Raymond Water Tower 1917

                                                                 Town Square 1929

City Water Comes to Raymond

Looking back at all the old photos of Raymond, that Mr. James Lewis was so kind to share, I found a photo of the old water tower, dated 1917.  The other photo is of the town square in 1929, where you can see the foot of the tower.  Today, the tower and the town square are still there, but thanks to our mayor, Ms. Isla Tullis, it is landscaped beautifully, and a pleasure to see on a summer’s day. 

Although I don’t know the exact date of when city water became available, I can definitely tell you that it was very long ago, based on the water pipes leading from the street to the underside of our house which was built in 1890.  I just about pitched a fit over getting a dishwasher, and Bill finally gave in an bought me one.  The day came where he was ready to put in a new sink (got that too!), and that’s when the plumbing nightmare began.  It started off with a snapped pipe, and went from bad to worse. At some point,  I realized that we were looking at a plumbing bill in the thousands.  So I got down in the mud and worked along side Bill as we dug and boy, did we dig. The pipes were in such bad shape, that the more we uncovered, the worse it got. As a last resort, I dug up the area (3 feet deep) around an outside faucet that was about 50 feet from the street, and lo and behold, there was another cut off value, hidden year ago, forgotten by many seasons.  And then, of course, it  started to rain.  Buckets of rain,  Filling all the holes we had dug. We stood there in the rain, rather stunned, and tried to fathom what had transpired. What were we going to do without water?

 But we were in luck.  After throwing ourselves around for a while, we realized we now had the ability to bypass the old pipes to the house and join the water connection under the house directly with the outside faucet. Bill went to the store and bought a 75 foot hose.  We hooked it up and once again we had water in the house.  However, I kept smelling this awful plastic smell in the water, and slowly but surely, the light went on upstairs and I remembered and realized that drinking from a hose is a dangerous thing to do since there is lead and another chemical I can’t pronounce. Bill went to the store again and bought hoses that were safe to drink from.  We ran the water for about an hour until all the traces of the garden hose smell were gone. Thank goodness for my sense of smell.  It may be a curse in most situations, but this time, it saved us.  I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to do about water lines in the near future, but I can tell you that I have never been so exhausted from an ordeal, except the time that I almost drowned, and the time that I had to ski up a 10,000 foot mountain in Colorado. But I now have a dishwasher.  Tonight we turned it on for its maiden voyage, and much to our relief, it went smoothly – no leaks! 

Perfume Pollution 

The other day, my neighbor and I stopped at the liquor store so she could buy a bottle of vodka (if you’re a Baptist, please feel free to skip this essay). I waited in the car while she went into the store. Upon returning, as she got back into the car, the most horrendous floral odor started to prevade the car.  She told me that the lady in the store had on lots of perfume, but by now, the smell was so overpowering, she put the bottle on the back seat.  We hadn’t gone but a quarter of a mile before she had to pull over, retrieve the bottle, and put it in the trunk. We were laughing all the way home about it, amazed that something that powerful could follow us home. When we did arrive home, she had to put the bag in the trash before she went inside.  I think she washed the bottle down as well. 

And now I want to talk to you about the people who think more is better.  The ones who suffer from Anosmia. Anosmia is the inability to perceive smell. These are the people who pour on the cologne, thinking more is better until they themselves can actually smell it.  By that time, the rest of us are incapacitated.  I didn’t start out hating perfume, but thanks to technology, chemical perfumes are ubiquitous.  They’re everywhere.  Just like you have to pay people to keep chemicals out of your food, you now must pay to keep perfumes out of every imaginable product.  I don’t want to be overpowered by the fresh hint of spring in my dishwater.  I just want to do the dishes.  I don’t want soft scented tissues.  I just want to blow my nose without choking. Every day when I walk through Raymond, I can smell people’s dryers – everything thing from pine forest to bubble gum dreams!  The assault on the nose is eternal.  I have been cursed with a good sense of smell and I truly regret it.  It makes me long for the remote communities where the people hang the mail on the clothes lines for a few days before they open it.  Where there are no chemical smells or smelly plastic anything – just Nature. Now Nature is good, but not at volume 10. 

But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't, didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad

Just in case you didn’t recognize the above lyrics, they’re from a very famous pop song. 

Along the route of my current walk, is a Tin Man, that I pass every morning.  He never says much, but the owner who built him, definitely has a fantasy world where the Tin Man lives.  There was another Tin Man in town, but his owner died and her children happily carried him off to some unknown place.  Maybe Oz. 

 

Greek Seasoned Chicken

Cavender's All Purpose Greek Seasoning
2 Breast Halves -cut into bite size pieces
Olive Oil
1 Medium Zucchini
1 Can of Diced Tomatoes
Kalamata Olives
Purple Onions
1 TSP. of Red Wine Vinegar
Salt
Pepper

or (my favorite):

Greek Seasoning
2 Breast Halves - cut into bite size pieces
Olive Oil
Kalamata Olives
Capers
Purple Onions

Serve with brown Basmati rice/wild rice

Note:  The Greek seasoning comes with salt or without.  MSG is added to the one with salt, but not the one that is unsalted. Wonder why...   Most grocery stores carry both. 

                                                                        Time Flies

Found these watch parts in an old junk shop, added a few junk jewelry parts, and now you can watch time fly away. 

Bone People

Down through the years as I’ve traveled around the United States, going to thrift stores, yard sales, flea markets, and people’s back yards, I discovered a rare group of folk that I call bone people.  These people are few and far between, and difficult to approach as well.  They don’t advertise their collections and you have to be rather careful how you engage them.  But once they show you the first bone, they relax, and are usually are willing to show you their collection.  I am always delighted if they are willing to part with some of their bones.  The above design is made up of what I believe are dog vertebrae, pearls, and an Asian designed hollow carved rib or antler.  It’s set directly on glass, and has no backing.  Therefore, you can turn it over and see the back side of the bones as well. 

Bay Lee’s Feathers

I can always tell when Bay Lee is about to lose one of her tail or flight feathers because she nervously flits around till the feather drops.  Over the course of a year, I have managed to collect a whole set of feathers and put them into a design. And no, I did not pluck them out! It was very difficult taking a photo since it’s behind glass and my limited knowledge of photography doesn’t cover this kind of challenge.  But what a cool design, huh? 

Old Age

I’m 64, and I have never been ashamed of my age. I always tell it up front. In our society, no one over 30 tells their age because they’re afraid they will be considered old.  I’m here to tell you how annoying this is.  It’s true, that in the autumn years of everyone’s lives, our bodies begin to visibly deteriorate, but it can also be the best time of your life and there’s no reason to be ashamed of that!  I’m a baby boomer who has decided that I’m going to live my entire life fully, and in order to be able to do that, I walk every day and go to the gym 3 times a week. I have the bones of a young adult.  As a result, I consider myself a vibrant human being, and I know it shows on the outside – even through all these wrinkles.  I have found that people of all ages are attracted to vibrant individuals, whether they be young or old.  It’s in our genes. As long as you move towards life instead of away from it, you can expect to live your life fully.  This doesn’t mean that you’ll be trouble free, and heaven knows I’ve made some pretty bad decisions in my life, but the vibrancy affords you the opportunity to make the best of things and move on.

Now that I’m retired, it no longer matters what time it is.  I don’t have to be anywhere I don’t want to be.  If today’s plans fall through, it’s OK.  There’s always tomorrow and I still have no schedule.  I finally have enough time to explore all the things I always wanted to.  What can I say except this is so liberating!  Gone is the stress I carried for so many years.  I don’t have a lot of money, but that’s OK too.  I have peace of mind.  So if you’re old, and reading this essay, make the most out of your age. Life goes by too quickly and the moments are too precious to waste them on things you don’t have. Proudly tell people how old you are and that you’ve earned each and every line in your face, and it’s been an amazing life, and there’s no reason to be ashamed of your age.

Miss Connie’s House

I first encountered Miss Connie’s house in 2007, when I visited Raymond for the first time.  My husband had purchased the house in 1999, from a lady who had taken care of Miss Connie in her later years, and I remember him telling me that his girlfriend, at the time, burst into tears when she first saw it.  The house was built in 1890, and was one of the early homes to be built in Raymond.  It is an approximately 1500 square foot farm house, made out of heart pine which is now extinct.  The inside walls are made of rough, rich, reddish brown timber.  In those day, linen was tacked onto the walls and then wall paper was pasted over the linen.  When I moved in, most of the rooms still had the original wallpaper. My step daughter pointed out that the wallpaper in one of the rooms was the same as one of the rooms in the Amityville Horror movie. And she was right! Yikes!

 The people who lived in this house, over the years, were poor, but the essence of the house was plain, strong, and simple.  The house sits on 2 ½ foot pillars.  Houses in those days were built 2 ½ feet off the ground because termites only climb 2 feet.  By the time Bill moved into the house, it was in disrepair.  In his eyes, it was still  beautiful, and he happily moved into the dining room, where he lived until I came along.  When I first came here, when people asked me where I lived, I would tell them, and they’d say, oh, yes, you live in Miss Connie’s house. 

So on to Miss Connie.  Miss Connie Ferguson, married late in life.  She was in her 40’s when she married Lloyd McNeill.  He had inherited the house from his parents, the McNeill seniors.  Lloyd was a legendary drinker, and since this took up most of his time, Miss Connie ran the store they had in the center of town.  The store served as a pharmacy, even though there was no pharmacist.  Miss Connie had an agreement with a doctor in a nearby town, and dispensed prescriptions.  This continued until a real pharmacist moved into town and took over years later.  Yikes!

After Lloyd died, Miss Connie rented out rooms in the house to make ends meet.  Being poor, she saved everything the roomers left behind and put it up in the attic. I’m not even going to mention the 53 cats she had in her final years.  It took me six months to empty the attic out.  Every week, the night before garbage day, we would go up into the attic and drag down more mattresses, box springs, chairs, old suit cases,  books, an old wooden wheel chair...  Ah yes, the wheel chair.  When that got uprooted and put by the curb, it stirred up activity from the spiritual realm and it became very obvious that there was a ghost afoot.  My husband had gone to play tennis that night and I was alone in the house, watching TV.  A book slammed down in the other part of the house.  I heard footsteps up and down the hall.  Doors were opened and closed. The old house shook, creaked, and groaned.  By the time Bill arrived back home, I was completely unnerved and very glad to see him.  I guess the former owner of the chair got upset when I threw it out.  Yikes! 

Today, things have settled down, but we still have a ghost, and I think it’s Lloyd.  Although we can’t see him, my cockatiel, Bay Lee, sees him.  She’ll be perched on the back of my chair and will do a double take as if someone just passed the room.  Other times, she peeps nervously and acts like someone is in the room with us.  I can pretty much tell where the spirit is by the direction she’s looking.  I tell her, relax, it’s just Lloyd.  He means no harm. 

Bill and I have worked pretty hard in the last five years to make this house our home.  We’ve remodeled, fixed the plumbing, and electricity.  We even painted the outside of the house.  There isn’t a corner left untouched (well, except for the kitchen).  After you work that hard on something, it becomes yours, and a little bit of history isn’t going to change that.  There are times, when I finish a project in the house, that I think of Miss Connie, and how she’d be pleased to see how we’ve taken care of this old house.  About six months ago, I found Miss Connie’s bible up in the attic, and I gave it a place in the bookcase we have in the hall.  Somehow, it just seems right to have it there. 

Well, actually, Bay Lee rode on his chest.  I guess once you publish something, you can't take it back! Never mind, I found the edit key.

Bay Lee and Her Amazing Eggs

Bay Lee and I moved to Raymond five years ago.  This was possible because Bay Lee fell in love with Bill, my husband, and rode on his chest, in a marathon car ride, all the way from California.  Since then, she has produced more eggs than I wish to count, and I saved them all!  I’m beginning to worry that all those eggs may be depleting her system, and if there is anyone out there who can suggest how to stop the flow, please let me know.  I suppose she needs more stress in her life.  Perhaps if I drive her around in the car once a day, this will interrupt her breeding cycle.  In the meantime, the vet says she’s quite healthy and the fact that we feed her what we eat seems to work well. She has her own dinner plate. Gone are the days when birds were kept in cages and fed only birdseed and water.  She’s an excellent flier and navigates our house like a pro.

                                                      First Sad Little Basket I Ever Made

                                           

Pine Needle Basketry

Now that I’ve lost half of my audience already, seeing the eyes glaze over of most men when I say those three words, I will attempt to lure my readers into reading this entire essay.  Pine needle basketry is not something I ever gave any thought to, and to be honest, I had never heard of it until I moved south and began to listen to NPR Radio again.  Prior to listening to this program, I had taken a pottery course at the nearby college, and learned about coil pottery.  When I heard about coiled baskets, the two went together in my head.  While throwing pottery can be toxic to the creator, pine needles certain weren’t, and knowing how ubiquitous they were, making something out of the ordinary into the extraordinary was right up my alley.  I began to search the Internet about the origins of coil basketry and found:

Pine needle basketry is one of the oldest crafts known. It dates back some 9000 years.  The Seminole Indians were one of the first tribes to make the pine needle baskets. Employing ancient coiling techniques and long-leaf pine needles, this art form has remained virtually the same for thousands of years. During the era of the Civil War the women made hats of pine needles. What better way to keep tuned to Mother Nature, than to gather fragrant pine needles from her forest floor and sew them into baskets.
                                                                      and
Pine needles are a gift of nature's bounty woven with loving care into small vessels wherein the Native Americans believed their soul rested secure from evil spirits.

Now, after at least 100 baskets, I have learned a few things, and have honed my craft.  Pine needle baskets have a mind of their own.  Sometime when you begin a basket with the intent that it should be a certain shape, the basket will take over and make itself into something entirely different.  The first few times this happened to me, I was taken back, and a little bewildered.  When I tried to force my will, it fought me.  I saved a basket as an example to myself what happens.  This basket is woven beautifully, and it has the shape of a cow pie.  I now have learned to listen to the pull of the basket and we understand each other.  This understanding has connected me to all the basket makers who have gone before me - those wise old women from ages past for whom I am continuing their art.  In this modern day and time, it is good to feel connected. 

 


Miss Johnnie Ward

Some people can live in a small town for years, and never know their neighbors, much less someone who lives on the other side of town.  Since I walk through Raymond every morning, making sure I walk at least two and a half miles a day for my well being, I have come to know a number of people on my routes.  One of those special people I talk to is Miss Johnnie Ward.  She’s 84, still smokes cigarettes, and drives her little white car at breakneck speed, everywhere she goes.  She’s fearless and outspoken.  She doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and it’s alway fun to hear her talk about other people in town.  She has a wicked sense of humor and from time to time, she’ll tell a good joke.  She’s a Baptist, but played piano (for money) at the Catholic church up until last year.  At 84, bad notes creep in, and after a time, even the Catholics noticed.  Although for the life of me, on Sunday, when I walked by the church, the singers weren’t so good either.  They’re even worse now!  I do love the sound of their church bell though, and their building is an historic one, built in the 1880’s.  But I digress. Miss Johnnie lost her husband, Cecil, twenty years ago. and she still morns his passing, not understanding why she was left behind.  When she talks about him, I see her eyes light up.  She must have loved him very much. 

So I stop from time to time, as I pass her house, and we sit in the front porch chairs, given to her by her daughter, and discuss our town called Raymond.   

Summer Rice Salad

Cook Brown Basmati Rice and set aside to cool. If you have left over rice, you can use that as well. 

In a bowl, mix the following ingredients or whatever you have in the refrigerator crisper.  Be sure to cut the vegetables into small pieces so not to overwhelm the rice.

Green Onions
Red or Yellow Bell Peppers
Carrots - shredded
Cucumber
Dried Cranberries or Cherries
Walnuts or Pine Nuts
Jicima

Combine the rice and the vegetables.  Drizzle with a dressing made of equal parts of lemon juice and olive oil. 

Mr. Charlie’s Flowers

I first met Mr. Charlie and his wife at an annual Christmas party at Mary Lou Lott’s house.  Mr. Charlie was in his mid 70’s, and it was obvious that he was slowing down with age, showing that slow, tired sigh as he sat down.  It was about that time when he told his customers that he was having heart trouble and was announcing his retirement from mowing lawns.  My neighbor, whose lawn he had cut for the past 17 years, was unhappy about it, and it became even more evident when Mr. Charlie’s successor proved to be far less in touch with the zen of lawn care.  As a result, she took to being angry with him and wouldn’t even say hello when we passed him on our morning walks as he was working on the Baptist church flower beds.  You should know, that Mr. Charlie has magic in his hands.  Whatever he touches, responds with amazing growth and vitality. I have never seen such flowers in all my life. The Zinnias that he planted in the church beds this year seem to jump up and cheer with sheer joy as you pass by. I watched him the day he planted them.  Down on his knees in his bib overalls, he labored with love, intently, all day long. I worried if it was too much for him. So this morning, I went down to the church and took photos.  After looking at them, I realized why my neighbor was so unhappy about.  The magic he gave to her yard was no longer there.  And now, she was left with just plain old ordinary grass to get used to.  Her lawn will never be the same. 

Raymond, The Autumn Years

Introduction:

When I split up with my partner of 17 years, I made a promise to myself.  That promise was to cook for myself, and to treat myself better.  Thanks to my ex, I now eat a more healthy and varied diet, and I didn’t want to give that up.  So I started shopping and looking for recipes that I liked. This was something that I avoided all my life.  I didn’t like grocery stores, and I didn’t want to be caught dead, reading a woman’s magazine. I must admit that in the beginning, my efforts ranged from disastrous to happy accidents.  However, I didn’t give up, and eventually became a good cook.

As I’ve grown older, I also felt a need to mark the passage of time in my life.  I wanted a way to remember when the first robins arrived in the spring, when the moon was closest and brightest, and  exactly what date it was when I had an epiphany, or learned a hard lesson in life. 

Five years ago, I re-married my husband after 27 years, and moved to Raymond.  For the first time in my life, I had a yard and a chance to become a southern gardener.  I tackled this task with great gusto and ignorance.  My first landscaping attempts were a disaster.  I tried to make a path around one side of the house and no one would walk on it.  I paid $100.00 for someone to come and dig a flower garden bed in front of the house, the size of a small football field.  I mean, what was I thinking!   Not only would it cost hundreds of dollars in flowers to fill it up, but now I had created a maintenance problem.  I eventually figured out that what I needed were perennials and drought resistant plants.  I also needed garden beds that were reasonable in size and easy to take care of.  I know I’m getting older and I found myself wondering just what I could maintain in the future.  But overall, I now find myself in touch with the earth and I still enjoy digging in the dirt. 

So in order to incorporate all of the above, I’ve decided to keep a running journal to note my passage in time.  Not one that adheres strictly to dates, but one that records the positive progress of my life.  At least in my coming old age, I’ll be able to read about my journey and remember what happened to me.  I hope it will bring peace of mind when I no longer have short term memory.