Rebecca H. Cooper's Blog, page 6

The Camp Out

In the hot summer of 1964, my father and my uncle found a spot on the riverbank of the Duck inBedford County and declared the first family reunion. It wasn't even for their side of the family - theywere the in-laws. Most of us kids were in high school or younger and this was a great adventure. Wepitched tents. When someone found an old Martha Washington wood stove abandoned in the woods,dragged it up, and tied it to a tree, my grandmother made her grandmother biscuits. We cooked thosethings in that old stove as if the bakery had just opened, and still laugh about those mouth-wateringmorsels all these years later. We even laugh about the mud the next day because, of course, it rained.And, all these years later, we just had our 52nd Lindsey family reunion. Because we started out in tents,our reunion got named "The Camp Out" even though we now "camp out" in a big lodge and air-conditioned cabins along the Tennessee River. Camp out lore goes beyond biscuits. We’ve had themesof "Survivor," Hawaii, carnival, and the 60’s. We’ve had rollicking games of Trivial Pursuit and all nightRook tournaments. We had a talent show one year with five of the elders doing a rap song that broughtthe house down. There are memories of cousins headfirst in a bucket of ice and canoe flips in the river.Many of the cousins who are parents today grew up on scary camp out ghost stories told by flashlight.There were foods that we looked forward to every year because we could count on each aunt to bringher specialty - pecan tarts, little chocolate pies, stack cakes, banana pudding in a dishpan, and more,lined up down two long tables. The cooking may not be quite as good, but we still try to copy those oldrecipes today.Although the photo from 1983 remains intact, sometimes we put visiting boy orgirlfriends on the end – in case we had to chop them out before the next year. You’d be surprised, ormaybe you wouldn’t, how often that happened!2017 will be our 53rd gathering. All our aunts are gone now, uncles too, everybody's parents, and oursweet grandmother. Some of us have already lost our spouse. But the rest of us represent, as mygeneration has become the current one standing. We keep the tradition alive as we gradually start thehand off to our kids.The founding fathers would be pleased. They knew the importance of family.And in the uncertain, and often, heartbreaking world we live in today, we know it too. It is reassuring tohave family you can count on, folks who will show up every year just because they love you.If you donot have a way to connect with the people you love, I suggest you start one. Any 'ole riverbank will do.

In the moment

Reminders - sticky notes, to do lists, whatever - have always been a staple. Charles once looked at me with concern asking why my keys were in the refrigerator. Hello, I had food I didn't want to forget to take to work!Before he died, I probably had to be reminded a little too often to enjoy the moment.  No more.A dear friend and I are at the beach this week with two teenagers and we savor the sand and the sass. She and I seem to hit the funny button every night around bedtime and giggle ourselves to sleep. Upon arrival, the girls immediately claim the master bedroom side. In a few minutes, a message pops up on my phone summoning me to come over which means walk across the living room. I find them in the jacuzzi, running wide open, in their swimsuits. Phones in hand of course. I'm howling, but also glad I'm not responsible for replacements!As the week progresses, they steal our beach towels, our shampoo, and our soap. We have way too much fun over a running toilet. Our grocery cart mysteriously acquires ranch chips, pop tarts, and pizza rolls. There are swimsuit changes every hour. They roll their eyes, but still graciously pose for pics, explaining to my friend when I reach for the camera that they're "used to it."  There are yes ma'am's and no ma'am's and we want you to go to the water park with us please ma'am's. We are promised a lazy river.The week isn't over yet and I don't want to miss a thing.

"Not my truck"

Moving is such a hullabaloo. Thinking of moving your stuff from point A to point B makes your stomachhurt. You just really want to get it there without too many of the other three M’s - meltdowns, majormishaps, or murder.Charles and I had our share of moves, but the worst was a return to the Nashville area. It was acorporate move so I (foolishly) felt safe leaving the movers at point A toward the end of the packingbecause I really needed to get back to middle Tennessee before they would be ready to leave. I’ll justgo ahead and give you the end now because, like Star Wars, that paves the way for the earlier story.Once all our stuff was delivered and just about unloaded, I began to realize that quite a bit was missing.I inquired of the driver. He explained that, sadly, there just wasn’t enough room on the truck for therest of the stuff, but he was sure I could take a small truck back there myself (almost 400 miles roundtrip) and retrieve it. I was sure if that had to happen, it would be accompanied by one of the three M’s.But before this, my mother, who had come into town to help, and I were waiting at point B. Charlesalways managed to be elsewhere when major moving occurred. (Do all husbands do that? Actually,that’s not pertinent to the story; just feels good to share.) Mama and I waited for the truck to comedown the street. Finally, finally, she could see it in the distance and I ran outside to flag him in. Hedrove right past me, slowed at the next block, laboriously turned the big truck around, came back up,and pulled straight into our driveway.I greeted him with apology, telling him I was so sorry I couldn’t make him see me quickly enough toavoid all that turning around. This was his response. “Oh, I saw you, but the unloading door is on theright side of the truck and I had to pull into the driveway from the other direction so that side would betoward your house.” He smiled pleasantly.I stood there a second, my brain muddling through what he just said, and finally replied. “Wait aminute. You pulled into my driveway cab forward. It doesn’t make any difference which directionyou’re coming from. The right side of your truck is still going to be facing my house.” My mover stoodthere a second, then shrugged, and said, “Well, it’s not my truck.”It’s hard to argue with that line. It has served me well over the years.

Grand moments

I said, let's all rest a bit. And they did.Sweet moments. Because God had created grands and dogs and cats. (Can you see the cat?)It was good.

Put on your walking shoes

Charles and I once lived in a neighborhood that wasn't too far from the developing Cool Springs area. This mall property is huge now, but back then the sprawl was in its infancy, with little more than a few gas stations selling soft drinks and snacks. But Moore’s Lane itself was busy becoming a busy connector road. We drove that road almost daily and often passed a tall, lanky, older gentleman walking on the side. That alone was dicey because the two lane was narrow and the shoulder was worse.

Divide, conquer, vacuum

Every relationship shares certain responsibilities, but there are also divisions of labor. I’m always fascinated by how couples divvy up jobs. Charles was hands down our technical guru. I wouldn’t even attempt to make tv’s, computers, or new inventions like iPods (hard to believe now, but pretty new before he died) work. I could just point and go "unnhhhh" and he’d make my technological wish come true. He also handled the yard, the cars, and mechanical house stuff. Charles was a good shopper and

K.I.S.S. (Keep it simple speeder)

Years ago, just as I crested a hill on Highway 96 in Williamson County, I realized I was meeting one of Franklin’s finest. When I saw his brake lights in the rear view, it seemed wise to just pull over and wait. Blue lights showed up quickly and parked behind me. The officer eventually walked up to my car and very politely started the drill, first asking if I knew I was speeding. “Oh, yes sir,” I reassured him with my brightest smile. “But I had just passed a truck pulling a trailer and it took

Living fearlessly

One thing about Charles was his fearlessness. I'm sorta’ careful. He sorta’ wasn't. I liked that. If you’ve read my CATastrophe blog (here at www.heygodyescharles.com or on my FB author page), you know how his fearlessness translated into more concern for an injured cat in the middle of a busy two lane road than worrying about the danger of positioning your car sideways in that road until you can pull off a rescue. It could also go deeper. Once we did not recognize our somewhat reckless daylight

The Letter

Dear Daddy,After your death, lots of family and friends offered to help me sort through the 30 years of stuff that you and Mama accumulated in your final and favorite house. It was in fact a huge task, but the truth was I was the only one who could decide what to toss and what to keep. And to do that, I had to look at every single thing including every single piece of paper in every drawer, every closet, and every box in every corner of the house, the attic, and the barn. But I’m so glad I did

A map for grief

Map – “a symbolic depiction highlighting relationships between elements….”Permission – “from the verb permittere “allow”In the past week we have witnessed public acts of rage and terrorism resulting in loss of life and countless injuries. Our hearts go out to these families and of course to many others who suffered their losses more privately. The back stories in loss - public or private - yesterday, today, or tomorrow – are told by those left behind - the families and friends who must begin