Remembering Is Easy

She remembers a little kitchen long, long ago. Her heart yearns to go back to that place where she did grow.
A little six year old girl runnin around her mama’s legs wantin to learn how to cook.
Her mama’s recipes consisted of a pinch of this and a pinch of that. Oh how hard it was to learn all of those pinches.
 She struggled with those pinches till she got them down in her mind. The hardest part was learnin how many pinches to put in fresh cornmeal straight from the mill. But she finally got the hang of it and they ate it, without complaining.

 After she grew a little older she remembers her mama finally allowin her to build a fire in that ole woodstove and cookin a whole meal all by herself for a family of eight and all the joy and pride it brought to her heart.
She also remembers that same little girl climbin up in a chair at that ole sink and her mama tying an oversized apron around her small waist and washin dishes. She’ll admit she loved playin in the dishwater more so and starin out that little window and dreamin of being just like her mama, waitin for her prince charmin to come along. She could see  herself cookin in that little kitchen with all the little ones runnin around her legs and the joy she felt in her heart. Her mama was her hero and she’d always dreamed of doing everything just like her.

She also remembers helpin her mama can lots of jars of fresh food straight from the garden  on that woodstove on hot summer days and the sweat dripping off of her mama’s nose.
She remembers standin up in that chair at the sink and washin so many cannin jars, she thought her arms would fall off. But just being able to help and learn was such a treasure and still holdin all of that cannin knowledge close today is worth more than any money can buy.

She remembers the oil lamp that sit on the table givin light to early morning breakfast. Cookin before daylight was the usual routine, every morning. Helpin make those cathead biscuits and big bowls of gravy were such a delight. It took a lot of time to get the biscuits down pat but she managed it quite well. The gravy was a different story.

That oil lamp burned bright on short, winter evenings also. She remembers when everyone gathered around that big table bowin heads and Thanking God for every bite on the table and every blessin given abundantly. She still remembers every delicious meal and nary a bite left behind in either bowl.

After the evening meal she remembers sittin at that table till bedtime with her four brothers and sister playin by that oil lamp on an old board game that her mama made from a piece of cardboard while using marbles called, “Fox and the Geese”. Her mama taught everyone how to play it, as she remembered from her childhood.

She still remembers those cold, winter evenings helping her mama cut quilt scraps out at that table, learning how to be so precise and finally being allowed to cut with those big sewing scissors.
That was her first introduction to quiltin and what joy it still brings today. Every tiny stitch she makes still reminds her of her mama’s golden threads. She’ll forever hold it close to her heart and cherish that special place where it all came about.


That little kitchen sure did cook up plenty of memories and shared enough love to last a lifetime. Remembering is easy and it’s so amazin at what a mother and her kitchen can do.

                                                     © Susie Swanson, 2015

Happy Mother's Day to my mother in heaven and all mothers. May God Bless you all.
Update on my health issues. I had the gallbladder surgery last Thursday (30th) and all went well there but it threw me back some on my Thyroid issues. My Endo said it was the anesthesia that most likely did it but he raised my Thyroid meds. a week before surgery and I have to stay on it another month and do some more labwork to see what it's doing. It's just a waitin game there. Many thanks for all of your prayers and I'm praying for ya'll as well. ~Susie

We Walk In The Midst

We walk in the midst of beautiful flowers

They will return again come another spring

Though winter’s breath has quietly stolen

There is promise of new birth in everything

We walk in the midst of deep and darkened days

Of some that has become each our very own

The sun will shine through and return again

There will be another break of dawn

We walk in the midst of century old lands

As old fields do through storms and question why

Beneath the blinding sun and bitter rain

We too, should draw new strength as the years pass by

We walk in the midst of grassy hills, so green

Where the mighty winds of heaven blow

Straight from the breath of God, cool and clean

As anything the soul of man can know

We walk in the midst of memories and reflections

From another place and more simpler time

Hung upon the walls of many forgotten days

Are pictures of our ancestors they left behind

We walk in the midst of much anger and hatred

A thousand words can not describe

The soul is barren without peace and love

Hatred should never be inscribed

We walk in the midst of tears and heartache

Where pain, grief and suffering has no name

Without wings against the wind we tremble

For what else may come or still remain

We walk in the midst of blurred eyes and weeping

Crying out with hunger and homelessness

In a land where milk and honey flows

There should always be plenty and never less

We walk in the midst of wars and rumors of wars

Fulfilling the Bible more each passing day

The mercy of God is the most powerful sword

If we but only turn to him and daily pray

We walk in the midst of patience, trying to understand

And wonder how good is material things of earth

When we are gone, all of these will still remain

Just as it is from birth to death, what is it’s worth

We walk in the midst of each upturned prayer

Though agony may be to great for tongue to say

Even the unvoiced prayer he surely answers

If not in our way, in some better way

We walk in the midst of a troubled and lost world

Dying more and more with each passing day

Waiting for someone to unlock the chains

That someone is here, the stone has been rolled away

© Susie Swanson, 2015

With all that's going on the world today and everyday I thought this Repost would be fitting..

Update.... As of now my Gallbladder Surgery is on for this Thursday (30th) unless something changes. The Endocrinoligist gave his approval under certain terms. They are to check my Thyroid Levels before they put me to sleep. I appreciate all of your prayers cause I'm going to need them even more. I'm so Hypothyroid (low) right now and it has me worried but God's in control and if it be his will I'll make it through this also. I'm not worried about the surgery itself cause it'll be minor compared to having my Thyroid taken out. I know and they know I'm still not up to par but it has to come out ASAP. Many Thanks for the prayers that's already been lifted for me. I'll be back when I can. God Bless, ~Susie 

"Home"

"Home" By Edgar Albert Guest

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,

A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam

Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,

An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.

It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,

How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;

It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,

Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;

Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;

Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then

Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;

And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part

With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:

The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore

Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh

An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;

An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,

An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.

Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,

Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;

An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories

O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,

An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;

Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year

Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear

Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run

The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;

Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

My Favorite poem by-  Edgar Albert Guest

 Little Update, I'm waiting to see if the gallbladder surgery is still on for next week. The doctors and the Anesthesioloigist are putting their heads together as I write this. Will Update more later. Hope all has a nice weekend. God Bless, ~Susie

God Took A Century

My heart begins to flutter relentlessly

As I see your gracious beauty there

Flowing so swiftly with wings in flight

Down, down with such a flare

You are as old as time itself

Falling constantly upon your way

Splashing, splashing upon the rocks

I feel the whisper of your spray 

Your foaming beard looks like white hair

Waves of splendor I question why

To understand your lengthened time

Your hidden secrets fall and die

Young as the morning and just as old

Ageless, timeless you surely belong

To remain unchanged and ever remain

You lift my heart in joy and song

None shall ever come to know

 From the twisted paths you came

Or the places where you have been

Only you can know or will ever claim

Restless and wild, a part of nature’s best

Filled with the sounds prop’s an open door

For a waterfall’s basic freedom to be

There’s nothing quite like it ever before

I stand here breathless up above

Watching your sure course to the sea

Of sight, sound and beauty seen

To make such a thing God took a century

© Susie Swanson, 2015

 I don't know the exact location of the photo at the top but just know it's located somewhere in the North Georgia Mountains near where I live. Perhaps my sweet Blogger friend Betsy from "Joyful Reflections" Blog may know since she loves waterfalls and has visited so many. I'm so intrigued by them myself and think they surely are a magnificent creation from our Heavenly Father. 

Update, I'll be going back to my Thyroid Doctor tomorrow (Tuesday) to have more Labwork done and possibly be raised up more on my Meds. My Gallbladder surgery is scheduled for the third time next week, (30th ).. I will be very shocked if they're able to do it since I'm still running quite low (Hypothyroid). It's really getting to me now and It's taking every ounce of my strength to hang on. But, God has this and it will all be taken care of in his time, not mine. Many thanks for all the prayers and your sweet words of encouragement. Sometimes we feel like giving up but that small voice tells us to keep hanging on. God is our only hope and rock to which we can lean on. I will update more later when I can. God Bless, ~Susie

The Shivaree

Back years ago when folks got married it was a lot different than it is today. They didn’t have the money for a big event so they mostly went to the Justice of The Peace and said the I Do’s and a lot of em Eloped to do it.

My daddy and mama and so many others had to do that. Daddy told how he managed to go buy himself a pair of Sunday go to meetin shoes but when he got em home and opened the box there was only one shoe in the box. He tried em on before he left the store but he never did know how the other one got lost along the way. It was to late to run back to the store so he put on his old shoes and he and mama went on and go hitched.
She said she wore her best flour sack dress and daddy was dressed the finest she’d ever seen. He had on his best britches and shirt. I can just see em both in my mind. My mama had long, black hair all the way down her back and I guess daddy was almost bald headed. I never did ask but all the hair I ever knew him to have was a little around the edges and slick on top.

Like most other folks back then, they went to Georgia to get married, which was just across the line from where we live now. They only paid the Justice Of The Peace a dollar or two. If they’d got married in North Carolina they’d had to have a blood test, etc. etc.

Back when I was a young’un and even before I was born, couples came walkin by our house along with the preacher and right out at the top of the hill from our old barn they’d get hitched cause they were able to step right across the line into Georgia. That’s how close we always lived to the state line and still do for that matter.

And there was an old timey tradition that always took place that night  after the ceremony called a shivaree. All the men folk would wait till black dark and show up in their ole, pick up trucks, some ridin  the back. They’d beat on old pots and pans to get the couple to come out then they’d grab the groom against his wishes and haul him off somewhere and leave him for a while and then  go back and pick him up and take him back home to his new bride and stand outside and serenade em for a while. A very popular song back then was, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

Daddy and mama never had a shivaree but they told about this one couple that had just got married and settled in for the night.
 They grabbed the groom and carried him off and set him out and all the men pitched a big drunk and had their own serenading party. The poor, ole feller never made it back home till daylight. He was dirty, scratched all over after wadin barefoot through the briar thickets and plumb tuckered to say the least and mad as an ole sittin hen and so was his new bride. They both were fit to be tied with good reason. She started cryin again after walkin the floors all night and was ready to skin a bunch of hides. He said, “they ain’t no use in worryin about it none.” They went on with their wedded bliss and had a whole house full of young’uns.

 Like my mama always said, “ya don’t know nothing till ya got young’uns hanging around your neck and clingin to your dress tail.” I guess she would’ve known since she raised six of her own and plenty more that she claimed.

Daddy also told how another ole feller came out with his shotgun one night on a bunch of men when they pulled up and jumped outta their trucks. He shot straight up in the air and they high tailed it outta there and there was no shivaree to be had. Apparently he didn’t want to take any chances on fumbling through the dark tryin to make his way home.
It was usually done in fun and most folks went along with it but then sometimes it’d backfire when a city slicker came along. When that happened it was best left alone.

I asked daddy and mama why they didn’t get serenaded or have a shivaree. They said there wasn’t any use in it. I think personally, it was cause my grandma was already living in the house with daddy when they got hitched. Knowing her, she’d brought out a shotgun or a broom handle. I can just hear her now, “I’ll be rotten take (that was her by words) if I’m gonna put up with this stuff around here.” “Ya better get ya selves back home to your women folk or I’ll lay some buck shot in ya hide.” She’d a done it too, and they knew it. Everybody knew my grandma back then and she always said it was a bunch of nonsense. I can still hear her today, “Just a bunch of men folk lookin for a chance to pull a drunk.”

Times sure have changed since back then. There’s no shivaree or serenading going on. The old ways are fallin by the wayside to never be heard of again.
It’s kinda sad in a way.  I’d like to have been a part of the serenading but the shivaree is a whole different thing if ya know what I mean.

                                                            © Susie Swanson, 2015

The Flour Sack

1930 flour sacks

THE FLOUR SACK

BY COLLEEN B. HUBERT

IN THAT LONG AGO TIME WHEN THINGS WERE SAVED,

WHEN ROADS WERE GRAVELED AND BARRELS WERE STAVED,

WHEN WORN-OUT CLOTHING WAS USED AS RAGS,

AND THERE WERE NO PLASTIC WRAP OR BAGS,

AND THE WELL AND THE PUMP WERE WAY OUT BACK,

A VERSITILE ITEM, WAS THE FLOUR SACK.

PILLSBURY'S BEST, MOTHER'S AND GOLD MEDAL, TOO

STAMPED THEIR NAMES PROUDLY IN PURPLE AND BLUE.

THE STRING SEWN ON TOP WAS PULLED AND KEPT;

THE FLOUR EMPTIED AND SPILLS WERE SWEPT.

THE BAG WAS FOLDED AND STORED IN A SACK

THAT DURABLE, PRACTICAL FLOUR SACK.

THE SACK COULD BE FILLED WITH FEATHERS AND DOWN,

FOR A PILLOW, OR T'WOULD MAKE A NICE SLEEPING GOWN.

IT COULD CARRY A BOOK AND BE A SCHOOL BAG,

OR BECOME A MAIL SACK SLUNG OVER A NAG.

IT MADE A VERY CONVENIENT PACK,

THAT ADAPTABLE, COTTON FLOUR SACK.

BLEACHED AND SEWN, IT WAS DUTIFULLY WORN

AS BIBS, DIAPERS, OR KERCHIEF ADORNED.

IT WAS MADE INTO SKIRTS, BLOUSES AND SLIPS.

AND MOM BRAIDED RUGS FROM ONE HUNDRED STRIPS

SHE MADE RUFFLED CURTAINS FOR THE HOUSE OR SHACK,

FROM THAT HUMBLE BUT TREASURED FLOUR SACK!

AS A STRAINER FOR MILK OR APPLE JUICE,

TO WAVE MEN IN, IT WAS A VERY GOOD USE,

AS A SLING FOR A SPRAINED WRIST OR A BREAK,

TO HELP MOTHER ROLL UP A JELLY CAKE,

AS A WINDOW SHADE OR TO STUFF A CRACK,

WE USED A STURDY, COMMON FLOUR SACK!

AS DISH TOWELS, EMBROIDERED OR NOT,

THEY COVERED UP DOUGH, HELPED PASS PANS SO HOT,

TIED UP DISHES FOR NEIGHBORS IN NEED,

AND FOR MEN OUT IN THE FIELD TO SEED.

THEY DRIED DISHES FROM PAN, NOT RACK

THAT ABSORBENT, HANDY FLOUR SACK!

WE POLISHED AND CLEANED STOVE AND TABLE,

SCOURED AND SCRUBBED FROM CELLAR TO GABLE,

WE DUSTED THE BUREAU AND OAK BED POST,

MADE COSTUMES FOR OCTOBER (A SCARY GHOST)

AND A PARACHUTE FOR A CAT NAMED JACK.

FROM THAT LOWLY, USEFUL OLD FLOUR SACK!

SO NOW MY FRIENDS, WHEN THEY ASK YOU

AS CURIOUS YOUNGSTERS OFTEN DO,

"BEFORE PLASTIC WRAP, ELMERS GLUE

AND PAPER TOWELS, WHAT DID YOU DO?"

TELL THEM LOUDLY AND WITH PRIDE DON'T LACK,

"GRANDMOTHER HAD THAT WONDERFUL FLOUR SACK!"

Old Rugged Cross

                                                       It stood on a hillside

                                                       An old rugged cross

                                                       The emblem of suffering

                                                       For sinners that were lost

                                                       His bloodshed was eminent

                                                       To crucify they were bound

                                                       He wore a crown of thorns

                                                       Destined for heaven's crown

                                                       They mocked and smote him

                                                       They placed thieves by his side

                                                       My God Why Has Thou Forsaken

                                                       He cried before he died

                                                       They wrapped him in linen

                                                       Placed him in a borrowed tomb

                                                       They rolled a great stone

                                                       In the doorway to entomb

                                                       On the third day they came

                                                       At the rising of the sun

                                                       The stone was rolled away

                                                       They could not hold God's son

                                                       On that old rugged cross

                                                       His bloodstains washed away

                                                       All the sins in this world

                                                       He surely lives today

                                                       Thank you Lord for that old cross

                                                       You made the ultimate sacrifice

                                                       Like the thief on the cross

                                                       I'll see you in paradise

                                                         © Susie Swanson, 2015

                                                  Happy Easter everyone and May God Bless!!