A Royal Tradition

The first televised coronation.

In 1953, my mother-n-law sat with her classmates from school in front of a small television screen to watch the coronation of Elizabeth II. Her mother, a Canadian by birth but by this time an American, was always keenly interested in all things concerning her former monarchy.

So, in June of that year, having one of the only t.v.’s to be found in their tiny community of Culleoka, Tennessee, she invited each of her daughter’s classmates to attend the broadcast of the coronation.

Cake and berries served on my Lenox, which rarely sees the light of day.

Ever the proper hostess, she had made pound cake, served on her best dishes along with fresh strawberries, whipped cream and, of course, tea. My husband also recalls how, as a child on summer trips to his grandparents’ home, his grandmother, “Granny” to him and his siblings, would always have a mid-morning snack of tea and cookies ready for her grandchildren.

Kate gets her ring and her prince.

This past Friday, my daughter and I woke early, as in 3 a.m. early (and yes, I could barely function the rest of the day), to watch the marriage of William and Kate. If there are two things at which the Brits reign supreme, it’s throwing weddings and wearing hats. Well, most Brits don a hat well – not quite sure what Beatrice was thinking with what sat atop her head, but that’s another post altogether.

Ren slept on the couch in preparation for the big day. Notice her tiara (from being on the 8th grade homecoming court a few years ago) - every girl wants to be a princess.

Wake up, sleepy head.

So, in carrying on a family tradition, I thought it would be nice to serve up some cake and strawberries, just like Granny had done almost 60 years earlier, and even though she hates strawberries, Ren gave in to the sense of family unity and partook in a wee bite or two.


And who knows - maybe six decades down the road my great-grandchildren will be watching as William’s son or daughter is crowned and will eat strawberries and think of me.

Coronation image via

Wedding image via

My Royal Heritage

No, not this kind of royalty. But wouldn't that be cool?

As I mentioned in a relatively recent post, our town’s elementary school will sometimes sponsor a king and queen contest as part of the yearly fall festival festivities. It’s a great fundraiser for a school, as there is very little overhead and not a lot of work on the school’s part. Mostly, it’s just clear profit. Here’s how that works.

1. Parents who are really big gluttons for punishment agree to allow their son or daughter to participate. “Really big” doesn’t even do it justice. Words like gargantuan, colossal, and astronomical would better describe the level of gluttonous to be found within these parents.

2. Each class votes for a king and queen candidate to represent their room in the school-wide contest. And while it may not seem so at the time, the lucky ones are the parents of children not voted into this spot.

3. Then those glutton-loving parents spend two weeks nearly killing themselves trying to raise money for the school. They do this by having bake sales, selling breakfast items to teachers in their lounge (and after two weeks of fried pies, country ham and biscuits, and sausage pinwheels everyone on the payroll at the school is a solid pound heavier), running games the day of the carnival (Toss the ping pong ball into the bowl and win a goldfish!!!), selling raffle tickets for quilts and country hams, and placing jars bearing their child’s picture in stores all over town.

4. On the day of the festival all money raised must be turned in to the school by a certain time, or at least you hope those raising the money actually turn it in.

5. Behind closed doors, with security tighter than that at Fort Knox, the money is counted and recounted (and sometimes recounted again and again just to be on the safe side) with the help of volunteers from the local banks. These ladies are money counting professionals.

6. Everyone gathers in the gym. Contestants are dressed in their Sunday best and seated in chairs below the stage. Parents are seated everywhere else, sometimes lining the walls. It is fairly easy to spot the parents of those children in the chairs. They are the nervous-acting, ashen-looking ones who are thinking to themselves I can’t believe the time and energy and money I have spent over the last two weeks and, dog-gone-it, if my kid doesn’t walk away with that tinfoil crown I will be sick!

7. Finally, the Master of Ceremonies begins by introducing all the little contestants and thanking the teachers who worked on the king and queen committee and telling the total amount of money raised for the school by the kids in this contest. And then the announcement of the winners is made and trophies, sashes and crowns are awarded. Some parents and children leave happy. Some leave a little disappointed.

My sister Shelia, as a second-grader, was the Fall Festival Queen many moons ago. I won’t tell you how many moons exactly. Let’s just say man had not yet been to the moon.

Her son Shane was the Fall festival king the year he was in the fourth grade...

...and her daughter Megan was the 2nd runner-up during her fourth grade year.

And, finally, my own daughter was crowned queen during her kindergarten year in 2000.

Yes, my family is full of royal blood. And even more full of royal gluttons!

Image of Queen Victoria via

Another Ghost Story, Perhaps?

This is a much requested story familiar to our family and close friends. Usually, during this time of the year when conversation inevitably turns to the spooky this little happening gets retold.

You’ll recall that I wrote about the old home place in John’s family in which he and I lived throughout the first several years of our marriage. Well, as I said, from time to time something would happen that would unnerve us ever so slightly. This was one of those times.

Our bedroom was located on the first floor at the rear of the house. One night, John and I were both awakened simultaneously from a deep sleep by the sound of a large crash originating from the attic, which was located above our room and ran the entire length of the house. Once fully awake, which happened quite rapidly I might add, we both sat up listening to something very large and very heavy being moved across the wooden attic floor. The only thing of any great weight in the attic at that time was an old black trunk with leather straps that held law books which had once belonged to John’s great uncle. We agreed it would be best to check things out in the bright sunshine of morning. After locking our bedroom door, we eventually went back to sleep. I’m pretty sure the rest of my slumber took place beneath the covers.

The next morning brought with it an investigation. But when the attic door was opened nothing was found out of place. Not the old trunk nor the dust on the floor surrounding it.

Today, the trunk in question resides in our media room. And, thankfully, there have been no other unexplained incidents involving it, though I was just telling John how funny it would be to get someone to hide in it and jump out on our friends the next time we happen to tell its story. I think that would be deliciously sneaky.


P.S. John and I took off today to go with John-Heath and his little kindergarten buddies on their field trip to the pumpkin patch. Once we returned home a nap was in order -for us, not him. It's been a lonnng time since we last attended a field trip with 5-year-olds. I'll post pictures soon.

What's in a Name?

There are times when I wish I had had another child. But, after more thought, I realize it is only so that I could have named one more child (although I do very much envy these women who have several children and are able to seemingly handle the job with all smiles and patience).

And just what would that name have been? Scout. I have been a fan of it for years - even before Demi and Bruce gave it to one of their offspring. In fact, had John-Heath not been born a boy he would have been Scout. I already had it picked out. My mother did not care for it too much, as she didn't think it was really a name-name. Her reply when I told her was "Scout? Like the Indian?". No, not like the Indian. Like the tom-boy in To Kill a Mockingbird.

Ren would probably have been a Scout, too, but we agreed that John would name our firstborn if it were a girl and I would name a boy (at the time my two favorite choices were Charles Court or Charles Bartholomew ).

Ren's given name is Katelyn Ren. John found the "Ren" at a book signing in which he and two other gentlemen were signing copies of a book they had written. When John asked to whom he should address one particular book a lady said her name was Ren. We both chose the Katelyn because we thought it would sound nice as the first name. I think we may have gotten that off the back of a movie box.

A funny story about her name...when Ren was in the 5th grade she decided that she no longer wanted to be called Ren. That was a borrring name. Instead, she would be called Katelyn - like there aren't a hundred of those in every school in about as many variations. Anyway, she told her librarian this (I wasn't the librarian there yet). He, in turn, proceeded to ask John - as he taught across the hall from the library - if this was okay to do. John's reply was "Katelyn? She can't even spell Katelyn." Which was probably true at the time.

John-Heath's patronymic came about in a more traditional way. Even though I was still very fond of the idea of a Court or a Bartholomew, I gave in to sentimentalism and named him after his two grandfathers. John-Heath is a fifth generation John, following John Franklin, John Silas, John Silas, Jr., and John Franklin (again). The Heath is one of my family names - and a most distinguished name, too. It is of Middle English origin and means "untended land where certain flowering shrubs grow"...sounds kinda like a description of John-Heath's playroom and what could be growing in there.


...a name thought to be pretty by a dear family friend, Ms. Effie, who suggested it to my mom.