Sweet Things

Things that make me go a-a-ah...

If I were asked what three things I do not like to go without, with the exception of necessities, I would have to say, the things I wear everyday or nearly everyday - my three favorite things. From infancy, my ears were pierced. The earrings were small, delicate and the stone was pink. Pink is my signature color. I still have them.  I also was given a ring that had BABY across it. It was filigree and somehow that gold ring broke at the B. I still have it, too, just as a keepsake. The first perfume I was given was not exactly perfume, but an alcohol free scented water. I kept a bottle of the Petits Et Mamans, by Bvlgari, It was a soft fragrance of chamomile. I wore it daily, to dance recitals, birthday parties, church, to the movies - if there was an occasion, I wore this fragrance.  Then something changed. I no longer wanted that baby 'perfume', but one from the counter of Dillard's. The salesladies would spritz the latest fragrance on the market, promoting their latest products. It was then I became a 'Perfume Princess.' I own every fragrance by Lancome, Estee Lauder, Chanel,  Ralph Lauren, Clinique, and Victoria's Secret - a few others.  I need a room just for my perfume bottles.  I do not wear perfume to cover-up, as in some society's, I wear it as an extension of who I am that particular day. If I had to pick and choose one fragrance I wear more frequently, it would be 'In Love', by Lancome. It is a newer fragrance, one I fell in love with. But next month, it may be a different scent altogether.  I am a very giving person. If a friend wants a bottle of my perfume, I will give it to her. Several ladies from my church were invited to my home one afternoon and I let each lady who came pick out two bottles each. They were like children in a candy store. Besides, that was better than coffee and cake! You do not gain weight wearing perfume. LIPSTICK! LIP GLOSS! You got it, another love of mine. You can tell from all the photographs of me, I always wear lipstick. I have nearly every shade imaginable. I have even mixed colors creating my own shades. I like lipstick, because if needed, it could be used as a cream blush. The shade I love most is mauve - more on the pink side.  Lastly, HONORA Pearls. My first set of pearls were gifted me by my mother. She gave me a classic white 18" necklace, bracelet and earrings. She said, "They will never go out of style." She was right. Since that time, I have purchased and received other sets, and am always careful in handling them, cleaning and storing them. Pearls are delicate and should be treated as such.    This past Easter, my mother gifted the Peacock Collection, by HONORA. They looked like dyed Easter eggs! Beautiful! This is their website link: http://www.honora.com/pearl-jewelry?collection_attr=173 ELB 2011

The Forgotten

Five years old; in a white linen suit my Great-Grandmother sewn by hand. Upon it, she pinned a nosegay of violets. L.B. Burnside was my Great-Uncle and the eldest of eleven children; ten boys and one girl. He was born to Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside and Newton Andrew Burnside, in 1910. L.B. stood for Lynn Broughton. Since Lynn was considered a feminine name, he used his initials when corresponding with the public, and Broughton with his family members and close friends. He was twenty six years old, in 1936, when my Grandfather Burnside was born. Weston was the second to the youngest. Broughton was old enough to be my Grandfather's father - and a father figure he was. There was another child born the following year, in 1937. Ross was a difficult delivery and having had so many children, plus the age of my Great-Grandmother, she nearly lost her life during the home delivery. That was a common thing in her day. The doctor gave a bottle of whiskey to Broughton, and said, "Your mother may need this, if the pain is, too, much." He sat the bottle on the mantel and left. My Great-Uncle noticed over the course of that week, the liquor was inching down, day by day. Come to find out, it was the nursemaid that took a liking to that cheap bottle of whiskey, left there for medicinal purposes only. The year my Grandfather graduated high school, in 1955, their father had a stroke and was bedridden till his death in 1961. Newton Andrew was in a vegetative state, unable to sit up, eat, drink or relieve himself. The hardship of overseeing him was all, too, consuming. But the love his eldest had for him was greater. So, Broughton took on yet another role, as his father's aid and voice.  It was Broughton who took on the role of a parent, to his younger siblings, but he always reminded them, he was not their father, and was to be treated as their brother. The pressure of having ten younger siblings proved to be difficult. Only six married and left home, while the other four remained bachelors, all living in the same house. They were a clannish family and had very peculiar ways about them, as in never discussing family business outside the family home, and sometimes within. They rarely allowed outsiders into their home. Some of these same traits my mother possess. She took after the Burnside family. Broughton fell in love and was on the verge of proposing when  his brother King arrived back from boot camp with another young man, who grew up in the same neighborhood. They both were used in experimental warfare; involving biological or chemical agents. Each came back from training having lost their minds. They just sat and stared, often mumbling. They were trapped in their own thoughts, never regaining their lives. Simply put, they were only a shell of their former selves. To this day the U.S. Government has never disclosed what was given to these two young men, during their time in the U.S. Army. Broughton had to make a decision about his marriage proposal - go through with it or back out of it? It came down to family and loving her enough to set her free from a life that would consume them both, had they married. Much had to be done in regard to his brothers, notably his brother King. Yet he loved Miss Louise Chisholm; he did - enough to let her go.  There was only one occasion a child in that household had a whipping, and that child was Brown. At twelve years old, he decided to jump a freight train headed to New Orleans, just to see where he would end up. By the time Southern Railroad boarded him on the next train back to Meridian, his mother was waiting at the depot with a hug and a strap. This was her first and last attempt in using corporal punishment, but the hugs never stopped. Broughton had to keep an eye on his brother Norris. Norris was married. He and his wife had five sons. and He was unable to hold a job, due to alcoholism. All the brothers tried to keep him busy, thinking as long as he was productive he would not have time to drink. But alcoholics are clever, they will keep a stash close by, to sip on through the day. He was no longer able to work at the family owned and operated gas station. His verbal attacks on the customers was bad for business - the few times he would show up to work. This lead to a wage cut, a form of 'tough love' and eventually, a lost position. He was then unemployed. Who was going to feed his wife and five sons? Broughton, of course. Since he was the head of the family, that responsibility went to him. Unlike Norris, he never neglected those children or their mother. He was a Godsend.  Towards the end of his life, his brother Brown, the one who hopped the freight train headed to New Orleans, had lived with Broughton all his life. Brown took a fall and fractured his hip. Once released from the hospital, he was transported to the only home he had ever known. Less than a week, Broughton was trying to help Brown out of bed. His frail body could not support the weight placed on it, and it took him to the floor. He felt something snap and sure enough, his hip was fractured. This may seem like a coincidence, but across town, that same day, their brother Brunner slipped and fractured his hip, too. There were three Burnside brothers on the same floor at Anderson's Hospital. It was there Broughton passed away at the age of 84, due to complication from hip surgery. 2525 Highland Avenue: That was the address of Newton Andrew and Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside. I took a tour of the family home. The home my Great-Grandmother, who who was 100 years my senior, passed away in. The home my Grandfather was raised. The home my mother spent her weekends and summers. That old house still sits on the same corner lot. As I walked about the rooms, if only for a moment, I could hear the sounds of those ten boys and one girl. A house holds onto the lives of those who once lived there. The creaks and the squeaks are the moans and groans of those people. This house had a front porch, with a painted blue ceiling.  Broughton never married. He never had children of his own. In many ways, he was a lonely man. It is like being in a room filled with people, yet feeling you are the only one there. This is how life was for him. He gave all he had, till there was not anything left to give. Strange that a man should live that long, and be so much to so many, yet hardly any one remember him, but a few. I shan't forget. Below is a photograph of my Great-Grandmother Lucy Aline Tingle-Burnside, my Mother Denise, my Uncle Weston, Jr. and my Great-Uncle L.B. Burnside, circa 1960's.  L. B. Burnside, Weston, Jr. and Denise

Welcome Will & Kate to the United States

The Royal's Come to the United States 

Dust off the mantel, sweep up the floors, 

clean each window and repaint the door. 

Lay out the china on linens of white, 

polished crystal and silver luster so bright. 

Cut fresh flowers sprinkled with dew, 

arranging in vases of royal blue. 

Roll out the carpets in colors of red,

upon these the couple will tread.

Press your dress and curl your hair,

 hurry up, the guest will soon be there.

All is done, prepare to wait,

here comes the Royals,

Will & Kate.

ELB

2011

My Small Seashell Collection

My Small Seashell Collection

I love seashells. I still have a few from a collection I obtained from the beaches of New Port, Galveston, Virginia Beach, Miami, Key West and the Gulf Coast. I would take only one shell leaving the others for whomever wanted one. I had some to break and it would break my heart. But I knew, I could always return to the beach in search of another shell.  My shell collection has grown smaller. They have been like old friends departing. We met along a sandy beach, only after my slender fingers dug in the sand, and spotted the one I would welcome into my home. Maybe, those shells did not like my home or the crystal  covered container I kept them in; so they broke. The others must love it, for they still remain.  I love the conch seashells, and their shell pink color. I love the color of shell pink, even in roses. Though I do not own a conch seashell, I never wanted to buy one from a souvenir shop. I wanted to find one on the ocean floor or one that had washed ashore. I suppose I could have purchased one and told others I went deep sea diving and happened upon this perfect conch shell. But where is the fun in that? Or the truth? It would not have meant as much either. Some people have suggested that the sound you hear from the conch seashell is the echoing of your blood rushing through the blood vessels of your ear. That is not the case. If that were true, then the sound would intensify after exercising, since your blood races faster after exercising. However, the sound is the same even after exercising. Others say that the whooshing sound inside the shell is generated by air flowing through the shell - air flowing through the shell and out creates a noise. You'll notice that the sound is louder when you lift the shell slightly away from your ear than it is when the shell is right against your head. The most likely explanation for the wave-like noise is ambient noise from around you. The seashell that you are holding just slightly above your ear captures this noise, which resonates inside the shell. The size and shape of the shell therefore has some effect on the sound you hear. Noise from outside the shell also can change the intensity of the sound you hear inside the shell. You can look at the shell as a resonating chamber. When sound from outside enters the shell, it bounces around, thus creating an audible noise. So, the louder the environment you are in, the louder the ocean-like sound will be. I want to believe it is the ocean, and it's source, I hear; captured by the conch shell. It shares it's secrets with you, as it whispers in your ear. Held there long enough, one can taste the salt air and feel the waves crashing. It is always a magical moment.  ℰℒℬ 2011

The Fourth of July

Elena on the 4th of July

I remember when most of the backyards turned into the kitchen, and picnic tables were lined up with red, white and blue place settings. Small American flags were part of the centerpieces, as one larger flag flew from a pole attached to the house. Hamburgers, hot dogs, slabs of ribs and sweet corn on the cob were cooked on charcoal grills. Bowls of potato salad and baked beans were plentiful. Cold watermelons, apple pie and homemade vanilla ice cream were served later in the day. And plenty of chilled drinks from sweetened ice tea, fresh squeezed lemonade and ice cold Coca~Cola were on hand. All of us kids would swim from sunup until sundown. We all smelt of either Coppertone or Banana Boat sunscreen. Anytime one us started a fight, we had to sit out of the pool for thirty minutes. When that someone was me, it seemed like the longest thirty minutes of my lifetime.  When I was growing up you were allowed to have fireworks in your own backyard. And at my house we always had fireworks on the 4th of July. We each got our own sparklers, and all of our friends came over to celebrate. I still watch the fireworks every year – it just would not feel like Independence Day without them! I am fond of sparklers; and I remember the sting the sparklers left when the sparks hit my skin. I would make circles, figure eights and squiggles in midair - I even wrote out my name E-l-e-n-a * in stars! I wish I had purchased a box of sparklers for this 4th of July, 2011. The fireworks coming to an end;  with a stray one or two still blasting. My friends Chris and Perrin. Chris serves in the United States Army. I was able to spend a part of the holiday with my Mom.                                                                                  But the thing I remember most was my Mom teaching me the significance of Independence Day in the Unite State of America. Being Mexican-American, and having the opportunity to live in The States, I realize that freedom is more precious than gold. Now when I stand in front of a flag, it is not just a piece of cloth with 50 stars and 13 stripes. It is a tribute to the men and women who are the backbone of this great nation. It is a symbol of the sacrifice they gave to create an everlasting legacy for the United States. It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you. We may not be a perfect nation, but we are at least a free nation. God Bless America and a Happy Fourth of July, to all. ℰℒℬ 2011

Trains

At Union Station Meridian

Union Station, Meridian                                                                           Since I was a young girl, I have had a fascination with trains; passenger trains to be exact. I would envision myself on the Orient Express, an international railway service with routes from Paris, Istanbul and Vienna. What it must have been like for foreign travelers, in 1883, to board the Orient Express.  The train was composed of: Baggage car Sleeping coach with 16 beds (with bogies) Sleeping coach with 14 beds (3 axles) Restaurant coach (nr. 107) Sleeping coach with 14 beds (3 axles) Sleeping coach with 14 beds (3 axles) Baggage car (complete 101 ton) The first menu on board (October 10, 1882): oysters, soup with Italian pasta, turbot with green sauce, chicken ‘à la chasseur’, fillet of beef with ‘château’ potatoes, ‘chaud-froid’ of game animals, lettuce, chocolate pudding, buffet of desserts. The menus alone would prompt me to purchase a ticket.  Perhaps the writings of Agatha Christie that later were adapted to film; one being 'Murder on the Orient Express' (1974), intrigued me. "Who did it?" and "Why?" Sure there were other films, notably 'Orient Express' (1954) and 'From Russia With Love' (1963). There are many more films and made for television movies that rode the rails on board the Orient Express. Songs have been composed, as well, for the worlds most famous train. Union Station, Meridian Perhaps, my love for trains, be it passenger or freight, was passed down through family genes? My material Great-Grandfather was an engineer on Southern Railroad. My brother's love for trains was so great, on his second birthday, the theme for his party was trains. And our Grandmother took him on his first train ride, from Meridian, Mississippi to Laurel, Mississippi. By automobile, it is a little over an hour drive, 59 miles by interstate. But for a two-year old, it must have seemed like an entire day. Also, our Mom took that same route when she was a girl of twelve years old.  Mom's and my first train ride, together, was on board AMTRAK, from Mississippi to Virginia. That first trip was so exciting. We had lunch in the snack car and, at seven o'clock, we had dinner the dining car. The food as you can imagine was awful, but I convinced myself it was the best meal I have ever had.  We took several more train rides, but none were as grand as that first trip, and certainly not at all I imagined the Orient Express being. Thank goodness, I had an imagination! Union Station, Meridian                                                                                  Meeting a freight train; up close and personal.

Funeral Blues

                                              Stop the Clocks                                                                        

Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. Auden This absolutely beautifully written. W. H. Auden speaks more about the way  I feel about death than any other poem I have read. There is also a mourning period  when a great love has left a relationship, that can be compared to a death. W. H. Auden leaves out all the 'flowery words', usually accompanied in an elegy. He gets right down to the heart of it; that when you have lost someone; you have loved, your heart is emptied and there is not anything that can refill it; not even the stars or the ocean. ELB  2011