The Death of a Dream

I was a senior in high school in 1968 when Dr. Martin Luther King was killed.  I can still feel the lost and hopeless pain that almost overwhelmed me when I heard the news.  I can still hear loudly the voice of the captain of the basketball team laughing and saying, “Well, that’s one less uppity n----r.” 

Fighting back tears, I went to the principal’s office and pleaded “sick” to be excused from classes for the rest of the day.

If there was any special memorial service or even any special mention of the tragedy in my totally segregated white school in Alabama, I don’t remember it.  I do remember feeling more alone than I’d ever felt in my seventeen years on earth.  I couldn’t form words to explain what I was feeling.

I realize now that I was grieving a hero that I could not share with my peers.  I felt deeply that any possibility of equality between races in my lifetime had been shattered by the bullet that stopped short the life of that inspiring visionary.  I did not know the man.  I was grieving the death of a dream.

Excused from classes due to my “illness”, I walked home alone.  As I often did when I was in pain, I found my pad and pencil and began to write.  From the depths of despair grew a poem that I never shared with my family and friends.

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The death of a Dream

The death of a dream leaves nothing but sorrow.

The death of a dream leaves no hope for tomorrow.

I will recover from the death of a friend,

But the death of the dream leaves pain without end.

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I was the fifth of ten children of poor, uneducated parents in rural Alabama.  My father was abusive and in and out of prison during my teen years.  My mother and my siblings and I earned money doing any menial tasks we could get to try to keep food on the table.  We picked cotton, cleaned other people’s houses, took in ironing, collected bottles from ditches for the local bootlegger, and cleaned out chicken houses, to name some of our “jobs”.  It was never enough.  Often we had no electricity because we couldn’t pay the power bill.  Many winters our only heat was whatever wood we could scrounge up from the woods to burn in the fireplace while we huddled around trying to soak up some warmth.  Going to bed hungry was common.

All the while there was a world out there with bigger issues being addressed.  What did I know of such a great man as Dr. King who dreamed of a world where children of all races played together?  I had never even been close enough to a non-white person to reach out and touch them.  I had never had a conversation with a black person nor set foot inside a black home, church or school.  I lived in a totally segregated world.

I count myself blessed that I instinctively identified with the Civil Rights Movement.  Somehow I felt that the equality that was demanded by our black brothers and sisters would bring a better quality of life to all people.  I still believe that.  In the sixties, I could find no peer or family support for my beliefs.  When I questioned the segregation and oppression of black Americans, I was ostracized and ridiculed.  I lacked the strength and maturity…and yes, the courage, to stand firm for my beliefs. 

I kept my “radical” beliefs to myself.  While I continued to write, my writings were hidden from family and friends.  Now it’s safe to say it.  Thanks Dr. King. 

 
 Three of these children are my grandsons.

Unlike the National Media, Amy Hahn likes reporting good news.  And there's plenty of good news these days.  Check out Amy's market report for our little town.

Merry Christmas and Peace.

Is it just me or does it happen to you too?  After all the running around and busy-ness, finally Christmas Eve is here.  I’ve felt mellow and peaceful all day.  I’ve had visions of the Christ child in the manger and I’ve communed in spirit with all the people all over America who mean so much to me.  I’ve gazed into the fire and simply sat quietly.  I don’t sit quietly.  Except on this day and tomorrow.

I went down to church and walked the labyrinth this morning before most of the world was stirring.  I found a peace and patience in this day and I asked God to help me carry a piece of that all through the new year.  I felt His promise that my request will be granted.

These are the things I wish for you.  Oh, and fun too.  Lots of fun!

Laura Baker is so smart and creative and here she just outdoes herself with this lovely, unique Christmas story.  A must read for the Christmas Season.

So the cheese moved, now what?

I just returned to my office after hearing bad news from my doctor.

I am a runner.  Make that WAS a runner.  At 61 years old I won about 10 gold medals for 5Ks in my age group this year.  I came in number two in the 8K.  I’ve consistently logged approximately 100 miles each month.  Every morning I jump out of bed at about 5:30 a.m. and prepare for my morning run.  I’ve solved many business problems, come up with more wonderful ideas than any other time and place, and forgiven many slights on my morning run.  Thanks to being a runner, I have more energy and confidence and I’ve been able to manage my weight.  I love running!

A few weeks ago I starting having lots of pain.  I thought it was my hips.  I just knew it was simply getting older and perhaps getting a little arthritic.  I kept running.  Finally last week I was in so much pain that I had to admit defeat.  Running was excruciating and even walking hurt.  In fact, I could find no comfortable position.  I called and made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, and stopped running (temporarily, I thought.)

Today after examining my X-rays, my doctor said, “absolutely NO more running!”  Seems I have degenerative disc disease and running will never again be possible for me.  Thank goodness my husband had insisted on going with me.  I cried a little and had a few bad thoughts about the unfairness of it all.  I stubbornly insisted that NOTHING will ever do for me what running has.  The doctor’s suggestion of biking or swimming fell on deaf ears.  My husband was there to console and comfort.

Funny how things work.  I returned to the office and opened my emails.  The first one I read was a newsletter from a wonderful trainer and friend.  It was all about failure and success and how a single failure often leads to bigger and better things.  

I'm not sure how this will turn out but I will make it a positive thing.  I will hve seven hours every week that were used for running.  I will find wonderful ways to use the gift of seven hours.  I’m already planning my strategy and looking forward to new activities. I will make the next several years wonderful and successful.  I think maybe I’ll work on my golf game and buy a good bicycle.

Do you speak “Realtorese?”  Maybe your buyers and sellers, neighbors and friends don’t.  Here’s a few important translations:

NAR                        National association of REALTORS®

NCAR                       North Carolina Association of REALTORS®

HOA                         Home Owner’s Association

PUD                          Planned Unit Development

HVAC                       Heating, venting and Air conditioning system

Closing                      Settlement Day

FISBO                      For Sale By Owner

Frog                         Finished Room over Garage

Agent Unavailable      Playing golf

ABR                          Accredited Buyer’s Agent

GRI                          Graduate of the Real Estate Institute

CRS                          Certified Residential Specialist

PMI                          Private Mortgage Insurance

CMA                         Comparable Market Analysis

LTV                          Loan to Value

REALTORS®…Go out and speak English.

Laura Baker makes a wonderful case for getting your home ready to sell.  Emotional divorce is critical and will allow the staging necessary to make your home a commodity that buyers will want. 

Go ahead…cry my hand full.

My daddy used to hold his hand cupped under my chin when I cried and he’d say, “Go ahead, cry my hand full.”  It would make me so mad!  Then I’d start to giggle and the tears would all dry up.

Don’t let petty people or unimportant problems make you cry and complain.  Find a memory that makes you giggle and next time you want to cry for some silly reason, remember.   I see you holding a cupped hand under your chin while you giggle, I’ll know why.

Amy Hahn tells it so well, no need for me to reinvent the wheel.  Put on something warm, throw a red scarf around your neck and I'll see you in a little while on the waterfront.  It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas on the Crystal Coast!

Small Town USA

I don't just live in a small town.  I live in a small town (about 1600 residents) in the middle of a small island.  I love to visit big cities.  My favorites are New York and Paris.  But I can't imagine living anywhere other than Pine Knoll Shores, North Carolina.

This picture is of me and the three youngest grandchildren (These three live right across the sound from us.), Tanner, Tyler and Jackson, last year in the Christmas parade.

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Merry Christmas Everyone!