Daisy Was Her Name

Daisy Was Her Name

Daisy was her name. My Grandma Mac was a tall woman with wiry white hair rolled into a bun. At least that's how I remember her. Parkinson's (or what she called "the palsy") made her speech and movements shaky in her later years.

I have no knowledge of her education, but she was sharp, having memorized long stanzas of poetry. I know she had aspirations of an easier life. That's why she left the mountains of NC for the flatlands.

Birthing eight babies, three who died in childhood, I can't imagine the sorrow of that loss. But life went on, four boys and a girl to feed with a husband who lost his leg and often couldn't work. She ended up in a cotton mill in Gastonia, making less money than men doing the same job.

Later, she and my daddy did laundry and ironing for people. I wonder if she wished she could have dressed her children as well. As she ironed other's pretty things, did she daydream?

We went to an estate sale Saturday a few blocks from our house. It was the end of half-price day and they were packing up leftovers for donation, or whatever. I rummaged through a pile of tea towels and napkins for 50 cents or a dollar each. I picked out two, then grabbed a bigger piece of crumpled embroidered fabric. I paid my $3 and left.

This morning I plugged in my decades-old iron, spread the crumpled fabric on my portable ironing board and gave it a spritz of spray starch. When I finished, I imagined my grandmother's red, calloused hands gently touching the fabric and stitches and, like me, admiring her work.

Laney's Musings

April 2024

Random Acts of Kindness

My current hobby is making books and junk journals from old book pages, sheet music (don't  cringe) and ephemera. I don't normally use original letters and notes in my journals, especially if they are personal to me; I copy first and then add them to journals. 

My mom was an avid reader. She loved poetry, too. She kept one particular book her entire life: Cornelli, Her Childhood, written by Johanna Spyri in the 1920's. Seriously, I didn't like it much as a child. I specifically remember the part where an unkind lady told Cornelli if she is bad, horns would grow out of her head. I'm pretty sure I felt my forehead a few times checking for sprouting horns. I could sometimes be an obstinate child. 

I wondered later why my mother had kept that particular book. There were much better ones I would have chosen; especially any book with a horse in it.

At the end of Mama's life, the Cornelli book was literally falling apart. Could I throw it away? No, she came home with me. I found a note inside written to my mother. "I hope you will always be the sweet and dependable pupil that you have been for me." Signed: Effie Beckler. So, the book had been given to my mother by a teacher.

Today, I decided to track down "Effie Beckler." I didn't expect to find her since Mom had lived in several states and women's names change when they marry; but I first found her in the 1930 Census in Polk County, TN..occupation "teacher!" The search was on.

Here is her story: Miss Effie Beckler was born in 1907, began teaching at age 24 in 1931 and was still teaching 38 years later when she died at age sixty-two in 1969. No children or husband were mentioned in her obituary.

We may never know the impact our Random Acts of Kindness may make in someone's life. The ripples can go on forever. An obscure book with a note of affirmation and encouragement inside was given to a little girl in a mining town in Tennessee. She later gave birth to a little girl in NC. That little girl grew up loving books, pens, paper, and words. 

The words of Miss Effie were quite prophetic. Little Miss Ellen was always sweet and dependable..and oh so many more wonderful adjectives.

I'm sure Miss Effie never imagined her note would find its way into a journal almost a century later. I wonder how many hundreds of notes she wrote to her students in her 38 years of teaching?

Laney's Musings

February 2024

Looking for Hope In Winter

My dog Bailey and I slogged through squish and mud in search of hope today. My fingers dug into the cold damp earth, breaking off some of the remaining dead twigs of summer. Bailey looked on, hoping I'd throw a twig or rock for him to chase. We are both tired of cold, wet, gray days. 

February's hope was found in sun on my face and red sprouts of Mama's peony poking up through their brown leaf blanket. There are buds on the forsythia, the harbinger of spring. It somehow thrives while its gifter, Sammie, left years ago for heaven. I look forward to its yellow blooms each year and remember her. 

We also spotted hope in green sprouts, maybe crocus or narcissus. I forget what bulbs are planted where. I'll just be surprised. My plot of snowy white irises stay green all year, but show off in spring. I call them my "soldiers." I started with a squad and now have a company.

Spring is 45 days away. I think we found enough hope today to make it. Lord, I only ask one thing, can we please have one good snow in Charlotte this year before Spring?

Laney's Musings

February 1, 2024