Hey Ya’ll, It’s Mardi Gras!!! Post #11

The next several posts, will skip from early summer and fall – when Mom was dying – till Mardi Gras, since it is that time again and memories from our first Mardi Gras are flooding back, loud and clear.

The Parade-Before-the-Parade
Post #11, MG post #1

        One of the first things newcomers to MoBEEEL are told about is Mardi Gras. Nearly every native MoBEEELIAN  will tell you that Mardi Gras did NOT originate in 'Nal 'lins'.   It was started by Joe Cain, right here in out own city and spread to Nah'lins, who claim it as their own brainchild, by a man named Joe Cain.   He later went over there and showed his friends and cousins how to celebrate.

          The other thing a native will tell you is, “You are a “Mardi Gras Virgin!” Then they proceed to tell their own version of the season, all of which sounda like a strange fairy tale.   I couldn’t imagine  January and February as the most active months in an already, extremely active community. In New York – especially Syracuse - it is depression and hibernation season for those like myself, who can't bear the lack of sun,  cold winters, and snow. Before moving here, we knew NOTHING about Mardi Gras and I had no comprehension of what that would mean to my life here or how big of a role it would play.


As Christmas season ended and Mardi Gras drew near, we were excited about the first Mardi Gras preview parade that was to take place the day before the GMAC bowl. We had heard about the extreme traffic during Mardi Gras so Shanon and I went downtown three and a half hours before the parade.  Luckily, Mobile's definition of traffic is very different than the rest of the world, which is a good thing because our downtown barely has any. So, needless to say, we easily found a parking spot and plenty of things to do in ahead of time. We explored the various hotels before landing at Serdas, our favorite coffee shop, where we could watch the parade right out in front.

           At 6 p.m. we claimed our spot though it still was not crowded. The parade routes are four miles long (seven during the last weekend through Fat Tuesday).  At 6:15, a parade began; but not the one we expected!

          Throughout the 6 months we had been here, I noticed signs all over the streets that say, “No parking 2 hours before or 2 hours after a parade”, and a picture of a car being towed away but hadn't given them much thought.   Even that day, it still didn’t register because these are on side streets as well as the parade route.

          At 6:00 p.m., motorcycle police began randomly (so I thought) sounding their sirens and we noticed them circling around, signaling trucks. 'Thank God those kind policemen were helping these poor truckers maneuver through what was now becoming a crowded downtown!' 

          Soon, police cruisers and cycles came driving through the parade route with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Behind them was a long line of beautiful, shiny new tow trucks with one or more cars loaded on the back of each.  But I still wasn’t getting why they would be in a Mardi Gras parade! And furthermore, where were the floats?

            Then people next to me began cussing and I realized what was going on. The cars on the trucks were those that were illegally parked!! They paraded the cars through the parade route then to impound. Therefore, if you see your car go parading by on the back of a tow truck, you know that after the parade(s), your first stop will be at impound! We watched in amusement, scouring every car hoping and praying that ours would not be one of them!

         Now, Mobile is not a greedy town at all, nor is it one of those places where you feel like the Gestapo is on your tail waiting for you to make a mistake just so they can fine you. However, they are serious about having clear exit routes for emergencies during the parades! Yet many people still park in those spots only to see their own car parading proudly by, announcing to their owners "Hey!   Look at me!  

The Witches of South Georgia!

The Witches of South Georgia - Post 10

Our Second Black Hat Society - 2009

It was around the first day of October, 2008 just days before my last outing with Mom when two older women from my street, mother and daughter, knocked on my door and handed me an invitation and said, “We sure hope you can come!” They were the same two who had extended an earlier invitation to their church, the Government Street Presbyterian. We went and loved it and still attend there. I was certain that this too, was a church event, until I looked at how it was addressed:  'To Witch Mary!'

Our first Black Hat Society:  2008

Curious, I opened it up and saw that I was invited to "The Annual gathering of the Black Hat Society." The date was set for around October 17, or so. The party was for Witches only, no Warlocks. It stated to bring some gruel or grog to share. My conservative Christian background of my early adult years told me to be weary. But this was the south, a place refined in manners and etiquette but political correctness took a back seat. In the churches I had attended, it would have been thought to be downright satanic to have a Witches party. Yet, as I walked out onto the porch, invitation in hand, I watched the two walking back to their separate houses on the same street. With the Live Oaks and Magnolia trees that draped the streets, I could envision that a Witches party would be quite appropriate here! A sense of novelty and well being washed over me as, once again I realized, I was home.

Black Hat Society 2012

I thought back to my childhood days when all I wanted was to be a witch, just like Samantha on  Bewitched. In our family devotion time one night, my dad read the scripture, “If you ask anything in my name, and say to this mountain move from here to there, it will be done.” As children, we were mesmerized and asked many questions. Dad was careful not to dash our faith while he tried to put the verse into perspective. He was quite dismayed, and perhaps a little frustrated when my sister Kare,12, and I, 9, with eyes lit up, began asking if that meant we could be witches. We could not rectify why, if we could move a whole mountain, we could not be little witches. Dad was not happy that the 15 minute study turned into two-hours as we argued and grilled him with questions, trying to prove how illogical it was that one could move a mountain but not be a witch.

So, here I was all these years later and finally I discovered that, I am a Witch after all! I had the documents in hand to prove it! A few weeks later, however, Mom took ill and ended up in the hospital for what we knew would be a losing battle, at least on this plane. I had forgotten that I was a Witch and about the annual gathering of the Black Hat Society. But after being in Panama City for nearly two weeks while Mom hung at deaths door and then stabilized, this was my first break back to Mobile when Les noticed the invitation on the refrigerator and encouraged me to go. 'How could I?' Mom was dying and I was going to a Witch party? Yet, something propelled me to go. Shanon wanted to come as well and, in all honesty, I wanted to bring her but wasn’t sure of the protocol. Therefore, I made sure she had a Witches hat and told her to be on standby.


I nervously walked down the street in my Witches’ hat, following fellow Witches, most of whom I hadn’t met yet, into the historical home. Coming up to the house, the sidewalks had lighted bags that caused a mist in the already foggy, warm night. There was a light, drizzly rain and the smell of sweet Ginger bushes scented the air. I had barely gotten past the hosts, Martha Tizzington (mother in her 80’s) and Blighe Jones ( daughter in her 50’s or early 60’s) – if those names aren’t southern than tell me what is! – when they asked where Shanon was and then told me to call her and get her down there! In about a minute, Shanon too, came through the door, as Witch Martha and Witch Blighe greeted her with open arms.

I had always hated Halloween until moving to the south. Although I still hadn’t experienced one in Mobile yet, the classy, Victorian, beautiful decorations that laced the town gave me a new love for this season and anticipation for the day. After the warm reception at the door, we were amazed at the beautiful spread of food that continued grow as more and more Witches arrived. Soon there were about 60 women of all ages wearing beautiful hats.


The food was spread through several rooms of this house that has many tales to tell of the previous lives who have once filled these walls. The back family room, with a wall of windows and French doors leading to a courtyard, hosted a table of grog, which included soft drinks, water, beer and nearly every kind of wine under the sun. There were more hors'duerves(sp?) than I had ever seen in one place, and a table of desserts that I’d only seen in the south. We grazed, and chatted, and drank, and grazed.

Shanon and I were like two children in Disneyland, as we marveled at how much fun women of all ages could have together and the deep south culture at even a Witches party. Being new to the area, most of the Witches had the faces of strangers, yet as we meandered through, Witch after Witch introduced themselves and proceeded to share their own historical stories of Mobile. We were amazed at how nearly everyone not only knew the history of their own families, but also the city and state and they loved to talk about it and tell stories.

I thought about Mom and how much she would have loved this party and would have loved being a Witch. Although Panama City is beautiful, it certainly is not the old south. Like Syracuse, many don’t know their own family histories, let alone that of their city or state. Mom loved the old south traditions. She loved to host dinners and parties. I wished, so much that she was at the Witches’ party too, yet, here we were, and there she was, dying.

That night, as Shanon and I walked home, we talked about Miss. Blighe and Miss. Martha. We made a pact that if they ever stop the tradition we will carry it on. I thought about how lucky they were to be Witches together at their age and remembered a promise I made to Shanon long ago, when she was afraid I would die; that we would be old ladies together. I fought back tears as I knew Mom and I never would be old together and I secretly wished that it was she and I who were hosting the Witches party. We would have been such cool old ladies! Now it is just Shanon and I, my daughter and fellow Witch. We walked hand in hand on the warm, balmy night in October, under the Live Oaks and the light of the full moon streaming through the trees, dreaming of the day when we will be old ladies together, steeped in tradition and hosting deep south parties; The two Witches of South Georgia.

Mom Is Dying! Post #9

Mom was dying! Yet, I found myself feeling like I had won the lottery. Certainly, it was not because I was losing Mom; or, because we stood to have any significant inheritance. To tell this story, I must weave the history of the past four years and do my own ‘north vs. south’ experience.

Mom had lived in Panama City until her surgery. The plan was that she would be in the hospital for three days, rest for two weeks and then back to work. But thanks to so-called health insurance, her care was based solely on what would benefit the insurance company.  In an effort to rush Mom out of the hospital, they pulled a tube prematurely that was draining fluid from her brain the day after she had surgery to have an aneurysm clipped. My sister, a nurse, warned them that the tube was not ready be removed and was assured it wouldn't be pulled until the fluid drained.  Three hours later, the next visiting hours, the tube was gone. They were told the insurance company didn't deem it necessary.

Throughout the day, Mom stopped talking and began sleeping more. By evening she was unresponsive. We were called from NY as Mom had slipped into a coma. However, insurance doesn’t call it a coma if the nurses and doctors can pinch your breasts, leaving black and blue marks, and get any type of response. So, it was not an insured coma! Mom came out of her non-insured coma seven weeks later as an invalid with her mind in tact.

We decided to bring her to her sister’s house in Ohio (centrally located for her children) where we would rotate one month shifts to care for her. When Sally, my step-mom, fell ill with terminal cancer, we decided to move Mom again to Pulaski, NY where both could be in the same town to manage the care. Mom spent the next three years there, a place she had never adjusted to. 

         My feelings of gloom, doom and isolation during late fall and winter mirrored hers. Mom was a person who, like most southerners, knew no strangers and NY just did not offer an environment for that type of social interaction.     Many times during the coldest, darkest months of the year, I would look at Mom and think, “Well! If this isn’t the suck of all sucks!!!” Here she was,  still with a home in Florida, a total invalid with no choices in her life, and she had landed back in NY, the place she tried so hard to escape. There were a couple of times during those two years that Mom ended up in the hospital. 


          During those times, the sky was always gloomy and grey and the weather wet and cold.  The hospitals are in the University section and the students alone and their purposeful ugliness can throw you over the edge into insanity!   Now, I’m not trying to be mean here but SU students must try to look ugly! Many times while living there, co-workers and I went to the university area for lunch and were shocked at how each kid is uglier than the next. Apparently,  it is trendy to jump out of bed and head straight out the door without showering, or brushing their teeth or hair.  They're just filthy and it seems to be on-purpose, though I’m not sure what purpose!  And these are wealthy kids!

          Now, take that thought and put yourself in my shoes here: You are not there for lunch with co-workers, rather between ICU visiting hours, wondering if your loved one will live or die. You are surrounded by dozens of zombie-like college students who look like they already died! Outside it is cold, snowy, windy, drizzly, wet, with dead, skeleton-looking trees, and you are so utterly exhausted, on the verge of hallucinating. The grey skies are suffocating and everything that surrounds you reinforces the doom and gloom concept, sucking what little energy you have left!

         In November of 2007, my sister, brother and I loaded Mom into her van and drove her back to Florida to live with our other sister. I still lived up north and, just breathing in the salty ocean air and seeing the emerald green coast once again reminded me that I had to move. I was happy that Mom was back to the place she so loved. It was less than a year later that she had her last dance with illness.

I had moved to Mobile in June, 2008.  When mom's health took a downturn in early fall, I went back and forth from Mobile to Panama City. Again, Mom was in ICU and this time, we knew she was going to die. Yet, I still felt I had won the lottery! 

        There was an inner peace that filled me every time I walked out of the hospital and was surrounded by everything that Mom loved; the sun, the Palm trees, the night sky chocked full of stars, the gardens, and best of all, the ocean. Our breaks between visiting hours were spent walking the beaches, eating at beach-side cafes and going to all the places that Mom loved.

Every few days I went back to Mobile, a place that is like living in a tropical garden, one that Mom – though she never got to see - would have loved. It was here that I could renew my energy to go back. 

         On every trip home,  neighbors and friends brought food, gifts, flowers, or just visited. A young woman from church called every couple of days, came over for lunch, invited me to coffee, and walked with me through this part of my journey. Many times, I sat on my porch with Spooky by my side, thinking of what Mom and I would do to the yard, the house, and the building across the street, if she were here and we owned them. I would walk through the gardens of Mobile or the beaches that run the coast from Panama City to Gulf Shores, Alabama, all the types of places Mom loved and shared with us. Many times, I remembered conversations we had had, at that very place, yet in another time. Talks about education, careers, love, sex, marriage, men, babies, decorating, gardening, politics, UFO’s, life on other planets, ghosts, life, and death; nearly everything under the sun.

As the end of Mom’s life was nearing and I was forced to say goodbye to my best friend and biggest fan (as I am hers), I realized, I had won the lottery! How sad it would have been if she died in a place where she never was at home. How sad for us to have had to suffer the gloom and doom that the fall months in Syracuse offers, in a time when we were already experiencing loss. Yet here I was, in the place that she and I both love. Every time we left the hospital, it was as though Mom were there too, doing all the things that she loved. It connected me to Mom in a way that I could not have in NY, where the chasm between life and death is not very wide at all. It brought Mom closer to me in a time when I was losing her. Yes! I have won the lotto! I've won it indeed!

Spooky! Post #8

          As I mentioned in my other postings, Spooky, a black cat, came with the house that we are currently living in. When I had first looked at the pictures of this house online, there was Spooky sitting in the driveway underneath the branches of the Live Oak. The surrealistic surroundings (to a northerner anyway) make me think of some faraway past and the ghosts of those who have passed through this place. Spooky fits right into that. His cigarette and whiskey sounding voice and jagged edge ears due to his frequent “barroom brawls” of which we are certain he wins, emanates a maturity and wisdom that is only gained by experience. As I said before, I’m still not sure that he isn’t the reincarnate of a previous owner of this house, one who, like myself, thrives on the Live Oaks, Magnolia trees and the sweet smell of flowers that permeates the air for 12 months out of the year. I didn’t know when I met Spooky, what a crucial role he would play when my Mom was dying and how his wise advice and his faithful presence would help me through such a devastating time.

Chuck & Mom

The last time I spent time quality time with Mom – after her brain injury – was October 3, 2008. We had driven three and a half hours east, along the coast, over to Panama City, Florida,   just as we had several times since moving here. That Saturday, we had taken Mom to the boardwalk on Panama City Beach. It was in the upper 70’s and sunny so we stayed outside the whole afternoon and evening, walking, having Starbucks and later dinner outside while listening to a band. There were many bands and types of music that day, each which, as we walked the boardwalk, took us to different times in our lives, just as the three ghosts of Christmas’s past had taken Scrooge.

     At sunset, we took mom across the street to the beach and wheeled her down as far as the boardwalk would take us and stayed until the sun  melted into gulf. The salty breeze blew Mom’s hair off her face revealing her smooth, beautiful skin that she was always known for. Her sunglasses made her look so much like the Mom of pre-2004. Many people stared that night and I secretly wondered if the strangers who looked on also knew that this would be the last sunset that Mom would see. For some reason, I knew it would be the last time we would ever take a walk, or eat together, or silently walk down memory lane. The gentle wind, the salt air, and the white sand that laced the streets all reminded me that we were at a place that both Mom and I love, the ocean. We asked her several times if she was ready to go home – though I wasn't ready -and she said no. She, too, wanted to stay out. So, out we stayed till 11:30 that night when the band shut down. I’m pretty certain that Mom knew too, that this was her last band, the last sunset that she would see. If there was ever a time I felt a part of unspoken communication, this was it.

The following weekend, I received a call that Mom had to be hospitalized. Again, I packed and headed to Panama City. I was shocked, but yet I wasn't,  at the grim prognosis. They could give her surgery, which would prolong her life for 2-4 days, long enough for family to arrive and say goodbye. Without surgery, she had hours. We opted for the surgery and called in the family. Mom hung at deaths door as grandchild after grandchild flew in to say their goodbyes. Yet, after two weeks, Mom was still hanging in there AND communicating with us. She told us that she did not want to die. We knew it was inevitable.

After two weeks the family dynamics and the stress of trying to keep my daughter in school in a town where we knew few people to ask to keep her was too much. I decided to take a few days break hoping that Mom wouldn't pass when I was gone. I needed to get back to Mobile, my Mobile, a place where I found rest and solace and could renew my energy.

When I arrived home that night, there was a beautiful gift, a hanging star candle-holder on my porch left by a neighbor. As beautiful as that was, it was the first time I realized that I just didn't have anyone here who I knew well enough to pour my heart out to and have a good cry. My body was tense and ached with stress and my heart was breaking in my chest. I had gone out onto the porch, still too stressed to cry and that made it much worse. I’m not a crier; therefore, it is often long overdue when it does come. On this warm, sultry night, I sat alone on the porch staring at the starry sky and aching to be sitting with Mom. That was until something tapped on my face.


Jarred into the present moment, I looked and there was Spooky, whom had blended into the darkness. He began his trademark, rubbing his face on mine. At that point, I burst out crying and Spooky took that as an invitation to sit on my lap. I took him in my arms and for the next hour, Spooky just sat there letting me hug him and rubbing his face on mine as I sobbed and sobbed; the first time since late 2004. That was when I stood over Mom’s bed on the night before my Step mom’s funeral and realized that Sally was dead and Mom was never going to get better. I sobbed in much the same way back then, as Mom stared up at me but was unable to offer comfort. I shook and sobbed and kept telling her, “Mom, I just want you to get better!”; A wish that never came true.

          So here I was, at the end of the journey that began in 2004. Now it was Mom who was dying. And here was Spooky, always there to have morning coffee with me on the porch, or to listen to the birds, or keep me company when I did yard work. In my darkest hour he was there, meowing with his mature, wise voice and holding my face so that I looked into his eyes. He really does that! He made it clear that he was in this for the long haul! He would stay there with me as long as I needed him to sit with me while I cried. At that moment in time, there was nobody in the whole wide world that was more important than Spooky! He was my best friend!

The City Calling Post #7

        Remember the days of “Avon Calling!”? As a child, the TV was full with commercials where you would hear the doorbell “Ding Dong!” Then the voice saying, “Avon calling!”   Even as a young girl in the 60’s and 70’s, it still seemed nostalgically old fashioned. However, there was something so grounding about having the Avon lady stopping by every week.  Like clockwork, we could depend on her ringing our bell and my sisters and I often fought over who would answer the door.   My mom seemed to have a 6th sense about when she would show up as she always had a pot of coffee or hot water boiling for tea. When Mom and the Avon lady – who did not have a name, by the way - sat at the kitchen table, we would huddle around savoring every word they said and sampling the products. There was nothing like Avon Calling!

We had been in Mobile for three weeks when our phone rang for the first time. When I had discovered Mobile on the map and began calling Yacht clubs in the area, I told a man from the Dauphin Island club that we were considering moving to Mobile ( as in cell phone sounding mobile), Alabama. The man politely said, “Now Mam, first of all, it’s not Mobile (cell phone sounding), It’s Mobeel with the emphasis at the end.”   He was very polite as he explained that Mobilians know immediately who is not from here by how you pronounce ‘Mobile’. Therefore, I began to proudly say it correctly. Mobeel!   But after moving down here, it seemed that everyone I talked to would say, “Now Mam! It’s Mobeel! Your not from here, are you?” I was very confused, especially when people would say it over and over, yet it sounded the same to me. That is, until one day the phone rang.

          I answered it to hear a sweet, southern, woman’s voice. “This is a courtesy call from the city of MoBEEEEEEL! I am calling to invite you to the City planning meeting that will be held Tuesday, July … at 7:00 p.m. at the Alabama School of Math and Science. At this meeting we will be revealing the city design plans and you will have the opportunity to give your input.……” At that moment, I had two simultaneous trains of thought in my head.

The first one was that “Ah Ha!!!” moment when you finally figure something out. And that was what everyone had been trying to tell me.   It’s MoBEEEEEEL – with an emphasis on the second syllable as though there is a very long beel at the end. That sweet southern voice made very clear!

The second train of thought was, “Oh my Gosh! The city calls it’s residence to invite them to city meetings???” In all my years of living up north, the city had NEVER called my house! Yet, here I was, brand new in the Deep South and the ‘city’ was calling me to invite me to a meeting!

Two nights later, we went to the meeting and ironically, the news media interviewed Les for the evening news – like he knew something at that point – but that’s another story. The next day, the phone rang again with another local number on it. I picked it up and again there was our sweet southern bell who, this time said, “The city of MoBEEEEEL would like to thank you for attending the city planning meeting at the Alabama School of Math & Science!” Her beautiful voice and accent went on with a fairly long recorded message but I was lost after the first sentence. “How the hell did they know – aside from Les being on every news broadcast – that we attended that meeting???” I thought at the time, “This could be a good or a bad thing!”, as thoughts of the Stepford Wives ran through my mind. What if we have really moved to Stepford?

         A week later, the phone rang again and there was a Jimmy Carter-like voice that said, “Hello! This is Mayor Sam Jones! The rough draft blue prints based on input from of city planning meeting are now on display at the Civic Center (or wherever they were) and we invite you to come down and view them at any time between 8-4 on weekdays. These drawings are based on the feedback given at the ASMS meeting on July…” This time I was ready! Previously, I discovered that when the recording was over, you could push a button to hear it again. So I began dialing my cell phone to my son in New York to put the message on his voice mail. Then to my brother in Panama City, and my sister in Oklahoma City. Not only was it cool that the “city” called, but the accents, the voices, was so stereo-typically southern!  And you could listen to it up to six times!

          We have received many more calls from the city; A change in garbage night, a change of a parade route during Mardi Gras, another meeting, a weather warning! It only took about three calls from the city before my kids and I, began running for the phone, fighting each other off so that we could be the ones to hear the message first. Like waiting for that best friend to call, or that long awaited call from the opposite sex, we clamored to be first to answer the phone. We still aren’t sure how they knew we attended the meeting, and we certainly aren’t sure how they do what they do by calling the residents to keep them up-to-date. But one thing I know, just like the Avon Calling of years gone by, I like this kind of service. I like being in the loop – or at least thinking I am. I like the lady with the sweet southern voice who taught me how to say MoBEEEEEELLLLL! I just plain like this town!

Sleepless In Mobile Post #6

          As I said in my last post, after eight weeks of hell, the long trip moving from Upstate NY to Southern Alabama, and now that I would not have to face another cold, snowy winter, sleep would envelop me just as a newborn swathed in soft blankets!  I couldn't have been more wrong! That first night, I was mesmerized by a world I had never seen before, the live oaks that tunneled the streets and landscaping that resembles a tropical garden. As I lay down, exhausted, I began to wonder what my new world would look like during the day! It reminded me of being a teenager and going to Disney World.  I never slept the night before, as I laid awake in wonder of what the next day would bring.

          The same took place this first night in Mobile.  I lay awake imagining what my new world would look like. I listened to sounds I had never heard before and was amazed that the birds were singing all night long! In New York, birds sing in the morning. In Mobile, a place where every day is a celebration, the birds must think so too because they happily sing and holler to each other all night long. I tried to imagine what they might be saying and wondered if they had accents. “Hey, Angelo! Come over heah and see Mario’s new nest!” Or perhaps it was more like, “Whaa, Ya’ll come back naow! Hayer?” Or how about, “Cowraline? You close that doah when you leave for Naw’lins now! Ya heah?” I thought about another friend I had met that night named ‘Spooky’.

          Spooky is a black cat that was sitting in the driveway in the photo of the house on Craigslist. Before moving here, I jokingly asked the owner, “Does that black cat come with the house?” He informed me that, 'indeed he does', as the previous owner tried to take him but the cat just came back. Although I’m not an indoor cat person – (they break all your Majolica) I certainly did not mind him hanging on my porch. And hanging he was, as though he too, was expecting us and anxiously awaiting our arrival. He proudly greeted us and when I bent down to pet him, he put his hands on my face, pulled mine to his to ‘rub faces’ a trademark I had never seen until I met Spooky. That night I wondered if he would be there in the morning waiting for me, along with the Live Oaks. I wondered a lot of things that night, and many nights after.

          For the next two months, literally I lived on about three hours of sleep per night. Each was like ‘the night before Disney’, as I eagerly waited for morning to see my new world and have coffee on the porch with Spooky and the birds, who sang me lullabies through the night. At times, I would go out on the porch in the night for no other reason than to make sure I was still in the south, that I could still smell the sweet fragrance that permeates the air. For the first time in my life, I could lay awake, not worrying about the impending gloom, doom, and cold that would inevitably come our way; that which often rendered me a prisoner in my efforts to avoid the extreme cold.  Now I lay awake and wondered, ‘What will winter be like with no snow? Is this beauty really not going to go away?’ Although a NY Fall is beautiful in the prime of it’s fullest glory, to me it was a symbol of what was to come, barren trees that looked like dead skeletons, gray skies and cold damp weather that would claim five months a year out of my life, totaling nearly 20 years of wishing for warm weather and blue skies! These were the things that kept me awake, night after night for well over two months!

          Another thing that I noticed, on one of those ‘pre-Disney’ nights, were the trains. I had never heard so many in my whole life, especially in the middle of the night! The difference between trains here and those in NY is the muffled sound they make here – as though a ghost train from the long ago past manages to sound it’s horn through a time-passage to now.  I wondered why the difference and thought that perhaps the humidity muffled the sound.  Then the articles came out in the Press about the noise level of the trains downtown (only a mile away) in the midnight hours and how this disturbed the visitors of the convention center hotel where the tracks actually ran under the building. On those nights, I wondered; if it had been fifty years earlier, would I have been committed to a psychiatric institution? I’d lay there in bed and laugh my butt off thinking about our guests to Mobile, being jarred awake nearly every half hour by the trains that ran right beneath them! I bet the horns didn’t sound so muffled to them! “Hee hee hee!” I knew that if anyone saw me, alone in the dark, laughing hysterically, they’d surely think I had stepped off the deep end.

           The sleep deprivation had no affect on me. I simply was not tired – ever! There was something here that grounded me in a way I had never been before; Spooky – with his cigarette and whiskey sounding voice - who I’m still not convinced is not a reincarnate of a previous owner of this house, the birds that still include me in their all-night parties, the neighbors who so graciously made us feel welcome, the trees that envelop the streets and make me feel safe and secure, and even the far away sounds of the train horns that now lull me to sleep. They all gave me their very own orientation to the Deep South, each in their own version. 

Many times on those nights, I thought back to an old childhood book, “Go Dog Go!” On one page, there are about ten dogs sleeping soundly in a large bed, all but one. His eyes are wide open! As a child, I wondered if he was lonely lying there awake all by himself. ‘Was he scared? Or perhaps worried?’ That thought haunted me through much of my childhood whenever I looked at that book. But that first night and many nights after, I realized, that dog must have moved to Mobile too! Like me, he was excited about what the morning would bring.

Sweet Home Alabama! Post #5

Having left New York at 3:00 a.m. Sunday morning, we didn’t arrive to Mobile until around 9:00 p.m. Monday, June 30, 2008. We needed to pick Les's car up at the airport so our first stop was in West Mobile. It was dusk and the girls and I decided to drop Les off and find our own way to our house - which I had found on Craigslist. Map in hand, off we went. The sky was a beautiful pink and the palm trees stood as proud silhouettes on a balmy, summer night. Having described Mobile as “Erie Boulevard with Palm trees” (see my second post),my oldest, Nejla, a UAB student who hadn’t been to Mobile, looked at me incredulously and asked, “What was ugly about Mobile?” I had the same feeling of shock and surprise as I said, “I don’t know!”

        We drove Airport Boulevard to Government Street so it was a long strip. But on that night, neither of us had ever seen such a beautiful sight. The sunset and Palms nicely camouflaged any plainness or ugliness I had remembered. The warm, sultry air and the distant smell of the ocean mixed with sweet flowers accentuated the view! I now know, after a little experience in Mobile, that there are two worlds; west of 65, and east of 65! As we drove in the western world of Mobile, we saw beautiful neighborhoods I hadn’t seen back in April, and the sky was very different from the gray skies during our three-day visit here. Even the boulevard traffic was dwarfed in comparison to the backdrop that enveloped it, as though an artist had painted the sunset over the boulevard just for our arrival.

        In the eastern world – after Bellaire Mall, the commercial landscape began to disappear and, in spite of the now-dark skies, the Live Oaks stood magnificently, tunneling streets. Then we got to Government Street! I had never seen Live Oaks before because, as stated in my second post, they were either invisible when we were here in April or they had been installed between then and now because they were NOT there before! The three of us squealed, squawked, and ‘oooh’d and aaah’d’ over the trees, the many versions of Palms, and the garden-like quality that surrounded the beautiful mansions of Government Street in the historical district.

        We knew we were getting close to our street but feared ours would be out of the other end of this beautiful area, where there would be no Live Oaks or historical mansions. When we finally reached it, we again gasped in delight to find that our street was right in the heart of historical Mobile. We turned and as we drove down the street, were amazed to see that each house was more beautiful than the next and we knew at that moment that I had won the lottery: a house, found on Craigslist, sight unseen!

        My previous neighborhood had been similar type but there was no ‘historical’ section, just ‘historical’ houses and certainly the streets were not tunneled with the trees or filled with tropical landscaping. The fact that only certain houses were deemed historical meant that your neighbor could put on aluminum doors, vinyl windows and siding, undermining the whole character of the neighborhood.  As we drove down our street, also tunneled with Live Oaks and historical houses with yards that looked like tropical gardens, the houses got smaller and ours was nearly the smallest. However, I had always lived in houses with big porches and this porch would do. The Live Oak in the corner of the yard that drapes over the driveway and shades the whole front yard washed away any disappointment that my little rental house was not one of the bigger ones that lined the streets.

        I was pleasantly surprised at how much bigger it is inside than it looks from out – a phenomenon that is quite common here! Not having been a renter in over 20 years, it was then that it hit me how lucky I had been to land a house such as this, sight unseen, in such a gorgeous area! I shuttered to think it could have been a roach or rat infested house in the worse part of town, yet, here I was in a place that I had always pictured in my mind, the tropical garden quality, trees that tunneled the streets and the must-have Palm trees and plants that assured me there would be no snow! Yet, I didn’t know it actually existed, nor would I have had a clue where to begin looking for it, yet here it was and here I was!

You would think I’d start unpacking the house but instead, all I wanted to do was sit on the porch and bask in the beautiful scenery that was now my home. Our landlord and his girlfriend had just put a new kitchen in the house and were in there completing the final touches when I arrived. Their obvious concern for me to be happy was evident! After they left, my girls and I walked up and down the street like tourists in New York City, with our heads looking up, only here at the trees. We kept tripping on the sidewalks, most of which are lifted and broken from the roots of the Live Oaks and Magnolias. Only it didn’t matter! We would just have to watch our step! The trees reigned and the sidewalks would just have to deal!

         When we had first reached the Alabama state line coming in on 59 and stopped at the welcome center a load of weight rolled off my shoulders. The stress that I had felt for so long fell off at various milestones of the trip, but the last of it fell away at the welcome center, surrounded by gardens, Florida pines – the tall ones that don’t smell like Christmas or snow – and beautiful trees – but not yet Live Oak territory. You would think that, between there and here – about five hours, I would have taken a long, beautiful nap. But I didn’t want to miss a thing in my new state and could not sleep! Finally, we were here and I was certain, though, that sleep would find me that night. After all, I was finally home – a place I had never been before!

Alabama Or Bust Post #4

Les flew into Syracuse in late June to drive us back to Mobile. We still had small pieces of furniture, four brand new car tires and miscellaneous stuff that needed to be moved. Les had refused to allow us to put anything in the Jeep that he was towing behind the moving truck. Fifteen years of being a medic and having never driven a loaded truck while towing a full-size SUV on a trailer, he was uncertain of how it would handle with the extra weight. I was ready to load it up but now here we were, eight weeks later with all this stuff that should gave gone then.

Being a light traveler, I expected Les to be the same. After all, his trip would only be 4 days. When he emerged through the gate at the airport, duffel bag in hand, I was ready to make a mad dash to the parking lot when he informed me that we needed to wait for his luggage. “Luggage?” I Said. “Shouldn’t you have been able to fit everything in that duffel bag?” In my mind, 4 shirts, 4 shorts, 4 underwear, all rolled neatly to conserve space, along with a shaving kit! There was plenty of room in that duffel bag!

As we stood at the conveyor watching people anxiously await their luggage, a huge suitcase came through that could have carried three grown men. “Oh My! Somebody else is moving too! Lucky them! They got to fly their stuff to the destination!” I thought. Then to my horror, Les starts pushing through the crowd, knocking people over, and grabs that piece of luggage! Not being prone to arguing or loud shouting matches, I found myself pushed beyond my limits. Like a shaking dog trying to control itself next to a forbidden steak, I was trying very hard not to throw a fit! After all, he had just gotten off the plane and furthermore, had uprooted his whole life and paved the way to get me out of the north! I can’t turn mean now! Les didn’t see the problem, even when we got to the car and his suitcase took up three-quarters of the back end. He had yet to have seen what still needed to be packed.

When we arrived at the cottage, I calmly opened the suitcase to see what the hell was in there! I swear, he had everything from hurricane lights – in case a hurricane comes across Lake Ontario - to snow mobile boots - in case we run into a June snowstorm in Tennessee! There was nothing that remotely reflected what we were doing! I dreaded the moment when my drama queen, oldest girl came in and saw that suitcase! I laughed so hard I cried! Then started the process of deciding what we would do without. And that suitcase was one thing we would leave behind, since I had never seen it before that day!

Les was discouraged to realize that his social vacation was not social after all! It was a ‘get ready, close out business, run errands, finish paint jobs, collect pay, pack the car and get the hell out of there!' trip. We loaded the car the night before and eliminated two more suitcases. Les’s sister suggested, we “gypsy pack”! That means cramming loose stuff in every nook and cranny of the car! We were given a car carrier as long as we delivered it to its rightful owner, my sister in Panama City. What a blessing! We were able to put two of the tires in it and Shanon’s many stuffed animals that we all wondered how we got sucked into keeping! We loaded into the SUV at 3 a.m. and, literally, none of us could see each other! It was like four separate entities that could hear each other and even have muffled conversations, but we could not see each other! At rest areas, being the neurotic mom, I had to be last in the car and check each cubical to be sure they contained a passenger, then double check by taking attendance before pulling out, requiring a verbal “Here!” from all quadrants.

My stress level was so high that, as we drove west on Interstate 90, various scenarios flew through my head of getting stuck in NY. It was about 6:30 a.m., thirty minutes after passing through Buffalo. We had about twenty miles to the Pennsylvania line. In my mind, that was my mark of freedom, my new lease on life! Nothing could stop me now! The stress was melting away the closer we got. I was driving and started getting into a very relaxed, nostalgic state as I pondered our future in the south.

Suddenly the car jerked backwards and there was a loud snap! Nobody was sure what happened. Did we blow a tire? Were we hit? Suddenly, I looked in my review mirror to see the car-top carrier catapulting down the highway, end over end! Wide eyed with fear that someone would be killed by the stupid thing, I prayed to God and watched the cars go around it, like Moses parting the red sea! Thank God! I pulled the car over and called 911 while Les ran back and waited for a break in traffic to pull it off the road.

The operator told us to stay there until the police got there. As we waited, we talked about what was in there and EVERYTHING was too important to leave! The more the car whooshed into rocking motion from 18-wheelers whipping by, the more we discovered we could do without! My drama girl, whose old schoolbooks were a matter of finishing college or not, suddenly realized that her life would be just fine without them. The two tires that had cost $150 each were also something we could live without! I called 911 back and told them we were not in a safe place and needed to just go on. However, the officer taking the case insisted on rescuing our stuff so the dispatcher told us to meet him in the median crossover 13 miles ahead and he would bring our carrier. We did as told and again, waited another 30 minutes.

My body was now threatening to convulse in stress, as I feared being thrown into jail, prolonging my residency in New York! The more we waited, the more my stomach churned! Finally, the officer came, driving down the left lane with his flashers on, at 15 miles per hour, with his back door wide open and our carrier hanging out. We knew beyond a shadow of doubt – and he did too – that nothing else could fit in this car. We found out that, that type of carrier has a history of the whole bottom snapping out of it where the hooks attach it to the car, just as this one did. We weren’t the only ones this had happened to! When we opened it and the officer saw the stuffed animals and realized we were moving out of state, he was adamant that Shanon needed those and insisted that we give the crying girl the stuffed animals – which meant the girls were even more jammed in! We felt bad that, after all of his trouble, we couldn’t take our stuff. To my relief, he laughed as he kept saying, “ I never saw anybody not want their stuff before!” I just wanted to get the hell out of New York State, to cross that state line so that I could finally say I no longer lived there! The clock was ticking! Winter would come again! Run, Mary Beth, run!

Eight Weeks of Hell! Post #3

We arrived back to Syracuse after our job hunt in Alabama, ready to move. Les was offered a job and was in Mobile in three weeks! I had been selling my household belongings on Craigslist for months. It was now evident that I must hold an estate sale to get down to what would fit in a 24-foot truck, all in the next three weeks! Everything was for sale if someone wanted to buy it! What mattered was that we hauled as little as possible to Alabama and had cash to cushion our new life for the first year.

On May 13, we jammed the truck with what was left of our belongings, along with Les’s jeep on a trailer behind. At 5 p.m. Les and the bird, in a cage on the passengers seat, headed to Alabama. The farthest south he had ever been, aside from our previous trip, was Pennsylvania. As I watched him pull from the curb and embark on the journey that had been my brainchild, I reveled at how brave he was! I knew that, no matter how much I had wanted it, I wouldn’t be brave enough to make the 1300-mile trip by myself - even if my family would be there in eight weeks!

He left on Tuesday and arrived Friday night. Since I still owned properties in Syracuse, we were unable to buy right away, though I hadn’t been a ‘renter’ since 1987. I had only known ‘rental’ from a landlord’s perspective, yet, here we were, the renters of a house I had found on Craigslist. When Les arrived, the landlord and neighbor, a teacher at the ASMS, greeted him with a group of students who would unload the truck. Afterward, our landlord/friend – who refuses to call us ‘tenants’ - took Les to Callahan’s Irish Pub for a burger and drink. The following day, Les went ‘yacht club hunting’ and discovered yet, another one, the Buccaneer Yacht Club. Literally, he had been in Mobile, a town in a state where we knew no one, for less than 24 hours when he began texting pictures of himself sailing on Mobile Bay with all of his new friends – who are still our friends! This was indicative of his next eight weeks. My next eight weeks, however, was one disaster after another!

The closing of my house fell through on closing day, thanks to my ‘Driveway Nazi’ who showed herself to the buyers that morning and caused them to back out of the deal. To make a long story short, the previous owners of my big, beautiful, Victorian house were run off by the Driveway Nazi, the next door neighbor girl who is about my age and still lives with her very wealthy parents. Yet they certainly did not mention her in the ‘property disclosure’ when I bought it! So now, five terrorizing years later, here I was, selling the house. Do you think I mentioned the Driveway Nazi in my disclosure? Not a snowball’s chance in hell! But Karma was soon to knock at my door when the buyers – who held the house hostage for the past 5 months – met the Driveway Nazi the morning of the scheduled closing and the deal came to a screeching halt! The money they demanded I dump into the house the previous two weeks was no longer coming back in cash at the closing table because THERE WAS NO CLOSING!!! So here I was, the first two weeks after Les left, living in a vacant house, and the next six weeks in a cottage on Lake Ontario, without the money I had planned to live on during that time!

I've never been one to borrow from one account to pay for something else as that is only borrowing from the future. Therefore, I resorted to painting and cleaning properties owned by my dad and sister just to get by during that time so that I wouldn't have to take from otherwise allocated funds. For six weeks, I wore tattered work clothes and was filthy from sheet rock and sanding dust. Between jobs, I helped with pricing at my Dad’s ACE Hardware store. So, here I was, over 40, with an M.A. and working on a PH.D, yet, somehow catapulted back into my hometown as the sticker lady at Deaton's, while Les was floating around Mobile Bay on a sailboat!

To add salt to the wound of my deflated ego, my face decided that it was allergic to something and thought it would be cute to blow up like a fricking balloon, especially around my eyes, making me look like a distorted version of Frankenstein! My mom had always told me, “Never go out of the house not looking your best! If you do, you will run into all the people – particularly hot guys – that you haven’t seen in 10 years and you will look like hell!” Well, at this point, I didn’t have a choice and it wasn’t 10 years, it was more like 25 years and boy was she right!

It seemed that every time I went out, whether to the grocery store or simply to sit on the deck of the cottage, the hottest guys from my high school days would turn up. In the grocery store, I found myself taking sudden, sharp turns, hiding behind racks, and looking in the other direction pretending not to see people while at the same time, not letting them see my new ‘Frankensteiness’. At the cottage – which sits at the mouth where the Salmon River enters Lake Ontario, many people whom I would not have chosen to see this version of myself, floated by in sailboats every time I sat on the deck. I hadn’t been in town for well over 20 years, except for my previous class reunion, so it wasn’t like they would look at me and say, “Oh, what happened to you?” It was more likely, “Holy Crap! She looks like hell after all these years!”

Between the closing of my house falling through, and my face swelling, I began to wonder if there wasn’t a conspiracy to keep me in New York or, at the very least, make my last 8 weeks there a living hell, which it totally was! By the time Les flew back to drive us to Mobile at the end of June, I was like a caged prisoner making a run for it! Thus, began my escape, from as near as hell as I had ever been, to Mobile, Alabama!

Time To Go! Post #2

It wasn’t until the fall of 2007 when I knew, that I knew, that if I suffered the frosty claws of a Syracuse winter one more time, I would just croak! All the typical reasons that prevent people from following their dreams, relocating, or making major life changes were now dwarfed in comparison to facing another winter of gray skies, deep snow, and constantly being cold, along with $750 heat bills that were predicted to increase the following year by 40-60%. I looked at our quality of life vs. the money that was spent just to meet our survival needs and it became evident that we (all New York State residents) were being ripped off big time! I hadn’t been able to afford to take my children to Disney World, yet I was dumping $2000 a month in the garbage between energy costs, taxes, and astronomical gas prices. In those terms, the answer was a no-brainer! Good-bye to all familiar places, people and things that I had held so dear! Hello to the unknown, the road not yet traveled! Hello to Alabama!

Except for driving through Dothan, Montgomery, or Eufaula, I had only spent time in Birmingham, therefore, my plan was to move there with my children. I flew down in February 2008 for a job interview where I was offered the position of Training Director in a large medical facility. I had recently gotten an offer on my house and began selling my household belongings off on Craigslist. I was to start the job on April 10, 2008. It was at that time that Les (my significant other) decided that he would move south too. An avid sailor, he had decided to take up golfing - which beautiful golf courses envelop the neighborhoods of Mountain Brook - in order to help him with the transition and compensate for the lack of bodies of water in that area.

In early March, the whole administration in that facility, myself included, was fired before I even got there to do anything to get fired! Since Les had spent his life racing sailboats on Lake Ontario, I felt guilty pulling him away from the life he loved to a city where there would be no sailing. But now I was no longer obligated to Birmingham. That was when I remembered, “Alabama has a coast!” I had no idea what city was on it so I pulled out a map and there was Mobile, right on the bay. I dared not tell Les as I was not sold on the idea of letting Birmingham go and trying another strange place. If Les found out there was a coast, there would be no turning back!

I googled “Yacht clubs in Mobile, Al”. Dauphin Island, Fairhope, and Mobile clubs all came up and I proceeded to call all of them to get information. Each call was met with a happy, welcoming voice, all of which gave me every reason why we should come and join their club and not the others.

In April, we both came down for a fact-finding/job-hunting mission. I had wanted to move south for over 20 years but there was always a reason not to. A job, friends, our church, the kid's school, the kid's friends, or just plain the thought of sorting through a large house and hauling all that crap 1300 miles south.

As I said in my last post, my first exposure to Mobile had been short and sparse. By sparse, I mean that I saw very little of actual Mobile, but saw a lot of the service road between Airport Boulevard and Cottage Hill. We had decided to look and apply for jobs for 4 days in Birmingham and 3 days in Mobile. Whoever got the first job that would cover our monthly living expenses, no matter which city, we would take it just to get into the south. However, we didn’t factor in the two young girls we had with us and that we couldn’t just leave them at the hotel by themselves all day. Therefore, Les looked for work and the girls and I camped by the pool at the Drury Inn on Airport Boulevard service road.

At days end, Les would come back and tour us around the area. We had an “Airport Boulevard” in Syracuse, only it was called “Erie Boulevard” and had no Palm Trees. We went to see the bay, which must have flipped upside down or something because it was as brown as a mud puddle and it just so happened that the skies were gray the whole time we were here. I saw the shipping ports downtown from the bayway and, having never seen a shipping port before, thought that they were just giant cranes parked downtown by the bay. I had always hated cranes! I had nightmares about them as a child! We tried several times to actually get to downtown but could never seem to reach it. We saw it in the distance from several angles and had gone through the tunnels a few times but ended up in Theodore instead. What is so simple now was an enigma to us then.

On our last day, just as we were heading back to Birmingham for one more night before going north, we somehow found our way to Dauphin Street downtown but I was too stressed, and too ‘Birmingham minded’ to appreciate anything. Les so desperately wanted me to see what he knew I would love; the historical structures, the Live Oaks that tunneled the streets and Magnolia trees! But my heart was so set on Birmingham that, I swear to God, those big trees were invisible, or must have been installed between the time we left and the time I arrived for good in June because, had I noticed them, I would have been hooked right then!

Les received a job offer in Mobile that met our “foot in the south” criteria. I had mixed emotions. No more winter! I was really getting out of there! I was really moving south. To where? A place that looked like Erie Boulevard with Palm trees! Palm trees! That was the saving grace! If there were Palm trees, there was no snow! I could look at traffic and cranes all day, and even big, brown mud puddles as long as there was no snow! Les was to start his job in three weeks which meant rushing back to NY, selling as much as possible, and loading what was left in a 24 foot truck and rebuilding from there. He would leave on May 13. I would stay for the closing of my house and for my youngest to finish school in late June. And people would ask me, “Where are you moving too?” And I would answer them…”A place that looks like Erie Boulevard with Palm trees and a big brown mud puddle!”

Discovering Alabama - Post #1

My first introduction to Mobile was brief. But to tell that story,  I must start at the beginning, in 2004 when, due to a tragedy, I first discovered Alabama. Mom was having a procedure done in which she was supposed to be 3 days in the hospital and back to work in two weeks. When she opted to have the surgery in Birmingham, Alabama, we (her children) like many non-Alabamians, were agasped as we asked, “Mom!  Alabama?!?!  What the heck is in Alabama?!?” We had all seen “Sweet Home Alabama”! We knew the deal!

     Mom drove herself from Panama City, Florida to Birmingham three days early to prepare for the surgery. Two of my sisters flew in to be with her and Mom picked them up at the airport. However, things took a downturn two days after the surgery, and it became evident that a three-day hospital stay would become long-term, and Mom would never go back to work again. It was time to fly in the troops – which included both of my brothers, another sister, myself, and whatever grandchildren could come. We didn’t know if Mom would make it.

      As a former hospital social worker, I had seen many families dealing with the pain of sudden, long-term illnesses. During those times, there are constantly critical decisions that must be made quickly, while weighing life and death and/or quality of life issues. With six kids and several grandchildren now at her side, we were not always unanimous in our decisions regarding Mom. However, one thing that was unanimous was our new-found love for Birmingham, and later the state of Alabama, that we still hold today.

     The fact that we loved Birmingham was decided pretty early on.  There were many reasons to fall in love with the city: The hotel staff, who generously offered to shuttle my mom and sisters on the days preceding the surgery back and forth to the doctor - along with the injured NFL players also staying at the hotel who were shuttled to their doctors.    For my youngest brother Mike, my son Tom, and I, it was the shuttle driver from the hotel, who so graciously offered to pick us up at the airport, drop our things at the hotel, and then back to the hospital to join the rest of the family. It was the employees of Starbucks at Five-Points who greeted us day-after-day, between ICU visiting hours, and asked us how our Mom was doing, and the young, black lady named Shirley, who owned both a coffee shop and a carry-out breakfast joint and made me a beautiful breakfast of 2 eggs, two home-made bacon biscuits, a side of grits and a large glass of orange juice for $1.99 when I only had $2.00 in my pocket, then gave me a gift card for 24 free coffees from her coffee shop/internet café down the street, a gift that lasted me for the whole month when my finances were running dry! It was person after person who reached out, prayed for my mom, or just said hello on the street.

    Aside from the people, we noticed something else. Birmingham was a beautiful city. I had never stood in the middle of a downtown and smelled fresh, sweet flowers! The botanical garden, about 3 minutes from downtown, is free and offered a solace from our sad reality day-after-day, with something new to discover each time we went. Then there is the Vulcan, who brought us comfort by his watch over the city day and night. In an odd way, he kept us “grounded” in a strange city during a sad time. 

     Between ICU visiting hours, we cruised the neighborhoods of Mountain Brook, admiring the gardens and golf courses that are infiltrated into the neighborhood, downtown and corporate areas.   I was enamored by the effort that is made to bring beauty into every aspect of life; things that I wondered if the locals even had a clue or took them for granted! 

     This was when it hit me that, 'I don’t have to live in a place where much of my life was surrounded by ugly, gray skies, and freezing temperatures for 8 months out of the year!'  I could live in a city that makes every aspect of life beautiful, something that makes terrible circumstances a little more bearable. It was during this trip – within 45 minutes after stepping off the plane -  that my spirit knew I must move here! Though I had to leave Alabama after this ordeal, Alabama never left me! Many times over the next four years, back in New York, while sitting on the shores of Lake Ontario, I would stare out to where the water met the sky and imagine that Alabama was out there. I could see it, smell it, taste it, and if I reached far enough, touch it! I must get to Alabama!!