Category: Seasons

A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

people-come-into-your-life-for-a-reason-a-season-or-a-lifetimeToday is a day for counting blessings. I have many reasons to be thankful and all of them involve the people that I have known. From the moment of my first memories I have been surrounded by good loving souls who cared for me and made me feel safe and secure. I have to admit that I have only rarely felt the pain of abuse from another human and in each of those cases I enjoyed the freedom to walk away. I have observed hate in this world but have not been the victim of it. Instead my life has witnessed kindness, loyalty, understanding and genuinely unconditional love over and over again.

When my baby brain awoke my parents were there doting on me, along with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors and friends. I recall riding in my grandfather’s Plymouth coupe with the earthy aromas of pipe tobacco and leather engulfing my senses as I watched him steer the car so confidently with his big laborer’s hands. I remember watching my grandmother rolling dough and allowing me to cut little round circles that would become big fluffy biscuits that melted in my mouth along with the homemade butter and jam that she slathered on them. I can still see my other grandma padding across the room in her bare feet carrying enamel cups of sugary coffee for her guests.

When I think of my aunts and uncles they are still young and beautiful in my mind. They sit around a big table playing poker and squabbling like loving siblings from a large family are wont to do. Then I think of my cousins, the ones who are more like brothers and sisters, who always seem to have been stalwarts in my world. We are filled with wonder and imagination, inventing games and entertaining ourselves for hours without any adult supervision. How we loved each other as children and how we still do as adults!

I enjoyed the times that we spent with my parents’ friends, especially Mr. and Mrs. Krebs. Sitting in a circle listening to Texas Aggie football games on the radio was a regular fall weekend event. We munched on cinnamon toast and popcorn while a lone voice narrated the action. I wouldn’t give up those times for anything. They were wonderful.

Eventually Daddy was gone. I would miss listening to his voice as he read fairytales to me or chuckled at the Sunday funny papers. Me and my brothers and mother would have to move on without him. Mama became our everything all rolled up into one beautiful package. She kept the faith with Texas A&M and there was never a Thanksgiving Day that we missed tuning in to the gridiron clash between the Aggies and the Longhorns. She would time our dinner so that we would be able to pay careful attention to the game. It was a tradition that we cherished and followed until the game was scheduled for another day and then the two teams played no more.

We found so many genuine friends in our neighborhood after our father died, people who literally watched over us and made sure that we always had whatever we needed. They made me feel quite special with their frequent displays of kindness. As a young child they provided me with multiple examples of how to be a good and upright adult. Mrs. Janot shared her afternoon programs with me in air conditioned splendor. Mrs. Bush demonstrated a rare courage that I greatly admired. Mrs. Frey took me and my brothers under her wing along with her own five children. The Limbs were models of hard work and moderation in all things. The Cervenkas were fun. The Sessums quietly did small favors that were actually huge in my mind.

School was like heaven for me. With one exception my teachers were always angels. I loved them so. Many of the friends that I made have followed me into adulthood and of late I have become reacquainted with others whom I had lost along the way. I find that we are very much alike for having shared the same experiences when we were growing into adults. We have good values. We were taught by our parents and teachers to always be ethical and fair minded. As far as I can tell most of us ended up being model citizens, employees, spouses, parents. We learned from the best.

Eventually I met my husband and we fell madly in love. Ours has been a grand romance from the beginning mostly because we cherish each other as unique individuals. We are both independent and do not always think exactly alike. The differences that we have  make our lives more interesting. My Mike has always treated me with unquestioning respect. He encourages me to be the person that I want to be. He is loyal and undoubtedly my very best friend. I have loved him every single day for almost fifty years. In turn, I received a second set of parents on the day that we wed. My in-laws have helped me in some of the most difficult times of my life.

At work I met the most amazing and giving people who were dedicated to helping the youth of our nation to become educated. They worked hard to bring excellence into the classroom. I admired them as much as the teachers that I had as a child. I saw them devoting themselves totally to their vocations. They might have become wealthy in other careers but they chose to serve the countless children and families that came to them year after exhausting year. Some only speak of being champions for our youth but my teacher friends have actually done the heavy lifting, often with little gratitude or compensation. They are my heroes, the people that I most admire. If life were totally fair they would all meet with the President of the United States and be given Medals of Freedom for their good deeds.

The pleasant memories of my friendships are ongoing. I think of all the fun that I have had shopping at thrift stores with Cappy, exchanging Christmas cheer with Linda and Bill, sitting at a table discussing the world with Pat and Bill, camping with Monica and Franz, playing bridge with Susan, watching our children play with the Turners and the Halls, being myself with Nancy, enjoying dinners with the KIPP gang, being with my adult former students and seeing how remarkable they have become, continuing to admire Judy as my icon, finding my first grade pal Virginia. I might go on for hours with beautiful stories of individuals who gave me their hearts.

I have been blessed with two daughters who are brilliant and beautiful and best of all, loving. They in turn married good men and together they built families that gave me the gift of seven grandchildren. All of them are the joy and the center of my universe. I revel in being with them and watching them grow. Their laughter warms my heart. I pray each day that they will know the same level of affection that I have so enjoyed.

I have been surrounded by the most incredible people at every turn of my existence. I have been blessed beyond measure in knowing them. I sometimes wonder why I have been chosen to be so fortunate. There have been times when my family was financially challenged. I have dealt with extremely difficult situations. I have not been sheltered from sadness and tragedy. Still I have only known love and kindness. At each turn someone has stepped forward to fill me with joy sometimes for a reason, sometimes for a season, sometimes for a lifetime. For that I am profoundly thankful on this day. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

A Very Thanksgiving Treat

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

elliott-pecansI always loved visiting my grandmother’s house in November. She was sure to have enamel bowls filled with tangerines and pecans. Usually it was just chilly enough to warrant using her ceramic gas heater to warm the living room. It always felt so cozy being there with my aunts and uncles and many cousins. I came to associate such things with the month of November. To this very day I have to have tangerines in my refrigerator and fresh pecans in my pantry when the eleventh month rolls around. It just doesn’t seem to feel right without them.

My Aunt Opal made pumpkin pie all year round but unless it was November we were never certain that she would have any available when we came to visit. Not so, in November. She never failed to have one ready for us whenever we chose to spend time with her then. Hers were absolutely the best that I have ever tasted. She didn’t even need a recipe to whip one up. The directions were all in her head. I used to love watching her roll out the pie dough and mix the ingredients for the filling. She always had some interesting story to tell us while her weathered hands did their work. I can still see her working the dough with her old rolling pin and stirring the creamy mixture that would gel into pure deliciousness. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

My mother liked to take the pecans that were so plentiful in November and bake them up into a pie. She transformed those nuts into a delectable southern delight. She was rather famous for her special recipe. I recall a time when she took one of her pies to a party and placed it next to a pecan pie that somebody else had prepared. When a friend of mine heard that one of Mama’s famous creations was there she rushed in to claim a piece before the dessert was gone. She took one bite and spit it back on the plate exclaiming, “This isn’t your mom’s pie! Where did this come from?” Luckily the baker of the less tasty treat wasn’t around to hear her insult but my mother had caught the gist of the conversation and quickly came to the rescue with a slice of her pie. From then on my friend always checked to be certain that she was getting nobody else’s pecan pie but Mama’s.

Yesterday after visiting with my in-laws my husband and I ventured over to the Airline farmer’s market. We were greeted by the sound of the nut cracking machine that was busy opening pounds and pounds of fresh pecans. It is a sound that I have heard each November for as long as I can remember. It tells me that my birthday is coming soon and that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Its click clack is so comforting. It is much like hearing a train rumbling down the tracks in the dark of night. It is a link to some of the most wondrous times in my past.

While at the market I also saw a huge display of tangerines. I rushed over immediately to fill a bag. The aroma of citrus filled my senses and told me that I will be enjoying juicy fruit in the coming days. I feel content in knowing that I am able to find such delightful items so close to my home.

We really do live in a land of plenty. I had a friend who grew up in Germany at the same time that I was experiencing a childhood in the United States. He often spoke of playing in the rubble of his city of Bremen which had been bombed continuously during World War II. He developed scurvy because of the lack of vitamin C. For most of his lifetime fruits and vegetables were a luxury. He told of a time when an aunt had a single tomato to share with the family and how it was prized as a precious delicacy. Each person took a thin slice and ate it as though it was pure gold. When he eventually moved to the United States he was astounded by the abundance that we all enjoyed. He never lost his appreciation for our country and the wealth that it provided him.

My mother always told me that her parents saw themselves as being rich simply because they always had good food on the table. They turned their backyard into a garden and raised animals for milk and meat. Even during the Great Depression they always had good meals created by my grandmother. Nothing was ever wasted. Even bones and peelings were boiled for broth for soups and seasonings. When the family ate fish my grandmother would consume the head and give the more savory parts to her children.

We sometimes forget how precious food was for our ancestors and rarely think about people in other parts of the world who are starving even as we fill garbage trucks with mountains of food that might otherwise save a life. We take our food for granted and rarely realize our good fortune in having a lovely orange or a bowl of nuts. We don’t want to think about small children with bloated bellies who are wracked with pain because they do not have enough sustenance. Thanksgiving simply doesn’t have the same meaning when we have never known want as it might feel like to truly experience grinding hunger.

In November I am thankful that my mother like her mother always found a way to keep our stomachs full. Sometimes our dinner was little more than a bowl of pinto beans but there was something on our table to sustain us even when our cupboard seemed to be bare. I often took egg sandwiches to school for lunch. At the time it embarrassed me because there were often complaints about the smell. Sometimes I chose not to eat rather than reveal my strange repast. I now think of how silly I was, especially when I consider the millions of people who would have thought themselves most fortunate to have something so tasty and wholesome to eat. In so many ways I have been spoiled.

It is in the small things that we feel the most delight. For me the tangerines, pecans and pumpkins that were the treats of my childhood Novembers are still a special treasure. When I eat them they are more than just tasty. They are ways of tangibly remembering some of the most happy times of my childhood and the special people who made it so. I can see my grandmother’s smile as she watches me enjoy a tangerine with the juice running down my chin as I laugh with my cousins. I can hear my Aunt Opal telling us wondrous tales as she shoves a pumpkin pie into the oven. I recall my mother whispering her secret recipe for making the best pecan pies. The taste of the food on my tongue jogs my memory and releases happy feelings that tell me just how wonderful my life has always been. It really is a great time of year to be thankful as I remember and appreciate.

A Bit of Heaven

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

image39aWe used to own some property near Brazoria. It was a lovely place to take our two girls on weekends, a little get away from the big city and work. It sat next to a creek and was shaded by dozens of native pecan trees. A tiny house with two rooms and a bathroom was the only shelter from the heat and mosquitoes that always seemed to be waiting for us. Big ceiling fans kept us reasonably cool in the summer and an old ceramic gas heater warmed us when the weather turned chilly. We had no phone or television there. It was always quiet save for our conversations and laughter and an occasional song from a bird.

The land had once belonged to my husband’s Uncle Bob. He used it mostly for fishing and hunting. He built the tiny house as a concession to his wife who didn’t really care much for the primitive conditions and the work that being there always seemed to entail. Still, she knew how much Bob loved his little piece of heaven and so she was always a good sport about spending time there and often invited other members of the family to gather for barbecues and card parties. My husband spent many a weekend there when he was a boy with his extended family and his uncle’s friends and so he dearly loved being at the place that everyone knew as Bell Bottom.

The little plot of land sits in the heart of an area once inhabited by the first Texans. Just down the road there is an archeological dig unearthing implements, tools and everyday items that the pioneering people who lived there might have used. Stephen F. Austin’s grave is not far away. He was responsible for encouraging settlers from the eastern United States to build a colony in northern Mexico. The Mexican government wanted the wild and unsettled land to be developed and had agreed to give plots to anyone willing to meet their terms. Along the way bitter disagreements between the people who had come and the Mexican government lead to a revolution and ultimately a split that created the Republic of Texas. 

My husband never knew the exact history of the place which he eventually inherited from Uncle Bob. It was bottom land with rich soil made even better by the deposits of sediment that the creek made whenever it flooded over its banks. We enjoyed exploring along the usually shallow waterway in a flat bottom boat that we tied to the hood of our car when we came for visits. It was quite lovely floating along the quiet water under a canopy of trees that arched over our heads like gigantic umbrellas. We saw fish ambling beneath us and snakes skittering to safety. We heard the tap tap tapping of woodpeckers and the screeching of owls. Mostly though it was silent down in that little secret paradise.

Sadly the county flood control district came without our knowledge and scarred the land and the creek in ways that made us cry. Instead of having a gently sloping access to the water there was now a drop off of several feet making it virtually impossible to launch our boat. Much of our land was taken under the guise of helping with flood problems. The deep cuts along the sides of the creek were ugly and many of the beautiful trees were gone as well. The abundance of wildlife was no more. Instead there lay a kind of unsightly shrine to the folly of humans. Our protests fell on deaf ears. It was what it was and had to be done according to government officials. To us it felt like an attack on something precious.

We enjoyed some of our best family memories at Bell Bottom both before the rape of the land and after. Every other November the grounds were littered with pecans. We brought boxes and sat on the grass meticulously moving through every square inch of the property and filling our containers with thousands of nuts filled with tasty meat. Sometimes it was quite cold as we harvested our bounty but we didn’t seem to mind because we knew what deliciousness lay in store.

In the warmer months we had to mow the lawn around the house. We purchased a small tractor from Sears and rode around and around trimming the greenery that seemed to grow even as we were cutting it. I became quite adept at guiding the mower around trees and over gullies and even down the steep slopes. It had been easier to drive the tractor before the “improvements” from the county but I soon enough learned the trick for staying away from the dangerous drop off near the water.

We took walks on summer days and played baseball in the yard. At night we built fires and sat in the glow of the burning embers. Sometimes we stayed up late playing board games or telling stories. I always slept like a log but my daughters tell me that they were often frightened by the tiny mice sneaking through the house after the lights had gone dark. Their imaginations overcame them but they didn’t want to admit to being a bit scared.

Eventually our girls were grown and Mike and I found that we were spending most of our free time after working all week just keeping things clean and repaired down at Bell Bottom. Ours was an incessant routine of working on the land and I for one began to understand why Mike’s aunt had so often expressed a lack of enthusiasm for being there. Somehow it just wasn’t as much fun as it had once been. After considering whether or not we might want to settle there after retirement we realized that we really didn’t want to be that far away from our family and friends on a permanent basis. The land that had once brought us so much was just one more bit of responsibility that was draining our energy. We reluctantly decided to sell it.

A great sadness still envelops me when I think of letting our beloved Bell Bottom go. I wonder if we were a bit too hasty in deciding to end our history there. Now that we are retired we have nothing but time and I suspect that we would have truly enjoyed bringing our grandchildren there. I especially think about the old place when the skies become a bit gray in November and the temperature drops just a bit. I wonder if the pecans have fallen to the ground and if the new owners are collecting them just as we once did.

Not long ago Mike and I drove by to see how things looked at Bell Bottom. We were happy to see that the people who bought the land had built a lovely home and had even dug a little lake. The lawn was beautifully manicured and it was apparent that the new landlords are quite proud of their little bit of heaven. I felt a bit better just seeing the love and care that was on display. Long ago Bell Bottom stole a corner of my heart that will remain on the land but my memories will always be mine.

The Horror

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

halloweenWhen I was kid Halloween was a rather simple event. I’d put a witch hat on my head or cut some holes in an old white sheet and masquerade as a ghost. My costumes were made from the cloth of my imagination and whatever I had on hand. My mother would save a brown paper bag from her grocery shopping that I used to hold the goodies that I collected from my neighbors. If I was feeling especially inspired I’d take the time to draw some jack-o-lanterns on it with my box of crayons. Mostly though I’d just grab a sack and head out to trick-or-treat with my friends. It was all so uncomplicated and innocent back then. We trusted everyone and were usually right in our belief that we would be safe. There were a few urban tales that warned us of razor blades and needles inserted into apples so I always threw such offerings into the trash but mostly there was little mischief other than our childish attempts to scare each other with ghost stories and such.

When my daughters were young the whole Halloween tradition became a bit more elaborate. I had to purchase costumes for them rather than using what we had around the house. Most of the time they chose the one size fits all flimsy outfits that came in a box along with a big plastic mask that engulfed their tiny faces. The costumes fit like sacks and were usually torn to shreds by the end of the evening because they were made from a substance that resembled paper. The masks were so hot that they usually ended up in the trick-or-treat bags that were a bit fancier than the grocery sacks of my youth. Fear of real horrors became all too real when the “Candyman” from Deer Park, Texas poisoned his son with a pixie stick one Halloween. After that many parents abandoned the old time honored ritual of gathering goodies from house to house. Churches, schools and neighbors began to hold Halloween parties instead. There were some years when hardly any kids came to my house.

Today Halloween is bigger than ever. In some ways it has become as important in the holiday annals as Christmas and Thanksgiving. Entire sections of stores are devoted to displays of decorations, costumes and an array of treats. The children who come to my door wear outfits worthy of a high budget movie. They are decked out in full makeup with wigs and intricately detailed clothing. They bear baskets and sturdy plastic containers rather than the paper bags of old. Sometimes they carry flashlights to help them navigate in the dark. The homes that they visit are decorated with lights, pumpkins, spiderwebs and inflated monsters. Eerie sounds echo across neighborhoods transforming them into spectacular and frightening happenings. The children come by the droves along with their parents who more often than not are also dressed in ornate designs.

This weekend there will no doubt be Halloween parties all across America and most of them will be for adults. I’m not quite sure when grownups laid claim to celebrations that had once been only for children but it is now big business. Perhaps our world has become so uncertain and complex that we enjoy playing make believe if only for a brief time. We dress up and poke fun at our society. We laugh and feel the freedom that we once knew as children. Halloween provides us with an opportunity to display our creativity and an excuse to just be silly like we were in the times before we had to deal with so many responsibilities and so much stress. With the craziness of the election season I suspect that this will be an especially “bigly” year for Halloween. There are so many people and ideas that we might poke a bit with our satire.

This year there are new wrinkles in the festivities. Some people worry that their costume choices might offend. We are told that we should be careful not to appropriate a culture that is not ours. I suspect that being a hobo like I once was might be considered a slam toward those who are poor. I’ve read that some colleges are advising students to avoid wearing sombreros or demonstrating a lack of empathy in choosing what they will wear. It is a new complication that is sure to create some storms of controversy and raise questions before the weekend is over.

It used to be that those who attended Catholic school had a singular advantage associated with Halloween because the following day was All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation that was traditionally a holiday in the parochial schools. Now the students simply go to Mass in the morning and carry on as usual for the remainder of the school day. There is no more holiday in honor of the beloved saints. Traditions are changing all the way around.

I still prefer the simpler ways of approaching Halloween. I have put a jack-o-lantern on my front porch and even have a few lights along the sidewalk but that is as far as I plan to go. I’ll stock up on chocolate bars and other sweet treats and spend a few hours enjoying the children who come to my door. Other than that Halloween will come and go much as it has for most of my life. It is a fun but minor celebration in my annual routines. I sometimes wear a special t-shirt with glittery pumpkins that I purchased at Walmart for five dollars one year just to get into the spirit of things and I almost always find a horror movie to watch, but mostly Halloween is a sign that my truly favorite time of year is near.

I suspect that for most of us nothing is going to be as scary as the coming election. We are all holding our breaths in anticipation of what is coming next. It’s probably good that there is a way to ease our tensions just a bit whether we join friends in ridiculous outfits, gather with laughing children or just shut ourselves away to escape into a world of zombies or haunted houses. Sometimes we’ve just got to get away and Halloween is the perfect vehicle to distract us from the terrors of reality. Here’s hoping that your own way of enjoying the day is “huge,’

Realize

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

dna_6339076_lrgThe history of mankind is the instant between two strides taken by a traveler. — Franz Kafka

There is great diversity among the people who live on this planet. Each of us is a unique blend of nature and nurture. We are born with a pattern of DNA inside our bodies that identifies us and holds the history of our ancestors. Ironically the genetic differences between one human being and another are miniscule. On the whole we are more alike in basic composition than we are different. All of us are members of the humanoid species known as homo sapiens, a Latin phrase meaning “wise human.” Our kind evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. Other humanoid types did not survive but remarkably we did, overcoming monumental challenges as we traveled from eastern Africa to all parts of the known world.

Modern man often follows the money but our ancestors set out on the original journeys in search of food. Unlike the prey for which they searched homo sapiens stood upright, had a larger brain, and created tools that allowed them to overcome animals that were faster and stronger. Early humans worked together and created societies that moved together, protecting one another from dangers but also communicating with stories and flights of imagination. They not only made useful implements but also invented musical instruments and made images that resembled the animals that they tracked. They explored the world both on foot and inside their minds.

Even as other humanoid species became extinct homo sapiens found ways to grow and prosper as the dominant force on our planet. They imprinted their wills and their creativity on themselves and on the earth. They celebrated the relentless changing of the seasons with rituals and customs that they developed and followed from one generation to the next. They created systems for maintaining their very existence and sidelining the darker sides of their natures. There were geniuses among them who learned how to read the workings of the heavens and to invent better and better tools for survival and comfort.

Today we live in a world so remarkable that none of our earliest ancestors would recognize us as being one of them and yet our DNA tells us that we are indeed mostly the same. We continue to evolve and learn more about our world, our universe and ourselves. There are people so creative that they boggle even our modern minds and yet they are our brothers and sisters, with essentially the identical chemical composition and genetic codes that we possess. Even people in remote and far flung parts of the world operate from similar human habits. The shades of our skin vary according to the adaptations that our ancestors needed to survive in different latitudes. The ways that we eat and the recipes that we use are based on the food sources available to us. Those who came before us were a flexible and ingenious lot who adjusted to the environments in which they found themselves. Our numbers today tell us that most of them made it to live another day and devise better and better ways to do more than simply exist. Time and again mankind has realized the potential that lies within each of us.

While individual accomplishments have literally changed the world, it is in our willingness to live as a community of people that our true greatness is realized. The physicist Stephen Hawking is celebrated for his remarkable intellect but were it not for the contributions of his fellow man he no doubt might have died long before he was able to pronounce his theories of the universe. He is able to “speak” to us in spite of the horrible disease that took his ability to move or talk. Others have provided him with the support and the tools that he needs to continue his work and his conversations with the scientific community. When reveling in his genius we often forget the group effort that has made his survival possible.

Each day there are literally thousands upon thousands of nameless individuals who make our lives what they are. We take our conveniences for granted until a natural disaster or a war causes the systems that we have contrived to break down. When the normalcy of our world falls apart we begin to realize just how greatly we depend on one another and yet somehow even as we create comforts that allow us more and more freedom to develop ourselves we all too often separate ourselves into artificial groups. We identify ourselves based on the color of our skin, our political leanings, our incomes, our levels of education, our sexual orientations, our male or female chromosomes, our religions or lack thereof, our countries, our states, our cities, our zip codes. We become members of certain groups and view those outside of our own parameters with suspicion. We forget that it has always been our ability to work together in a spirit of community that has insured the very survival of our species.

If it were possible for each of us to track our ancestry all the way back to the beginnings of mankind’s time here on earth we would learn that we are all cousins descended from the same people who long ago stood up and began a journey that would ultimately span the globe. Perhaps one day we will realize that our bickering is rivalry among siblings and we will learn how to understand and cooperate in a spirit without judgement or evil intent. Surely if we are able to view inside the very essence of our bodies we will one day realize the ultimate potential of our hearts and minds.