RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA

As time passed, the relationship between H and me became routine. He came to my apartment only when we were going out, so I began to make friends in the building, enjoying the camaraderie. The summer I met Barbara and her sister (if she reads this, I'm in trouble), we had our own cliche, meeting in the evenings for entertainment that included dinner, drinking, and general mayhem. 

Our group grew to include other people in the building, male and female. The pool was closed at night, but we often climbed the fence for a midnight swim. Grocery cart races up and down the halls were a source of merriment. That summer was the beginning of friendships that would last for years.

One weekend, I decided to pay H a visit... an unannounced one.  He had taken care of me for almost six months and I wanted to show my appreciation. My car was packed with dinner, wine, and a special outfit for "dessert". We had talked earlier and I was told that he would watch TV and relax for the evening. As I pulled up to his house, there was a small car in the driveway. My curious little shoulder imp suggested I look in the window before going in. There was H, stretched out on the couch as he told me he would be, but he wasn't alone. Sitting on his lap was a curvy blonde, wearing only her birthday suit.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

KITH AND KIN

My father... November 21, 1915 - March 6, 1993.

My early memories of him come in vignettes…

We were on the way home after visiting my grandmother. I was standing in the backseat, looking out the front window of the car. It was dark, and the road was virtually deserted. I’m sure that I had ridden in cars before, but for some reason, this night is what I remember as the first time.

I noticed two bright eyes way down the road and instantly screeched, hitting the floor. A few seconds passed, and hardy laughter came from the front seat, followed by this explanation . . . “Honey, that is a car down the road and what you saw were the headlights. Stand up and look.”

I trusted my father with my whole heart, so shakily, I did as he said, and sure enough, there were the “two scary eyes” surrounded by a car. I felt instant relief and continued looking over the front seat for the rest of the trip.

I was always impressed by my father’s grasp of things. He was a brilliant man with a lusty sense of humor, loving his fellowman, while at the same time understanding their faults. He certainly seemed to understand mine. Impatient with me but still helpful, he would lose his temper first, then complement me, then figure a way to help me out of one situation after another. The one area in which he showed pride was my singing.

I told no one of my talent. I would sing only with the radio at night after we had gone to bed. I had my own room and would lie in the dark listening to the wonderful sounds, trying to match them. One night, Mom yelled up the stairs, “Bobbie, turn off that radio and go to sleep.” One of my sisters answered from the other room, “Mom, that’s not the radio, that’s Bobbie.”

She must have told Dad, because the next day, he had me at the piano, singing up and down the scales. A look of surprise and joy was on his face as he yelled to Mom. “Jean, do you hear that?”

He was always my biggest fan, quietly supporting me with a smile and praise. I’ll always remember the songfests we had, singing gloriously together. His voice was of operatic quality and magnificent. It was pure heaven.

A happy soul, he brought a smile to everyone he met. Mom, my sisters, and I adored him. I miss you dad.

hhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziZ5DYJwCA0&index=1&list=PL1l9phSDufuRoMoqBAdw9Wv1SW5LrqNnO

Belladonna will return next Wednesday with another one of her ramblings. Stay tuned.

KITH AND KIN

My aunt was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor. She and I shared many things through the years... our love of family, of good books, art, and music, of nature, and of people. We were the watchers who often communicated without speaking.  A look or a touch of the hand spoke volumes.

Sister, as we called her, was a walker. We took many excursions, she strolling jauntily ahead, me struggling to keep up. Her energy was boundless. One memory that stands out is sitting under a huge tree, watching the leaves blow and the squirrels run. Words were unnecessary.

In looking through the family pictures, I have definite favorites, but the one that brings smiles is Sister in her grandmother's wedding dress, taken when she was eighteen. 

Raised in a small southern town, she had all the advantages her parents could provide. She and my father were close, enjoying times with friends and family. These pictures are of the two of them as young adults, playing off each other with their hats, and later in life, after marriage and family.

Sister attended college in Georgia before moving to Boston, where she met and married the love of her life some years later. When I moved to Virginia in the late sixties, I stayed with her until I began teaching. She and my uncle took me to concerts, lectures, and museums, broadening my horizons. Her presidency of the local women's club provided another level of awareness as I witnessed her in that capacity.

She was a brilliant woman, full of wit and good humor, a touchstone for her family. I am her namesake. She was my aunt, but she was also my friend. 

Thanks, Sister, for the memories.

FRIDAY FEATURE 

CHICANERY

by

Barbara Chioffi

Synopsis 

What finds you in the night?

CHICANERY is a collection of eight horror tales, each with a little bit of deceit and enough of the macabre to have you looking over your shoulder.  

Who knows what awaits us as we go about our daily lives. In these tales, you will find a bit of betrayal, a snippet or two of terror, and a lot of comeuppance. Oh, and a good dose of helpful spirits.

Available at

https://www.amazon.com/Chicanery-Barbara-Chioffi-ebook/dp/B01LW31IFE

Peace, 
Barb

RAMBLINGS FROM BELLADONNA

After dinner, Garrett and I sat on the balcony with more wine. The night was perfect....sky filled with stars, cool breezes, and a view into the woods. I made small talk, waiting for Garrett to initiate the desired conversation. I had dressed for dinner in a white low cut dress with my dyed red hair down around my shoulders and was aware of the appreciative looks but pretended not to notice.

Our chairs were close. Perfume was wafting in his direction, encouraged by my flicking my hair more than was necessary. Hoping his inebriated state kept him oblivious, I put my hand on his arm.

"Garrett, this is so pleasant, just the two of us. H never indulges my romantic side."

A slight smile graced his face and he took my hand in his. I had to concentrate on my objective despite his good looks. Damn, he was handsome.

"Bella, I knew when I met H, he was a controlling man. I hope this doesn't upset you, but I have to admit that the offer to be "his eyes" with regards to you is tempting. He and I have a lot in common... appreciation of a beautiful woman, ambition, and a common ancestry."

My eyebrows shot up. Encouraged by his revelation, I took the naive road, "You're Italian?"

"Yes." He chuckled. "My mother was Irish and I have her coloring. My father... one hundred percent Italian."

That certainly explained the instant rapport between him and H. Taking a large sip of wine, I waited a minute, appearing to consider what he had told me. "I wondered what you two discussed. What have you decided to do with his request?"

He kept my hand in his and held my green eyes with his big baby blues. "Bella, you're a grown woman with your own mind. What you do is your business." Taking a breath, he added, "And to be honest, my interest in you is more than friendly."

Inwardly punching the air, I remained calm, smiling with what I hoped was reserved appreciation. After all, I didn't want to jump him on the spot but wanted the door to be open to all possibilities. "That pleases me, Garrett. Let's give it time, and we'll see where this relationship goes."

The rest of the evening was spent telling family tales and drinking another bottle of wine. When he finally left, we were leaning on each other as I walked him to the door.

The next morning, I sat on my balcony with coffee, remembering what H had asked Garrett to do. Although not explicit, I knew what he had meant. This set my jaw on edge. My first reaction was to tell H what he could do with himself, but I had to consider that I wasn't employed and depended on him for my existence. What I had learned from Garrett, however, set my course for the future.

TO BE CONTINUED...

KITH AND KIN

My great-great-great grandfather was born in North Carolina in 1786. At the age of 20, he moved to South Carolina and was admitted into the Methodist Conference. The following year, he was ordained a Methodist minister.

After his marriage, he moved to Alabama and built a fortified house for himself and his family. The town, named for him, developed over time and was known in its heyday as the "Athens of the South". It had collegiate institutes, finishing schools, a military academy, classic churches and stately homes. In 1854, John Glenn, cousin to James, left to establish a school at Auburn and became its first president of the board of trustees. This school in successive changes became Auburn University. 

Witches

"Rev. Glenn had a full-rounded face, a florid complexion, a voice like a trumpet and 'faculties naturelle of the highest order'. Being an ordained Methodist preacher, he began his search for a congregation. 

 Mr. Glenn made repeated efforts and failed. One of the peculiar notions of the people and the only one on which there appeared to be a uniformity of faith, was the belief in witches. He resolved to take advantage of this fact, and in due time, was heard throughout the settlement, for miles in every direction, by written posters over Mr. Glenn’s own signature, and by public announcement, that he, on a certain day, at a certain hour, at a certain place, would publicly proceed to kill witches.

There was no cabin or other dwelling large enough to hold the crowd, which gathered for the exhibition. His method of killing witches included drawing of a witch’s picture into which he shot golden balls. His pictures included infidelity, drunkenness, and other vices. After that service he could draw a crowd from a twenty-mile radius at any time."

Unfortunate accident

"Mr. Glenn was very much given to walking long distances. It was March, 1851, and he wanted to walk the two miles to the church, give his sermon, and return home. His family persuaded him to ride a gentle old horse.

After the service, he began his journey. As he rode down a steep slope, a hog jumped out from the brush, scaring the horse, which bucked, throwing him against the pommel of the saddle, injuring him so severely that he died several days later."

He was buried in the Glennville cemetery and his wife, who died a few years later, rests beside him. The town he founded disappeared into history a few years after his death. Refusing to allow the railroad to go through brought about its demise. A few of the stately homes are present as museums, and the restored cemetery remains as a reminder of the souls who lived there.

Peace,

Barb