Category Archives: Small towns

Lies I told my students

imagesActually, I don’t believe either of these count as lie–more like things I didn’t tell my students because it was better that they not know.

Many years ago, when I was really young and taught Spanish at Hays High School in Western Kansas, I took 25 of my students to Mexico in a bus.  We stayed two weeks.  At one of the first restaurants we dined at in Mexico, I was talking to the manager about payments, etc.  I gotimagesto the dining room after most of the students has finished their soup.  I sat down, looked into my bowl and noticed that there were tiny worms in the soup, wiggling in and out of the chunks of chicken. I felt nothing would be gained if I shouted, “You all ate soup with worms in it.”  So I stopped eating and pretended this never happened.  Fortunately, no one got sick.

Before the celebration of el día de los muertos, we made crafts that Mexicans would have images
used for decorations.  A popular craft is to decorate sugar skulls.  I decided to use this with the 4th and 5th year Spanish students.  Because the skulls were sugar, I broke up a chipped skull–they were a little smaller than a fist–and passed the pieces out to the fifteen students to sample.  They tasted like sweet, thin cardboard.  After two days, we finsihed the decoration and painting.  As I was putting the material back, I read the side of the box that contained the skull.  There was a warning on the side:  These skulls are not meant for human consumption.

I never told them this either.  No one died.

Buchanan Dam, TX

imagesI grew up in Kansas City, Missouri–yes, Missouri.  The major part of Kansas City is not in Kansas.  Kansas wasn’t a state when Kansas City was founded in what was the state of  Missouri. The town was named for the Kansas River.

But, enough of that geography lesson.  Back when I grew up, neighborhoods were friendly and people lived in their homes forever. We knew each other and helped each other.   The older I got, the less this was true.  We moved so often and seldom knew our neighbors–until we moved to Buchanan Dam, Texas, into a small subdivision with five houses.

imagesBuchanan–pronounced in Texan, BUCK-a-nan–Dam was a lovely place to live.  There was an eagles’ nest a few miles west.  We had deer who ate my tomatoes which meant I didn’t have to garden–I don’t do that well. We had wild flowers, wonderful views, cool breezes, and great Mexican food down the road, close to Fuzzy’s Corner.  images

But the best part was that we had great neighbors.   Suzanne was a nurse who looked after out health.  One night when George thought he’d had a heart attack–he hadn’t–there was Suzanne, waiting by the ambulance to see what she could do.  Down the hill were two boys who kept us in groceries with the chickens and vegetables they raised for 4-H. May and Al lived behind us and kept an eye on the place.

And then there was Bob, a handy man who watched out for all of us.  This was sometimes a problem.  Once a floor lamp broke so I put it down in the trash.  A few days later, Bob made the long trek up our driveway and knocked.  When I opened the door, he handed me the lamp which he’d repaired.  What a great guy.  The only problem was that the lamp still didn’t work. I didn’t want to put it in the trash again because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  Actually, my main worry was that Bob would fix it again, bring it back and this would become a never ending loop.  My solution was to put it in the back of my car and smuggle it into Burnet where a friend disposed of it for me.images

Do you have stories about your neighbors?  I’d love to hear them.

 

How do they live with this?

I cannot know or even guess what the parents who lost their children in Newtown must feel.    How can they put away the gifts bought for their children for Hanukkah?    Or those packages, unopened under the tree?  How do they face the closets filled with clothes their babies will no longer wear or the toys they played with only days earlier?

And those children who faced the horror of hearing other children being shot or who witnessed the murder of their teacher or ran past bodies as they escaped from that building full of death?  How do they live with those memories?

How can those who survived believe in safety?  How do they trust?  How do they react when they hear the Twenty-third Psalm:  Though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil when they felt the breath of  evil?

We can discuss and attempt to find solutions so this will never happen again–but why didn’t we do that earlier?    And if they are told this horror was God’s plan, how can those who mourn turn to the God who planned these deaths? 

I don’t know.   I truly believe they are with God and that thought comforts but what are we doing to heal these families and make sure this is the last school shooting?   

If you have thoughts to share, please do.   Perhaps this prayer by Dietrich Bonhoeffer will help us all.

O God, early in the morning I cry to you.

Help me to pray

And to concentrate my thoughts on you;

I am restless, but with you there is peace.

I cannot do this alone.

In me there is darkness,

But with you there is light;

I am lonely, but you do not leave me;

I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help;

I am restless but with you there is peace;

In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience. . .

The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek

The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek, the second book in the Tales from Butternut Creek series, will be out Tuesday, November 20th–which is TOMORROW!

Come back to Butternut Creek and visit with Adam, Miss Birdie, Janey and Hector,  and all the other nice people there.

Find out if Adam finds a wife and if Miss Birdie approves.

And just have a great time!

Celebrate!

 

Do you know Miss Birdie?

Although many readers have told me they know the real Miss Birdie, one of the main characters in the Butternut Creek series, they’re wrong.   She was inspired by many women in various churches from Kentucky to Texas and many states in between.   I believe nearly every church has one. 

Do YOU know a Miss Birdie?  If you do, please tell me about her.  What are the identifying characteristics of a Miss Birdie?  

Where is Pewee Valley?

For the newspaper announcement of our engagement, I wrote, “George Bierce Perrine III is from Pewee Valley, Kentucky, and  graduated from Transylvania College in Lexington, KY.”    My mother took one look at that sentence and asked, “Can’t we say he’s from Louisville?”  But all of that is true.   George is vaguely  related to the caustic writer Ambrose Bierce.  Transylvania is a small Christian Church school.  The name means across the wood and is in no way related to Dracula.

During the years George grew up, Pewee Valley was a charming and tiny town east of Louisville.  It’s still a charming town but Louisville now surrounds it.   His family lived in a lovely antebellum house on Maple Avenue, a street, as you would guess, with huge maple trees shading the yards.    Pewee Valley is best known for being the home of  Annie F. Johnston who wrote the Little Colonel books in the early 1900’s.

When I became a Perrine, I inherited a marvelous sister-in-law.  Diane is brilliant.  She graduated from Cornell and was a business executive for many years.  Now, she’s a well-known scholar and researcher, an expert in the underground railroad in Kentucky and surrounding states.  She’s also a popular speaker who gives programs about Kentucky country stores and other topics all around the state.

Diane had agreed to blog today on Pewee Valley, her memories of the town and her mother.   Unfortunately, I got sick and didn’t have time to set it up.  Diane Perrine Coon (google her–you’ll be impressed) will blog here next Tuesday.  I’m so pleased she’s agreed.