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"DAZE OF GRACE"
by
Stampteach
My g-grandparents, James Madison Blalock and Lucinda (Cathey)
Blalock, were married in Haywood, NC when she was 13 years old. Her
father was dead, and I imagine that it was difficult for the mother
to raise the family....so they married young. Eventually they moved
to the AL/GA area of Lookout Mountain. They lived near Mentone, AL
and Menlo, GA. Two of the Blalock brothers married two Ellison
sisters. Grace Wilson is the Grand-daughter of Joseph Murry Blalock.
I am the Grand-daughter of John Thomas Blalock...so we are distant
cousins.
When Grace moved with her family to Coldiron, KY, they were very
poor. Her father went to work in the coal mine there. Grace later
wrote a column for her local newspaper there. Her column was called
DAZE OF GRACE. She has kindly given permission for me to include
some of her stories here.
The nine folks that lived at 320 Hemlock in Benham from the 20's
thru the 50's were generally a happy family. There were mom and
dad who endured, Sonny, the shy protective half brother and the
six sisters with their oft dramatic attempts for sibling recognition.
During all the joys and sorrow of growing up, I think we were all
aware of a couple of thorns in our rose garden. Sonny's sorrow
was that his mother had died when he was a baby, and mom grieved
that she had no son of her own. She even gave us masculine names,
like Johnny and Forester, but we were still just a gaggle of girls.
Most of us were married and moved out when mom had the accident
that put her in a cast from waist to foot for several months. On the
day the cast was removed they also removed a tissue from a lump on
her breast. It was the week before Mother's Day when Dr. Mullin
called us in to report on the biopsy. He called it bad news and
good news. Bad that tests indicated malignancy and good that it
was apparently detected in time to control it with surgery.
Mom was a realist and insisted on no delay, so she was admitted at
Benham with surgery scheduled for Friday. This was before the age
of blood bank and plasma availability, so we seven children were
typed and crossmatched as donors if blood was needed. Sonny and
Forester were the compatible ones and their blood was used during
the operation.
Friday evening and Saturday we took turns hovering over Mama, except Sonny. It had been a long surgery and mama reeked of the
anesthetic. After all she was a big woman and a radical mastectomy
is not performed thru a button hole. Sonny would become violently
ill each time he got a whiff of the anesthetic and both he and mom
would up-chuck. He mostly just stood outside the door questioning
each of us as we left the bedside.
Mama was still "woosy" on Mother's Day. We all visited early,
expecting other visitors after church. Mama half roused and said,
"All of my children have been here today but Sonny. Is he sick?
Sonny stepped to the bed, fighting the nausea and took her hand.
"No, Mother, I'm right here and I've got a red carnation." Mama
wrinkled her brow, seemed to doze off and then tried to raise up
asking, "You've got what?"
Tears were on Sonny's face and he spoke slowly over a sob in his
voice. "I've got a real red carnation! I've finally got me a real
living mother. Of course you're so special I had to do it the hard
way and in reverse-but that transfusion made us blood kin. I can
wear a red flower for my living mother today."
Mom looked at him for a long time with a vacant half conscious
stare. Then she patted his hand and turned her head to go to sleep
with just a bit of a smile to indicate she understood this was her
son and she was well pleased.
On Mother's Day there is one thing
I can't consider right
That is wearing a corsage
Of flowers pure and white.
For that means dead and I need red
To prove my faith and say
Altho' she's gone I truly believe
My mother lives today.
It's with sadness that we're sending Rev. Gary Ramsey to pastor a
church at Cedar Grove, KY. The Ramseys have added much to our
services for three years, and we had hoped to keep these active
young people with us for a while. A note from Tater consoling me
on the loss really hit home. These changes she says are God's way
of keeping us from becoming preacher worshippers. The church has
grown under his guidance and our loss is a gain for Cedar Grove.
And boy do we need a piano player! Reunion time!
Grace Wilson
Dad used to tell a yarn about this grandmother (I don't know if it
was Ellison or not but it seems like he said it was a "Cathy" which
I understood was not short for Kathleen but a last name of one of
the ladies who married the Blalock boys.)(Note from stampteach: This
was her Grandmother, Lucinda Cathey, who married James Madison
Blalock).
It seems that she was a blessed moral person but there had been no
formal religious training in the rustic area where they lived. A
group of young people from a school in Rome, GA came out and held
"Protracted meetings" in brush Arbor tents and the natural beauty
of the mountain. The story goes that she had attended the meetings
and was converted. The next night they asked her to give her
Christian testimony. She said, "I don't know anything about
testimonies." They told her to just use her own words to tell of
her experience with Christ. It seems that her one unladylike
quality was using a certain four letter word that meant excrement.
So in her own words before God and everybody, she announced, "S___!
Before I found Jesus my life wasn't worth a s__t. He come in and
cleaned up my life like off with a dirty diaper!" That may have been
a "Cussing Cousin!"
More from GRACE:
November embraces two special days that are inalienably ours.
They are election day and Thanksgiving. Both of these are "Mom and
apple pie" on the yearly calendar.
Without dwelling on politics, I recall the story of the "dyed
in the wool" party voter discussing an election with her grandson.
"But Granny," he said, "in this enlightened age you vote for the
man and not the party." She replied, "Well, son, if it took age to
enlighten you, you know that if he's my party, he is the man."
The other November day of note is Thanksgiving. In our family,
Thanksgiving has always been more of a family day than Christmas.
Most of us wanted the Christmas trees and tradition of our own
homes. Later all the families visited with each other at the home
place. Thanksgiving, however, was definitely a home day when we
all gathered for dinner and thanks at home with Mom and Dad.
On the shady side of age 70 you begin to wonder if your memory
serves facts or artifacts of occasions and family tales.
For many years the bounty of our Thanksgiving dinners depended
on crops and sometimes the wild game my father could bag. I recall
one "wild turkey" dinner, but mostly it was less glamorous game.
Rabbit, squirrel and mostly fattened ground hog baked in the skin
surrounded by sweet potatoes.
Thanks was always of the utmost importance on Thanksgiving and
all other days at our meals. Children of today are really handi-
capped by schedules that deprive them of family mealtimes. I believe
that most of the ... ....(part missing)...best things of my
character could be ascribed to sharing, caring, conversations and
food that I ingested on the bench behind the table at family meal
time.
Dad always said grace before our evening meal. If he was a
bit slow or late we waited until he said the prayer before we ate.
I have been told that he always said his little thanks before
eating, no matter where he was --on a hunting trip, in the mines,
at a church supper or wherever. I do know I was back home visiting
one time, and Dad's work schedule was such that he got home bout
1 a.m. I had already gone to bed, but I heard him stirring and
thought I'd get up and speak to him. When I got to the dining room
door, I could hear him praying over a bowl of cold cereal, at the
table, alone, in the middle of the night. He always prayed his own
little prayer: "Gracious Lord, give us thankful hearts for these
and all other blessing that we received from Thy hand. We ask this
for Christ's sake. Amen."
This is not an elaborate thing but to a country boy from the
hills of north Alabama gracious was the highest honor that was
known. He did not pray for health, wealth or wisdom, but for a
thankful heart to accept the many blessings the Lord provided and
all in the name of Jesus. The family is scattered, but we all
remember this petition of thanks that guided our lives.
Each year when Mother's Day rolls round
We hear an old refrain
And reminisce a heart felt wish
To hear her pray again.
I think about my childhood years
And see another face
It was Mom who called, "It's suppertime."
But Daddy said the grace.
With seven rowdy, hungry kids
He could hardly get us quiet.
But 'til Daddy said the blessing,
We wouldn't take a bite.
With head bowed down, I'd sneak a peek
To watch him while he prayed
And memorize the humble prayer
And thankful words he said,
Though he's been gone
for many years,
We kids are old folks now,
We try to keep a thankful heart
As Daddy showed us how.
I think of that marriage supper
Where I hope to find a place
And I hope our Blessed Lord will ask
My Dad to say the grace!
Grace Wilson
Grace is now living in Collinsville, AL near her daughter, who
is the wife of a minister there.
These graphics were
custom made
by
David L. Brown
All copyrights reserved!
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