Sharman Burson Ramsey's Blog, page 37

Roots

The drive to Furman, Alabama, always fills me with melancholy. My father was born there and we returned there with him frequently. With the death of our parents, came the division of their property. We drove to Furman to discuss the management of the property I inherited. 
Palmer Barlow Bristow HouseMy parents have joined the host of other descendants of my 3rd Great Grandfather and Grandmother, Stephen and Juliet Hartwell Palmer in Palmer Cemetery, They married in Virginia in 1820 and in 1829 they buried their daughter, Juliet, in the garden that became the family cemetery. They had left all they had known to move to the rich lands newly taken from the Creek Indians that those returning from the Creek War and the War of 1812 reported seeing.
  WakefieldI ride past what we called "The Big House" and recall sitting on that front porch on the bentwood settee drinking ice-filled Coca Colas after a feast in the damask curtained dining room around the mahogany table set with my grandmother's gold rimmed Limoges china and etched crystal glasses. It was only years later that I realized the house was the dream of the young doctor, my grandfather, who had raised his family in the modest house across the county road. They live again in my memory as I imagine Nanny and Papa laughing and talking, so proud of the son that soon would get his family back into the car to head back down the road past the Palmer Cemetery to Pine Apple and then to Greenville and back home to Dothan, Alabama.

Dr. Elkanah George Burson, Sr.We pass the cross roads and into the ghost town that was once a bustling town with six doctors. I remember my grandfather standing in his office with the rows of medicine behind him that he had to mix up for his patients. The forester with whom we spoke said his father used to laugh about watching Dr. Burson pour Kool Aid into his bottles of medicine. "A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down," I said, also laughing and imagining. 
The images of people on the wooden sidewalk  and the old men sitting on the white wooden bench in front of his office, my trip across the street with coins in my hand for the candy I would buy in the general store across the street, my father reminiscing about sitting in a tent watching  pictures move upon the wall of the general store while someone played a piano to accompany the pictures flash through my mind. None of those buildings remain. Nature has reclaimed the land.
Now it is my turn to be the one making memories for the grandchild sitting in the backseat of our car. I look at that precious little girl and wonder what she will remember of what I tell her. I try to draw those images for her with words that are inadequate for the love that I knew in my grandmother's embrace, the pride I felt for the grandfather in that office, the security I knew with my small hand grasped by my tall, handsome father as he led me across the street to that general store telling me about the movie he had seen, the utter contentment I knew held in my mother's arms as we took that ride back home.
She'll remember this forever, the forester said looking back at her as she rode in the bed of the utility vehicle with a big smile on her face as we maneuvered the rugged roads to assess the land and timber. I realize this trip is about more than land and trees, it has become a pilgrimage to the past for the passing of memories to the ones who will come when we are gone.

Making a Difference

"You got me interested in history and in writing at Houston Academy, so I took lots of writing classes and history classes at UCSD and National University. As a result, I learned to enjoy reading. Great teachers are so important to kids, because they have a tremendous influence on who we become as adults."
"I'm extremely proud of my 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Sharman Burson Ramsey, who has written a book that will be available for purchase later this year. One of the first books that I read in her class was W. Somerset Maugham's "Of HumanBondage." She allowed me to be inquisitive, and she exposed me to a world outside of Henry County, Alabama. Thanks, Mrs. Ramsey, for pushing me beyond what I could see. I look forward to reading your bestseller!""She was amazing! I found an invitation just the other day to a tea she gave the 8th grade girls at her home. She really did teach "outside the box".It is accolades like this that have popped up onto my Facebook Page that have made me realize that I could not be prouder of any book that I have written than I am of these students. It is the dream of a teacher to make a difference in the life of a child. Teaching is a calling, an honorable profession the definition of which is most skillfully articulated by the Australian Council of Professions:

'A disciplined group of individuals who adhere to high ethical standards and uphold themselves to, and are accepted by, the public as possessing special knowledge and skills in a widely recognised, organised body of learning derived from education and training at a high level, and who are prepared to exercise this knowledge and these skills in the interest of others. 
Inherent in this definition is the concept that the responsibility for the welfare, health and safety of the community shall take precedence over other considerations.' 

In other words, those in a profession are motivated by their responsibility for the welfare, health and safety of the community over money. It is a calling. The measure of the teacher, preacher, doctor is not in the amount of money they make but in the difference they make in the lives they touch.
Cassandra King and Janis Owens have honored me with words of praise for my novels. I hope the novels are successful. But, the words of these students are my Nobel Prize.

Knock Knock and Quick Books

Let me see, have there been any deep thoughts today? Janis Owens admitted that she came up blank on Facebook. I suggested Knock, Knock jokes that would make us look cool with our granddaughters, both named Lily. Hers is Lily Pickle and mine is Lily Butterworth. Unfortunately, I do not KNOW any Knock, Knock jokes. But, with names like that we should have a best selling children's series, I would think.
I went to a website with Knock Knock jokes and found this one. I think it's my favorite Knock Knock!Who’s there?Butch!Butch who?Butch your little arms around me!Update as to the Business of writing:We bought a new computer on which to install Quick Books. I chose Quick Books because1. It will create invoices2. It will create receipts3. It can figure taxes for different districts Jan Owens on the website Winepress on Words http://www.winepressofwords.com/2011/... writes:"Most states require that you only collect sales tax when the book sale is within your state. You are not required to collect sales tax if you sell books at a conference or speaking engagement in another state. You still must keep track of your sales and report them, but you will receive an exemption from the sales tax."

I talked today with a delightful independent bookstore ow...

I talked today with a delightful independent bookstore owner in Sarasota, Florida. Elsie is the events manager and though she is from the North, using Anne of Green Gables term, she is a "kindred spirit." What wonderful surprise it is when you stumble upon folks like that! The world may seem to be filled with strangers, but I discover more and more that the world is filled with friends I just haven't met yet. 
So, why am I interested in Independent Bookstores? I think the owner of Bookstore 1 (http://www.bookstore1sarasota.com/Hom...), Georgia Court, said it best when she wrote about why she opened Bookstore 1 when Sarasota's last independent bookstore closed:
"When Sarasota News & Books closed I mourned its passing and knew there was a big, empty crack where literature should have been shining through (my apologies to Leonard Cohen for messing up his lyric).  I complained about it to anyone who would listen. Then, after a couple of months, I realized if it meant so much to me, I should do something about it. 
Fortunately, circumstances aligned to allow me to quickly create a new bookstore on Main Street. A wonderful storefront happened to be available at 1359 Main. David Chaplin, who had been the soul of Sarasota News & Books, agreed to come on as manager. And he pulled together a fabulous team to get the bookstore up and running."
I know many  of my Dothan, Alabama, friends feel the same way about the Book and Art Shop where we all used to buy our school supplies. It was such a warm, welcoming place, a place I always felt at home because it was where all of my friends were -- books. 

In addition to that, independent bookstores are the most receptive to welcoming writers. 
Hopefully, I will one day get to visit with Elsie at Bookstore I. Sarasota is a place I am looking forward to visiting. I hope I can find someone who knows about the history of Angola. I'm going to be visiting there in a future book in the Serpents Series. 



     So.....why open a bookstore now? Because we couldn't wait for later. We need real books and real authors in our town as sure as we need sunshine and afternoon rain.
With sincerity and with thanks to our wonderful patrons,Georgia CourtOwner, Bookstore1Sarasota

The strange chemistry of sisterhood

Today was my sister's birthday. I must share with you a picture from what I think was her eighth birthday and remains my favorite of all of her birthday parties. I am the big sister you see. Those were the cutest little girls! Giggling and strutting about in their toilet paper filled bras imagining what it would feel like to have the real thing. Some sat with great poise and dignity while others sat like an old granny at a bus stop.
They are now all grown up. The picture is about 50 (48 my sister would insist on sparing her those other two years) years old. That little girl with her pinkie lifted in the middle beside the precious little boy whose feet do not even touch the floor (my brother) is my sister, the highly regarded cardiologist.
We grow old, we grow apart, but whatever happens there is still a special bond there. Two sisters giggling under the covers, touching somewhere during the night for comfort. Laden with heavy covers while the window airconditioner blows so hard and keeps the room so cold the door sweats. Laughter. Tears. Harsh words. The shared memories of our parents no longer with us. Even when in Southern Gothic manner the fabric of the relationship frays, a hand reaches back and another automatically grasps it and once again the strange chemistry of sisterhood brings us home. To each other.

Society Fraying and Addressing an Elder

I got an email yesterday with a question relating to Manners and Etiquette. I have gotten several of these since I added the Southern Manners and Etiquette page to my website (http://www.southern-style.com/manners...). I will share it with you and include my response. I would be interested in knowing if you agree with my response or if you have a different perspective.
 The gentleman wrote: 
I write a weekly column for www.UptownMessenger.com and next week I'll publish regarding an exchange I had last night and was hoping to get your opinion.
My wife and I raise our four daughters in New Orleans, and we were seating ourselves on the sidewalk tables of a restaurant yesterday when a woman about 20 years my senior (I'm 38) passed us and said hello, and I offered up a hello in return, however I offended her.  Here's how.  Let's say her name is Jane Doe.  Well, I said, "Hello, Ms. Doe."  She stopped and protested albeit playfully.  Then I offered "Hello, Ms. Jane?"  Which she still stood dumbfounded.  So hastily and finally I said "Hey Jane!"  To which she seemed ok with but - - - Jane is a peer in the real estate world, but she is also old enough to be my mother.  I also want to set a respectful example to my daughters.
So who's right?  My original actions?  Or was she right to be offended?
 My response:
She was not right to be offended. Your address to her was your example to your daughters as to how they should address her. Making you feel uncomfortable in an innocent exchange in front of your daughters was improper on her part. It is credited to Jonathan Swift to have said, "Good manners is the art of making those people easy with whom we converse. Whoever makes the fewest people uneasy is the best bred in the room." 
She could have smiled and said, "Call me Jane, dear." Still, your daughters, being well-bred southern girls would know to call her Mrs. Doe unless there is a close relationship there and they have been given permission by their parents to address her as "Ms. Jane." Simply being a professional peer would not warrant that address. (My opinion -- Sharman Ramsey)
This exchange started me thinking about why this  advice seemed to me to be correct. I have been concerned about the fraying of civility and courtesy in our society for quite awhile. Does blue jeans Friday show respect to clients who come into a professional office? My mother felt that the nursing profession lost respect when they began dressing like the lab techs and nurses aids. I went to see my granddaughter perform at an elementary school and my husband and I were startled to find teachers and students wearing pajamas. Speech and dress are both part of our outward demeanor -- how we present ourselves to the world. Dressing appropriately for the situation is the mark of a professional.
So, back to where the fabric begins to fray. Perhaps it does begin with simple address. The formal address indicates respect for a younger person for an older person. The problem is that in our society, no one wants to admit to being older. It's quite obvious, you know. We walk slower, have more aches and pains, have to dye our hair and bleach our teeth and age spots. But, let me let you in on a little secret. We still look older. 
Perhaps it is time to recall words like dignified, striking, charming, honorable, and good to be our goal rather than sexy which has now become the goal for everything from cars, to pole dancers, to little girls dressing up for pageants. We have lost our way in this world with what is important. I am delighted that this young father is aware of how his words and behavior model the words and behavior of his daughters. 
I think it is a good thing that his daughters learn to respect their elders.  I applaud this father's efforts.

Love, War and Redemption

I got inspired yesterday after having been directed to websites like Goodreads and Book and Author. All of those websites have book groups who apparently seek out Reading Guides for their discussions. So, I decided mine might benefit from having one as well. The process of developing the Reading guide gave me a fresh perspective on my novel.
Swimming with Serpents is layered like an onion. On the first level, it is historical fiction, set against an historical backdrop and involving real life historical figures. But, it is also the love story of Cade Kincaid and Lyssa Rendel.  I always knew my purpose in writing the novel was greater than telling another love story, though on the most superficial level that is exactly what it is. I am a firm believer that love is a basic need that drives every individual. Everyone's life is their own unique and individual love story. It may be a story of happy fulfillment, constant striving, or tragic loss. The love story in Swimming with Serpents propels the novel, but peel back that layer and you land in a war.
Swimming with Serpents gives a fresh look at War in general and specifically through the Creek Indian War. We go back 200 years and see it from the perspective of those who lived through it. Some of you may remember the We Were There series of books that came out in the late fifties. My mother bought every one and I read every one. That was the beginning of my love of historical fiction. I am well aware that people who would never read non-fiction learn their history through historical fiction. 
To the victor belongs the spoils -- and the story. The Native American perspective has been lost in time. The names of those who fought are hard to find. In the past few years I discovered genealogy through which I found my own Native American heritage. Perhaps it was hushed up because back then it was considered shameful and having Native American blood had the consequence of having one sent from the place of their birth to a land foreign and far away. To protect themselves, the stories of those people did not get told. I am trying to remedy that discrepancy and in the process look at war through the eyes of those who lived it. 
I hope the novel is a good read, fast paced and exciting. I hope my characters grab your hearts and make you want to read further. But, in the process, I also hope that we might see how religion and the economy can become contributing factors to war. I hope we can see how the disruption of the social structure of a society, family and interpersonal  relationships can erupt into violence. I hope we can learn to see how vulnerable one can be to those driven by greed and avarice and how laws can be manipulated to advantage the powerful. 
In the process we might question how do the powerful manage to convince others to march to the beat of their drummer? "Remember Fort Mims" brought out an army that followed Andrew Jackson despite near starvation. But why? And might this question, seeking the answer to the why, have significance in today's world?
Upon further reflection on this novel I think I really should have titled it Swimming with Serpents: Love, War and Redemption.
I will post the Readers Guide to my website. When you read the novel, I would love to have you share your thoughts with me at sharmanbursonramsey@gmail.com.

Rare Friends and Rare books

I do not know if I mentioned that Cassandra King will be writing a blurb for my novel, Swimming with Serpents, to go along with the blub written by Janis Owens. I cannot tell you how honored I am because I consider them two of the finest writers I know. My Brother Michael and Same Sweet Girls go in the pantheon of favorite all time reads.
But, not only that, Cassandra is planning a "Pub" party. Now, I think that is short for publicity, but as far as I know, we might be going pubbing. However, I think that's an English term for nightclubbing and it has little to do with the literary world and I think that is what Cassandra intends to introduce me to. In the process of this discussion, Cassandra mentioned that her husband, Pat Conroy, will be at the Carter Center on September 27th with his friends Terry Kay and Cliff Graubart and if my husband and I could make it to that presentation she would love to introduce us. Cliff Graubart is a friend of Pat's who is also having a debut novel published by Mercer University Press. Well, I could pretend to be more educated than I am, or I could admit that I was unfamiliar with those two gentlemen.
Or I could just go straight to googling those names to see just exactly these folks are.
I typed in Cliff Graubart and the first thing that came up was an article written by Pat Conroy titled "Five Men and a Pig" published in Gourmet Magazine. That was such a fun read, I ventured further down the lane of discovery and wound up in wonderful website for rare books Between the Covers Rare Books  http://www.betweenthecovers.com/btc/a... where I read an article by Tom Congalton, proprietor of Between the covers Rare Books" who related an adventure of his and Cliff Graubart's in the quest to find the Holy Grail of rare books in "Frog-Water Iced-Tea; or a Brief and Felicitous Book Tour of the Southeastern United States."

I truly look forward to meeting a fellow Mercer University Press author who can hold his own among such great story tellers. The Curious Vision Of Sammy Levitt And Other Stories is Graubart's debut novel though his short stories which have appeared in the Atlanta Journal Magazine, Goodlife Magazine, Atlanta Magazine, and the Atlanta Gazette.  About the novel from the Mercer University Press website: "Sammy Levitt, about to become the first bar mitzvah in the new synagogue, sees an image that threatens to bring him unwelcome celebrity. Can the hopes of a priest and a rabbi keep the community from blowing apart? These stories are woven together by Cliff Graubart’s fresh, authentic voice documenting the American Jewish experience."
And what about Terry Kay? His biography reveals that Terry Kay is : A celebrated Georgia writer, Kay was induced into the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame in 2006. He has also received the Townsend Award, the Lindberg Award, the Appalachian Heritage Award, and in 2009 was selected for the Governor’s Award in the Humanities. Three of his novels – “To Dance with the White Dog,” “The Runaway” and “The Valley of Light” – have been produced as Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. 
Aha! No pressure here. 

This is the Mount Olympus of Southern writers. Cliff Graubart was once simply the proprietor of a rare book store providing the opportunity for other authors to read and speak at his book store, the Old New York Rare Books (which relocated to Atlanta but remained Old New York Rare Books until it took on a new persona on the Internet) is poised on the edge of the Mount himself. He will now be initiated with the laurels of the gifted ones. Cassandra King will no doubt be directing the action from the wings (though she also deserves a place on that stage. Been there, done that, she said).
I emailed the Carter Center and was informed: "This will be a ticketed event through ACappella Books...404-681-5128. You can check for the latest information at www.jimmycarterlibrary.gov or the Jimmy carter Presidential Library Facebook page. I called to reserve my tickets, however, and was told that they don't have things set up yet (July 27) to call back around the first of September.

A Summer Luncheon with pound cake (trifle?) recipe)

I entertained recently and thought I would share a couple of pictures from the event with you. I belong to a group of ladies that we call the BOOBS. Our husbands LOVE that name. They cannot say it without chuckling. It is an acronym for BUNCH OF OLD BROADS. We do not take ourselves too seriously (obviously). There is absolutely no reason for us to get together other than the fact that we enjoy each other so much!
This group of friends loves to entertain in their own homes. We've all got china, silver and crystal and believe in using it. One friend makes spaghetti using  Ezio Penza's (first sang Some Enchanted Evening from South Pacific) recipe from the cookbook Cook My Darling Daughter by Mildred O. Knopf. Everyone has a specialty. But, I really think that as much or more than the food, we enjoy seeing the beautiful table scapes in the different homes.
For my twelve friends I had to set up two tables. A purple African violet in a lettuce leaf tureen became the centerpiece on my round mahogany table due to the limited space on the table. The china is Noblesse by Lenox, the silver is Counterpoint by Lunt and the crystal is a turquoise blue that caught my eye in a Ross Simons catalogue.
 While I usually like to seat all twelve together, I recently decided to give up my long big table for the round table here pictured and go with two tables of six when we entertain. The two tables had totally different themes.
I set the second table with a white china and blue Argos Fostoria on a blue toille tablecloth. The centerpiece was a maidenhair fern set in a milk glass compote giving the table a crisp fresh look. The flatware for this table is Reed and Barton "Sea Shells." This was appropriate for the Panama City venue for this gathering.












Gracie, our standard poodle, enjoyed watching the preparations but was exiled to the first floor deck for the party, though she would have loved to stay. The flowers on the deck brought us all outside to have a glass of wine with the Bailey's West Indies salad and crackers before lunch.
My usual menu (because it looks so pretty on the plate) is Cornish hen, yellow rice, asparagus, rolls and -- strawberry shortcake on homemade sour cream pound cake and REAL whipped cream.
As you can see, I believe in keeping a careful eye on the appearance of what you serve. Color on the plate as well as the table can enhance one's appetite and dining experience.

Cream Cheese Pound Cake Recipe:  Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Soften together
  3 sticks butter
1 8oz cream cheese
Cream
Add 3 cups of sugar
Cream

Add and beat well after each:
6 eggs

Add:
3 cups flour with
1/2 tsp soda
Mix together well but on SLOW speed (don't beat the air out of what you just creamed!) and then add
1 tsp. vanilla
Spray pan with Baker's Joy
Bake one hour and twenty minutes. 

Slice cooled cake in halfSpread with strawberries sliced and soaked with sugar.  Be generous with strawberry juice to soak into the cake.  Spread Cream and then add another layer.  Ice the cake with the remaining whipped cream.DO NOT USE COOL WHIPWhip heavy cream and when peaks form add 1/2 c. sugar (or to taste).  I like it sweet!
BTW  If the cake falls turn it into a trifle. Just cut up the cake in a pretty bowl and layer the strawberries and whipped cream. This happens to me a lot. I am now the Queen of Trifles. I get asked for my recipe A LOT! Because my cakes do tend to fall. So make the above recipe with the caveat that it might actually turn out to be A TRIFLE!

Death and Dying

I missed a day yesterday writing in the blog. It was Sunday and we went to church and then kept the newest grandson so our son and his wife could go to church.The night before we had supper with our friend who is battling pancreatic cancer. Having been with so many folks lately who are in the final drama of life, I've been doing a lot of thinking about death and dying.
These thoughts began several years ago as I sat with my aunt the last 48 hours of her life sleeping on the cot in her room to call the nurses for her when she needed them.Finally the time was near and my sister who is a cardiologist joined me at her bedside. Of course, she could read all the monitors around the beds and knew what was happening.I didn't. But I looked up at the TV with some inane show filling the air of the room with a scene that would not have been pleasing to the God she would soon face and it suddenly struck me what an awesome moment we were sharing with our dear aunt. I thought back to her as a little girl and reminded her of the story of the goat cart they got for Christmas. Our daddy wound the goat's tail round and round and when he let go, that goat took of lickety split. She smiled.
I thought of how our grandmother and grandfather had dressed her on Sundays and made sure she made it to the little Methodist church her grandfather had helped build in the small community in Furman, Alabama, where her father was a doctor. They had prepared her for this moment. They had prayed for her all of her life and trusted that those early lessons had "taken."
But they were not there. Our aunt was childless and 79 years old. My sister and I were our grandparents surrogates in that room to surround her with love and remind her of the love that never lets you go.
I turned the TV off. I'm not a preacher, but I love to sing the songs that make our souls reach out and take us to Heaven's door. And so we sang. We didn't remember all the words or some of the tunes, but we sang. Death is the last scene on the stage that is our life. It is the last example we have to set for our children and the last gift a child can give to their parent. It is not to be taken lightly. I think the Catholics have it right on that issue. It is a good thing to reflect back on our life and look once more at those we love to make sure we've given them the right directions to meet us where we are going.
I shared this epiphany with a friend. When she knew her life was about to see its final curtain she began calling all of her grandchildren in over the last weeks of her life to make sure where they stood in their spiritual life. When the Hospice nurse told them the end was near, they gathered round sitting on her bed singing the hymns of her childhood, the ones that spoke to her in the church in which her parents had raised her. They comforted her -- and them.
When my own mother died my brother and I were holding her hand, my son was beside her sobbing out his grief at losing the best friend he'd ever had, and I was singing what words I could squeak out of a throat constricted with the pain of losing her. "Look to the light, Mother. Do you see Muddin (her mother)?" I asked. She looked beyond me and was gone.
I did not have the privilege of being with my father, his death was so sudden, I did talk with him a lot about how proud I was of the way he lived his life and that he made us proud even as he suffered through the loss of control of every body function with round the clock sitters. He handled it with dignity and pride. At this hardest part of his life, I assured him, he was setting an example even then. His death was sudden, a ruptured aneurism.
I was not wise enough to do for my mother-in-law what I learned nearly thirty years later and I feel badly that I did not appreciate the importance of those moments.
None of us get out of here alive, you know. Death is the final scene on the great drama that is life.
I am reminded that our Will is actually our last opportunity for sharing our testimony and that is why it is traditionally called the LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.Somehow, I think it helps to realize that death is not a passive thing that happens to us. Death is still an active part of living out the last scene before we are called to a different life behind the curtain of the action on the stage of this world. When writing a play the last act is the culmination of all that came before, a time to tie up the loose ends.
It is this act for which the earlier scenes were played.