SOUTHERN COLORINGS

2012-01-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

Just wanted you to know that I am feeling completely bona-fide!

The proof is in the flour.

I am now making biscuits on a regular basis and they are stomp-down GOOD.

A friend from the South read my whiny blog and sent me a bag of White Lily Self-Rising Flour via priority post. She paid $10.95 to mail a $2.00 bag of flour. Lord-have-mercy! Thanks, Melinda!

I couldn't make it down South during the holidays, but I was able to find White Lily Self-Rising Flour when we went to Illinois for Thanksgiving. We brought back 15 pounds of the good stuff! Although I haven't quite used up one of the 5 pound bags, we have gained more than 5 pounds each!

Do THAT arithmetic, will you?

The best recipe for biscuits is the one on the back of the White Lily Self-Rising Flour Bag. I use solid chilled shortening instead of butter. Always use buttermilk! Also, I use my hands to roll out the biscuits - the old-fashioned way. No kneading or biscuit cutters involved!

Happy Biscuits!

Hello - I'm From the South and I Can't Make Biscuits....

2011-11-08T13:36:00.001-08:00

Biscuit 1

PRETTY - but not a real biscuit. This recipe called for all manner of things, including sugar and an egg and cream of tartar. Clip and Save: Biscuit recipes calling for sugar and eggs and cream of tartar do not make biscuits. Where I come from, that makes cake. Lay some strawberries and whipped creme on these suckers and have dessert.

Biscuit 2

Looks pretty good - but more "crispy" than the biscuits made in my family. Taste is pretty good - but not what I'm looking for. Note: When these get cold, they can injure small animals.

I am ashamed.

I'm a good old gal from the South and, while I can make all manner of delicious things to eat, I cannot make good biscuits.

I am totally ashamed of myself.

I recently got married and I don't feel completely "bona fide". My husband makes all kinds of commotion and carrying on about how good my cooking is, so I have been hesitant to tell him I cannot make good biscuits.

Good biscuit-making ran in my family - until I came along. It all stopped with my generation. As far as I know, neither of my Sisters can make up a good biscuit either. My Mama got her first biscuit-making lesson when she was five years old and she must have been bona fide, because right after that, she had to stand on a stool in the kitchen every morning to make biscuits for the family. Whew - you talk about some good biscuits - my Mama could make some bread!

I have an Uncle who can make a biscuit so soft, they literally melt when you take a bite. I had him give me a lesson one Sunday. It didn't take. Then I had him come over to my house and I video-taped him making biscuits - so I could practice it later. I still couldn't get it right. Uncle John said it was all in the way you "pinched" the dough.

Lord.have.mercy.

After using the frozen "southern-style" biscuits several times, I decided to come clean and tell my husband that I am just not up to snuff on making up bread. Before that, I said things like this to him, and got clean away with it:

"We are both gaining weight, so we are cutting back on bread."

"Bread is filler - I'd rather you enjoy the rest of your meal without filling up."

"Who needs bread when we have rice?"

"Who needs bread when we have macaroni?"

"Who needs bread when we have potatoes?"

"Who needs bread when we have peaches?"

and, once, trying hard to sound like I was joking, I said:

"My biscuits would likely hit and kill all the small animals out back, when I throw out the scraps." (That shook him up a little - he likes to watch the critters out back and knows all of them, so he would know if one went missing.)

I finally just said, with my head hanging quite low, "Honey, I can't make biscuits worth a toot."

He was downright sweet about it and called me Sugar- but the day I admitted I couldn't make biscuits was a sorry day for me....

I am currently blaming my bad biscuit-making on the fact that I do not have access to the flours that are in Alabama. My Mama never used anything other than Martha White Self-Rising, and my Uncle John swears by White Lily Self-Rising. You can't get that exact kind in Kansas, that I know of.

My husband finally caught on to the fact that I'm missing a bread gene. He called me Sugar and told me not to worry about it - that HE was going to try making some bread for us. He's a great cook too - but I am not about to let him get the best of me with a dern biscuit!

I've decided to put an end to the worry. I'm going to try biscuit recipes until I get it right. I sure do want to make good biscuits for a man who calls me Sugar on such a regular basis.

Best Blessings and Good Biscuits!

...RUSTY ANGELS....

2011-08-17T10:05:00.000-07:00

"Rusty Angel"

Please

Don't

Push me,

Shove me,

Rush me,

Just be Patient,

Loving,

Kind...

Just like you,

I'm a Rusty Angel,

Looking for a place

Where I can shine....

Joanne Saxon Hill

February 20, 2006

Clip and Save...

2011-08-03T12:42:00.000-07:00

Household Tip Number 33:

Never.stir.spaghetti.sauce.naked.

Be careful out there!

No Ordinary Monster...

2011-07-22T15:22:00.000-07:00

NO - Grief is never kind.

It doesn't go away one day

and allow you to say, "That's the end of that."

It goes and returns

but mostly returns -

over and over.

It comes in unexpected ways.

Some insignificant thing can happen

and a torrent of wretchedness will rush in

and almost knock you down

and cause you to look back

to see if anyone saw you stumble.

Sometimes you get stuck in looking back...

This is no ordinary monster

that goes away at sunrise.

It does not hide in the shadows

but always stands beside you -

boldly ready to grab you and shake you

just when

you feel you are getting your life back together.

It makes you think you do not deserve to be happy

but should wear the hot wet blanket of sorrow

for the rest of your life.

You look for excuses not to be happy and realize you are trying

to please this thing that controls you - this unseen something

that doesn't even have the right name.

Grief is too brief a word

for what this demon does to you

and causes you to do.

Her Pain...

2011-07-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

At the corner,

I was sure the tears would spill

from the pain

But they did not, immediately.

So, I could not see to

Sidestep

His spit.

(Just a boy...

spitting at the corner.)

I looked up

and then the tears spilled,

Startled

at his reaction...

his hands gently reaching towards me

and his eyes burning into mine

Saying,

"Please...please...I am so sorry."

Something I had forgotten

Stirred

and I was healed.

Joanne Saxon Hill

(from the 80s)

...

2011-04-29T19:23:00.000-07:00

Twilight Down at the Pond...

...and just like that -

with hardly a notice

or a flutter,

or even a sigh...

She was gone.

I Am Glad You Are Not Here Today.

2011-04-25T09:08:00.000-07:00

I am glad you are not here today.

You would see that I have been crying.

You might want to comfort me.

You might want to ask questions.

You might want to hold me.

But I am most afraid that you would turn and walk away.

Would you walk away - because you would not know what to do for me

Would you walk away because you would not want to acknowledge my pain?

I am glad you are not here today.

To see the truth on your face would make me cry

again

tomorrow.

I am glad you are not here today.

You would see that even though I have said a lot,

I have remained mostly silent in my pain.

You might want to comfort me.

You might want me to say something.

You might want me to pretend I no longer hurt.

But I am most afraid that you would turn and walk away.

Would you walk away - because you don’t how to make me feel better

Would you walk away because you are afraid of what you might hear?

I am glad you are not here today.

To see the truth on your face would make me cry

again

tomorrow.

I am glad you are not here today.

You would see that I have been laughing.

You might want to rejoice with me.

You might want to ask questions.

You might want to hold me to know what happiness feels like.

But I am most afraid that you would turn and run away

Would you run away – because you are angry that I have found joy

Would you run away because you do not understand happiness?

I am glad you are not here today.

To see the truth on your face would make me cry

again

tomorrow.

I am glad you are not here today.

Sunday Picnic

2011-04-17T14:37:00.000-07:00

Hank's Little Acre

Have you ever driven out in the country on a just-right Sunday – all for the love of a picnic?
Oh - the joy of the trip to the perfect spot! The notion of finding a place that will make for a wonderful lazy afternoon. The expectation of finding the place that will linger as a sweet memory, useful for a dreary day.

Driving down a dirt road and absorbing everything - the smell of the dust that billows behind the car, the sight of dogwood and red-bud blooms and just-born leaves. The feel of the Spring breeze as you rest your arm on the let-down car window. The sound of water rushing over stones, as you slow to pass over a bridge. The creek beckons you to stop and wade. Your toes wiggle. Could you? Should you? No - the call of the picnic urges you to move along. The crunch of car tires on the rocks in the dirt road is sweet!

There is no need for the radio. The crisp of Spring sings as you ride. You turn your head this way and that...searching...waiting for just the right picnic patch to speak to you.

The little gnawing in your stomach grows as the smells come creeping from the basket on the back seat - fried chicken, potato salad, chocolate cake….And just as you slow the car and reach back to have "just one piece"...you see it. The most excellent spot. The right place. You can stop now. You can gather your food and skip merrily to the perfect plot of grass that has been reserved for your blanket, your basket, and you.

Ahhh - the anticipation of the picnic!

Leavin'

2011-03-23T16:58:00.000-07:00

Fallin'

Winter Leaves

As Winter leaves,

The last of Winter's leaves

Congregate

In corners, crevices, and crannies,

Like old women gossiping,

They give occasional nervous flutters

As though having been suspiciously waiting for my broom.

I approach and some snap to attention.

A small cackling crackle of life.

Yes - they had been waiting.

My broom moves and so do they

Lightly awkward

Gracefully clumsy

Blithely careful.

They all run away

In rhythm to some unknown energy

Laugh Dancing across the porch.

I watch.

I consider.

What if it is not the wind?

What if it is of their own accord?

Sara Joanne Saxon Hill

March 23, 2011

I APPRECIATE YOU!

2011-03-02T19:58:00.000-08:00

"Tiny Dancer"

Last year, our Minister talked about how he felt when his son said to him, unexpectedly, “I appreciate you.” He became overwhelmed as he spoke about this.

I understood exactly how he felt. Those three words helped shape my life. They were spoken to me frequently by a man at the church I attended when I was young. When I think back to my childhood, Brother Jordan was the only person who ever expressed appreciation at anything I did. I think now, he did not realize the impact of what he was saying. He would come into church and shake everyone’s hand, saying, “I appreciate you”. It was kind of his way of saying “hello”.

I did not realize the impact those words had on me until I was a grown woman. I don’t remember much about being a child except always having to work and being reprimanded for not doing enough. There were never any rewards - only expectations.

I went back to that little church a couple of years after I got married and Brother Jordan was there. He had not seen me in a very long time, but when he shook my hand, he said, “I appreciate you.” I didn’t realize how much I had missed hearing it.

Today, more than any sermon I ever heard, I can still hear those words - clearly. I think they are written on my heart. They have become part of who I am. Although I didn't realize it at the time, it made me feel that I was special and that I had something important to offer.

During my career at the “corporation”, I sometimes said "I appreciate you" to co-workers. I could always see what a difference that little phrase made. I regret that I now feel I never said it enough.

Today, someone very special in my life said these words to me again. A flood of memories came over me and I silently thanked my God for always sending me a Blessing and for giving me Strength, just when I need it.

“I appreciate you” is a phrase that has the ability to transform. Try these words out as soon as you can.

Watch what happens!

Love and Blessings!
Majo

Musings on Love...

2011-01-14T13:38:00.000-08:00

I think Love is like God. Sometimes, I just can't seem to get my arms all the way around it.

love

"Say What?"

2011-01-13T15:21:00.000-08:00

x
x
My Aunt gave me directions to her house one time. I wrote them down, so I wouldn't have any trouble getting there. Her instructions went like this:

"Well, after you get off the big highway, you go a piece and then you turn right. There is a big nothing on the right and you turn right there. If you go past that, you are lost."

x

A Dream I Have...

2011-01-12T03:37:00.000-08:00

"Who Loves Ya, Baby?"

CHECK YOUR CORNBREAD RECIPE!

2011-01-09T16:14:00.001-08:00

x
x
If you put Sugar in your Cornbread, you cannot be from the South.
x
Cornmeal plus Sugar equals CAKE.
x
And that's all there is to it!
x
x

My Friend...

2010-09-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

x
x
Why am I so taken with you?

Is it the excitement
of thinking
we are so different?
Or the joy
of realizing
we are exactly the same? x
x

Housechore Chores - Tip Number 32

2010-07-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

x
Never iron naked.
x
x

"GET YOUR BRITCHES ON!"

2010-05-31T13:14:00.000-07:00

x
x
I have an Aunt named Josephine. As a child, I was fascinated by her - and still am. Aunt Josephine wore petal-pushers (we now call them "capris") and tennie shoes (we now call those "disposable Walmart sneakers") and she could light up my life, just by showing up. I LOVE something she used to say and I have adopted it as one of my own sayings. She used to come to our house and would want us to go someplace with her. When my Mama would balk, Aunt Josephine would say, "Get your britches on and let's go!" Oh - how I loved to hear that! It meant we were going somewhere because, WHO in the world, could resist that order?
x
Now, years later, when I am trying to get a friend to do something with me and they say some nonsense like, "Oh - I couldn't do that," I simply repeat my Aunt's command: "GET YOUR BRITCHES ON AND LET'S GO!"
x
Works every time.
x
x
May Jesus hold you tenderly - today and always.
x
x
P.S. Britches - also known as "BREECHES" :)

To Touch...

2010-05-15T20:28:00.000-07:00

Human touch is powerful. Oh - to long for it and not be able to have it. Gut-wrenching loneliness....

Don't forget to hug the one you love every day....
x
x

WAIT...

2010-02-12T16:08:00.000-08:00

WAIT...

-
-
"Wait," I begged.
"Wait just a little while.
There is more I want to say to you. I have some things to show you.
We have more things to do."
But you paid no attention.
You ignored me quietly and then curtly,
with your eyes fixed on something I could not see nor be a part of - yet.
You had something else to do and it could not wait for me.
-
-

Against the Wall...

2010-01-17T10:19:00.000-08:00

"Against the Wall"

Absolutely nothing is important - unless you can share it with someone...-

Hitch-hiking

2010-01-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

"Miss Lilly's Place"

Do you remember when it was common for people to pick up hitchhikers?

You could drive down the road anytime and see somebody with their thumb stuck out. My Daddy used to drive a long way to work, so he had lots of opportunities to give folks a ride. People used to tell Daddy he needed to be more careful about picking somebody up off the side of the road. But Daddy would just grin and say, "I'll be alright. I don't stop unless the Lord puts on the brakes."

2010-01-11T13:47:00.000-08:00

"Golden Morning"

Hope 2010 is going great for you and yours! Almost finished painting the livingroom. And I didn't even have a big strappin' cowboy to help me!

Blessings!

Joanne

Just a Thimbleful...

2009-12-31T14:37:00.001-08:00

"Muscadine Vine Swing"

It's New Year's Eve.

I have a bottle of wine.

I have a thimble.

I'll have a thimbleful for medicinal purposes. My back hurts.

Thimble 1: Ate 10 Jeno's Pizza Rolls (they're SO small!)

-
Thimble 2: Made 4 of the cutest little chicken pot pies with some leftover chicken (put in freezer for later).
-
Thimble 3: Facebook friend's post asked "What to do on NYE that doesn't involve drinking?" and I'm thinking of answering - "What a silly question!"
-
Thimble 4: I saw Oprah on tv and thought - "Girl, you are looking HOMELY - you need some work done!"
-
Thimble 5: Seriously considering signing myself up on eHarmony.com
-
Tjshnef 6: Now I know why those old broads on The Andy Griffith Show were always so flippin' happy with their thimbles!
-
NINE: Oh my goodness, it's 8:00pm! I need to get to bed!
-
:)
-
Happy New Year!
-
P.S. Don't forget to find the "funny" in every day! Blessings for a wonderful year!

It's Raining...

2009-12-30T12:23:00.001-08:00

"Alone"

It's raining. A slow sleepy dripping on the roof that makes me want to go back to bed - but it's 2:30pm and I feel obligated to be productive. My current goal is to paint the livingroom. I moved a bookcase out of the livingroom last night - into the back bedroom. Books are stacked on the floor. One picture is down. One chair askew. The livingroom begs me to paint it, yet I balk. I have been totally unproductive since Christmas. I want to blame it on the long road trip I took, but I know I can't. Something holds me back. I have always despised laziness but it has occurred to me that maybe I am just being lazy.

We'll see about that. I'll let you know how the paint job comes out...

Blessings for a happy day!

Joanne

2009-11-13T11:06:00.000-08:00

"My Little Cabin"h

"In my Father's House are many Mansions."

I hope yours is next to mine!

When Grief Comes to Call...

2009-09-28T12:07:00.000-07:00

+
+

Grief doesn't come and go.

He mostly stays.

He is like a stranger who comes to call.

A big nasty stranger with mud on his shoes.

Someone frightening - someone you would not normally let into your house.

But he doesn't even ask - he opens the door and walks through you - like in a nightmare.

He picks your favorite chair and props his feet on the coffee table.

You don't like this uncomfortableness in your home

and hope this stranger will leave right away so you can get on with your chores.

But he moves in without even asking your permission,

claiming closets and bathrooms and dresser drawers and even your secrets.

Un-invited, he sits in the chair beside you

no matter which chair you choose.

He watches you undress.

He watches you eat.

He hears you laugh and rushes to make you bite your lip to stop.

He mocks you when you pray.

And he stays.

FAMILY AND COMPANY

2009-08-06T20:31:00.000-07:00

~
A long-ago television commercial sticks in my mind. Some specifics I have forgotten - I think Florence Henderson was selling Jello - but I'm pretty sure of one of the lines:

"Treat Your Company like Family and Your Family like Company."

I had an aunt and uncle who always treated me like company. Aunt Agnes and Uncle Cecil treated me like I was a real person - not just some little girl who was in the way. Sometimes, on Friday night, I would get to spend the night at their house. Aunt Agnes liked to stay up real late and work on her "paint-by-number" pictures. It seemed like she was always working on one of these and it was always a painting of Jesus. She worked at the kitchen table. I would stand by her side and watch her carefully paint each tiny numbered section. A printed puzzle on a big board, tiny pots of paint, and Aunt Agnes' steady hand. She said many times, "I'll betcha this is harder and takes up more time than somebody just slinging paint on something without having a pattern to go by." She would paint and talk at the same time. Oh the detailed stories she could tell! I was fascinated and loved my visits there!

On Friday nights, Uncle Cecil liked to "take a drink". But he never bothered anyone like some people do when they get too much whiskey in them. Uncle Cecil had never learned to play a guitar, but on Friday nights, he would get his guitar out of the closet, put a Johnny Cash album on the record player, and sit on the couch, strumming the guitar and singing along with Johnny. I would stand by the doorway of the living room and peek inside, watching him enjoy Friday night.

I drove to Mississipi to see my aunt and uncle a few years ago. Uncle Cecil was in the last stages of cancer's ugly grip. The minute I got inside, Aunt Agnes started telling me a story, as though she had left off telling it yesterday. They had moved to Mississippi from Alabama many years ago, but I recognized so many things in this house. Whatnots, family pictures... Two things caught my attention at once. Two oil paintings hung on the wall. One was The Last Supper. The other was a portrait of Jesus. I said, "Oh my goodness - I remember when you were working on these!" And just as though she was still in that little kitchen with a paint brush in her hand, Aunt Agnes repeated what she always said over thirty years ago: "I'll betcha this was harder and took up more time than somebody just slinging paint on something without having a pattern to go by."

I cherish my memories of those who took an interest in me when I was young. I hope you have some good memories too!

Movie Reviews!

2009-06-29T13:33:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been sleeping well, so I’ve decided to review some movies for you:

“Australia” – Good story, but why do they have to put Nicole Kidman in EVERYTHING? That close-up shot of her contact lenses in the party scene was just creepy.

“Valkyrie” – I used to like Tom’s movies. I stopped liking Tom. Now I like Tom again.

“Seven Pounds” – Will Smith, WHAT were you thinking to do this? You are on some kind of hero kick, for sure. Too many body parts to be believable.

“Taken” – Oh My Goodness, it’s good!

“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” – Haven’t watched it. I may be the only woman on the planet who doesn’t think Brad Pitt is attractive. There – I said it. Plus, in every movie I’ve ever seen him in, he sounds like he is reading his lines. There – I said that too. Well, except for one: Burn after Reading. (I watched that one to see Clooney because he’s just too adorable.) That script was a perfect fit for Brad. Dorky, dumb guy. (He married that tattoo girl – need I say more? However, I do think she is a good actress.) Okay, I digress. You watch Benjamin Button and tell me what you think. The storyline is too creepy for me.

“Quantum of Solace 007” – More of the same, but would have been better with one of the other boys. Daniel is no Sean or Pierce.

“I’ve Loved You So Long” – Pretty Darn Good

“Last Chance Harvey” – Awww, I love Dustin Hoffman. It went on a little too long and Emma Thompson walks like she is nine months pregnant (what was up with that?), but what a sweet movie!

“Slumdog Millionaire”– Magnificent!

Okay - more later!

Try to Find the FUNNY

2009-05-30T10:19:00.000-07:00

"The Bride Wore Tube Socks"

Do me a favor.

Do yourself a favor.

Try to find the “funny” in every single day.

Even Abraham Lincoln once said:

“Were it not for my little jokes, I could not bear the burdens of this office.”

Hope your day is filled with FUNNY!

MY PROFILE. . .

2009-05-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

In the event that I am ever incorporated into the game of “Trivial Pursuit”, following is some information about me that is a “must have”.

I believe I am a complicated person.

In fact, a couple of people I worked with, on different occasions, told me I was complicated and went on to say that they were trying to “figure me out”, but had not yet done so. I took that as a compliment because I find it rare that anyone would care enough about someone to spend time trying to “figure them out”. I think this must be the reason my husband stayed with me for so long – he must have liked that about me. In fact, he said this to me many times, now that I think about it: “Jo, I CANNOT figure you out!” (Oh - I miss that so much!)

Although I have always felt there was something else I was meant to do, I was a manager at a large corporation for an entire career. That worked out quite nicely. For part of my life, however, I had a secret desire to be a cashier. As a child, I was fascinated by cash registers. Then, everybody got rid of the old cash registers with the delightful-sounding clackety keys and I lost that desire.

Sometimes now, I have a secret desire to be a waitress. I am a pleasant person and some people seem to enjoy my company, and my family has ALWAYS enjoyed having me do things for them, so I fantasize that I could rake in large tips. Then I remember that I have been known to trip over my own feet, so I probably need to stop thinking about this.

I think I have a very strange sense of humor. I try to “find the funny” in everything, and usually do. However, I have never learned to appreciate bathroom humor (and I hope I never will).

I have been known to cuss, but I have just about given that up altogether, as I realize that it never accomplished anything whatsoever.

I believe I would enjoy dancing – but have never had anyone to dance with. My husband didn’t care for such nonsense – so I really don’t know why I have this belief. (And then there’s the tripping-over-my-own-feet thing…)

Candy I like: Orange slices - any brand as long as it is fresh. Malted milk balls - Brach’s brand only.

Things I like: Clean Sheets

People fascinate me. As a child, I would rather have listened to an older person tell a story than to play outside. And I loved playing outside!

It is my goal to improve myself each day – even in the smallest way. I want to “let my little light shine” and be a blessing to everyone I meet. It is my wish to learn to love others completely and without judgment because, I think, after all is said and done, it is the only thing that matters.

Oh – and I love that little saying that I saw posted the other day:

“Jesus knows me – this I love.”

Note: If you ask me about myself tomorrow, I will probably write something completely different. But I suppose that is because I am really just like you – complicated.

...to be Loved....

2009-05-09T11:36:00.001-07:00

"My Quiet Place"

I’m sitting in my favorite spot – my swing on the back porch. Today isn’t exactly like the ‘good ole days’ because I’m not SWANGING and eating chocolate pie. Today, I have my laptop on my lap (instead of pie).

I have a vine that has wandered up the porch posts from several feet below. It’s called a Carolina Jasmine. If you GOOGLE this vine, you will find that its description says it will climb to heights of more than 20 feet in its quest for sunlight. It is true that it will climb, but I tend to think it is because the plant is also in search of a place to "belong". If you get close to one of the tendrils, it will reach out and gently nudge you - in a soft, loving kind of way.

Everyone…everything…just wants to be loved!

Hope you will get – and give – lots of hugs today!

Blessings!
Majo

Homeless?

2009-05-07T20:35:00.000-07:00

Of all the articles about grief that I have read this past year, the one that stuck with me was the one that told me I am miserable because I am no longer with the person who DEFINED me.

Okay – so maybe that is it - the answer to this sorrowful plight. So, if it is the answer, now what?

Could it really be true that I don’t know who I am anymore because I WAS who I was because we were together? Now, who am I? How do I feel? I don’t know how to say how I feel. What’s the right word? Today it struck me that maybe I feel like a homeless person. That would sound strange to someone who knows me because they can see I live in a comfortable little cottage. It is dry and safe. I can have anything I want to eat. I have more clothes than I need. Homeless? The word entered my mind because the feelings I have are those of a lost, helpless person, stumbling around, wondering things like how I ended up like this and what’s next for me and how the rest of my life is going to play out. Sure, I have gone back to work, and I have laughed – things I thought I would never do again. But something keeps nagging at me – wanting my life back the way it was. Nagging enough to keep me uneasy and uncertain and afraid. A bad dream isn’t just a bad dream anymore. I wake up to a second nightmare when I find myself awake and alone.

Why do I mentally insist that I want my life back when I know it is impossible? When I was not alone, there were days when it was so hard that I fantasized about being alone. (Yikes! Did I really say that?) And therein lies much of what makes my grief harder and more terrifying – those unresolved issues. The KNOWING that there were things both of us should have taken care of and didn’t – and now they are forever undone.

So I wander and wonder in this current “homeless” state, not comfortable in my own skin. I will wait for peace and acceptance of my "new normal".

Blessings to all!
Majo

GLORY DAYS!

2009-04-25T18:18:00.000-07:00

So, I just joined Facebook and I got to thinking about my “Glory Days”…

I was in Heflin way over a year ago (maybe 2?) and saw a sign that said POPS BAR-B-Q was for sale. I went in and got a shake and cheeseburger and thought about my school days and old friends – even though the restaurant wasn’t at the same location as when I was a kid. The little red-haired lady who ran the original POPS in ’68 was still there, taking orders! I haven’t been back since I saw the FOR SALE sign and I wonder…do I dare go look to see if the building is still there? Oh, I don’t think I want to know!

When POPS was at its original location in Heflin, those were the Glory Days. To “circle POPS” was the ultimate Sunday afternoon experience. I tried to be good all week so Mama and Daddy would let me “go riding around” on Sunday. You could always find a girlfriend with a driver’s license who was going to POPS – it was a standard question at Sunday School: “Do you know anyone who is going to POPS today?”

Just a bunch of good old girls and boys, riding up and down the main street in Heflin and then whirling into the POPS parking lot to circle the building. Around and around we would go! We didn’t know what “loitering” meant and no one ever told us to stop circling! Waving at friends, and making new ones! You never even thought about ax murderers or kidnappings or any such nonsense in Cleburne County in those days.

If we had some change, we could stop and get something to eat. (Actually, it’s the only time we would get out of the car – we just rode and circled!) The milkshakes and the cheeseburgers were so good! Absolutely nothing tastes that way anymore.

I met the sweetest boy in the parking lot at POPS once. I was with a crowd of girls and we were circling POPs and he stuck his head out of the car window and said, in a voice I will never forget: “Hey Girl, what’s your name?” Yep, he was talking to ME! Let’s see, what did young girls do back then when a cute boy spoke to them….oh, I know - I just about had a COW! (What was that saying all about, I wonder?)

Okay, Boss Bruce, I’m gonna borrow your little ditty:

Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days

Mama's Zinnias

2009-04-16T20:24:00.000-07:00

Spot of Gold...

I remember the year Mama planted Zinnias. I was ten.

I thought about it today when I “turned my garden over”. It’s a small plot, less than ten paces long. This year I decided to plant Zinnias in my little spot. Just Zinnias.

So today I dipped my shovel into the earth. I pushed on the end of it with my foot, lifting out as much dirt as I could hold on to. I raised each scoop high and then I let it go. The clod would fall from the shovel, crumbling as it hit the ground. Over and over I did this until all the dirt was overturned. I began raking, to smooth the little mounds. It seemed there was more earth within that little rectangle than when I started. Finally it was smoothed and then, with the hoe turned sideways, dragging it along, I made rows. On my knees, I carefully planted the seeds and smoothed the dirt over them by hand. I struggled to get up – my back was weary.

I remember Mama’s Zinnias. She raked the dirt a little bit and then scattered the seeds. They landed in just the right spot. The business of planting Zinnias seemed so effortless! I wish Mama had been on Earth with me today. Maybe she would have told me her secret as I pawed breathlessly at my little spot of dirt.

I remember Mama’s Zinnias. Oh the colors! Flower heads as big as our supper plates, it seemed. They danced in the wind but always stood still for butterflies. Oh the butterflies! They flew from no-telling-where to visit Mama’s flowers. Not since that summer have I witnessed such large and colorful insects. A stunning display of flowers and wings - for the inspection and delight of anyone who walked along our dirt driveway.

My job was to water Mama’s Zinnias - before they sprouted, after they sprouted and all the way through blooming. So that year, once a week, more when it was hot, I would drag the hose from behind the house and down the driveway, making a snake pattern in the dry silky dust. During watering, something magical happened to me. I was in charge! I could make it rain! With my thumb held just right on the end of the pipe, I could put on the most dazzling show. If the green wiggly hose was held just so in the sun and my thumb was in the perfect position, a rainbow would appear through the spray of water. Either a small shower or a mighty storm was at my command. And, oh, the rain-dancing I could do as I twirled the hose high above my head! After they bloomed, the flowers would seem to sway with me, bowing and begging for a drink.

Will my Zinnias be the same? Can I recapture that moment in time?

No. I cannot imagine that that joyful event - of running barefoot, back and forth on the dirt driveway when the Zinnias were in full bloom - could ever dare happen to me again on Earth. Moments like that must surely be part of the Glory of Heaven. A moment in time, forever gone, but lingering with me forever – a startling shock of color in my mind – an explosion of hues I had never seen before - a memory picture I will always carry with me. I don’t know why Mama chose to plant Zinnias only one year – maybe it was for me. Maybe, after all these years, as I struggle with sadness, suddenly alone and longing, on my knees in the dirt, she wants me to remember the gloriousness of that one summer and the things we take for granted that can never be duplicated or recaptured.

I hope my Zinnias make it. But I know that hoping they will be like Mama's is futile. It's the same as trying to recapture my very first taste of Coca Cola. Impossible, no matter how many swigs I take. I will not try to duplicate Mama's Zinnias or even hope for such a miracle. I will hope for butterflies to visit whatever pokes its head out of the ground and enjoy the memory of that Zinnia Summer.

Blessings!

Majo

Summer leaves me...

2008-10-28T09:24:00.001-07:00

Summer Leaves…

Through my grief I watch
Summer
waving goodbye
too.
One by one
Leaves
fall to the ground.
some lingering…
as though Summer doesn’t really want to
Leave me

too…?

Majo

I Wait for God

2008-10-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, March 20, 2008 at 9:57 pm, two became one. I was alone. My husband of many years took his last earthly breath and left me alone.

I move more cautiously now. I am more careful when coming down the stairs, when I walk down the sloping yard behind the house, when I drive the car….
It is painful to realize ALONE. It is a painful, sharp, and dull black hole kind of feeling.

I am trying to move on, as my family says I should, but I do not know what I am supposed to move TO.

Every day, without fail, I ask God to show me the way, to tell me what to do, as I seem to be paralyzed and do not know what to do by myself. At the end, my husband suffered a massive stroke. The same thing seems to have happened to me – in a different kind of way. I cannot seem to step out from underneath this heavy blanket of nothingness that has enclosed me.

Grief is not kind.

My physical body is not motionless. I am busy every day doing some kind of physical work, as I cannot sit inside this house and do nothing. But my mind and spirit remain almost numb and I feel so much heaviness in my chest.

And so, I wait for God…

Joanne Saxon Hill

Looking Back...

2008-01-27T17:11:00.000-08:00

Looking Back...

When I was five, we moved to a little country town that had a big sign planted at the city limits just before you go over the railroad tracks. It read: “The biggest little town in Alabama.”

That sign confirmed my feeling that EVERYTHING was big when I was in the first grade. My school. The trees I hugged in my yard. (Yes, I used to hug the trees.) A big cedar tree in our side yard was my favorite. The bark was rough and prickly, but the tree smelled so good I could never resist pressing my nose against it. Try as I might, I could never get my arms all the way around it.

Yes - everything did seem large when I was five. Except one tiny girl in my class. Donna was no bigger than a minute. She didn’t look tall enough to be in in the first grade. Donna had a lot of purses and a watch with a safety chain on it. I thought she was rich.

One day after school, we went downtown. I don’t remember why. But there I was, walking past the town drugstore with my Daddy when I saw her through the window. Donna was sitting at the drugstore counter, her little birdlegs crossed and swinging from the barstool. One of her black Mary Jane shoes was dangling from her toes. She was looking at a magazine and sipping something from a straw. I guessed it was a chocolate milkshake. I stopped for a minute, even though Daddy was saying “Come on now – hurry up!”, and pressed my face against the window to get a better look. Donna never looked up so I could wave at her, but I was glad. I was like a big old floppy stringy-haired doll I had seen in a coloring book one time and Donna was like those girls Elvis Presley was always kissing.

It was one of those photographs you have filed away in your memory that looks that same every time you choose to recall it.

I went back to that little town the other day. My eyes searched for something familiar – the way a baby searches for faces in everything. We had moved from the “biggest little town” when I was in the third grade. I drove up and down all the roads around the school, but I never found that little house that used to be surrounded by cedar trees. I struggled to recall the route the schoolbus took to my house - to no avail. Everything seemed so tiny now – even the school that had been enlarged by at least ten other buildings. But altogether, the school did not appear as large as it did so many years ago when I walked up the steps through the front curved brick arches to the first grade – to a fresh sea of faces and voices that I still, unexpectedly sometimes, see and hear today...

Joy!

2007-10-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

"Her Old Homeplace"

When I was a kid, we had a neighbor named Joy. Joy lived down the road, less than a mile from us, in a little white planked house with peeling paint. She lived very simply and only wanted two things that I ever heard her talk about. The first and most important thing she wanted was to go to Heaven. The second thing she wanted was to get bricks put on her little house. "Just like that third little pig," she would say. I loved her house the way it was - a safe haven for me when I felt so alone.

To this day, I have not found joy to match the warmth and delight I always saw in that sweet lady's face.

I was just a poor little kid and thought no one really cared about me. But Joy was always glad to see me. She spent a lot of time sitting on her couch by the front window, watching the cars go down our lonely little road. She would start waving when she saw me coming across her yard. “Hey!” she would holler, and come running out of her little house. “Guess what happened to me today?” she would ask, with her eyes sparkling. She always had a little story for me. One day an angel had visited her. One day she found a special beautiful leaf – it had floated right up to the window – and she claimed the Lord had sent it to her. She had it in her Bible. And one day she realized how blessed she was to have the view of a beautiful mountain in her own back yard. “The Lord has put me in this place”, she declared with a smile.

My Grandmother told me that Joy was not right in the head after her husband ran off with some old hussie, but I had never heard Joy talk about that. She seemed to be filled all the way to the top with happiness and when she talked it sounded like laughing spilling out of her mouth. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with Joy at all. I thought it would be nice to know a lot more people just like her.

One day, I walked down the road to her house. I was sixteen and I was running away to get married the next morning. No one knew what I was planning, but Joy was one of the people I wanted to see before I left my childhood behind. I walked across Joy’s yard and she immediately popped out of her little house. She had a lace tablecloth around her head and shoulders. With laughter spilling out of her sweet face, Joy exclaimed, “Look - I am the bride of the Lord Jesus Christ!”

I hugged Joy and said, “see you tomorrow” – but it would be many years before I saw her again.

One day, a few months ago, my two sisters and I drove up into the “country” to see our childhood home. We stopped at Joy’s house. She came spilling out to greet us. Time almost stood still and, for a moment, nothing seemed different except Joy’s pretty black hair had turned to silver. And - oh yes - her little house now had red bricks on it - all the way around!

With smiles and tears, we left, each of us carrying a batch of teacakes. As we backed out of the driveway, Joy came tottering across the yard again. “Thank you for coming to see me,” her laughing voice said. “I’m going to call everyone and tell them what happened to me today. I’m going to tell everyone about my blessing!”

It was my blessing too. Oh what a joy!

Pretty Things

2007-10-01T11:17:00.001-07:00

"Autumn Dance"

When I was in the first grade, everything was a glorious wonder. The bells, the sound of chalk on the blackboard, the sound of laughter on the playground, the feel and smell of books and the smells of the lunchroom... I did not know how Heaven itself could be more amazing. It was too much to get my thoughts around. To add to the excitement, Dianne started coming to our school. Her Grandmother brought her and they showed up one day just before recess.

It was like Dianne had popped out of a book. Everything about her looked like a picture. The whole class stared as she hung by the door while her Grandmother talked to the teacher. Her Grandmother turned to leave and the teacher took Dianne’s hand to show her to her desk. Before our astonished eyes, Dianne kicked the teacher. Everyone sat up a little straighter. If I had done something like that, I would never have made it back to school the next day. My Daddy would have killed me.

We missed recess that day, but Dianne was better than recess. She pitched a fit every time her Grandmother brought her to school and tried to leave her. So the Grandmother would sit in the back of the classroom until it was time for us to go to the lunchroom. Then she would take Dianne home. I never understood why Dianne didn’t go to lunch with us. She might have liked school if she had tried that part. You could always have an extra piece of cake, if you cleaned your plate.

Dianne had long blonde hair, which she always wore in a ponytail. She had patent leather shoes with a strap that could go across the ankle or behind it. I would have worn the strap in the back. I loved shoes and wanted a strapless pair so bad I couldn’t stand it. But I had to make do with my tennie shoes that had a hole in each one right where the big toe was. Dianne also had a real grownup wristwatch. It had a tiny silver face with sparkly things all the way around. The strap was a fragile black cord. Sometimes Dianne wore a fuzzy pink sweater with pearl buttons. All those pretties were a sight to see.

Sometimes, after school, spinning around in the yard by myself, I would think about all the pretty things I would have when I was grown. My house would be filled with shoes and sweaters and watches. There would be stacks of presents everywhere and lots and lots of cake.

One morning Dianne and her Grandmother came into the classroom. All of a sudden, without even saying goodbye, the Grandmother left the room. All eyes turned to Dianne who was still standing by her desk, waiting for her Grandmother to go sit in the back of the room. She stood there for a minute and, all of a sudden, she threw herself down on the floor. Spinning in a circle on her side, she kicked the desks all around her. Papers were flying. Dianne was screaming and having a hissy fit like I had never seen. The principal came to get her. As he led her out of the room, Dianne turned to the class and smiled. I have never, to this day, seen anyone smile that big.

We never saw Dianne again.

I don’t know why she was always pitching such a fit – I would have wanted to go somewhere and show off all those pretty things.

How Far is Heaven?

2007-08-29T13:22:00.000-07:00

"How Far is Heaven?"

The title of this painting is that of one of the first songs I remember hearing. I was a child, sitting in my little red and white up-holstered rocking chair. Beside me, on a table, was an old record player. I was mesmerized, watching the needle gently wave back and forth on the record. A woman was singing a very sad song. It seems that a little girl's Daddy had disappeared and her Mother told her he had gone to Heaven. An older woman sang the story part and, for the chorus, a little girl's voice would break in and ask the question, "How Far is Heaven?". When the song ended, I would get up get up from my little chair, and, standing on tiptoe, place the needle back at the beginning and listen again - and again - and again. That was probably the richest I will ever be.

This original acrylic miniature painting - 2.5 x 3.5 inches - is for that precious memory.

The Promise

2007-08-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

Blue Moon

I was in the fourth grade. My Aunt and I were under the chinaberry tree in Grandmother’s front yard. I was fiddling with Aunt Dot’s watch and talking about how much I liked jewelry and all the kinds I was going to have when I was grown. Aunt Dot pulled her arm away from me and put her hands on her hips and said, “I tell you what - when you get to the seventh grade, I’m gonna buy you a birthstone ring.”

I was beside myself with joy.

“A real ring?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “A real ring. Your birthstone”.

A real ring was one that was not adjustable. It was made to fit your finger. And I was going to have one. My Daddy took us to a church that didn’t allow you to wear jewelry or any such foolishness as that, so this was BIG.

My ring would be a sapphire. I couldn’t wait.

I entered the seventh grade. Days passed and I didn’t hear from Aunt Dot. Maybe she was going to show up at my school one day with a little box so everyone would see her give my ring to me. Or maybe she was going to wait until my birthday. September passed. Surely she was going to surprise me with my blue ring at Christmas. But I didn’t even see her at Christmas. The next time I did see her, I mentioned right away that I was in the seventh grade and changing classes and making all A’s on my report card. I searched her face. I didn’t see any recognition that she remembered her promise to me. And I could not be so bold as to remind her of her promise. My Daddy might find out and he would have whipped me for having no manners.

Years passed.

I was looking in my jewelry box the other day, arranging and rearranging my rows and rows and drawers of bling. Lots of rings. Lots of foolishness. But I’m positive, nothing in there is as shiny as the sparkle of that one blue stone would have been...

Coca Cola Doesn't Taste The Way It Used To...

2007-08-09T13:37:00.000-07:00

Lollybump Bridge

Do you remember how Coca Cola tasted when you were a kid?

We never had drinks or snacks at my house when I was a child. To get a taste of Coca Cola was something just short of a miracle. As I type, I close my eyes and inhale, and I can almost get the sensation - the cold hot burn of icy Coke rushing past my startled tonsils and down my throat. Almost a sin, it was so good.

Try as I might, I have been unable to find a Coke that tastes just that way. I switched to Pepsi. Nothing. I drink a lot of carbonated beverages now. I think it is just a habit - I'm trying to recapture the sensation of that first taste...

I drove past my childhood home a few months ago. It looked so small. The long driveway that I used to run down barefoot, all year round, was just a pitiful winding long streak of dirt. I used to think it took forever to get to the mailbox.

My paintings come from my memories. No matter what the subject, there is a tiny piece of a memory or those I have loved tucked away inside the strokes. But I cannot capture it just the way it was...

Blessings to You and Those You Love!
Majo

I Used to Play the Piano...

2007-07-24T19:37:00.001-07:00

"Barn at the Old Homeplace"

I used to play the piano.

I was the church "piano-player" for most of my teen-aged years. One time I heard a preacher tell my Daddy that it looked like God was moving my fingers across the keyboard. That stuck with me because I really didn’t know how I could play the piano so well – I couldn’t explain it. (I hated taking piano lessons.) But people would come to our church from miles around to hear my piano playing. I ran away and got married when I was very young and was unable to touch a piano again for many many years. I was looking at some of my paintings today and I noticed the fence posts in this one called “Barn at the Old Homeplace”. The posts reminded me of dilapidated piano keys and my rusted talent…

Over 30 years after I lost my musical talent, I picked up a paintbrush. I have never had an art lesson and don’t know how some of the paintings “happen”. When I say that I like to load up my brush and see what comes out, it’s just true! So, it seems that my painting is like my piano playing used to be – sometimes I don’t understand where it comes from. My art is rather primitive and mostly from my childhood memories. I will remember something that happened during my childhood and have the urge to get out the paints! Many people do not care for my style, but sometimes a piece will "speak" to someone, as is the way with art, and I make a connection.

Usually, the first time I paint something, like a tree, it is the best one. Practice doesn’t make perfect for me. The first time is usually the best. The first tree I painted was a good one. The tree I painted last night went into the garbage.

Use your talents wisely, whether learned or God-given.

Blessings to All!

Peachtree Street in Atlanta

2007-07-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

PEACH TREE SWING

I love to drive or walk down Peachtree Street in Atlanta, Georgia. It always thrills me to the core! When my husband and I were just married and as poor as church mice, we would drive down Peachtree and look at the sights - the rich, the poor, the hotels, the restaurants, the lights! Oh - the lights! Years later, when I worked in Atlanta, I would take Peachtree Street to get to the interstate - a longer route - but my favorite thing to do at end of business day!

Things are more simple for me now. I no longer work for the "corporation" and when I go down Peachtree Street, it's just for fun. I can "swing" down Peachtree any time I take a notion to make the two hour hike from my home - and it still thrills my soul!

Blessings to all!

O'er the Land of the Free...

2007-06-27T12:03:00.001-07:00

I have a nephew in Afghanistan. Please keep Jonathan in your prayers. We look forward to his safe return!

Have you ever wanted to just run away?

2007-06-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

Spring Field

I'm having a day like that today. I just want to pack a few things and go. No roofs to worry about - no fixing or mending to be done. Nothing to do except what I want to do!

But I would be like Steve Martin in that movie, "The Jerk". He was going to leave and he said he would just go and not take anything with him. Then he kept moving about the house and picking things up and saying, "I don't need anything to take anything except THIS. I'm going and I don't need anything except THIS." And pretty soon he had his hands full with all the things he needed to take with him. The one thing I remember is he wanted to take his THERMOS. So funny. It makes me feel better now, just thinking about it. Sometimes when I get really down, I say to my husband, "I'm going to leave - I mean it - I'm going to leave and I won't take anything with me except my thermos!". Then we start laughing and it makes everything seem better - a little lighter, a little brighter. And, after all, tomorrow is always better.

Ways to Fly...

2007-06-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Ways to Fly...

If only my decisions could be this simple again...

Hello from the South!

2007-06-14T16:54:00.000-07:00

A Visit with Spring

Hello from the South!

I live in a little town in the South where "a river runs through it"! At this time in my life, I am an artist - I love to paint and write!
I hope you take a peek at my paintings from time to time. I plan to post new art regularly.
If you enjoy what you see, please visit my on-line shop. It is called SOUTHERN COLORINGS. There, you can see more of my art. You can even purchase a piece if it tickles your fancy! The shop address is:

http://majo.etsy.com

I paint from my heart and memories - mostly childhood memories. In my art, you will find pieces of those I have loved.

Thank you and many Blessings!

Majo

Fish Garden

2007-06-10T09:53:00.000-07:00

Fish Garden

This is an ACEO. The size is 2.5 x 3.5 inches.

Surely fish have gardens too!

http://majo.etsy.com/