Moments in Time: A Collection of Essays About Life

By Nancy Dean

This collection of Nancy Dean’s best newspaper columns, all drawn from “moments in time” in her life, gives readers insights into human nature as well as plenty of reasons to smile. Readers will be entertained and enlightened by the essays in Moments in Time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483564739

Book preview

AUTHOR

Preface

The short essays in this book cover a lot of territory and a long time span. As my life unfolded during these years, I wrote about special moments in a monthly column for the community newspaper where I was a staff writer.

Adventuresome moments such as hunting with coon dogs and riding my bike for long distances.

Dangerous moments such as capturing a swarm of bees from high up in a tree, getting up-ended by a 450-pound calf, and being attacked by a bulldog while riding my bike.

Sad moments such as losing a beloved pet.

Funny moments such as gardening with a goose constantly underfoot, trying to roller skate in mid-life, and pitching a huge tent for the first time.

Emotional moments such as watching my 8-year-old son lose a state swim championship in butterfly stroke by a fraction of a second, reuniting with my best friend after six years, and leaving my son at a university far from home for his freshman year.

Life-changing moments such as falling in love for the second time and giving up a salaried job to become self-employed.

In this book, I’ve collected the best of these personal columns. They are organized into categories, with the essays arranged chronologically within each category. The essays remain in the time frame in which they were originally written, most in the era when desktop computers were first introduced and cell phones and GPS apps did not exist.

The earliest of these essays was written in 1978, and the latest in 1997. During those years, my life shifted several times. To help you relate each essay to what was going on in my life at the time the essay was written, I offer this overview:

My first husband John and I married in 1966 after we graduated from college. We immediately moved from Cleveland, Ohio, to the Auburn University campus in Alabama, where John earned his Master’s degree. Our first son, Robby, was born in 1968. Matt, our second son, was born in 1970, a week before we moved to Dothan, Ala., where John took a job teaching at a junior college. In 1975 I was hired as a staff writer at Dothan’s community newspaper. John and I divorced in 1985.

I met my present husband Rick in 1990, and we married in 1996. Although we were both living in Dothan and employed full time, we spent every Saturday working at Rick’s farm, located an hour’s drive from Dothan, where he grew blueberries and other small fruits. I retired from newspaper work in 1997, after being the paper’s editor for two years. After working for myself for four years as a one-woman gardening service, I truly retired.

The essays in this book capture significant moments in time. Piece them together and they form the fabric of my life.

~ Friends ~

A Moving Experience (1988)

Functioning in a house one has just moved into is an adventure. Whether looking for the sprinkling can to water the dry houseplants, or the cat food to feed the starving (and confused) cat, or simply a table knife to spread peanut butter on a hasty sandwich, a person can’t find anything she needs.

My ironing board, too big to lose, disappeared (I found it stashed in a closet), I can’t send a letter to my parents because I can’t find the box of envelopes, and I locate my casserole dish—finally—at the bottom of the fourth box I dig through.

Three weeks have passed since the move from my rental house in Dothan, Ala., to my very own house, and, believe me, all the upheaval has been worth the results.

When I contemplated this move, the logistics seemed overwhelming. Throw in a trip to Cleveland (the trip was planned and nonrefundable plane tickets purchased before my mortgage loan was approved), and the insanity mounted. But add the support and help of good friends and, somehow, everything got done.

Just packing up my belongings in the house I rented after my divorce three years ago, or just readying the other house for occupancy, would have taken up all my free time, but accomplishing both by a deadline was a Herculean task. Some special people helped me line cabinets, paint a bedroom, scour the accumulated crud out of the oven (now that’s a friend!), roll up unwanted wall-to-wall carpeting, and wire my phone jacks. The house, except for the oven, was relatively clean, but the attached shop and garage were buried in accumulated sawdust left by the former owner, who was a carpenter. My vacuum came through like a champ, sucking up about a ton of sawdust.

I returned from Cleveland on a Tuesday, and the Big Move was scheduled for the following Saturday. Events unfolded on schedule—used carpeting a friend gave me and some new carpeting was laid on Tuesday, and professional cleaners shampooed the used carpeting on Wednesday. Thursday I borrowed a pickup, and my friend Brady at the bread thrift store loaded it up with boxes he had saved for me. Friday, the man who bought my stove picked it up, and I stayed up until 1 a.m. putting the last loose things into boxes. I used every box Brady gave me!

But most importantly, Friday evening two friends from the beekeepers club moved my beehive to my new yard with a little help from me. I wonder what my new neighbors thought when three strangely clad people, vaguely reminiscent of a decontamination team, arrived at dusk and unloaded something mysterious from the back of a pickup truck!

Saturday I was up at 5:30 and was ready for the movers when they began to arrive at seven. I had the best movers in Dothan—the Singles Group from my church. This is a group that really pitches in wholeheartedly to help a member in need. Nine members came. Peter was the first to arrive and the last to leave. Besides helping with the moving, he installed my window air conditioner and erected my curb mailbox.

And what would we have done without the Blue Goose? The Blue Goose was one member’s school bus with all the seats removed. At the rental house, a line of people passed boxes into the back door of the bus, assembly-line style. One man accused them of passing the boxes right out the front door and back into line. How did I fit all this stuff into such a small house? he wanted to know. When the bus was full, we loaded up three pickup trucks.

Then we caravanned to the new house across town. As they gamely unloaded everything they had just loaded, the questions flew. Where do you want this? Where does this go? The scene was a wonderful madhouse. In no time, a mountain of boxes sat in each room.

A few helpers and the bus had to leave, but the rest of us made another trip in two pickups, bringing back large items like my refrigerator and bed. One woman moved all my clothes in her car and carefully put them in the closet in the same order as in the old closet—that was so thoughtful! My friends soon had the bed assembled and the air conditioner in place. As I put the food back into the refrigerator, the workers relaxed around the kitchen table with cold drinks and pieces of the delicious pumpkin cake another friend had baked for the occasion.

Peter and I made one last trip, picking up odds and ends left from the other two forays and one last item—the cat. She had been watching the goings-on from the yard a safe distance away. I’m sure she thought she was going to the vet for a shot, as that is the only time she rides in a vehicle. She mewed pitifully all the way over to the other house and was probably much relieved when I put her down in a new home rather than on the vet’s slippery examination table.

How did I feel in my new house? Wonderful! After my divorce, I thought I’d never be able to financially swing owning a home, but many things fell into place to make this one possible. So even though getting everything put away seemed like Mission Impossible at the moment, I felt pretty good.

Believe it or not, I finished unpacking last weekend, so I guess I’m now officially moved in. Lots of things remain to be done, but I’m looking forward to them all.

Best Friends Are Forever (1989)

Best friends are unique. Not only are they hard to find but they last forever.

I visited a best friend last month in Chattanooga. Elaine moved from Dothan when our oldest children were in the fourth grade (they are now 21). The last time I saw her was probably in 1983 in Stone Mountain, Ga. Letters have been hasty Christmas notes or nonexistent. A lot of water has gone under the canoe since we last talked in person, including my divorce four years ago and children grown into maturity. We had a lot to catch up on, but the same easy feeling as before remained between us.

Driving to Chattanooga alone was an affirmation of my growing independence, and I thoroughly enjoyed the four-day weekend. I don’t think I’ve been north of Montgomery except in a plane since my divorce, and the rolling hills and ridges north of Birmingham and on into Tennessee were good for my soul.

Elaine knows I love nature and the outdoors, so she had planned a trip to Cade’s Cove in Great Smoky Mountains National Park on Saturday. Elaine, two of her daughters, and I set off with a picnic lunch for what turned out to be a delightful, spontaneous day. We never got to Cade’s Cove, but we had a very good time.

We did drive through the park for a while, enjoying the forest and the tumbling roadside stream where people were tubing. We ate our lunch at a wooded picnic area. Then we decided to make a brief detour to find the Five G’s Quilt Shop.

Elaine enjoys doing all sorts of crafts, and her latest passion is quilting. Someone had told her about this specialty shop and its knowledgeable proprietress. It was listed in a guide to area attractions, but the directions were not too precise. Trying to locate it took us through some beautiful Tennessee countryside, and we figured finding it was half the adventure. I have to give the shop credit for not advertising on billboards!

As we made our way up English Mountain, we saw one quilt shop sign tacked to the side of a barn in which tobacco was drying. A sign by the side of the road warned us to turn off our air conditioner. As we climbed, the road made hairpin turns as it switchbacked up the mountain.

At the top was the Five G’s Quilt Shop, and it was well worth the search. Five G’s, we found out, stood for five grandchildren. The shop was filled with everything connected with quilting—books, patterns, fabrics, frames, notions. Upstairs, gorgeous hand-quilted quilts were displayed on the walls and laid on top of each other on two beds.

The owner was a gregarious soul who loved to talk about quilting, and Elaine and her girls made a most receptive audience. Fairly new to the craft, they wanted to glean every possible helpful hint and piece of how-to information they