that cardboard boxes, paper bags and even trash bags dry rot and fall apart when you touch them. I learned this up in Grandmother’s attic as I was going through her things. There’s just something so sad about a trash bag, lovingly and carefully wrapped around an item to preserve it, that disintegrates at a touch.

that the things in our lives take their meaning from the hands that use them and that the tools a person leaves behind tell a tale of their own. There’s not a whole lot I want from her house, just a few things really to remind me of her, to continue the connection we’ve had all my life.

that the sight of a funeral wreath can make your heart skip a beat. And possibly make you stop in the middle of the street and burst into tears. Regardless of the traffic.

How do you follow up an obituary? I didn’t realize when I posted it that it would be so hard to put up another post after it. How do I push such an important part of my life off the front page? And I guess I do that by doing what Grandmother did all her life as long as she was able: roll up my sleeves, get back to work and do the next thing.

The wake was incredible. We knew Grandmother was well liked and respected, but you never truly know all the lives they touch. Grandmother loved large and wide, casting a net of good over 3 counties, and it showed in the people who flowed in and out of that mortuary. Pretty impressive for a woman who never drove anything except a tractor. A woman who had far outlived all her contemporaries.

The funeral was also full, and the eulogy was fitting except that the preacher (who always called Grandmother “Mrs Chauncey” in life), mispronounced her first name the first few times he said it, causing the entire family to startle the first time, and writhe in embarrassed agony after that. He finally said it correctly, and then proceeded to call her Mrs. Chauncey for the rest of the service. Just so you aren’t left in suspense, it’s pronounced “Merle”.

We chose to celebrate life, instead of mourning death, and though I did cry a bit, I realized those were selfish tears, that they were for me and not for her, and I would imagine her up in heaven, smiling that wonderful smile, and it was okay. I did indeed have to go back into the house and grab her photograph to take with me in the van to the services, and that was ok, too. My Grandmother was such an incredibly large part of my life for so very long, it would be impossible to not feel sad at her passing. The truth is that I lost my Grandmother quite awhile ago.

Although the casket was closed for the services, the family was allowed to view her body. It was obvious from her face that she had indeed had a stoke as my mother had surmised last November. What we could not pinpoint in life was very obvious in death. Both sides of her face looked “normal”, but they did not match. And the final proof for me, if I needed it, that my Grandmother was NOT in that box was in her hands. All my life, Grandmother had skin that bruised if you looked at it wrong. She always said “be careful of my legs, I’ll get a place if you bump it”. She called them “places” because … well, I don’t know because, but she did. So, in life the backs of her hands were always mottled with big ugly purple and red splotchy “places”. In death, they were white. Not my Grandmother’s hands at all.

But she wore a fine red dress.
~~~~

And now, I have climbed back onto the blogging wagon, and I must work, because there is work to be done. I cannot think of any logical way to mention truck bed liner in the body of this post, so here it is, tacked onto the end like pure tackiness itself.

Muriel Jones Chauncey, 96, of Clarkton, NC, passed away on December 15, 2007. Born January 31, 1911, she was the oldest daughter of Shady E. and Nellie Booth Jones. She was predeceased by husbands, Bill (1935) and Russell (1988); sons, infant (1935), William (1952) and Lloyd (1993); also siblings, Eppie Jones, S.E. Jones, Mary J. Duncan, Leona J. Smith and Lanie J. Jackson.

She is survived by a son, Fred (Leah) Chauncey of Raleigh; and a daughter, Nellie (Bill) Martin of Leland. Also surviving are grandchildren, Bill (Lois) Chauncey, Steve (Lynna) Chauncey, Sarah (Johny) Thompson, Denise (Patrick) Darrow, Christine (Namon) Baits; and daughter-in-law, Jessie (Jim) Dobson; and 21 great grandchildren.

Muriel was a Gold Star Mother, loved her Lord, and was a faithful member of Western Prong Baptist Church since 1956, until her failing health prohibited her from attending. For many, many years she stayed in the infant nursery during Sunday School and Vacation Bible School.

Visitation will be at McKenzie’s Mortuary in Whiteville from 7 – 8:30 p.m. on Monday, December 17, 2007. Funeral services will be at Western Prong Baptist Church December 18, 2007, at 2 p.m. led by Rev. Willie McLawhorn. Burial will follow in Flynn Cemetery. At other times the family will be at her residence.

Active pallbearers are Bernard Baldwin, Carlton Boswell, Milton Bullard, Billy Creech, Wayne Creech, and Michael Hinson. Honorary pallbearers are Harold Bright, Joe Chauncey, David Duncan, Bobby Smith, Tim Tart and Kennie Watts.

As long as Muriel was able, she lived her life helping others and was most happy when doing so.

Memorial Contributions may be made to the American Cancer Society, 930-B Wellness Dr., Greenville, NC 27834, National Kidney Foundation of NC, 5950 Fairview Rd Ste 550, Charlotte, NC 28210-2102.

‘In God’s love He gives life and in His mercy, He takes life.’
McKenzie Mortuary, Whiteville.

ETA: Photo from 2002

Grandmother’s hands are no longer swollen. For the first time in well over a year, they look normal, except for the exquisite frailness. Already they look lifeless, clenched tightly around nothing, but they are of normal size again. When I saw them last night, I thought of all the things those hands had done for me.

Grandmother sewed clothes for me until I was 10 or 12. She painstakingly sewed Barbie clothes for my Barbies, incredibly detailed. She made quilts for my dolls. She made quilts for my first 6 children. And the stitching in the last one is hideously horrible and crooked and I think I love it the best because she tried so hard and it was the last thing she ever sewed, a quilt for my 6th born child.

She made food: fried chicken, pecan pie, cakes, biscuits. I can still remember the smell her ancient kitchen aid mixer made when she used it. Yes, I said smell. It’s ok, not a mistake. Little green lima beans. Grits, with bacon crumbled up in them, that I ate while I watched Saturday morning cartoons.

No one else ever loved me like that. And I sit and cry and wait, and think. She kissed me not long ago. An act so unexpected, it took me awhile to realize what had happened. I leaned over to hug her before I left, though she had long since stopped responding to hugs, and she kissed my cheek. A final benediction.

I wrote quite some time ago about Papa and his cuckoo clock, the one that he always told me thought I was cuckoo. What I didn’t say at the time was that whenever I hear the term “grandfather clock”, I always think of that cuckoo clock. Even today, when I am forty, my mind instantly pulls up the image of that clock, and I can hear so plainly that bird, and Papa’s chuckle as he sets me up yet again. I literally have to remind myself that most people mean a tall clock that stands, regal and majestic, striking the hour with dignified tones and not a clock that hangs on a nail screaming cuckoo at you when they speak of grandfather clocks. My response to the phrase is completely tied up with my memories of Papa, completely separate from what the words really mean. I hope you can understand what I am trying to say, it’s coming out rather muddled on this end. let me try again. You know how you have heard people say they when they catch a whiff of Old Spice or whatever, they think of their dad or granddad. For me instead of a smell, it is the phrase “grandfather clock.”

Now, once I push past the memories, I do enjoy looking at grandfather clocks for what they actually are: finely crafted time pieces, each with a personality and character of it’s own. My aunt had one like that. It’s also tied with memories, LOL, but I will avoid going there today. Instead I will tell you what brought these clock-ish memories to the forefront of my mind. I saw a reference to 1-800-4clocks.com. Isn’t it funny the triggers we have? It’s a bit nerve wracking really, to think that the things I do could create such an impression on someone that someday they would have to make a mental adjustment when they hear a certain phrase, that it could be so tied up in who and what I am that the phrase would mean something totally different to them because of me.

But back to the clocks themselves: I saw on their blog some information about a test you can take to find out which grandfather clock is right for you. It’s called the Grandfather Clocks Personality Profile. I’ve left a comment to ask where the profile is, but I wanted to post about this NOW, and if you looked at my desk and saw the gargantuan stack of stuff I need to blog about you would understand why putting it off might mean you’d never get to read about it.

And also, I am impatient, so I had to just look at the site and see if anything struck my fancy. “Struck”, haha. So punny, that’s me. Just like Papa. I clicked on traditional, because, well, I’m a traditionalist at heart, I guess, and there I did indeed find something: the Reagan, by Howard Miller. Is anyone among us shocked that the clock I prefer is the one named after a Republican? I thought not.

Those of you who have blog-hopped with me as I have created and merged and re-separated my various blogs probably know that I hold some pretty intense political views, and I’m not embarrased in the least to share them with my adoring fans hapless strangers dropped here by google anyone who will listen others. But I also hold certain non-political views, and that’s what I want to talk about tonight, just a bit.

See, our soldiers and our politics really have very little in common. Our soldiers are our children. Somebody’s son or daughter. Possible someone’s husband or wife, maybe even someone’s mom or dad. And those soldiers are missed by those who love them, who live each day hoping not to get a phone call or a knock on the door. Ever lived hoping NOT to get contacted? It’s …. different. And so, when I saw this chance to encourage you to support our troops, I knew I had to do so. To me, it’s akin to football. I never used to care much when football players went down injured, because my kids weren’t out there– it didn’t affect me. Now that I have sons on the field, I’m a bit more somber when that happens, even if my kid is on the bench. Because next time, it could be my son, see. The picture suddenly looks different, ykwim? I’ll bet you do.

So I know when I ask you to look over this press release, and then visit the Until They All Come Home Bracelet Order Page, you’ll know that I want you to think about people and not agendas.

Novi, MI September 29, 2007 — In an earlier era, tying a ribbon around the old oak tree — as the lyrics of a 1970s pop-tune suggested — was a way to remember U.S. troops off at war. But a Michigan man has another idea. He’d like to see people demonstrate their support for our troops at war in Iraq by wearing a bracelet around their wrists engraved with “Until They All Come Home”, and he has begun offering the bracelets on a Web site in hopes of achieving that goal.

The site, www.untiltheyallcomehomebracelet.com offers colored aluminum, stainless steel or leather bracelets which are engraved, “Until They All Come Home, Operation Iraqi Freedom” or “Until They All Come Home” and the name of an active-duty soldier of the wearer’s choosing. The bracelets are personalized with the date ordered or with a “worn since” date to indicate the wearer’s dedication to the completion of U.S. troops’ mission in Iraq and their safe return home. Bracelets are also engraved with the wearer’s initials, making it uniquely their own.

“So, even if you are against the war and believe that we should withdrawl immeditely, you can wear an Until They All Come Home bracelet to let the troops know that you want us to do it in a way that best protects their security.,” said Rob Tacy, the sites’s founder. “If you want us to continue fighting the war to show the terrorist that we will not back down and provide security for the Iraqi people, you can wear an Until They All Come Home bracelet to show our soldiers that you support their efforts until their mission is complete.,” Tacy added.

Until They All Come Home Braceletsâ„¢ are available at www.untiltheyallcomehomebracelets.com in small, medium, large and extra large sizes and range in price from $12.99 – $18.99, depending on the material and type of engraving chosen. Two dollars from each bracelet sold will be donated to a charity that supports the families of fallen and wounded U.S. soldiers.

Catherine Knight Linsley of Tallahassee, FL has worn two of the bracelets since May 1. “I have two soldiers in Iraq that I have ‘adopted,’ and I wanted something to show everyone that the soldiers there are thought about, prayed for and wished a quick and safe return home,” said Linsley. “My guys do not know about the bracelets yet, but my plan is to wear them 24/7 until they come home, just like I did with my older Vietnam War bracelets.”

Linsely is among many bracelet owners who have posted their stories about their bracelets on the site’s blog page. To read other stories from people who wear Memorial Bracelets, visit their blog at http://memorialbracelet.blogspot.com/.

About Memorialbracelets.com
With the launch in October of 2001 of www.memorialbraclets.com], the idea of wearing a bracelet to support a cause was revitalized. The site was created to raise funds for September 11 heroes and victims of terrorism. Since its inception, Memorial Bracelets has donated over $60,000 to charities supporting these families and to those of Vietnam POWs and MIAs, and U.S. soldiers wounded or fallen in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In response to customer requests, Memorial Bracelets also offers bracelets for U.S. soldiers who were listed as POW, MIA and KIA in the Vietnam War and for military personnel lost during the Gulf War, Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom. Visitors to the site may also create a personally engraved bracelet with a message of their choice, such as the name of an active-duty soldier or that of a lost friend or relative. Many of these bracelets are created as personal, meaningful gifts.