Visitations

This is a story.  Just like any other story.  Some of it is true.

It started when I was very young.  They'd come.  Confused.  I'd see them out of the corner of my eye.  Standing there wanting.  Wondering.  Anxious.

There'd be some sort of accident.  A car would crash.  A log would fall at the saw mill.  A house would burn.  They'd come.  Drawn to the energy that is me.

Mama knew I was different.  She tried to beat the different out of me, but it stayed anyway.  I left her house as soon as I could.  Sooner than I should have, but I felt I had no choice.  

It is true that the outside scars always healed soon enough, but the inside scars never heal.  They weep instead.  They hurt.  They scream in rage.  They are immortal, like the ones who come.

She could see them too.  My Mama.  She didn't want to look.  She denied it long past my youth, but she knew.  Mama always knew things she shouldn't know.  Had no right to know.  She just knew.  I suspect her Mama tried to beat it out of her too.  That never works, of course.  You can't stop their coming.  You can't stop the knowing.  

It pops into your head when you least expect it, and you just know.  The baby will die.  The man will get the job.  The couple will marry, but it won't last.  You learn to block it eventually.  It's not good to look for it.  There is a price.  There is always a price.

The night this story happened was cooler than usual.  Bright with stars and moonlight.  Smelling of the cool clear air of home.  The sirens woke me up.  Tearing though the early morning hours with an urgency you could just feel.  The dogs wailed at their passing.  A warning in the night.  Then suddenly they stopped.  The sirens. Abruptly they stopped.  Dreadfully they stopped making the hair stand up on my arms and tears come to my eyes.

The air in the room was suddenly cold.  I could see my breath in the dim light the streetlight spread through my room.  I turned over in bed shivering at what I did not know, when I heard it, and I knew.  I was not alone.

Both my dogs got up and went into my kitchen where the cups he made with his own hands hung above my sink.  The dogs' tails were wagging.  They did not bark.  They recognized him.  

The entity in my kitchen felt male and panicked. I knew the dogs would comfort him, and I'm sure they did.  I didn't know who it was, but I knew someone had passed away that my dogs knew, but my dogs know many people.  I thought maybe it was one of our elderly neighbors down the street.  Passing through to say good-bye and give the dogs one last pat on their way to heaven.  It had happened before.  I was not surprised, but this time, I was wrong.  

The next day I heard the sad news.  The dogs did indeed know their visitor.  I knew him too, and I was heartbroken to hear of his passing.  I've been weighted with grief this past week, but the grief suddenly lifted today.  He is calm now.  More settled.  More accepting.  He will be okay.  He stayed as long as he could.  Perhaps longer than he should, but he had no choice.  

Do not concern yourself.  Life never ends.  Only the body dies.  We will all meet again.  One fine day.  That is my advice to you.

Yes.  This is a story.  Just like any other story.  Some of it is true.

Our Christmas Ghost: A True Ghost Story

It was Christmastime in 1977. I had two young sons and was expecting my third.  My husband was working late that night.  My sons were finally asleep, and I was in the living room, a new addition to our home, when it happened.

That year we had a HUGE Christmas tree.  It was too big for a regular stand, so we had it secured in a large container of water and literally wired to the studs in the walls in the corner of the living room.  It was beautiful.

There was no earthquake that year.  No wind inside the house.  No inside cats or dogs to make the tree do that, but I promise you, this happened.

As I was watching the television, I saw that Christmas tree shudder out of the corner of my eye.  I shrugged it off thinking that could NOT have happened, but then it shook!  It stood there and shook of its own accord with nobody touching it.

I stood up and took about two steps, when SNAP!  Something popped LOUD, and that tree fell, just as pretty as you please.  Glass ornaments shattered everywhere.

My first thought was to run and make sure the boys were still asleep in their beds.  I knew it would upset them terribly to see the tree down like that, and they might cut themselves on all that glass.

I checked on them and they were sleeping soundly, which made no sense as the tree falling was LOUD, but there they lay.  Sound asleep.  Thankfully.

I grabbed the broom and started the clean-up.

By the time my husband got home, I had most of the debris cleaned, but I was fairly pregnant and unable to pick up that big tree by myself, so he had to help me with that.  Together we stood the tree back up and he examined the wires that had secured the tree to the walls.  He had at first told me he thought a wire probably just somehow came undone, but that was not the case.  The wire looked like it had been cut.  One end was still attached to the wall and the other was still attached to the tree, but the wire was cut in two right in the middle.

My husband said, "Why did you cut the wire?"  Which, of course, I did NOT do.  He said there is no way that could have happened.  I agreed but reminded him that it did happen.

We proceeded to re-secure and re-decorate the Christmas tree, so our sons would not see it broken.

That was the first crazy thing that happened in that living room at Christmastime.  It was NOT the last.

You see, that living room was built from salvaged lumber from an old house that was torn down in Grover, North Carolina about that time.  My husband got the lumber for free and built the room himself.  He was handy like that.  We thought it was a good deal until the strange things started.  Luckily they only happened around the holidays, so most of the time the room was fine.

The next year my husband lost a favorite glove.  It was very cold that winter.  We looked EVERYWHERE, and I do mean everywhere.  Under furniture.  In drawers.  In closets.  In cabinets.  In the boys' toy box.  Everywhere.  Nope.  The glove was not to be found.

The next morning after we tore the whole house apart searching for the glove, I walked into the living room and there it lay in the middle of the floor.  Totally covered in mud.  All the doors were locked.  All the windows were closed and locked.  No animals in the house.  No clue how the glove got there, but my husband was sure glad to see it.

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I had goosebumps all over my body when I saw that glove.  There is NO WAY that could have happened.

In 1980 we built a new house on our property, and our old living room became a storage building.

Then one night in the waning of the year that building burned down.  We lost everything we had stored there in the fire.  Baby furniture.  Bicycles. Tricycles. Tools. Clothing. Toys. Etc etc etc.  They were never able to figure out what started the fire.  It went up in such a blaze!  That room was very near the forest.  There were trees within feet of it.  None of the trees burned.  It was the oddest thing.

Years later we heard tales of how that old house in Grover, NC was haunted.  How somebody died there around Christmastime.  Now, whether or not that is true, I do not know, but I do know that strange things happened in that room that was built from the lumber of that old Grover house.

Haunted?  Did the ghost follow all that was left of its home?  You decide.  I don't much like to think about it.  -shudder-

NOTE:  I had already moved most of the gifts to get to the glass bits, and swept up all the broken glass I could find before I thought of snapping a photo, but you can see how the tree fell.  Almost all of the glass ornaments fell off of it.  What a mess!!!

RERUN: TOP TEN POSTS

Given that I have been in computer cloning H3!! for the past two days.  (I'll explain in another post.  I promise.)  I've decided to do a RERUN: TOP TEN POSTS post today. 

Did you miss any of these?

1. Booger Jim, Cherokee Falls, SC - A True Story (As Told to Me)
   Oct 23, 2016, 13 comments, 4436 views
2. My Original Huguenot Ancestors: A True Story
   Jun 20, 2016, 246 views
3. Remembering My Brother, Howard
   Jul 17, 2016, 1 comment, 220 views
4. Remembering My Brother, Howard: A True Story
   Aug 12, 2016, 2 comments, 217 views
5. Limestone College Ghost, Gaffney, South Carolina: A True Story
   Oct 20, 2016, 188 views
6. Ruby's 1927: A True Story
   Jun 13, 2016, 170 views
7. Where is the Gray Man?
   Oct 5, 2016, 151 views
8. Whig Hill Cemetery, Gaffney, South Carolina is Haunted: A True Story
   Oct 21, 2016, 135 views
9. Picture Day!
   Sep 15, 2016, 119 views
10. Thomas's Childhood: A True Story
    Jun 16, 2016, 115 views

It looks like you love the true stories!  I'll try to write more of them, as time goes by.  Enjoy!

Haunted House - Sanford, North Carolina: A True Story

Many years ago we were looking at houses in and around Sanford, North Carolina.  Some of the houses felt like such happy places where you'd love to live.  Others were much less happy.

It is an odd thing, but when I go in houses, especially empty houses, they tend to make me feel one way or another.  Like the houses themselves soak up energy from their occupants and keep it in the walls and floors.

One such house made me so sad when I went inside that I could not stay in there.  The realtor admitted the couple who were selling that house were divorcing after many years of loud fights and neighborhood disruptions.  He asked me how I knew.  I said, "This is the saddest house I have ever entered."

I fear that realtor thought me crazy.

There was another house in Sanford, NC back then that I refused to enter.  It was a lovely house.  Big old white two-story house.  It would have been perfect for us had it not been haunted.

Even my sons felt it.  I told the realtor there was something evil in that house.  My eldest son said, "Yes.  It is behind the room on the left," and I agreed.

The realtor actually stepped back and looked at us with something akin to fear.  He said, "You know, that is strange that you say that because that area is exactly where we found an insect infestation.  The exterminators are having a time eliminating all of them.  They keep coming back, but we can't figure out where they are coming from."

I said, "The evil is attracting them.  We need to leave.  Now," and we did.


It was only two days or so later that the realtor called me at my home and told me that beautiful old two-story white house burned to the ground the night before.

I asked him what started the fire, and he said, "No one knows, but it started in the area behind that room where the insects were.  I thought you'd want to know."

I thanked him for calling and told him I was not surprised.  Evil and hatred attract all manner of bad things.

We never did move to Sanford, and that's okay with me. I figure that fire either purged or released that evil.  I'd rather not take the chance of being anywhere around in case it was the latter.  -shudder-

How many of you have had such experiences?  I'm betting more than a few....

The Haunted Woods - Near Boiling Springs, NC - A True Story (As Told to Me)

When I was a little girl my Mama told me this story about her Uncle Pink (Pinckney).  She swore it was true.  You decide.

Mama said:

Back in the 1920s when I was just a girl, Uncle Pink would sometimes walk to the neighbor's house to help the family or check on them.  To get there he'd have to walk about a mile through the woods near his house which was not far from Boiling Springs, North Carolina and not far from Mooresboro, North Carolina.  Way out in the country.  Uncle Pink always tried his best to go and come in daylight, but many times it would be after dark before he could leave to come back home.

There was a well-marked path that he followed.  He said every time he'd start back home around dusk dark, a little white dog would appear and walk with him.  The dog would never let him touch it, but it stayed by his side all the way through the wood.  Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it would just disappear!  Poof!  Gone!

There were stranger things happening in those woods the darker it would get.  Uncle Pink said there would be what looked like fireballs rolling across the path or hovering in the forest in front of him and to the sides of him, but nothing ever caught fire.  He figured they were just will-o'-the-wisps, so he learned to ignore them. 

Then one night he heard voices and he snuck off the path to see who it was.  The little white dog did not leave the path.  It just stood there and waited making not a sound.  

Uncle Pink said as he drew closer to the voices, he saw a group of men with hoods on their heads around a fire.  He said he couldn't see exactly what they were doing, but the hair stood up on the back of his neck and he gave in to the need to run that night.  He ran back to the path as quick and quiet as he could and got home lickety split. 

The men never followed.  They never stopped what they were doing.  They never acted like they heard him at all.

The next day he started asking around about that group of men in the wood.  The stories he heard turned his stomach.  Everybody said those men did meet in those woods, but not for 50 years or so.  They told him tales of murder and cremations in those woods.  Beheadings.  People seeing a headless man walking through those woods like a chicken with its head cut off.  Bad bad things.  Too bad to say out loud, and there was a killing of a gentle little white dog that belonged to one of the murder victims. 

This made Uncle Pink shudder and cold chills run up his spine.

Uncle Pink decided he'd only visit the neighbors first thing in the morning after that, so he'd always get home no later than mid-day. 

Now they say, even today, if you happen on those woods as the sun hangs low and dusk falls across the land, a sweet and faithful little white dog will appear and stay by your side 'til you're safe through the trees, and people round about still swear the fireballs can be seen now and then of a night, eerily passing through those woods making their unearthly light. 

I'll not be going there myself to find out if Uncle Pink's story is true, but if you ever go, you let me know.

---

That's the story as my Mama told it to me. Is it true? You decide. 

Booger Jim, Cherokee Falls, SC - A True Story (As Told to Me)

If you have ever lived anywhere near Cherokee Falls, South Carolina, you know about Booger Jim.  My Daddy, who was born in December 1900 and lived many years of his life in Cherokee Falls, said he saw Booger Jim the first time when he was about six years old.  He said Booger Jim was standing at the edge of the woods, taller than a normal man and black as soot.

Daddy ran home quick when he saw Booger Jim.  I don't much blame him.

There are all kinds of stories floating around about Booger Jim.  I've heard a few about Booger Jim living under the Cherokee Falls bridge, but I've never really known that to be true.  I did hear a truthful sounding tale of Booger Jim when I was small though.  That is the tale I will tell you now.  The woman who told me swears it is true.

First off, for those of you not fortunate enough to have been born in the Upstate of South Carolina, I'll tell you about Cherokee Falls.

No.  There is not an actual waterfall there that I've ever known, but the Broad River flows through Cherokee Falls, so there may have been a little falls thereabouts probably before they built the cotton mill.

Cherokee Falls was a mill town that grew around the Cherokee Manufacturing Company that was built there on the Broad River.  The people who worked in that mill for the most part lived in mill housing on the "Mill Hill" above the mill. Poverty was rampant there, as the cotton mill did not pay very much money even though the hours were long. The men, women, and children of that little community oftentimes were working in the mill from dawn to dusk. Yes, they used child labor in that mill until it was outlawed, but that is another story.

The woman who told me today's story lived on that Mill Hill in the early days of the 20th century.  This story haunted her even as she spoke it, wide eyed and horrified decades after it happened.  Here's what she said:

I just got supper on the table when my ol' man come running up the hill a'yellin', "OPEN THE DOOR!!! FOR GOD'S SAKE, WOMAN, OPEN THE DOOR!!!" 

I told the children to sit on down for supper, as I hurried to open the front door. 

He was around the bend in the road down the hill when I first went to the porch, but soon I could see him comin'.  He come runnin' faster'n I'd a'thought possible.  He never slowed a bit coming up those porch steps and through that door pushing me inside as he slammed it, bolted it, and pushed a chair under the knob a'fore running for the shotgun.

That thing a'chasin him hit that door so hard the door groaned under the weight, 'bout the time my ol' man got the shotgun loaded.  He shot both barrels point blank at that door.  Blowed a hole in it big enough for me to push my fist through, if I'd been so a'mind. 

Whatever that was on our porch screamed like a Banshee.  High like. Made my blood run cold, that scream.  We heard that thing bolt off the porch and leave, but we never went outside that night, and I didn't sleep much at all.  Took forever to get the children settled. 

The next morning we went out and there were claw marks a inch deep on our front door, and a dark trail going into the wood.  We followed that trail a'ways, but it trickled and ended like the thing was healin' quick as it run.  Darnedest think I ever did see.  Didn't leave narry'a footprint.  Like it was a ghost or somethin' worse.

After that we'd hear it now and then a'screamin' out in the wood.  Always at night.  High pitched like a woman screamin'.  Give you cold chills to hear it.

My ol' man said it was Booger Jim chased him.  He said that thing was near eight feet tall and black as soot. It could put its hands on the ground and run like a beast or walk on two legs like a man. 

They give him an awful hard time about it at work.  They said it were a bear or a panther, but if my ol' man said it was Booger Jim, then it was Booger Jim.  That's all I got to say about it.  That shotgun would'a killed a bear or a panther. 

---

That's the best of my Booger Jim stories.  It was told to me as true.  You decide.

Cherokee Falls, South Carolina

Cherokee Falls, South Carolina

Cherokee Falls, South Carolina

Broad River in Cherokee Falls, South Carolina

Whig Hill Cemetery, Gaffney, South Carolina is Haunted: A True Story

The Revolutionary War in the Upstate of South Carolina was more of a Civil War than you think.  The Battle of Kings Mountain, fought in Blacksburg, SC, was mostly Whigs against Tories, neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother.  It was an ugly heartbreaking time that left marks deep enough to span generations.

That war left its ghosts scattered all across the colonies.  They say some still reside in Cherokee County, South Carolina in a place called Whig Hill.

Whig Hill is a graveyard in Cherokee County, SC about 12 miles or so south of Gaffney on Hwy 18 (n34 57.633 , w81 39.317).  There are only about 35 or so graves there (give or take a few), but all of them are old graves and many of the people buried there died violent deaths of betrayal, as you can imagine. 

Back around 1970 my brother, Gene, decided he was interested in tombstone rubbings.  I found that a fine idea, so one bright and beautiful October Saturday morning we headed to Whig Hill with our charcoal and pencils and rubbing paper. 

Oh...we had heard the stories of course, but it was bright daylight, so we thought we were safe from haints.  Besides, we took some other people with us and there is safety in numbers.  Right?  Well...

We drove out to Whig Hill, which was not all that easy to find.  It was way down a dirt road in the absolute middle of nowhere.  There was not even a major highway anywhere around back then. 

We parked the car and walked up the hill to the graves.  What we found was horrifying in itself.  Someone had broken the tombstones.  Desecrated the graves.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I saw it.  Every single grave had been disturbed.  There were some above-ground crypts with their heavy cement lids askew.  Grave markers scattered everywhere and even some of the graves themselves disturbed.  If I were Catholic, I would have crossed myself and run! 

My brother, Gene, said the graveyard was full of English sympathizers loyal to the crown (Whigs), and the Patriots' (Tories) descendants obviously still remembered how they killed their kin.  They couldn't take revenge on dead people, so they took their revenge out on their graves. 

I shuddered and wanted to leave, but Gene talked us all into doing just a couple of rubbings before we left, so we started making rubbings of the pieces of the tombstones we could find that still had readable words.

That's when we heard it.  At first it sounded like a car driving too fast down a highway.  I said, "Is there a road behind those trees?" and pointed to the rear of the cemetery.  Gene said, "There's not a road like that for miles."  I started gathering my things.

That's when the sound changed.  It sounded like it was coming from the woods where I pointed, and it sounded like a wolf or a bear growling low and vicious.  It was terrifying!  I screamed, "Back to the car!!!" and I ran as fast as I could, dodging broken pieces of tombstones, as my brother jumped between me and the noise. 

That's when the noise moved to one of the above-ground crypts near Gene.  I stopped and turned and went back for Gene then, just as the lid of that crypt began to shake.  I grabbed Gene's hand and we ran down the hill.  The others already had the car started and turned around.  We jumped inside and raced down that bumpy dirt road as fast as we could.

We kept looking back and one of the people with us said he saw something running in the dust, but I never saw it.  All I know is I never intend to go there again.  Daylight or not.

Now.  We told our story around town back then.  The people laughed and laughed.  They said it was just bootleggers had the place booby trapped to keep people away.  We didn't see how bootleggers could have done that given there was no electricity anywhere around that graveyard, but we let them laugh and talk. 

It was a couple of years before we heard a similar story from some other people, but we did hear it...the car on a highway...the growling in the woods...the shaking above-ground crypt. 

I still am not sure what was down that dirt road or how it got inside that crypt, but I do know it was something.  I heard it with my own ears and saw it with my own eyes. 

In more recent years than 1970, I heard that Whig Hill Cemetery has been restored.  I sure hope that is true.  Maybe now the ghosts can rest.

This is not Whig Hill, but it would look similar to this with the old tombstones restored.
I will never go there again, so I couldn't take a picture of it for you.

Limestone College Ghost, Gaffney, South Carolina: A True Story

Many years ago when I was attending Limestone College in Gaffney, South Carolina, I did work-study in the Admissions Office in the Curtis Administration Building for about a year. 

The Curtis Administration Building and Cooper Hall are really one building.  Cooper Hall is one of ten buildings on the Limestone College campus listed on the National Register of Historic Places.  It was originally constructed around 1835 as the Limestone Springs Hotel and is the oldest building on campus.

When Limestone College was established about ten years later in 1845, the old Limestone Springs Hotel became Cooper Hall, a residence hall.

Some say it is also the most haunted building on campus, but that statement is often argued, as the Winnie Davis Hall of History has its own ghost stories, but I never saw those ghosts as that building was closed during my time at Limestone.

Today's story takes place around 1870 after the War Between the States, during the time Cooper Hall was a residence hall.  Back then Limestone was an all girls Christian high school.  The young ladies would arrive on campus with their servants to care for them.  It wouldn't be proper for a lady of that age or station in life to be left unattended.  Her reputation could be ruined!

I learned all these things and more while I was working in that admissions office.  During that time I also oftentimes had to go into the old Cooper Hall building to get supplies.  

You see, back when I was in college, Cooper Hall was used for storage, and, let me tell you, that building was spooky!  You'd walk down those long door-lined halls with your footsteps echoing behind you each time you took a step on that old dusty wooden floor.  Random creeks and pops would jump out here and there to startle you. I nearly jumped out of my skin many-a-time as I'd make my way down to the admissions office storage room.

Oh yes.  That place scared the liver outta me.  I wish you could have seen it.  The paint on those old walls was peeling in places and there was never enough light to quite see well, so I'd either have to stop and squint to make sure I was at the right place, or I'd have to count the doors as I'd go along.  

That building was built with huge and beautiful windows in the rooms behind all those doors.  It was meant for those windows to be opened for ventilation, as the outside air was fresh and clean back in 1835, but those windows had long since been painted or nailed shut to keep students from finding mischief in the storage rooms, so the air was always a little too warm making it stale and hard to breathe in there.  Even so, you'd pass through cold spots as you walked past some of the doors.  Those cold spots often made the hair stand up on the back of my neck and my arms break out in goosebumps.  

It just didn't feel or look "right" in there.

There was no electricity in the original building, and it seemed like what was added later was just an afterthought.  Bare bulbs here and there on long wires hanging down and old turn switches whose safety was questionable. 

 One day as I was going to the storage room, I noticed someone had left one of the doors open to a room that only contained a rocking chair.  I thought that odd, as all the doors were usually locked, so I walked over to the room intending to close and lock the door with the skeleton key all the doors used, when that rocking chair suddenly started rocking.

I kid you not.

It just started rocking!  

I thought earthquake?  But the dangling light bulbs on their wires were not moving.  Then I thought maybe a loose board I had stepped on made the chair rock, so I retraced my steps as the rocking slowed and stopped.  Nope.  I couldn't make it rock again, so I just decided it was a prank, retrieved my things from storage and went back to work.  

The next day I started asking around about the rocking chair.  Turns out the reason the door was open was some students from Duke University were doing some paranormal  research and had placed the rocker in that room because of a ghost story!!!  They were going to set up more equipment to measure paranormal activity in there.  I was fascinated.

The ghost was supposedly a young girl who came to school there with her nanny around 1870.  One day the girl took sick with a very high fever.  She was fitful.  Tossing and turning and wearing herself out.  She just couldn't sleep.  She couldn't rest.  The only thing her nanny could think to do to comfort her was rock her, so that's what she did.

The girl's nanny held her on her lap in that old wooden rocking chair and rocked her all night that night to comfort her.  On towards morning, as the night faded, in that early morning twilight before dawn, the girl quieted, and still the nanny rocked and sang sweet childhood songs to comfort her, even as her body stiffened. You see, the young beloved girl had died in her nanny's arms. 

This is the legend. There are conflicting stories as to exactly where she did die on campus, but all the stories say she did indeed die on campus. It is a fact that the room I saw that day with the rocking chair was her dorm room where her nanny rocked her when she was so sick. That much is definitely true.
 
Now they say when the air turns cool and the leaves are not long off the trees, if you put a rocking chair anywhere in that particular room, it will rock of its own accord.

I believe it.

I've seen it with my own eyes.

Where is the Gray Man?

According to legend, the Gray Man first appeared in Pawley's Island, South Carolina back in 1822.  There are many tales as to who he was and how he ended up being the harbinger of disastrous hurricanes, but the fact remains, he appears.

It is good news to see the Gray Man yourself.  The property of the person who sees the Gray Man is spared all harm, but it is very very very extremely bad news for everyone else when the Gray man decides to make an appearance.  It means a hurricane is coming.  A BAD hurricane.  It literally means, "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!" 

Curious?  This video tells the legend of the Gray Man.



They say Jim and Clara Moore saw the Gray Man before Hurricane Hugo back in September 1989. 

Right now Pawley's Island is in the path of MONSTER Hurricane Matthew.  Has anyone seen the Gray Man?  I wonder....

The Ransom of Red Chief by O. Henry

Today I've been thinking about my favorite short stories.  Many come to mind, of course, but perhaps my very favorite of all was written in 1910 and is still relevant today.  It is The Ransom of Red Chief by O. Henry.  If you click the link, you can read it.  I'm betting you will like it too.  😃

When I first read this story, I had three little boys that typically behaved pretty much like Red Chief, so this story made me laugh out loud the first time I read it.

Okay.  I admit.  I still laugh out loud when I read it.

I'm afraid Red Chief also reminds me a little bit of my brother, Gene, who could absolutely behave just like that at times and who, like Red Chief, was a red-head.  I miss Gene.  

This is a story that should be re-read and re-read anytime you're feeling like you're having a bad day.  Try it.  You'll see.  It will make you feel better about your day because there is no way your day could possibly be worse than poor Bill's.  😉

Too funny!

Enjoy!

My Mama's Gift to Me: A True Story

When I was ten and a half months old my Mama bought me a book of Bible stories called, Golden Treasury of Bible Stories, and then she did something remarkable.  She read them to me.  She read them to me so much that I memorized most of them and could recite them before I started school.

The book was the Golden Treasury of Bible Stories.  It contained Bible stories and poems that were easy for a child to understand.

And it had glorious and beautiful pictures.

My mother inscribed it for me.

The book contained nearly 500 pages of stories and the Table of Contents was laid out in a way that it was easy to find a story you wanted to read.

But, perhaps, the best thing I found about the book, as I took it off my shelf today was not the well-read and well-loved stories, but the things Mama had hidden inside its pages.

I found the card where Mama had given the book to me for my birthday one year after I had become a mother.  She was so excited about giving it to me to read to my first son that she couldn't wait for my actual birthday but gave it to me early instead.

Mama also had tucked away in the pages a newspaper clipping of our neighbor's daughter, Linda Roberts, when Linda was in high school back in the 1960s.  Mama always loved the Roberts family.

I also found an old Valentine that I made for Mama when I was little.  Yes.  I have always loved dogs.  Probably since before I was actually born.

The last thing I found in the book today tells you exactly why I ended up working in education nearly all my adult life.  This is the message my Mama instilled in me from the time I was a baby.  It appears here in the form of a bookmark from National Library Week, April 12-18, 1964, but Mama lived this message.  She read to me often during my formative years, and she read the newspaper and books in front of me every single day.  

It is a magical message to send to a child.  It has the power to turn a life of poverty into the American dream.  Never stop reading.  Never stop learning.  

This is the gift my Mama gave to me.

To end today's post, here is one of the stories from my Treasury of Bible Stories book.  Enjoy!

Ginger's Haircut

When I was seven years old, after my Daddy died, we moved to a smaller house with a horse pasture in the backyard and also on one side of it.  We had a double-car garage with an unfinished apartment over it that served as a barn.  The garage had no doors, so the horses could easily go inside out of the weather.  

That's when I met Ginger.

Ginger was my friend, Sudie's horse, but she lived at my house. She was smaller than a regular horse and larger than a pony.  She was red...thus the name.  

Ginger with one of her foals.

Ginger would bite.  Ginger would kick.  When Ginger laid her ears back on her head, you might as well get ready.  She was up to no good.

Looking back now I think, "Well, who could blame her???"  We pretty much worried Ginger to death, I'm sure.  

Our neighborhood was just full of little girls back in the 1960s when we were little and Ginger was in her prime, and you know how much little girls love horses.

Poor Ginger.

One time Sudie, Ruth, and I decided to cut Ginger's "hair" (mane).  Have you ever seen a horse with bangs?  -laughing-  Poor poor Ginger.

Imagine something like this only the bangs were straighter and much shorter and sticking out more.

I still remember that conversation very well.  The three of us had a pair of scissors and were discussing who should do the deed.  We went back and forth until Ruth finally said, "Let me do it.  My aunt's a beautician."

Well, that made perfect sense to Sudie and me, so we let Ruth do it.

Man.  We got in trouble!  -laughing-  

Sudie and I were only 8 or 9 years old at the time and Ruth must have been 10 or 11, which is probably why our parents didn't actually kill us.  

It still makes me laugh every time I think about poor Ginger with that haircut.  It took a very long time for it to grow back out to where she looked normal again.  

Ginger was also how I broke my arm in third grade, but that is a story for another day.   😱

Annabel Lee - By: Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe's last poem, Annabel Lee, is one of my very favorite poems.  There is a mystery about it, and I do love a good mystery.

Some people say Annabel Lee was written about his wife Virginia Poe whom he lost two years before the poem was written.  Virginia certainly was his beautiful bride, and they did fall in love as children. 

Virginia Poe

But there is a story in Charleston, SC about a sailor whose beautiful sweetheart, Annabel Lee, died of yellow fever while he was away at sea, and I, personally, think Mr. Poe may have heard this story when he was in the army and stationed at Sullivan's Island near Charleston, SC in 1827.  Like most Charleston residents, I like to think Charleston is the "Kingdom by the Sea," and I love the mystery of the beautiful Annabel Lee.  Who was she really?  Did Poe really pine for her?  Was Charleston the "Kingdom by the Sea?"

You decide. 

Today I'm reading the poem for you, and I'll also include the words below.  Enjoy!



Annabel Lee   By Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
   I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
   My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
   And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
   Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
   In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—
   Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
   Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Little Orphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley (1885)

Today I'm thinking about my favorite poems and poets again, which reminded me of James Whitcomb Riley's 1885 poem, Little Orphant Annie.

In case you haven't already noticed, I really love poems that tell a story.

Every week, back when I was in grammar school, we would all gather in the auditorium for music, which consisted of Mrs. Carol teaching us songs that we would all sing together.  One of the first songs I remember learning was a musical version of the first verse of this poem.  I still remember it well.  I sang it to my sons when they were small, and now I'll sing it to you.

I know...I know...I lose the tune now and then, but you get the gist of it.
  

Little did I know at the time that the story was inspired by a real life person, Mary Alice "Allie" (Smith) Gray.  If you'd like to know her story, click HERE, and if you'd like to know even more about her story, click HERE. 

On another note, I found this YouTube video about the poem, Little Orphant Annie, that you might enjoy.


And last (but certainly NOT least), here is the poem itself in case you'd rather read than listen.  Enjoy! 

Little Orphant Annie

    Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
    An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
    An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
    An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
    An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
    We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
    A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
    An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
      Ef you
        Don't
          Watch
            Out!
 

    Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers, —
    An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
    His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
    An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
    An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
    An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
    But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout: —
    An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
      Ef you
        Don't
          Watch
            Out!
 

    An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
    An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
    An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
    She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
    An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
    They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
    An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
    An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
      Ef you
        Don't
          Watch
            Out!
  

    An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
    An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
    An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
    An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, —
    You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
    An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
    An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
    Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
      Ef you
        Don't
          Watch
            Out!

Gunga Din By: Rudyard Kipling

One of my favorite war themed poems is Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling.  I first heard this poem in high school.  It painted such an unforgettable picture in my mind that I just had to share.

I only wish I could read it in an English accent, but I only have my own, so I'm including the words below in case you'd rather read than listen.   Enjoy!

---

Gunga Din  By Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o’ gin and beer  
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,  
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter  
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.  
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,  
Where I used to spend my time  
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,  
Of all them blackfaced crew  
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,  
      He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
   ‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
      ‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
      ‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
   ‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag  
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
      It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
   ‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?  
      ‘You put some juldee in it
      ‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
   ‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.  
With ’is mussick on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’  
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!  
      It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
   With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.  
      When the cartridges ran out,
      You could hear the front-ranks shout,  
   ‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.  
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.  
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
      It was 'Din! Din! Din!
   ‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;  
   ‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
      ‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
   ‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.  
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.  
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.  
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!  
      Yes, Din! Din! Din!
   You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!  
   Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,  
      By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
   You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Alice and the Wolf Spider: A True Alice Adventure

A long time ago back in the 1970s, when my sons were small, I had a run-in with a Carolina Wolf Spider (aka the Giant Carolina Wolf Spider).

Now. If you've never seen a Carolina Wolf Spider before, let me introduce you.

The Carolina Wolf Spider is the largest wolf spider in North America. Adult Carolina Wolf Spiders are about 4 inches across. They have a gray-brown body with a dark center stripe on the abdomen, long, hairy legs; and eight large, dark eyes of unequal size that reflect light (just in case the LARGE hairy body doesn't freak you out enough).  They run down their prey (like a wolf) instead of catching it in a web.

They bite.

Now I generally like spiders and never kill a non-poisonous one under normal circumstances, but -shudder-.

Wolf spiders eat mostly ground-dwelling insects and other spiders, but, especially large females, may also eat small vertebrates.  (Yikes!)  They usually live in silk-lined burrows in the ground with silk and grass covering the entrance. That silk is thick as a sewing thread!

Well, the day I had the run-in with the wolf spider my family and I had just gotten back from a vacation at Myrtle Beach, SC, which is about a five hour drive from the wooded area in the hill country of South Carolina where we lived at the time.

We were all exhausted from the trip, and it was late.

I put my three small sons (ages 1, 3, and 5) in the tub and bathed them, dressed them in their pjs and put them to bed.  Then I put in a load of clothes to wash and got in the shower.  

At this point, I should probably tell you that I am nearly blind without my glasses.

I adjusted the water, got in the shower (as I said) and pulled the shower curtain closed.  

It took about half a minute or so, I guess for the wolf spider who had taken up residence in our shower curtain to jump on my leg and climb up my back.

You can guess the rest.  

Okay.  I'll tell you.  -sigh-  

I started jumping and hollering and somehow knocked that spider off my back and ran buck naked and screaming into the hallway.  Dripping water everywhere.  

The noise I made could have easily raised the dead.  Seriously.  My exhaustion vanished in an instant.  When I regained enough whits about myself to be able to use words again, I started screaming for my then husband to come kill that spider!

He made fun of me, of course, and told me to stop scaring the children. 

He laughed when I told him how big the spider was, and said, "Okay.  I'll go kill the little spider for you."  I said, "Okay, don't believe me.  You go see for yourself." 

He came out of that bathroom pale-faced and visibly shaken, and said, "And just how am I supposed to kill that thing?" 

I couldn't tell him, and I still don't know how he did it, but we both agreed that was the biggest spider we had ever seen, and I felt myself fortunate that it did not bite me. 

He told the tale of that spider at his workplace and nobody much believed him either, but I promise you it is true.  If you laid that spider on a mason jar, it's legs would have overlapped the circle all the way around.

-shudder-

I may have to sleep with the light on tonight remembering it!  😩  I still marvel (and am very very thankful) that the spider stayed in the shower curtain while I bathed my sons!  What a nightmare!

I know these things do NOT happen to everyone.  -sigh-

My life has been one adventure after another.  I'll tell you more by and by.