Ode to Witch Hazel

It was October 31, 1921. Late. It was the night of a full moon, too. Into a family of 3 children, a little girl was born. She was a tiny thing, but with a big voice. Her grandpa was there for the “birthin’”. He looked into the face of the brand new baby, and said she was an “old soul”. She had probably lived for hundreds of years. She had a shock of red hair, and right out of the womb, she had the “darkest of brown eyes”. He proclaimed that “red hair and brown eyes was a sign of the devil” – she was a witch -- and being born on a full moon verified that thought. He named her Jezebel.

Isn’t that a HORRIBLE tag to place on a beautiful baby girl! Her mama stood up against the older man and reminded him that they were a Christian home and they would NOT be naming a baby Jezebel! He backed down after about 2 days and named my mama “Jessie Beatrice”. She went most of her life as “Jessie B”. Pretty close to Jezebel, if you ask me…

That’s the beginning of the story for my mama: Jessie Beatrice McMahon Adams. A witch. Back in a time in our very recent past when no one thought anything evil about Jessie saying she was a witch. Boy, you go around nowadays saying your Sunday School teacher, or PTA President, or Camp Fire leader, or Cub Scout Den Mother, or even just your favorite hairdresser was a WITCH. Different response all together. Hm-m-m-m…

Paul even joked about the fact that he was probably the only man that could call his mother-in-law “an old witch” and get away with it!!!

But there couldn’t have been a woman further from a witch, or even a bad person. She was love personified. Good, kind, meek, gentle, a wonderful mother, a giving wife, the best of friends. But she’d tell you she was a witch, after all, and once a year she would try to prove it!

She loved Halloween and dressing up as “Witch Hazel”. It was her mission once a year to actually turn into Witch Hazel and see just how many people she could trick! You see – she was good!!! She already had this red hair! Plus, she had red hair pieces that had been made from her own hair that she had weaved into forms when she would cut her hair. She let them fall naturally down her back, and being “real hair”, they were dry from age, so they stuck out down her back.

She had this slinky black skirt that had about 8 gores made into it that would ripple when she turned. She had “lacy leg” hose that I have no idea where she got such an item in the ‘50’s. They were really something else – really lacy legs – but she said all of her spiders weaved them for her. She had an incredible black thigh-length jacket with lots of pockets she had sewn into it to put extra spiders, webbing, candy, or whatever.

She made this fabulous nose out of silly putty and put it on her face, under her glasses, and then coated her face and nose with green face powder. (that she bought at Bluestein’s – who’d a thought!!!) She added a few extra warts for effect, plus spider earrings, necklaces, and other jewelry. Plus she had made this fine witches hat. Out of satin, nonetheless, too

She was so very real looking. And she was GREAT!!!

Then off she would go to Port Arthur public schools. She would pass out candy and let the kids talk to her spiders, and talk to them about being safe on Halloween night. She was a “good witch”, and wanted them to be “good little goblins”, too. She was the best.

This went on every year. All through the 3 of us kids being in school, and after we were grown and had left. She even came out to West Hardin when I was teaching there for a huge Birthday party in her honor. She loved it!

Few people can imagine what it was like for her when her grandchildren were in Port Arthur schools and she was told she couldn’t come to school any more. Halloween had become too real, too scary, and too violent for them to bring a “witch” to school. The school board had spoken.

She was devastated. How could anyone not want Witch Hazel to come and love on the kids and tell them to be safe. She was truly wounded. However, in true Jessie-style, she rebounded quickly. Surely there was someone that would appreciate her venture. And there were – the area nursing homes and facilities welcomed her with open arms. She had a calling once again. For a while she even talked Andrew into dressing up life a cat and being “Felix” along with Hazel. What a pair!!!

Not one to “celebrate” Halloween myself, but…to the one and only Witch Hazel…

Happy Birthday, mama. Words can never express how much we all miss you. You were the greatest mom in the world. Thanks for showing me the way towards motherhood. I can only hope and pray I have influenced my children as much as you did me…

Off/On/Off/On

Growing up in Port Arthur, TX during the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s appears to have been an interesting time. Janis Joplin and I didn’t share the same perspective of my hometown. I lived a rather idyllic life, perhaps truly with my fingers in my ears saying “nyah-nyah-nyah” and not paying one bit of attention to what was going on around me. Or at least that is what my brothers think. I never had even heard of the term “refinery mentality” until I was grown. I had no idea that people thought less of Port Arthurans, or that we were suspected to be rough or trashy. Never crossed my mind. I was just living the life: growing up, going from watching Gunsmoke to the Monkees on TV, being in Blue Birds and Campfire, dance lessons from “Mr Johnny”, piano lessons, going to Central Baptist Church and involved in every facet of church life, touring with Melody Maids, loving school, and liking boys. (It was always the boys that kept me in trouble beginning in 1st grade. I had to sit in the corner for kissing Jimmy Hughes behind the boiler house at Lee elementary school. It went kinda down hill from there, I guess. But this is DEFINITELY another story!)

On the surface, my parents were fairly typical parents, too. Mother was involved in our lives, doing all of the right mother stuff. One major difference, however was that mother worked. None of my other friends’ moms worked. Mine did well, too. Made good money, too. Daddy worked at Texaco, always working shift work, plus he always had a second or third job. He loved money, and loved to spend it, too. My parents and their money. I never truly understood it, I always guessed it was living during the Depression and being old enough to be affected by the loss AND remembering it!.

I really can never remember much “cussing’ growing up. My daddy threw a few of “damns” and “hells” around when things were tense at home, and I actually remember him getting mad at some parents that he felt were neglecting their kids and called them “lazy SOB’s” however with words included. But my mama simply abhorred dirty language. The end. Or it was until we kids got older and cussing was the way to express yourself and be cool. Or so we thought.

My brother, Kelly, was the first to try to get away with cussing in front on my mama. I would say he was a brave soul, but he wasn’t – just nervy! He got mad and said, “that just pisses me off”. Well my mother, in her soft ways, just looked him DIRECTLY in the eyes and said, “Well, Kelly, I’ve found that it’s always better to be pissed off than to be pissed on”. Talk about shutting a mouthy teenager up!Think about that next time you say the phrase...Hm-m-m-m. Whole new perspective, huh.

The next one to try to “mouth off” in front of Mama was my friend Vikki. I could never imagine Vikki getting sassy enough with my mom, but she did – once. She was standing by the back door and said “S—T”. With her typical sleekness, Mama looked at Vikki (yes, directly in the eyes) and said, “You know, Vikki, I wouldn’t have that on my shoe, much less in my mouth”. Talk about getting the point across!!!

But that was it. I spent years learning to cuss and out cuss just about everybody! I thought it was so cool. No one could convince me that “studies showed” that only dumb people cussed because they didn’t know what else to say. Wrong. I knew exactly what to say. Then I met Paul. He wasn’t real fond of trashy mouth girls. Okay, I’ll clean up this mouth a little. Then came Adam. I wasn’t about to have my child hear me cuss. I’ll clean up this mouth some more. (Don’t you wish the parents behind you in WalMart felt that way now!!!) Then came the Lord, and he finished the work. Oh, I have to admit, it hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been right.

Recently, I was introduced to a new facet / opponent in my new career: Insurance companies. Whether it is Blue Cross, or Medicare, or Medicaid – I feel like I have met a worthy adversary. They truly have strange, ingenious torture systems built right into them. They do not want to give you money, they do not want to have to pay a claim, and they want you to be the one to quite trying. They know how to hold you over the pit trying to get you to yell “uncle, uncle – you win”. A worthy adversary, indeed. However, like in most other times in my life when I am faced with an obstacle, I do one of two things, (rarely anything in the middle): I determine that I will win, or I quickly abdicate and let the new opponent win.

Oh-h-h-h…this time I WILL win. But it is quite a learning curve that seems endlessly long. And it has brought out my evil twin. I have let my mouth override my common sense. It has been such a frustrating endeavor trying to win the Match, that when I have lost Round 1 or Round 2, I have said the “wordy dird”. Felt good. Felt appropriate. Felt like I had control. NOT! NOT! NOT!

Thankfully, conviction is winning and so is God. I have NO desire to have to relearn some of the many lessons I have had to learn in the 25 years that I have strived to live for God. I do not EVER want to go back, either.

So why the mouth? Who knows! Whatever! Going through this strange depression surely hasn’t helped my frame of mind. I just know that not only can I hear the sigh of God when I am saying trash I don’t need to say, but also I can hear Jessie’s sigh of frustration, too. I can see her face with those piercing brown eyes just boring holes through me letting me know SHE KNEW I’d done something wrong. She was never a yeller, or a screamer, rarely even raised her voice. BUT she did know how to give “the look”. I was so glad she was a forgiving mom, and knew how to help me get right and want to do right, too.

So glad He’s a forgiving God, and knows how to help me get right and want to do right, too. More importantly, I so glad He’s the God of 2nd chances – and 3rd, and 4th, and 5th one, too.

Orange macaroni

I’ve probably tried them all. From Weight Watchers to NutriSystem, from old school “Wisconsin Diet” to new-fangled “South Beach Diet”. All with incredibly limited success. I’ve tried to “just accept the way I am” – bigger and better for Jesus (hahaha) – again with limited success. I hate being fat. It is just that simple. Also, I simply don’t seem to have the intrinsic capabilities to get thin. I guess I really live and love the joke that there’s a skinny girl inside of me just screaming to be let out, and I keep her quiet with chocolate…or something like that, I think.

The most important thing is, however, I try to eat right and feed my family the right foods. We have definitely seen both ends of the spectrum on this subject, too. We’re on the uphill side, though. The downhill side began insidiously about 22 years ago…

I truly love the Willow Tree collection by Demdaco. They have come to hold a very special meaning in my life. And like other collections, they are some “meaningful” portrayals: mother and child, father and child, mother and father, new mother, and so on. Again, meaningful portrayals of life situations. Where are the TRUE portrayals, though. I have never seen a Willow Tree or a Precious Moments figurine of a mother and her three children all clinging to her skirt as she ushers them through the grocery store. Where’s the cute little depiction of a mother with two in the stroller, another holding her hand, and there’s obviously only weeks to go before there’s an addition to the family. Where are those pretty representations?!? Huh?!?

A larger family is still a most beautiful thing. Don’t ever get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my four sons for anything in this world. If God wouldn’t have intervened, I would have had many more. I love large families. I feel it is God’s way: He opens the womb and he closes it. But with two kids everything is balanced: One for mama. One for daddy. Everyone is taken care of and everyone has a “buddy”. Then there’s the third child. Suddenly – you as parents are outnumbered. Who will manage the third one? Or if you’re alone, what mother has three arms? Do you see the dilemma?

Our little “back to nature” family was ambling along though life just fine. We had a garden – grew a lot of our own vegetables. I baked our own bread twice a week, always making a couple of extra loaves to share with other families. We ate organically, as much as we could – there wasn’t an organic section in Howard’s grocery store, I guarantee!!! I didn’t let artificial colors or preservatives come into my house. Not for my babies!

Then Adam went to Kindergarten. Did I know that the other children had write bread for sandwiches? It was prettier than my bread. The other kids had Ding Dongs and Twinkies. He had an apple, or some fruit leather, or a good banana nut muffin with extra wheat germ and sprouted wheat. Not even close… And then Halloween came. His first school party. He was ecstatic -- he was the bubbliest little kid. He came out of the school, little candy bag in his hand, and oh I wish I could paint a better picture with mere words. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to share his days events. Guess what he had at school that day? GUM! It was so-o-o-o good! Why hadn’t he ever had any before…? Oh, things were quickly spiraling out my control.

And by then,we had the third child. My hands were more than full, and as I said before, we were outnumbered. Our little family was growing not only in size, but also in age. We were moving out of our little space of absolute control in the home into “extra-curricular activities”. There were Sunday School parties, we joined Cub Scouts, we had neighborhood friends and “sleepovers”. There were birthday parties at Putt Putt. Need I go on…

Plus. we were busy. If our kids were going to be involved, well, as parents, so were we. We joined PTA. We joined Scouts. We taught Sunday School. We organized parties. We helped other mothers with their activities. Again, need I really go on…

Soon, as my children’s worlds expanded, they brought home grand stories of even grander adventures in the food world: Did I know that Grandma’s macaroni and cheese was ORANGE!!! Why was ours just plain. Did I know that Marla got her spaghetti sauce out of a JAR!!! It is good, too. It doesn’t have green things in it like yours. Did you know that you could get biscuits out of a CAN and make doughnuts with them? And then there was Cokes, and chips, and cheese puffs, and real life.

Soon there were four little boys in the family. Life is really real, too. Basically, we started looking for ways to cook/eat easier, faster, “make everybody happier”, and also CHEAPER.

We strayed for a long time in the world of not always eating right, but there were areas where we never slacked. We’ve never allowed a lot of preservatives or artificial colorings. I’ve never bought or made white bread. I’ve never cooked a lot of sugary desserts.

I have said all of this to say this: Last Monday, Oct 1, was my number 3 son’s birthday: his 22nd for the second time (but that’s another story). We are all doing everything we can to eat right. We’re sitting around the table and I tell the orange macaroni and cheese story – and he asks for macaroni and cheese like I used to make. Did you know that you can buy boxed whole wheat macaroni with white cheese with no additives? Well, I didn’t – but there it was in the natural food section at the store. I bought some, looking for the easy way out to Matt’s request. Big Mistake. Here I am, still 22 years later looking for the fast way to healthy eating for a family that is too busy.

The fast way doesn’t exist. Neither does the cheap way. If you want healthy, it will cost you, and you will have to take the time to do it right. It is worth it in the long run.

The same with family, except the fast way truly exists. They grow up only too fast. So it is imperative that you do what it takes to do it right. It will definitely take time. It will definitely “cost” you. But you only have one chance to try to do it right. It IS worth it.