Chickens, chickens, chickens, and even more chickens

Yesterday I requested some fun memories from all my Facebook friends. I have to admit some of them made me giggle but none made me laugh out loud like "EASTER CHICKS". Sometimes there are those memories that lay deep inside you that only a sibling can make you remember with just two words.

I can't recall a time that chickens weren't a part of our lives. My grandfather was a chicken farmer. He raised laying hens and we were always there picking up eggs, feeding those birds and boxing up the eggs for shipment.

One of my first memories of these said chickens was of me and my daddy bringing four chickens down the chert road to the awaiting pots and pans, where both sets of grandparents were prepared for our arrival. These chickens were twined together at their "feet" and were pecking the fool out of my leg as I struggled to carry them. I was all of 5 years old but I was helping my daddy and peck or not I was going to get them to my grandparents. As we arrived, Daddy took the chickens and hooked that twine on a nail there on the fence post.  There hung, upside down, squawking chickens, "legs" tied together and my daddy with a hatchet in his hand. I'm sure I must have been deeply disturbed at the time for I have remembered this now for 45 years. I have always heard the old saying "run around like a chicken with its head cut off", and I was about to get a first hand look to know this to be the truth.

Never had I seen someone take a hatchet with such finesse and skill, swiftly bring the blade to the necks of four chickens and two twine. Sure enough as blood spewed those silly chickens were running around the yard! I was outta there fast as my five year old legs would take me. I don't know where I ran but I'm sure my brother was somewhere close by torturing me reminding me that I walked those chickens to their deaths! He had a tendency to do that...and true to form yesterday he thoroughly enjoyed reminding me of another incident involving chickens.

Think of it....Sicily...1928.... oh wait, that's another tale. Many of you may remember "back in the day", when at Easter all of the feed and seed stores had the cutest little colored chicks. There were the most precious looking creatures and I'm sure we pestered mom and dad until they got us some. We were raised in a home where every penny mattered and had to be accounted for. I would go as far as to say mama and daddy probably discussed getting those chickens for us several times before a decision was made.

I don't remember whether we were getting these cute teeny creatures or the parental units surprised us with them but there they were, four tiny, immature, chirping, pastel colored, chicks. A different color for each of us. They were in a cardboard box with a heat lamp for warmth in our bedroom. The three girls shared one room so why we got custody of these non sleeping things I will never know. Steve probably whined they kept him awake! But I digress.

I am going to claim the innocence of a child for I know not why I did what I did. Or better yet, as the pastor said Sunday "The devil made me do it" after all this was the 1970s and Geraldine was a hit. I do have a vague memory of it although it must have been much more impressive to my sissy brother than it was to me. Here is all I remember of this incident, for as the small baby sister I'm sure they blamed it ALL on me! There was this sweet, precious, trusting little mint green chick. He was soft and cuddly. I only remember putting my tiny little chubby hand behind his skinny little head, my tiny little chubby thumb under his pointy little beak and I pushed. That thing could vomit! Did you know a chicken can vomit? I'm here to tell you from personal experience, they do! It must have been addictive like popping bubble wrap. One wasn't enough. I was addicted at that very moment. I had the power to let these bantam things live or die. Well, they died. I am told I killed all four. I think that is an exaggeration. I think it is yet another story I've been told and brain washed into believing. You know, I think I will add this to the list of things I want to ask God when I get to heaven. "Did I REALLY kill all four Easter chicks or were my siblings messing with me?" I was only three! Give me a break! 

Before you judge me think about it, I just sent them to heaven a little sooner than they were going anyway. I will see them again one day, but this time I will be nice, I promise. Evidently I wasn't the only thing killing those Easter chicks. It was later reported the dye they were using was sending those wonderful creatures to an early death and traumatizing youngsters all over the south. Imagine waking on Easter morning only to find the Easter bunny had snuffed the life from your beautiful friend. I like to think I saved my siblings, especially my big ole cry baby brother, the heart ache of thinking the Easter bunny was a murderer. You can thank me later Steve. I will tell the brown thrasher story another time.

Good night and remember chickens can vomit.

"I love you and there is nothing you can do about it"

I've been thinking about different people, different times, different lives. 

Recently, I got to have lunch with someone I dated more than 30 years ago. I have had the pleasure of seeing someone I hadn't seen and dated more than 16 years ago. I have the most awesome friends here on FB that I had great relationships with in the past, that have turned in to some pretty amazing friendships. So many people here have held my heart in different ways. Some have held my heart in romantic ways, some have held my hands when I cried. All have shared a piece of my life that I feel privileged to have lived. This has been the year of seeing others in a new and flattering light.

I am SO happy to be in the place where I am. A place with a past that I've come to terms with and a past that has ended up being softened with time. Like most girls, my self esteem was not always the best. I know a lot of people that see me would never believe this but there are so many things that make up girls. Having raised a pretty amazing girl myself, I have seen first hand the strength and tenacity that I always wanted but not sure I possessed. I guess one could say I'm pretty proud to have raised such an independent, free thinking, tough as nails girl. 

This morning in Sunday School an old high school buddy walked up and said "hey meany". I asked him if I was mean in high school or just vocal? His response was, I stood up for myself, I held my own and I never took any crap. While I would like to claim that, I never felt like it. Somewhere along the way I lost myself. I lost who I wanted to be. I lost sight of the person I NEEDED to be. 

Each relationship brought me to where I am today. Each relationship every reader has ever had has lead them to where they are today and all have shaped us in one way or another. I challenge each person reading this to think of those relationships in the past that have had an impact on who you have become, whether positive or negative. Even the negatives have a story. 

Many of you may have read my status in March about my ex on what would have been our 25th wedding anniversary. While that marriage was SO toxic and SO unhinged from the beginning, I have two of the most wonderful children from that union. I knew what I DID'NT ever want again even if I had to be single the rest of my life. I still pray for him. I still believe my children should have a relationship with him. I still will share grandchildren with him. None of this means I have anything other than a working relationship with him. All it means is, I am thankful for him and that season, for the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me came from it.

Some relationships in the past were so much fun. There were seasons of play. Seasons of new friends and seasons of carefree elation. There were beach trips, boat trips, hiking trips, four wheeling trips and daring "oh my goodness I really shouldn't do this" events. These served as a catalyst to teach those around me, now later in my life, the world should never be taken too seriously. These relationships were great. I loved each and every one of them. They, like I, have moved on to the lives we are supposed to be leading with the people we have chosen. If I could show the friends that are hurting and wanting a "someone" how this season leads to another, I would teach them to relax and enjoy it for what it is. When people show you who they are, believe them. They are here for a purpose. There is a lesson. One may not see that lesson today, tomorrow, next week or next year, but there is one. Be open to the experiences today so in your years to come you will enjoy the fruits of your labor. Sometimes I would love to bring some friends along to the past and share the fun and lessons but as the reader knows that is an impossibility. One can never share in the totality of the feelings in another's heart. 

I do like to think that all the relationships I've had in my past, think of me on occasion. I hope they, like I, remember the great and awesome times we spent together. The times they thought I had lost my crazy mind and the feelings of caring for one another. I pray they, like me, wish only for the best and when I cross their minds they smile. I can promise each and every one of my pasts brings a special memory and a smile. 

This isn't a tell all blog. I've not named names for many are married and unlike me and my husband their current relationships may not be grounded in trust and understanding. A funny story about us.....my husband has been known to mow his ex live in's yard and I totally was and am ok with him going over there to do it. Some may think that is crazy. I think it is called trust. I still have conversations and an occasional lunch with an ex (not husband) and my husband is ok with that. It is called trust. So before any of you freak out, look at your own relationships. Are you learning? Are you leaning? Are you trustworthy? Are you happy? What has your past taught you? Did you learn the lesson in that season? Are you better or bitter? 

I would like to think I am better. I had my bitter. It didn't taste good. I choose to look at the better. The happy moments. Those moments that took my breath away. The moments that only the two of us shared that made my heart flutter. The moments that make my heart smile. Those moments that only the two of us shared. The moments that when and if I ever look into their eyes again (even after decades) we connect on a level that no one else can. We see something in the other one that knows we were their purpose in that season. If you, the reader, can look into your past and be better, you have lived or are living a great life. If you are bitter about your past, bitter about your relationships, you need to figure out why you are bitter and change it. You may need to tell the person you are bitter toward. You may need to look in the mirror and see if maybe it is you you are upset with. You may need to forgive that person for what you see as a slight toward you, even if you that person is you. You may need to let some time pass before you can forgive and forget. You may need to pray for that person and while you are on your knees, pray for yourself that you may let go of the crap and see that person's lesson for you. Be open, be honest, be happy. There is no reason one shouldn't be able to look back and love again. It just may not be today. If you are that person in my past....I love you! I loved you in my past. I love you today. That love has evolved into an endearing love. As Sister Pooh Nash says "I love you and there is nothing you can do about it". 

Mrs Ann Millican

Ode to Mrs. Millican

      I've been thinking the last 24 hours, what could I do to honor Mrs. Millican? What I decided on, to blog. Yep, write. Write about the person that taught me to write. 

My first memories of being in the Millican household are filled with a baby. I remember when they brought Brian home. I had a new life long friend. We played with the letters on the refrigerator. We fought like siblings and probably ate more worms and dirt together than anyone else on the street. We were snowcone eating, snowball throwing, bicycle riding fools.

I loved being over there so much that my first broken arm was acquired on their breezeway. I remember it being wet and down I went. I'm sure I got a pop ice out of the freezer there. My sister Teresa fell off a pool table there, if I remember that story accurately. (I'm sure Max or Mark pushed, right?) 

We had a certain rap on the door just as we opened it and walked right in. It didn't matter if someone said come in or not, we did. They knocked on the window as they came in at our house too. None of us locked our doors and we were always welcome at one another's home at any given time. 

Their house was amazing to me. They had air conditioning AND cable! I thought they were uptown. That was until our house caught fire when I was nine. My brother and I ran over at 3:30 in the morning, pounded on their door and there stands Mrs. Millican and Mr. Millican with a shotgun! They ushered us in and there I stood in a sleeveless night shirt freezing to death because of that air conditioning. True to form they were there for our family through thick and thin, plenty and want or celebrations and disasters. They were the best neighbors for a girl to ever ask.

I can still see Mr. Millican sitting in his chair looking over the top of his paper as I opened the sliding glass doors. He always had on his readers and smiled when I walked in. He took the time to put his paper down and talk to me. I believe they were truly interested in what was going on.

Mrs. Millican was always either in the kitchen or at her dining room table. She was on and off weight watchers. She would weigh her food and cook some of the oddest things I had ever seen. It may not have looked like beans and taters but it sure smelled good. That dining room table was not for dining. It was for grading papers. Many days I can recall "helping" grade papers and even entering them in to her grade book. Funny thing is, it wasn't allowed any longer when I started high school.

Our mothers had neighborhood watch before there was neighborhood watch. If either my mom or Mrs Millican's kitchen light wasn't on at the appropriate times, someone would get a phone call. They were each other's back up alarm. We knew if we heard "Brriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiyyyunnn" we had better hightail it home. That little woman could call us from three streets over and we would still hear her. While I would catch lightening bugs and make mud pies, those Millican boys would catch snakes and played with puppies.

It was so difficult to get used to not seeing that kitchen light after the Millican house burned. Although I was a young adult the neighborhood was never the same. Gone was that breezeway. Gone was the switch bush that we had to pull from for our spankings. Gone were the familiar sights, smells and sounds that were my childhood next door. 

How many remember going into the English department, taking a right and having a seat? The first thing you were instructed to do was open your folder and start writing. Writing! Writing what? It didn't matter, the instruction was to write. Write whatever was on your mind for the next 10 minutes. If you have never tried it you should. You would find out how truly hard it is. Well, maybe not for you, but in ten minutes I had seen 6 squirrels, thought of three boys and was already bored. It didn't matter if I wrote about squirrels and boys but to be bored....just write. Free flow writing she called it, the introduction on how to get your thoughts on to the paper. I really wonder sometimes if she knew what she was in for when she told me to 1. Think and 2. put it on paper. Had she forgotten I was the child who couldn't sit still, be quiet or hated to read? But, smarter than the teenagers before her she knew exactly the ones that needed that extra push and she lovingly, gently, quietly, pushed.

Five hundred word theme was one of many classes she taught as an educator for Whitfield County. I'm sure I had every one she ever taught during my high school career. When Mr. Millican passed away I told her that she was the original "cut and paste" person. Bill Gates or whomever invented the office program must have sat through her class and learned how NOT to write on the back of his notebook paper. I still have some of those crazy free flow notebooks.

Interestingly, you may notice that my rambling ALWAYS calls her Mrs. Millican. It didn't matter that she was "Aunt Ann", "Ann" or "Mama" to others she had to be "Mrs. Millican" to us. Mom has a deep respect for teachers that she has passed to her children and she had the forethought to know one day we would be sitting in class calling our teacher by name. Ann would not have gone over well sitting in five hundred word theme. 

Many years after school was over and I had become a mother myself she asked me to call her Ann. I couldn't. I've tried. Even as she was lying in the hospital bed and I leaned down to kiss her forehead my words were "Mrs. Millican, I have to go back to work, I love you." When you see it on paper it reads so cold to always have been known as MRS. anything, but for me, it was the highest respect I could have shown her. 

Before anyone asks, there is more than five hundred words here and yes I copied and pasted my paragraphs here because I was free flow writing!

Some things will never change!