Saturday, June 26, 2010 at 10:54PM 
This pretty little girl showed up on my doorstep today. I noticed the dog-tag/military looking pendant she was wearing, so she explained what it was.
It says, "Waiting for My Daddy to Come Home".
Her grandmother made that for her and she wears it all the time.
I guess there are a lot of kids waiting these days.
Saturday, June 26, 2010 at 10:54PM My dear neighbor, Kermit Grayson, passed away early this morning.
Kermit has been a focus of my photo-a-day blog before.
He was also the star of one of my homemade videos. I captured footage of him one Ham Days afternoon, with him telling how he was able to grow such great tomatoes. It is such a sweet little interview.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x84f77GgpCg
I'm thinking of Kermit's family now. There were things I know about Kermit, being a neighbor, that perhaps some of the family didn't get a chance to know, at least from my perspective. Of course, the family knows many many things about Kermit that I don't know. But tonight, I am all about trying to find a few extra pictures of Kermit for his family.
He was such a unique person - and a great person. All his relatives should really be proud to have a little Kermit in the blood line.
I never knew Kermit in his younger days. I only knew him as my elderly, retired neighbor. I always loved seeing him out on his front porch. Kermit just sitting in his chair reading the newspaper in the early morning was a regular sight that made me glad. It was the epitome of small town America, to me.
Kermit hasn't been home for a long time now, but I still to this dayl find myself looking over to his front porch when I pass by, and I miss his presence there so much. There was just something about seeing Kermit there that helped me believe that all was right with the world, somehow.
PLUS, Kermit really helped a lot of people, and I have a feeling his family might not fully realize the extent of Kermit's influence with his neighbors and friends. Even though Kermit's family is a very loving family and visited him very often, there are just certain things the neighbors know more about. There were many many times that I passed by and saw Kermit counseling someone in trouble there on his porch. I would get a bit concerned at times, because I worked at the County Attorney's Office for a while and recognized some of Kermit's visitors, and I was concerned. But Kermit seemed always able to handle even the most 'savage beast'. I'll bet that more than just a few lives have been changed for the better from those heart to heart conferences on Kermit's front porch.
Kermit was a special delight for the kids around. He always had plenty of time to spend with the youngsters, and many were drawn to him for his great prices on bicycles. But he didn't just trade with those kids - he spent time with them and really got to know them. He taught them things. They came for the bicycles, but stayed for Kermit's kindness to them.
There is so much more I could say about Kermit Grayson, but for now I will just say REST IN PEACE, KERMIT! I loved you as a neighbor and friend. I think you are awesome. I wish your loving family all the peace in the world as you are laid to rest. You've left a legacy that your family can be most proud of.
Goodbye, Kermit. See ya later, alligator.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 at 11:39PM 
Gus Smith was our across-the-street neighbor for most of my growing up years. He was married to Margie, and loved her dearly. She died several years before he did, and for a man who absolutely loved his wife and was so close to her, this time without her was, for him, a particularly painful turn of events. He simply had a very hard time getting along without Margie. He truly missed her every minute of every day for the rest of his life.
I guess he was in his mid or late seventies when we became good friends. His favorite thing to eat in the whole world was a green tomato pie, and I was a pretty good pie maker but had never made one of those. He schooled me on how to make a green tomato pie just the way he liked it, and I must have made at least fifty of them for him---maybe closer to a hundred, really. Sitting here tonight, I find it hard to believe that I never once sampled any of the pies I made for him! Green Tomato Pie just did not interest me in the least then, except to please Gus. I do wish now that I had at least tasted one. Hindsight is 20/20.
I'd usually walk over to Gus' house in the early evening. Sometimes I would just show up at his door; at other times he would call me and ask me to come over, saying he needed a green tomato pie. He would always have some coffee brewing. We had a lot of fun conversations as I made those pies for him. He had a deep, scratchy voice - probably from a lifetime of too many cigarettes.
I feel okay telling what I am about to say because Gus has been dead for a long time now and I have learned a whole lot since then about people and age and just life in general.
Gus called me one day and asked me to drive him to the St. Francis Picnic. Thinking back on it, I should have thought that was unusual as he was still able to drive short distances. But I agreed to take him to the picnic because he had requested it, and drove him there in his car. It was an older model light gray kind of car of some kind. It had a great big steering wheel. I am not a car person. Fairlane???
Anyway, the picnic was great and we were laughing about things on the way back home. I pulled into his driveway and just as I came to a stop, Gus lunged over to me AND KISSED ME RIGHT IN THE MOUTH! Gus didn't have any teeth in. I was 20 something and he was 70 something. I was totally mortified.
Long story short, I was so upset that I didn't go back to see Gus for at least a month.
But I did go back.
We never discussed what happened, but he never ever crossed the boundary of our friendship again.
Looking back on all that today, I am just sad for Gus. The gross out factor of a toothless man kissing me in the mouth when I was a nubile twenty year old is no longer even the main point of the last of the story.
As we get older, we do things that might be unexpected. That's just the way it is.
Though I was devastated at the time, after a month passed I was okay with Gus again.
I just hope if I am seventysomething and surprise someone with some action that is out of character that my Gus points can be cashed in and I will be forgiven.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 at 07:44PM 
A chore I've heard mention of my whole life is called "marking off a grave". It is something my Dad does when we have a death in the community. I never tagged along to watch what exactly that job entails...until today - the first day of summer, 2010.
___
Above is a picture of Holy Cross Church, and if you can see that speck of a human to the left of the church doors, that is my dad. It was a stifling hot and humid day, with temps hovering at nearly 100 degrees. Here he is - almost 78 years old - and he outpaced me by far! The grave that will be marked and then dug was in the very back of the cemetery, which is quite a hike even on a good day.
Daddy has certain tools he uses to mark off a grave. Most importantly, he brings with him a sketch he pencils off at home, taken from his years of extensively mapping the local cemeteries so he'll know the exact location of the grave for the recently deceased.
Other tools are a yard stick, a long flexible measuring tape, and a hammer for driving in four wooden stakes, one at each corner of the grave. You can see that these same stakes have been used for a long time, judging from their flattened out tops. They are painted a bright hue for easy visibility.
The last thing is to spray paint an outline of the grave's perimeter. Daddy forgot the paint, so I had to run back to the Jeep to retrieve it before he could finish up the job. Shew! Hard work for a transplanted city girl like me who's spoiled to air conditioning!
Now the people digging the grave will know exactly what to do.
I thought we were finished at this point, but Daddy had other ideas. He crossed the cemetery to check on the grave of a recent burial, cleaned it off, and made a mental note to have some extra dirt added to it. The ground settles over time, and more soil has to be added once, twice, or even more times, depending on the grave's location.
This is just one of the many behind-the-scenes tasks of a country undertaker. I love my Dad.
Saturday, June 19, 2010 at 12:52AM 
Tonight, my nephew, Eric Masterson, married Christianne Pimentel in a beautiful ceremony at St. Vincent de Paul Church in New Hope.
The two met when the bride's mother decided that Christianne and her sister should be part of the childrens choir at New Hope Church. The groom's mother --- my sister, Norine --- was the organist at the church and headed up that choir. I still remember how happy Norine was when those girls joined the choir. Christianne was an accomplished violinist even as a young girl, and both sisters had beautiful voices. As it turned out, Christianne "noticed" that Eric was cute at that very first choir practice...
22 years ago on this wedding date of June 18th, Christianne received a very special blessing - from a living Saint. Mother Teresa was in Louisville and Christianne was just an infant when she reached out and touched Mother Teresa's cheek.
Christianne's mother had only a faded news clipping and photo from The Record to commemorate that event, but with some research she was able to locate the photographer who captured that moment and he sent her his original negatives. From those, three photos were chosen to display at the wedding reception; my meager attempt at photographing one of those in dim reflective light is below.
But what a blessing!
