'Contentment' Updated

As I walk down a dusty winding road, the sound of water beating against rocks

enthralls my curiosity. Not only do I perceive sound of water flowing, I feel moisture in

the air. Suddenly, stumbling over a pile of entangled driftwood, a jagged piece of wood

scraps my leg; fortunately, my skin is not exposed. The sound of a babbling brook

cutting through the backwoods in Alabama led me to a weather-beaten road sign

which reads, "Underwood Road?" Underneath my breath I mumbled, "Underwood

Road...this road is familiar."

As I continue walking, a cool breeze stirs up a variety of blooming flowers. Oh,

what wonderful scents of lilac, along with honeysuckle fill the air. The changing tones

through echoes of nature captivates my senses, as birds chirp feed their young, bees

buzzing-- extracting nectar. A wide-eyed white spotted owl hooting and staring at me

is probably wondering, “Who is the stranger, where was I going?”

In a distance, smoke is seeping from the chimney inside of a log cabin. Quickly, I

rush toward the cabin -- thank goodness, no dogs are in sight putting me in fear.

Cords of wood are neatly stacked next to a barn. Standing near a smokehouse, an old

mule is drinking water from a wooden barrel, enjoying every ounce, he is not worried

about my presence. Inside of a Smokehouse, many hams and sides of pork belly for

bacon are hanging on the rafters. Two fine looking horses, one black with white spots,

the other, a chestnut brown is in the barn sharing a bale of hay, without a care in the

world.

Three cows grazing in the pasture, wearing collars with bells around their neck

rings with every move. Stepping upon the front porch, several chickens were

frightened out of a few feathers, the moment they saw approaching the porch. As I

take a peep through the tiny window on the front door, sitting at the table, surrounded

by a couple of wooden benches with a couple of lard buckets, used for chairs is a man

eating cornbread and milk, the candle on the table has ample wick, adequate for me to

catch a glimpse of his face, along with a shadow of his lanky body dressed in a

tattered pair off bib jeans.

Underneath, a pair of attached suspenders, he has on a partially buttoned red

flannel shirt, and he is wearing brown unlaced dirty worn boots. Oh, my goodness, it

is Grandpa Watson, knocking louder on the window, yelling, “Grandpa, it is Carolyn

Kaye, let me in.” He keeps eating. Lying on the floor ear a screened fireplace, an old

blue tick hound dog appears mighty comfortable soaking up the warmth of air flowing

through the atmosphere. Oh, my, it is old Blue, yelling, Blue come here.” Blue does

not move.

On the mantle, above the fireplace, the miniature grandfather clock‘s time is

set at 1:35 pm. On the wall above the fireplace hangs a family photo, with my

Grandparents, Uncle, many aunts, among Mom. In the kitchen, the calendar reads

August 6, 1960. The woman of the house wearing a multicolored bonnet sitting at

sewing machine, is Grandma Watson. As I knock louder on the windowpane,

whimpering,

“Grandma, come here, can’t you hear or see me?”

She continues patching a pair of pants, humming a familiar--song, Rock of Age's

Her long bright blue flowered dress touching the floor next to her ankles, barely shows

she is wearing her black two-inch thick healed shoes, which sits in the corner behind

our bedroom door every night before going to bed. Her gray thinning hair is twisted in

its bun, held up with her favorite brown comb barrettes. Turning the knob, excited

open the door run inside, however, my Grandparents continue their daily routine.

Inside,their home, I exam everything, Grandmother’s green chicken with a pin

cushion full of different size needles with spindles of different colorful threads sits on a

self near her foot paddled Singer sewing machine. In the kitchen, sitting on the sink,

the white pan with red rim is full of water to wash our hands before every meal. A

bucket full of freshly drawn water with a dipper hangs on the right side of the bucket for

everyone to share.

In the middle of the table are piles of biscuits and cornbread covered with white

cheesecloth guarding them from flies or drying out in the air, keeping them fresh and

germ free. Sitting next to the bread are jars of homemade jam along with tin cans of

Sorghum Syrup bought at the Yellow-Front Store. In a box are many yellow receipts

and green stamps for future. household gifts.

All beds are covered with a patchwork quilt, each one beautiful. Temptation

overpowered my senses, I can not control myself, I am touching, feeling every delicate

square of material, as I run my right index finger along each small stitch, before

rubbing the material against my skin.

Quilts made of cotton feels like fine silk, as Grandmother’s Quilts always feel.

Each tiny stitch holds a different story, some of happiness, a few of sadness. No

matter state of mind, she may be in, each are sewn with hard working, painful, often,

bleeding fingertips. Hands worth more than any amount of Gold or Platinum this world

could never unload.

My, oh, my, such wonderful memories brighten this spirit. Oh, what peaceful

thoughts flourish these moments… No one ever touched --wrinkling Grandma’s beds.

The inside of the cabin is small, yet, it is large enough to fill heartfelt souls with

comfort and joy. There are several jars of food sitting on hand on shelves in the

Kitchen pantry. Suddenly, the smell of beans boiling, with a pan of potatoes and

chicken frying on the wood stove awakens my taste buds.

The aroma of those beans reminded my salivary glands and olfactory senses of the

savory distinguished flavors, only grandma perfected. Taste and smell never forgotten.

Sadly, since they cannot see, nor, hear me, I must go, as I turn to leave, I take one

more glance around, I yell, "Where are you? At this juncture, I am standing alone in

pure silence.

Walking toward the front door, as I take a quick look outdoors --snow is falling, the

front porch facing a crystallized lake gives me a chill. Wind with misty drizzle of rain

mixed with snow is adding extra weight on the branches is scraping against the tin

roof. The trees normal hues of burnt orange with crimson colored leaves are scattered

under a blanket of snow. Its getting much colder, I return inside, yelling, “Maw Maw,

Paw Paw Paw, where are you?" No one answers my call.

Too many chills are running throughout this body, I must search for warmth. The

room temperature is very cozy as the furnishings. Actually, the furniture is modern.

Stepping closer to the fireplace warming my shivering body, I pull up the rocking chair

with the two thick comfortable looking cushions. I am rocking away listening to the

crackling wood burning seeking warmth, while sprinkles of water dripping down from

the chimney mixed with questing smoke is splashing in my face.

The smoke, is making me cough, and my eyes are watering, the more, I rub my

eyes, the worst they feel, it is going to take a few seconds, for them to adjust back to

normal. Looking out of the huge picture window, there is a hint of sun hiding behind

partial cirrus and nimbus clouds. Suddenly, the thought of sweet spring enters my

mind; it will be so nice to hear blue jays sing their favorite tunes, and have the pleasure

of watching children ride their Bicycles around, and most of all, watching little children

play hide and go seek around the corner of the house. Soon, the ever-changing

seasons resumes.

Flowers will bloom, spreading perfumed scents of lilac, as well as honeysuckles.

Butterflies will flutter their beautiful wings pollinating flowers. As I look around the

room, an oil painting with a violin-displayed on a cluttered mantel captivates my

attention. In the picture, unorganized books, is a good sign those books are read, the

home speaks volumes, “I am a home, not house, I am lived in and enjoyed.” I realize

everyone who walks inside this home is welcomed, they are comfortable.

You do not have to remove shoes; they eat on the couch watching Television

without being uptight. Unlike me, for many years, panic overwhelmed my mind, if

someone came over; or, mentioned coming over. I never felt anything was clean

enough; or, good enough, even sparkling clean. I was miserable. New furniture, made

me uncomfortable, just sitting on a new couch, I worried about spilling. If a piece of

lint was lying on the floor, I had to pick it up. In the past, I wanted to run in addition,

hide.

Chimes from a grandfather clock in the dining room struck a chord-- confronting the

reality, I am home. Yes, new furniture is nice to own, however, Sanity is more

important. My house was clean, the curtains drawn; lights were low trying to relax.

Yet, in the past, I could not relax in my own home. I wasted too many years worrying

about material things. Every moment is precious, we must enjoy every hour.

My now deceased sister-in-law Martha and I were talking one day about messes

children make playing with their toys, my ranting and raving about my childs toys lying

in the living floor was cut short, Martha, stopped me saying, “Carolyn, leave those toys

in the floor, your children are alive to play with toys."

An infant of hers, a little girl died from SIDS, then, a car hit her oldest son killing

him in 1981. She came from Alabama; to Michigan, staying with us, long enough to

attend her brother’s funeral. The previous owners of my present home had given me

their Family Bible, a recliner and a couple of matching lovely cups with saucers,--

matching sets. Before leaving for home, Martha asked, if she could have one of my

cup and saucer sets. I told her, “No."

To date, those cups sets have never been used, they have been gathering dust in a

cabinet in my kitchen. Only recently, I thought about the day, refusing to give her the

cup and saucer set. It has taken me many years to learn, it is better to give, than to

receive. Martha, my sister-in-law lived in houses without running water until the late

1980’s, the houses Martha and my Grandma lived in shacks. Martha lived in shacks

until the last few years of her life.

Grandma finally moved into a decent home before shortly before dying. In addition,

Grandpa bought new living room furniture and a kitchen table with chairs. Yet, she

never had running water. Grandma did not live long enough to enjoy her new furniture.

In the past, before either woman died, most people would have refused to walk into

either one of their homes, especially, Marthas'. they would have been afraid they might

fall through the cracks in the plank floors. Yet, in both women’s eyes and heart, it was

their home.

Both women were content, as Queen Elizabeth, which lives in a beautiful Palace.

At the end of each day from the usual routine of cooking, Grandma fixing Grandpa and

Walter's lunch, planting seeds, gathering vegetables, drawing water for drinking, -

washing dishes, washing clothes in a wringer washing machine along with drawing

many buckets of water for baths.

Making quilts, cutting patterns for clothes, canning vegetables and jellies.wringing

chicken necks, skinning rabbits for supper, gathering eggs from the hen house.

Picking cotton, selling candy to make ends meet. She was a midwife, delivering

children. She held prayer meetings every Sunday, she always had plenty of food for

everyone to eat at the end of each meeting. I realized just how lucky our family was to

have and be loved by such a wonderful woman

And, I thought, I had it rough--Oh, I do not think so! Grandma, I love you dearly.

To join you in Heaven--God willing --It will be an honor to join you for eternal life. Had

Martha, or, my Grandmother had known someone was in need for food, clothes, or

shelter, their dilemma ceased. Martha and Grandma’s hearts were filled with love,

kindness, most of all, compassion. Both women would have given you the shirts off of

their back -- long as you were in need.