wrong, we caused our share of issues, like all kids do but we were never sent home from school, expelled, or arrested.

Now, back to scare tactics.  My mother was especially good at this.  I suspect that was mostly the form of discipline used in her house when she was a child.  Put fear in the children and they will behave.  And, it works, at least for a while.  After a while, we would get on to what she was doing, so she had to “up” her game.

What type of scare tactics?  Well, for me, if I cried or whined to much, they would threaten to call Willie to came and get me.  That shut me up right quick.  I didn’t want to have to go around with Willie looking for his dollars….even if we would sound pretty good together with his moaning and my whining.  I guess just about anyone would have given us a dollar or two to shut us up!

When we would “go to town” my mom would leave us in the Dime Store.  That was her form of a baby sitter.  We were content to go up and down the aisles looking at all the neat stuff.  She would even give us a little money to spend.  Then she would threaten us with Mr. Monday.  He was the “Barney Fife” of Georgetown.  He patrolled Front Street.  My mom would say that if we misbehaved, Mr. Monday would come and get us and take us to the belltower to put us in the electric chair they kept up there for “bad” boys and girls.  She said that he would put us in it and shock us if he caught us doing anything that required discipline.  That was enough for a while to keep us in line.  I am also happy to say that we never ever got confronted by Mr. Monday.  We used to look at the belltower with fear and wonder.  We wondered where they kept the electric chair.

By far, my mothers favorite scare tactic was threatening to leave us at the Orphanage.  We used to drive through Columbia on our trips to go visit Aunt Charlotte.  My mom made a point of driving by the Orphanage and telling us that she would “pull in and leave us there” if we misbehaved.  That was enough to set us on the “straight and narrow”.

Just once though, I wish one of us had challenged her on that one.  Saying, “Pull on in there mom.”  Just to see what she would have done.

Willie makes another apperance

My grandfather was an amazing man.  At least, I thought so.  He knew so many things.  He showed me how to know when it was going to rain by looking at the moon and looking at the leaves on trees.  He showed me how to tell if the rain was going to be just a shower or a longer rain.  He taught me how to tell time by looking at the sun.  He could speak with the animals and tell us what they were thinking.  And, when he was in the mood he was a pretty good story teller.

Most of the stories he told were true or had a thread of truth in them.  So, when he told other stories that were “far out there” we tended to believe those too.

Anyway, if you remember from my last post, Willie cleared the church when he sat up during his own funeral.  Turns out the ropes that had held him down broke and he slowly rose to sit up in the casket.  That “rising” cleared the church of all funeral goers as well as choir and minister. 

Also, if you remember, I made comment about sliver dollars being put over the dead person’s eyes to keep out the evil spirits.  Seems that someone had “lifted” Willie’s silver dollars right off his eyes before he was funeralized.

Well, seems old Willie wasn’t happy about that one little bit.  He roamed around that little community where he had lived asking “Who stole my dollars?”.  Imagine hearing this otherworldly moan and then seeing Willie, specially after he had sat up during his own funeral!  I can tell you that it would scare me pretty good!

I don’t know how long Willie haunted the community.  My grandfather said that the dollar thief finally decided that he could not stand it any more and took the two silver dollars to the graveyard and placed them on Willie’s grave.  Willie stopped making his nightly rounds.  And, to this day, no one has removed those dollars from Willie’s grave.

You can imagine the wide eyed wonder with which I heard this story.  I was totally enthralled.  And, that night when I went to bed, I would hide under the covers hoping that Willie did not decide to start his nightly tour again.

The body clears the church.

I know I just made an entry about my brother.  Well, I got to thinking about church stories and wanted to put this one down for history before I forgot it again.  It is a funny story that my grandfather used to tell us.

When I was a child, I loved to get my older relatives telling stories about the “old days”.  We grew up in the Carolina Lowcountry.  There are lots of ghosts and haints down there and people believe in curses and voo doo and hoo doo and all sorts of things.  Signs were really big things down there too. 

Well, my grandfather used to tell this story about old Willie.  Willie was a wizened old black man that my grandfather used to use as a field hand when planting and harvesting time came along.  Sitting at his table one day, Willie up and died. 

My grandfather, not one to follow rules about what church to go to or where to worship, decided to go to attend Willie’s funeral.  Although he was the only “white” face in the crowd, my grandfather was welcomed and offered a seat. 

The weather being warm, they made haste to have Willie’s funeral and burial (no embalming).  So, they had the body up front in a hand made wooden box.  As was the custom at the time, and to keep evil spirits from entering the body, there were silver dollars put over Willie’s eyes.  All the windows were open and everyone who had a funeral home fan was using it to try and stir up a breeze.  The minister had begun the funeral.  There were “Amens” and “Praise Gods” being said by the choir and the crowd.

All at once, there was a distinct “pop” and Willie started slowly rising from the casket.  Turns out Willie had been tied down in order to get him in the box.  The rope broke and Willie slowly sat up.  That was all it took. 

My grandfather said that they church cleared out.  People were climbing all over each other trying to make for the door or one of the open windows.  I don’t know if they thought Willie was like Lazarus or whether he had be possessed.  (Seems someone had lifted the silver dollars off of Willies eyes before the funeral.)  Regardless, the church cleared leaving my grandfather standing there with ole Willie.

Well, the reason for the rising was soon determined and Willie was laid back to rest.  And, the funeral commenced again.  It was over quickly and Willie was promptly stuck in the ground.  Rest in Peace!

Big brother shows his “stuff”

I have mentioned that I have two brothers and one sister.  Well, I guess it is time to tell some tales about my “big brother”.  Actually, I have two big brothers.  The eldest in the family is the one who appears in the entry today.

This event happened long before I was even thought about.  So, I am telling it as I remember from my mother’s telling.  First, I guess I need to give some history….

Both my mom and my dad were born and raised in the country.  My mother, even though she was not born into riches, was taught to be prim and proper by her monther.  (You don’t have to have money to have manners.) 

When mom and dad married, they moved into town and lived in an apartment.  This was a first for my mom who had always lived at home.  In fact, I think they lived in at least a couple of places in town before they moved back to the country.  My two brothers were born while they lived in town.

One Sunday, my mother decided to attend church with her son.  The church she chose to go to was also the one whose service was on the radio on Sunday for those who were at home.  So, my mother felt that it was important that she participate in the service but not draw attention to herself in any way.

Big brother, on the other hand, had different ideas.  He thought that it was wonderful to be out and about.  He was fascinated by the sanctuary and all the people.  He decided to slip down off the pew and explore in the jungle of legs under the pews. 

Well, before my mother could catch him, he slipped out of her grasp.  She did not was to grab him for fear that he would yell.  And, if he did yell, everyone would know that it was Mary’s child that had disrupted the service.  How they would know out there in radio land, I don’t know.  She was certain that they would know.  And, well that just was not acceptible.  (Who “they” were, I am not quited sure.)

So, off my brother went exploring among all the legs.  My mother leaned down and peered under the pews.  She was signaling frantically for my brother to return to his vacant spot on the pew.  My brother, must have thought she was encouragin him so he gleefully waved back and continued on his adventure.

This interaction between mother and son went on for the duration of the service.  My brother had taken to untying shoes on his trek. This he thought, was a wonderful game.  He would stay just out of my mother’s reach.

Knowing my mother as I do, I am sure that by now, she was terribly upset.  She could not do anything to corral her rambunctious child that would not cause an uproar.  And, he was blithly going along untrying shoes and climbing among legs.  I am sure that her face showed her embarassment. 

Once the service was over, my mother snatched up my brother, who did let out a roar of protest.  Up and out of there she went, head down and unruly child in tow.

I think all parents probably have stories about churches and children.  Each one of us experienced our mother’s rath for what we had done in church.  But, I think my eldest brother is the only one of us that told the Sunday School teacher that his favorite song was Little Brown Jug.

Hey, Dr. B, I guess we do have some Blue Grass in our family somewhere!

Mary makes a cake.

When I was a kid, my mom would make a cake every Saturday afternoon.  It was for dessert on Sunday.  Some times, it was a pound cake.  They would be flavored with either lemon or almond or some times vanilla.  Other times, she would put in nuts.  She went through a phase when she added nuts and sugar/cinnamon and called it a “sock it to me cake”.

Most times, she would make a layer cake.  She had an easy recipe for a one, two, three four cake.  One cup of butter, two cups of sugar, three cups of flour and four eggs.  It makes a pretty three layer cake.  She would ice the cake ususally with chocolate icing.

It was pretty much the same adventure each Saturday.  My brothers and I would sit there, watching every move she made in the process of creating the cake.  We weren’t that interested how she made the cake.  We wanted to be the first to get a “lick” of the batter.  She would tolerate only so much of our jostling to get to the beaters first before banning us from the kitchen area.

The same battle when on when she began to make the icing.  We would sit there, like vultures, waiting to get the icing bowl and the spoon. 

One Saturday, mom had enough of the whole thing.  She made a bowl of icing, gave us each a spoon and made us eat the whole thing.  It really is a wonder that any of us like chocolate to this date!  I don’t think it really did what mom was expecting it to do.  My two brothers pretty much enjoyed the whole exerience.  I, on the other hand, got a little queazy feeling.  The sweetness was just too much for me.

I can tell you now, though, that those cakes were and are something special.  It is always a treat to visit mom and have a slice of cake.  She always seem to have some cake around. 

I can tell you that since I have been an adult, I have never gotten a birthday cake without one slice missing.  Seems my brother still can’t wait for a slice of cake.  And, my mom just hates to make him do it.  It has gotten to be a joke.  My mom will say “this time I will keep the cake whole until Cindy gets here”.  Only, my brother will show up and give here that look and kind of rock back and forth on his feet.  She just breaks down and gives him a slice.  And, then he tells me how good “my” cake was!  Today, he can still get my goat with that one.

Creatures of habit

I have often heard the phrase “he is a creature of habit”.  Only recently have I realized that humans are not God’s only creation that can be a creature of habit.  I submit that all of God’s creatures are creature of habit.

How did I come up with that premise?  Well, watching my gimpy, three legged, lampshade wearing dog.  He is a creature of habit.  When he walks with Mr. Greenhouse, he always walks on a leash.  Also, they always go the same route.  Mr. Greenhouse’s habit has also by default become Ranger’s.

With me, he usually walks leashless.  We go and explore the woods and the creek and usually take a different route daily.  So, the habit there is the walk but not the route.  However, since his accident, I have been forced to also use the leash to limit his activities while he heals.  I still let him choose the route but I have to limit where we actually go.

I think that humans acquire habits in much the same way.  Our first habits are given to us by our parents and family.  Long before we can remember why we do something, we do it through habit.  Other habits we learn well on our own.  Habits make life comfortable and also predictable to a certain extent.

I would also suggest that family traditions are actually habits passed down from generation to generation.  Habits are sometimes encouraged because they produce the desired results.  Some habits are discouraged because they are not “good for you”.  Regardless, all habits are to some degree hard to break.

Jailbreak II

Since I have shared tales about other family members that maybe they would rather keep to themselves, it is only fair that I do the same for me.  Yes, Ranger made another break for it last night.  And, I went racing around in the middle of the night trying to retrieve him. 

I was awakened out of a deep sleep hearing Ranger making noise that he wanted to go out.  Being in a rather groggy state and afraid that the need was urgent, I hopped out of bed and went with him out of the house.  That was my first mistake. 

I am extremely nearsighted.  I do not sleep with my contacts in nor do I ususally put on my glasses in the middle of the night if I have to get up.  On other nights, Ranger has been good about sitting on the porch sniffing the night air and then going out and doing his “thing”.  So, I have not had to worry that he would make a run for it.  I usually sit on the steps and hold my head in my hands until his is finished with his night patrol. 

I also do not sleep fully dressed either.  So, last night, I hopped out of bed, and went for the door.  I was sitting on the steps in a state of undress appropriate with going to bed.  I did not have on shorts nor did I have on socks and shoes.

Ranger, reconizing my weaknesses, acted as if last night was like any other night.  Then, out of no where, he goes racing off around the house.  At first, I did not worry too much.  I could still see the lampshade, since it was white.  I could see it bobbing up and down and thought that he just wanted some privacy for himself.  I could also hear the tags on his collar jingling so I knew that he was nearby.  (My hearing is better than most since I am so blind.  LOL)

When he did ot return in quick order, I knew that I had been hoodwinked.  Off he went after some animal/scent that had his full attention.  I started calling him.  I could see the “cone of silence/lampshade” moving towards me when I called and then quickly away from me.  Quick as a wink he was gone down the hill.

I raced into the house grabbed my glasses, put on a pair of shorts and slid on some sandals.  I turned on the flood lights around the house.  I went running outside and tried to catch the three legged dog.  He had a head start.  I was at a disadvantage already because I had sandals on rather than sturdy shoes.  Try racing down a slope in the darkness essentially barefooted and hoping you do not fall down.

I am usually cautious because two years ago I had my ACL replaced on my right leg.  I still have issues with my knee due to damage to the cartilidge.  So, I am on unsure footing trying to hurry down a hill to catch a dog who just knows that he is going to catch a critter.  I can imagine that I was a site to see.  (Again a reason to be thankful that I live in the country.  The image that just passed through my mind is Gladys Cravitz on Bewitched, yelling “Abner” while watching the goings on at Samatha’s.)

Ranger did acknowledge that I was in pursuit.  He kept looking at me with a look that said “Can’t you smell it?  It was just right here!  I need to catch it and give it what for!”  However, he was not interested in coming to me to go back to bed…  He wanted me to be as excited about the chase as he was.

Off he went, blithely chasing after what had caught his attention.  Down into the woods and beyond.  I stopped at the fenceline.  I was not about to go knee deep into briars and brush unless I had to.  I just kept hoping that he would not get caught on anything and that I would not hear a yelp of pain.  Ranger merely considered the lampshade and the bandaged leg a hinderance and kept right on going.  He was running back and forth smelling the air and plunging into brush.  I wasthinking  I was going to have to go and wake up Mr. Greenhouse to help provide chase.  But, I was also thinking how hard that was going to be and that I did not want to lose all sight of the lampshade attired dog.

Sharp voices at this point would have not produced the desired effect of having Ranger return to my side so I was trying to coax him back to me with kindness.  Usually, when I whine like a dog, he returns to me to find out my distress.  Not last night.  My only saving grace was that evidently all the noise he and I were making and the distraction I was providing allowed the critter to escape.

Ranger finally came back up the hill with a look of disapproval on his face.  You could almost hear him saying “Look what you did with all that noise you made!”

Then came the time to climb the slope back up to the house.  Well, mountain goat Ranger made it straight up without much effort.  I, on the other hand, came close to rolling down the hill and into the woods.  My sandal came off and I came close to losing my balance while attempting to put it back on.

Needless to say, my grandmother and Smokey have nothing over me and Ranger.  I guess what goes around comes around.  Or, rather, history does repeat iself.  Regardless, the whole adventure took about 45 minutes from start to finish.  The only benefit I can see is that I got an aerobic workout on a beautiful starlit night!

Book Sense vs Common Sense

This subject has been floating around in my head for a while now.  In my family, my generation (my brothers and my sister) were the first to experience a lot of things.  We were the first generation born in the hospital. We were the first generation to have in door plumbing.  The most important first was the first to have the opportunity to further our education. 

My mother and my grandmother, the people who raised us, told us we had the opportunity to become whatever we want.  To that end, we all had the opportunity to attend college.  We had to earn the money to go, but we were encouraged to take the opportunity.  We did.

Now, we get to my belief.  Book sense does not make one more intelligent than anyone else.  People can have plenty of book sense but if they don’t have any common sense or logic, they cannot apply that book sense to life opportunities.  Stated another way, some of the most intelligent or wise people I know don’t have a lick of book sense at all.  However, I would choose them to be on my team before I would choose a Mensa person….  Why?  Because they have been schooled in the school of life.

Granted some book sense, well a lot of book sense people, have common sense too.  So, they have a double dose of what they need to make it in the world.  They work better when they are applied together, that I will admit.  Though, the common sense people have a step up cause they can figure stuff out and make things work when someone with just book sense cannot.

I believe in the statement that we are all created equal.  What I don’t understand is why someone with book sense thinks he is better than someone who he considers illeterate.  Reading and working math problems does not make one able to perform in the real world.  And often, those who have no book sense will consider themselves inferior to those who have book sense.  After all most books were at one time written by people who figured out how to do something and wanted to share it with others.  Common sense in action if you ask me.

Ranger makes a jail break.

I want to let you all know about my morning with Ranger.  The Vet has said that he is doing well.  We go back again on Friday for his bandage to be changed.  I can tell that he is feeling better because he has an extra wiggle in his walk and he is “lookin for” those cats and other varmits to give chase to.  I am so thankful for that.  God does love animals too!  He answered my prayers for Ranger D.

Anyway, the Vet said that even though ole Ranger was on the mend, we still needed to curtail his activities to just walking in the yard with the leash.  He still needs time to heal and that is best done if he stays kinda quiet. 

Well, nobody bothered to explain that to Ranger!  He decided to make a jail break this morning.  He went to the door beggin to go out and do his business.  So, I opened the door and he went scooting out.  I thought, which was my first mistake, that he would just sit at the edge of the porch until he got the courage to go down the steps.  They can be kinda daunting with a lampshade on your head.  So, I turned around to get the leash.

It’s a good thing that I had already almost gotten dressed because off he went like a bat out of Hades.  Who knew that a three legged dog could run so fast, or maybe I am getting slower!  Anyway, he was gone around the corner of the house before I could blink. 

I went racin after him.  By the time I got aroud the house, he was down the hill headed for the woods.  Well, I jumped into 5th gear and finally caught up enough with him to grab his tail and keep him from running on down the hill into the woods.

Ranger went into plan B.  That was to run down the fence line just slightly ahead of me.  I should say that he is used to being walked every morning.  My husband usually takes him up the driveway to the paper box to get the morning paper.  So, I guess he decided he would take that walk himself.  All the time this is going on, I am yelling for Mr. Greenhouse to join in the fun to help me corral this bronco that has broken out.

Mr. Greenhouse won’t admit it, but he has a hard time hearing some times.  I have found that he hears what he wants and his hearing gets worse when he is concentrating on something.

So, imagine me chasing after the dog, yelling for Mr. Greenhouse and trying to catch up.  Right about then, I am thinking “when I catch him, what am I going to do?”  Finally, Mr. Greenhouse answers.  He stops his chores in the garden and joins the chase.  So, here we have a three legged dog, me and now Mr. Greenhouse running down the drive.  Sure am glad we don’t have any neighbors nearby.  (Another reason for living in the country…  You can make a fool of yourself and no one sees it.)

Well, finally, we all catch up to each other.  Ranger is not happy to have to turn around.  He does not want to admit that he is tired and really does need to lay down.  He smells a deer or a rabbit or a squirrel that needs to be chased.  So he finally give in with one of those “Aw Mom!” kinda looks and turns back towards the house.

Mr. Greenhouse agrees to try and herd him towards home while I go to get the leash.  We finally got him back up on the porch and back in the house.  He is now laying on the floor in front of the table with a dejected look on his face. 

Me, well, I don’t need any more information given to me to know how much like my grandmother I really am.  If you want to know what I mean by that…read the blog about Smokey and my granmother.  I know she must have been looking down from heaven clapping her hands and jumping up and down saying “you go Ranger!”  And, ole Smokey was probably right there beside her thinking the same thing.

Country vs City Living

Last night, or early this morning, depending on how you look at the hour, I had the opportunity to sit outside and listen to the world.  It got me to thinking about living in the country vs living in the city.  And, hands down, I would rather live in the country.  I am sure that there are those who would say the same thing about city living.  I know that there are goods and bads about living anywhere but, I would not give up my country home.

If you have been reading my blog, you know I grew up on a farm.  We were allowed to go outside and play when we were kids.  The only time we had to worry was when the chain gang came along to clean out the roadside ditches.  We had good food, good fun and lots of space to enjoy.

I have to admit it wasn’t until I got older that I realized what a treat living in the country is.  There is not place on earth that you can be serenaded by the birds and the bugs in the spring, summer and fall.  The sound of the crickets and frogs at night are like a wonderful lullaby.  The first sounds made by the birds in the morning gently wake you from your slumber.  If you wake in the middle of the night, the frogs and crickets have stopped their song, but the hoot owls have picked it up.  You will hear them making their mournful noises if you listen closely.  Often you can hear the cows lowing.

You get to smell fresh air, which has aromas all it’s own.  This morning with the humidity, you could smell the horse and cow poop.  But, it wasn’t overpowering and it let you know that nature was happening.  On morning walks, you smell all the flowers in bloom.  It is amazing how many volunteer flowers there are in the woods. 

If you have a garden, as we do, you get fresh vegetables.  They have no pesticides and they are not “perfect” like those gotten in the grocery store.  But, they are produce that you have grown yourself.  Sure picking beans and breaking corn is not glamourous.  And, I hate those catipillars that eat the corn!  However, you get to see the bees at work polinating the vegetables.  You get to see things grow from buds into something that can actually nourish your body.

Sure, you have to travel a ways to get groceries or go to the doctor or to the store.  Then again, I don’t smell exhaust or hear car horns.  I can actually sit on my deck and see the stars at night.  The world is an enormous and exciting place if you will only “listen” to the music that it is playing.