A Man's Home is His Castle, No Matter the Season



The earth is now covered with the colorful remains of Autumn's glory. And tiny birds, feathers ruffled by frigid, early winter winds, have packed their bags and headed for sunny islands beyond the coast of Florida.



Autumn leaves have fallen,
carpeting the grass with their glory.

Bill and I, along with our two little pups, are bundled up properly here in North Carolina. We're ready for the winter which has unofficially begun. The temperature at our house has been hovering under 35 degrees for three days now, and from the parking lot down the street, I can see snow on the mountain tops. Fortunately, we like the change of the seasons.

And meanwhile, like the changing seasons of the earth, the life my husband and I share is entering into a new season. A change that is overdue. We've found an apartment in Charlotte, just down the street from Bill's work; all bottom level, with a large kitchen, a nice master bedroom, a studio for moi, as well as a place for the doggies to lay in the sun. This will be our work-week abode, and we'll head home to Hickory for the weekends. Because Bill and I aren't yet ready to let go of our house of 22 years, with its memories, tradition, kid-friendly creek, and picket fenced garden of old roses and herbs. 

Castles are everwhere I look in Charlotte!
This one was across the street from the hotel we stayed in
when we went to a Panther's game a few weeks ago.



We've resisted any move to Charlotte for 20 years now, because of our large family. Housing for a family of ten is a costly persuit in Charlotte as compared to Hickory. As a result, Bill has driven back and forth for a total of 156 work weeks, 40 hours each. Yep, that's the equivalent of three years of driving with 40 hour weeks. (This is how Bill thinks!) Let's see on my little calculator here...that's 40 hours x 52 weeks x 3.  Have I figured that right? I can't look.

Now we're going to have two extra hours to spend together every single day. Let's see...that's 2 x 5 x 52 = 520 more hours in one year, or 13 work weeks more time togehter just in the first year alone! Something like that, anyway. Wow! 

Like life, the tides come and go,

one over another, never ceasing.



As they say, my friend, this is life; it's ebb and flow like waves in the ocean's surf. One wave recedes and another begins over the first. Then another and another and another.

We don't know how this new adventure is going to go, but we're looking forward to it. And we're taking it on together. As we promised we would do many years ago, in a little church in my home town.


It brings these three words to mind: God is good.

Write of Hand: Be True To Yourself

I remember the ads well.

I should. I filled them out every time I saw them, and pretended I was sending them in.

I would write the strange sentences, which twisted my little gray brain around the specified ball point pen at least twice, and I then signed my name with a flourish. I would fold it up and put it in my pocket, wishing I had ten dollars to send it off to the old guy with the ad in back of Parade Magazine. The Graphologist. The handwriting expert.

In the ad, one older man had written a testimonial for the expert. He said, "At last, I can tell my family that I am not who they say I am, but I am who I've always known myself to be; a good man. A sane man. A man of character and wisdom. A man whose pure heart is filled with goodness, and whose skull is brimful and flowing over with shiny thoughts and lovely dreams." That wasn't really what it said, but it was similar. I would have liked to hear those good things, had I sent my handwriting in. However, what I was afraid of hearing was this: "Here is your official certification. You are nuts. Absolutely."

Now fly over my crazy life to today. (Don't look down; it's sort of scary where you are right about now. Woops! How'd that get in there?)

For quite a while,  I've been following a graphologist named Bart Baggett online, checking in on his website http://www.handwritinguniversity.com/, and receiving weekly newsletters and videos about the curious subject of handwriting analysis. One day recently, I saw that I could sign up for Bart's exciting "Handwriting Analysis 101" course for a really great price, and also finally get a genuine, bonified handwriting analysis via telephone, from a real live professional. I didn't waste a minute. It was my birthday present to myself.

I got my materials from the university which included some videos and cd's, a starter book, access to lots of online "members only" information, and the prize I'd been longing for, the coveted Grapho-Deck, a deck of cards with handwriting traits on them for quick reference.

I sent in lots of handwriting samples and made my phone appointment for the analysis. Then I studied and waited.

I just got my analysis yesterday. From Bart Baggett, himself. Yep. After waiting for so many years, I got my handwriting analysis from the real expert, teacher and my handwriting hero, Bart Baggett. It was indeed a thrill for me. Now you want to know what the verdict is, don't you? (Especially after the little incident you saw while flying over my life...)

Well, the verdict was pretty good. First and foremost, though I am a moody sort, I am not crazy. I repeat. NOT crazy. (Okay. Just between you and me, a wee little bit "dramatic".) Next, I am a communicator, a lover of words. Also, I'm a nice person. Me and that old guy who wrote into the other old guy so many years ago.

Of course, Bart had more to say to me than just those things, but handwriting analysis is a personal thing, and aside from my husband and my very best friends, big sis, little sis's, and Molly, I'm going to keep it to myself.

I have a couple of bad habits that didn't show up in my handwriting. They're secrets, but since you just flew over my life, I might as well tell you about them:
One, I have unkind conversations with myself. I say things to poor Deber that I would never say to others. They aren't true, but I do it anyway. (Actually, I don't now. I quit yesterday, after talking to Bart.)
Two, I tend to believe what others think of me, or what I think they think of me. Even if I know better, I ponder over it. "It must be true. Otherwise, why would anyone think such things?"

Well, to be quite frank, little Sugar Cube, my dear old Mama taught me this: Some folks believe things that are not true. They think such things because people have to fill their brains up with something. If there's no information to put in there because they don't know you very well, they just might make something up to suit themselves. After all, no one likes an empty head bouncing around on top of their neck. Otherwise, everything is lose up there, and rattles and squeeks as they walk.

This is what I want you to remember, cutie-pie. Don't underestimate yourself or be afraid of the secrets that may be hidden in your script and in that wrinkled little thing called Brain. Everything may not be perfect in there, but you probably know yourself better than you think you do. People who don't know you may underestimate you and put you in a box that doesn't fit.

Don't let what others think of you, or what you perceive others think of you, define you. Don't let yourself be dragged into the trap of being less than you were created to be. You know who you are. You know in your heart that you are capable of wonderful things. Believe in yourself. Be nice to yourself. Be true to yourself and to others.

Then be the best that you can be. Doesn't matter where you are. Doesn't matter what limitations are in your world. Doesn't matter if you're just starting out or winding down after a long, hard race.

It will show when you write your name. You will know it in your heart.

Love,
Deber

Just Some Quick Pics

This pretty girl lives in Blowing Rock, with two or three sisters. I took about 20 pictures of her and her sisters, but I don't think you'd be interested in seeing all of those pics.

Rose hips on one of my Unidentified $3.00 Roses. I do love rose hips. The pink flowers were lovely, albeit only mildly scented.

PUMPKINS! Need I say more?

This is another one of my Notso Famous $3.00 Roses. This one is a Rugosa, and has bloomed in these clusters throughout the summer.

This is the prettiest donkey I've ever seen. Mule...donkey...whatever. I wish she lived in my back yard.

Bullet got a good Clean'N'Polish for my birthday. Just like new!

Mountains in the soft fall mist.

That's all for now. I love fall. You love fall. When you go out, don't miss anything. Don't forget to stop and smell the beautiful fall air.

Ah, September...You're Back!

(I just printed this article, (my annual celebratory contribution in support of autumn) on my http://cottageonthenew.com post, and thought my fellow September loving friends would enjoy it here, as well. Hope you do...)


All the world over, it's month number nine, September (which actually means seven, right?). Numerical placement aside, "September" is different in different places:

For instance, in Down Under Land, Australia, where they have lots of ancient rivers (see "An Ancient River Called the New", upper right on the cottage blog) it has been winter all summer, so September means that spring is springing for at least some of those friendly folks below the equator. And in India where it's still Monsoon Season, it's September, too. In Russia where they have frozen Siberia, its...you guessed it. September. (Yes, that's the best I could do. I know very little about Russia.) Last but not least, in South America and Africa, which both straddle the equator, it is also September, but with winter on one end and summer on the other.

Very interesting.

It's even September in Central Florida, where I was born and raised. And though my friend Molly tells me that "it's sort of cool here, too," I know that's not exactly true...at least not by my standards. I'm not calling my girlfriend a liar, mind you, because Molly never lies. (She doesn't. She is honest as the day is long!) But her idea of cool is "under 90 degrees". Dear sweet Molly, that's...*writer shakes her head sympathetically, "tisk, tisk, tisk"*...that's not cool.

Yep. September is not the same everywhere as it is in the Blue Ridge, where cool, crisp breezes whisper fall to you with the scent of ripened apples on their breath and the crunch of colorful leaves under your feet...

Obviously, I love the fall! Just the thought of it lifts my spirits and makes my heart beat faster. Just this morning, my son who lives in Boone, called and told me that he can "already smell fall in the air". He said that its cool, and that some of the leaves are even starting to change. So its officially unofficial.

Well, that does it. My sweet husband and I are driving up there tomorrow. We're gonna smell the air and pick up a couple of pretty red dogwood leaves off the ground below the trees. Maybe we'll mozy over to Todd General Store for one of their famous hamburgers. We've never had one before. I think a beautiful early, albeit unofficial, fall day is the perfect day for a hamburger aficionado, such as myself, to have her first ever "world's best burger" (according to the mountain bikers, who know their hamburgers...) in a little General Store along the old New River.

So maybe you're one of those folks who is saying, "It's just September 3rd, so it is still officially summer right now." I hear you; you tell me that every year. And I do not care...'cos I tell you. In North Carolina's mountains when that first sweet, cool breeze washes its breath across my face and catches my hair in gentle fingers, it whispers, "It's me again, your old friend, Autumn".

Welcome back, old friend.

Microfiction Monday Ketchup

My knight did come, and he swept me off my feet.
Alas, no horse, no armor...
corny jokes.
Small sacrifices for such a kind and comely king.

Susan from stonyriver.ie had the photo for this one. I'm still confused about who originates this Microfiction Monday. I pasted the picture from Sylvia Morice's website. If you know, please post it in the comments below.
Whatever, it's delightful! Thankyou.

Microfiction Ketchup...The Ever Popular House Vs Home Concept

My mother always said, "Love makes a house a home."
I think she'd agree, walls and a nice sturdy roof would add charm as well as security.

This is the second catch-up in my missed Microfiction Mondays.

Happy Belated Monday to You!

It is Monday, Isn't It? As a matter of fact, I do believe it is Microfiction Monday. I decided to catch up this morning on one of the pictures I had missed.

Hello, Mom, she said to me.
It was the silence which followed that told me what she really
wanted to say...I miss you, too, Sweet Girl.

My First, Personal Version of Microfiction Monday!

Stinky pillow, said I,

and put the cover in to wash.

Lovely scent, said he,

and dug a spot to lie.

O' dog of guilty bliss,

'tis life.

I found "Microfiction Monday" on Twitter today, and thought I'd give it a try. You write a micro-story in 140 characters or less. What a great, fun challenge! I realized after using this photo for my inspiration that the original writer meant for participants to use their photograph. So then I added the following one to go with the picture I found on this website (which wouldn't paste here):

It took years before she realized that the children in her dreams were her children yet unborn. From Milkyway to Earth, they came 1 by 1.

For more information and links to other writer's microfictions, go to
http://wp.me/pDORj-VD
Or maybe this one:
http://petzoldspracticalprose.blogspot.com/  Monkey Man

Beyond Copperheads!

After a rough few weeks, the worst is over. Nate is almost completely recovered. He just has one bandage left over the bite finger. It's still black, and the nail looks kind of strange, but it's definitely healing.

His snake, Sassy, disappeared a while back, escaping in the house...
She obviously found the tiny hole in Nate's closet and managed to escape through there.

But last week Nate was visiting a friend's house, and they discovered...(surprise!)...another snake. Non-venomous, of course. As a matter of fact, this new snake is a rat snake like Sassy, but bigger. Nate thinks she may be another girl, because she doesn't seem to have those little hooks male snakes have for mating. She hasn't got a name yet, so for the sake of simplicity, we'll just call her "Sassy, Jr.".

Sassy Junior now resides in the large tank on Nate's bottom shelf. She likes to curl up under the bark hiding place. Nate picks her up in a clump and she slowly unwinds, crawling around in his hands.

Sassy Junior looked so docile, I wanted to pet her. Reaching forward, I lightly touched the back of her neck (do snakes have necks?) just below her head. Suddenly she flipped up and reared back, biting my finger. She didn't hurt me. No fangs. She does have tiny teeth, but I think she was just frightened and warning me. But poor little Nate's reaction surprised me a little bit, though it shouldn't have. He was really shook up by the brief encounter. His breathing quickened and his skin got pale. He was maybe even trembling a bit. He put her away immediately, saying over and over, "You okay, Nonnie? I can't believe she did that. You sure you're okay?"

I'm glad this experience hasn't dampened Nate's love for reptiles, because that is a healthy, normal boy thing. But I'm also glad that he has gained a healthy respect for the power behind a snake's bite. Since he was bitten over a month ago, several small Copperheads have been found and killed in their neighborhood. His mom, dad and sister have been keeping a close watch on him, and are obviously still a bit afraid to let him out of their site.

Nate and his sister, Mickie, were at my house the other day, and had five minutes to change their clothes and head for home. Their mom wondered what was taking Nate so long, and went to hunt for him. She finally discovered him in the front yard, catching the frogs in the pond, and making an official count of the froggie population explosion that has occurred this summer in the two tiny fish ponds. He was a little miffed at his mom as they left. She had disturbed him just as he was about to catch one of the little ones. That's not so bad, though. As you can see, he has one small toad, already.

Ah, boys! One of the mysteries of the universe.

See you next time,

deber

(and until then, be well, be wise, be curious and kind, and maybe just a little wacky.)

Nate and the Copperhead

I know. Nate looks like he's enjoying all this attention. But at the time of this photo, he was drugged for pain, and thoroughly enthralled by the many snake and reptile tales of the 15 visitors in his hospital room.

Everyone has a snake story. Everyone. It may actually be their neighbor's best friend's sister-in-law's boyfriend's little brother's story, but it is also their own. Being a Florida native with one big brother, and several sons and grandsons like Nate, I have more than my share of snake stories. Here's the latest:

If you read my blog or follow me on Twitter, you are aware that my eleven year old grandson, Nate, has been pictured in here more than once. That's because he likes to hang out at his grandmother's house. We have a creek and a pasture, two small fish ponds and a place for swimming. A Man Yard, you might call it.

Nate, like so many boys, is a snake hunter.

He loves them. (No, my friend. Love is not too strong a word...) Personally, I don't understand love for an legless slithering animal with a tiny, smooth brain that contains nothing more than instinct, and with no arms to hold you, therefore no way to show affection; not to mention, with jaws that come unhinged to enable them to swallow small innocent creatures. I simply know that Snake and Reptile Love is a "boy thing".

As you can see, Nate is going to be all right, but his finger is black where he was bitten on the tip, and his hand is swolen.

I, on the other hand, am a worrier. It's what mothers do. It's in the job description, right at the top of the page. Strangely, considering that fact, my husband and I and our large family have lived on this Horseford Creek for 20 years, and on two other creeks and  a lake before that. Creeks are wonderful environments for children to explore, but also great habitats for snakes and other biting critters to live and thrive. This makes them a hazard for ambitious snake hunting boys and their mothers and grandmothers.

As the instincts of motherhood would have it, I have always counted the miles to the hospital when purchasing a home on water. The closer the better. This house is 1.05 miles to the nearest hospital. Excellent. However, I am always a bit worried when kids are playing in my yard. I do a lot of praying.

However, this snake bite happened to Nate on his own neighborhood street in front of his own yard while both of his parents were home. His story is that he reached down to pick up a racket in the road, and wham! Copperhead tooth in the tip of left forefinger. Ouch. (According to his dad, Nate can spot a 7" snake in tall grass from over a hill 100 yards away, but he didn't see this one beside the racket.)

A quick call to 911 brought at least 8 volunteer rescue workers immediately. According to my granddaughter, they were a great help and comfort, God bless them! Then the ambulance arrived. They live about 12 minutes from the hospital, but got there in plenty of time to get Nate to the help he required.

The snake turned out to be a small 18" Copperhead who could only manage to get one little tiny fang into Nate's left forefinger. Contrary to what you might think, smaller snakes often carry a bigger whallop when it comes to snake bites. As a result, Nate has so far received 6 vials of anti-venom over a two day period. Hopefully, that may be all he needs. The doctor may let him go home tonight, but wants to see him a few more times before doing so.

I'm way too tired to dazzle you with brilliant writing after a weekend like this. It's been rough, but especially for Nate's parents; and especially for his darling mother, my oldest child. She is handling things bravely, wisely, and lovingly. What a mama she is, and I am proud of her.

Thank God Nate is okay.

Let me say that again. THANK GOD that Nate is okay, and recovering quickly. Thank God for the rescue workers, doctors, anti-venom, and the wonderful hospital staff who are taking such good care of him.

God is good. Hallelujah!