'HAPPY THANKSGIVING!"

Wishing all of you who celebrate

Thanksgiving a day of togetherness, happiness, lots of food and many blessings!

Sherry Hill

"THE THANKSGIVING GRANDFATHER CHAIR"

WRITE YOUR OWN COLUMN I CHERISH MY GRANDFATHER'S 'THE THANKSGIVING GRANDFATHER CHAIR’

Publication: THE SUNDAY GAZETTE-MAIL
Published: Sunday, November 18, 2007
Page: 10F
Byline: SHARON REED HILL

These days, Thanksgiving seems to be viewed more as the kickoff for Christmas than a day for special family gatherings.

When I was a child, Thanksgiving dinner was always held at my grandparents' house. The table would look elegant with its freshly ironed linens, and napkins so big they covered your lap. There were fresh flowers and cranberry glass goblets and place settings so pretty they took my breath. Even the turkey wore shoes to the table (although he arrived at the table on a platter and his shoes were made of paper).

At the center of my grandparents' dining room was a large table with six chairs, each of which was covered by its own color of needlepoint. My grandfather's chair- the only one with arms - was covered in purple. Looking back, I'm certain he didn't choose that color. I expect my grandmother did, as she was the one who did the needlepoint. I'm not sure how she chose him for the purple, but he and his purple chair were a commanding presence at the head of the table.

My grandfather was actually my stepgrandfather, as he was a childless widower when he married my widowed grandmother, who had two teenage daughters. They all moved into his beautifully furnished home.

According to my late mother and her sister, my grandfather wasn't quite sure how to handle living with teenage girls in his house. He'd actually once confessed to not much liking children, saying he wasn't as extreme as W.C. Fields, but close. Still, he adapted to having children around without much complaint. (I'm sure he'd have said it was pointless to complain, as he was outnumbered by females.)

By the time I was born, his opinion of children had totally changed. I was the apple of his eye and could do no wrong. The same was true of my two cousins. Whatever we wanted, he'd see that we got.

There weren't many Christmas dinners to remember at my grandparents' house. It wasn't because of anything more than the typical family holiday dysfunction, but somehow, we always managed to get together for Thanksgiving - the feast headed by my grandfather, in his purple chair.

I had 11 Thanksgivings with my grandfather, and then he was gone.

After that, even though my grandmother still lived in their house, she came to our house on Thanksgiving. We would still have other family dinners at her house, but my grandfather's chair was always left empty, as if no one dared attempt to take his place.

When I was 27, my grandmother died. Since I was the only married grandchild with children, I inherited her dining room table and chairs. For years, my family used the set, then I got into the country mode of decorating and decided to sell the table. But I couldn't bring myself to sell the six chairs.

They were more than just chairs to me. Each represented the person who sat in them, especially my grandfather's.

I've told all three of my grandchildren about the Thanksgiving Grandfather Chairin the hopes that someday, when the chairs are passed down, they will be treasured. They never knew my grandfather, but he changed all our lives for the better.

Six years ago, after going through a divorce, the death of my mother, and some other sad and difficult experiences, I moved my grandfather's chair into my bedroom. It comforts me there, reminding me of the love and caring of the special man who once graced it. The man who made me feel cherished.

And so, in return, I cherish his chair.

Sharon Reed Hill

"A FRIGHTENING TIME AT A RESTAURANT!"

A long time ago I went on a business pleasure trip with my then husband to Virginia Beach, Virginia. Lots of his co-workers went as well as their wives and we were having a blast because the men were in meetings and we, the women, had all the free time in the world! We shopped, we got in the ocean and every day we had lunch at the huge motel in which we were staying--it was nirvana to the max.

Every evening someone would decide where we would go to eat dinner. And the choices were always great--that is until one evening when someone suggested we go to one of those steak places that serves all you can eat. All of us went in different cars but some of us took others with us.

I will never forget when we pulled into the restaurant's parking lot: There were only two cars there. Not a good sign!! Everyone parked and we all went in; we had no sooner gotten in than the manager showed us to our tables. Must have been about twenty of us all seated and the same man came over to take our orders. I said I wanted a salad and later when he arrived back at our table [where were the waitresses or waiters I thought?] he had half of a head of lettuce on a plate.

Never had seen that for a salad and something told me that things were just not right. And no they weren't for we heard the roar of motorcycles outside and someone went to the door and looked out--it was a group of "Hell's Angels" out there. Abruptly, the manager ran to the door and locked it and rushed back  into the room.

Now here I was, along with the others, trying to eat my steak and each bite sort of stuck in my throat for we were locked in this place and the worse was outside! Wasn't alone in my thinking because I could see terror on others' faces--we were trying to eat in a locked up restaurant and it wasn't going well at all!

Banging on the door from the motorcycle gang continued for what seemed like an eternity. Didn't do a thing for anyone's appetite. The manager was petrified out of his wits [he must have had dealings with them before I guessed] and the dinner seemed endless. Heaven knows how long we were in there but I can tell you one thing--hardly anyone ate their meal that evening!

As stated before, there was not one waiter or waitress to be seen from the beginning to the time we left--that alone was weird for it was just that man, the manager in control of seating, taking orders and apparently cooking the dinners as well!

Things got real quiet outside [no roar of the motorcycles] so the manager went over and unlocked the door; we left as fast as we could and ran to our cars terrified. And also hungry for no one had hardly eaten a thing. I will never forget that evening as long as I live and that was so long ago. Not too long ago, a friend took me out to eat at a fine hotel's restaurant and lo and behold I ordered a salad and when it came, it was a quarter of a head of lettuce!

You know what went on in my mind when I saw that--yes back to Virginia Beach and that horrid restaurant. But things were safe outside where I was this time and I was actually able to eat my entire dinner without fear.

Moral is if you pull into a restaurant's parking lot and only see two cars and the  place has a glass door for an entrance, do not go in! Drive somewhere else as fast as you can for you might wind up in a place like I did and live in fear of your life for over an hour.

Sherry Hill

'ONE JELLY BEAN!"

It was trick or treat and I was with a bunch of grade school friends--one of them was

my friend Karen

-and we walked way up her steep hill,  Greenbrier Street. We were

all out of breath as we climbed the fifty steps [or so it seemed] to the last house

on the left of the top of that horrid hill! One of us rang the doorbell and an old

man appeared with a tiny bag in his hands. Hmm we thought. We all said the 

normal "Trick or treat!" and he proceded to hand each one of us one black jelly

bean--that was it! One jelly bean.  Aside from being out of breath after climbing

those steps and also being kind of scared, all of us were shocked to get just

that one thing. But the way he looked it wouldn't have mattered if he gave us a

bag of candy each--he was frightening. We trudged down those fifty steps and

ran down the hill as fast as we could; each of us had thrown our one jelly bean 

away. Who could forget that?

Sherry Hill

"A HALLOWEEN PARTY I NEVER FORGOT!"

"A HALLOWEEN PARTY I NEVER FORGOT!”

When I was eight years old, my parents and I moved to St. Albans, WV—we moved into a giant mansion that had been made into two dwellings. Lucky for us, we had the left side [if you stood outside and looked at the huge place] and I was thrilled for the street was full of kids! The mansion set on Hudson Street and right near the corner of Kanawha Terrace.

Best thing aside from living there was that I got to go to a new school—Highlawn Elementary. I had already gone to two other grade schools so I was familiar with the routine of meeting new kids –in fact it was commonplace with me by this time. School started in September which flew by and it was almost Halloween! Like every kid, it was a time looked forward to for it meant dressing up and of course, getting candy! The Halloween before I had to wear one of those dumb costumes that came in a box; mine was some flimsy girl outfit complete with a black mask and horrible hair attached to it. Hated it. This time I asked my mom if I could wear my Aunt Carol’s dancing dress:  She had sent it to me and it was beautiful, long and all sparkly. Loved it.

Shock set in when my mom agreed I could wear it! The night before Halloween [which fell on a Friday,] my mom sprayed my dark hair with some kind of gold color. Smelled to high heavens but oh I loved it. Then she used gold spray paint and painted my white shoes and made a wand which was also painted gold. I went to bed with thoughts of being so utterly beautiful that I could hardly sleep. Next morning before my parents left for work, I was outfitted in this attire and dropped off at school which was about four or five blocks away. I felt like a gold glittery fairy. [Back then you came to school in your Halloween outfit and wore it all day—the parade was the best as you got to march around everyone.]

In retrospect, I must have looked pretty ridiculous but sure didn’t feel that way. Stayed with my aunt after school till my parents picked me up. When we got home, I ate dinner and was off with friends to go trick or treating—with that metallic smell in my blonde hair, shoes and wand. Came home with pillow cases full of candy and was worn out but happy—that is till my mom insisted my hair had to be washed. “Couldn’t leave that gold stuff in it!” she said. After that I don’t remember much except going to sleep.

The next morning was Saturday; I remember going through the pillow cases of candy and sorting it out but that didn’t last long for I wanted to go outside and play with other kids. Was a ritual. There was a blonde haired boy who lived up the street from me; we were in the same fourth grade class. He motioned for me to come to him and fear set in my heart—had this terrible crush on him but I walked up to him. “We’re having a party tomorrow evening here at my house! It’s dress up. Do you want to come?” Asked him what time and he said five o’clock. Ran home to ask my parents and they agreed that I could go for they knew his parents.

Now if you are eight years old and a kid asks you to a party right after Halloween and says it’s dress up, you get your costume ready to wear. At four thirty that Sunday, my mom went through the gold hair spraying routine again on me, helped me get into my aunt’s dancing dress and I put on my gold shoes [that looked pretty shabby after wearing them at school that Friday and then trick or treating in them] and got my want and marched up the street to the party. Ah nirvana I thought to myself.

When I rang the doorbell to the boy’s house, his sister opened the door: I could see inside the living room and what I saw stuck fear in  my heart—all the kids were dressed up all right—dressed up in church clothes!! And there I stood looking like a complete gold glittery fool. Words weren’t even exchanged between his sister and me; I was mortified! Ran down the street to my house as if I had wings on my feet and got inside and crumbled into a heap at the kitchen table. When I could muster up the words, out they came to my parents about what had happened. I was soothed by them and had to go through the hair-washing ritual again to remove the gold stuff out of my hair for the next day was Monday and school.

That Monday I said nothing to that blonde haired boy. Ignored him. Really wanted to scream at him for making me feel like a fool but I kept my feelings inside. It was the worst Halloween party I had ever almost attended! So glad I had the sense to not go in but to head for home. That was so long ago and I can look back at it and laugh for I should  have asked him what kind of dress up but when you are eight years old, you think it means wearing a Halloween costume. Ah but I had the memories of being a glittery gold fairy of types and that part made me feel so good—if only for two days. Other Halloween parties would come and go and I relished and remembered them all. But I will never ever forget that almost one party—ever!

Sherry Hill

"TODAY IS MY MOM'S BIRTHDAY"

“TODAY IS MY MOM’S BIRTHDAY”

Today, October 23^rd, is my mom’s birthday but she has now been gone for ten years—seems like forever. She would have been ninety one. And on her birthday, I always sent her a dozen yellow roses for yellow was her favorite color and what woman doesn’t love roses? Started sending her these when I was about fifteen and working [while in high school] and onward and it became a tradition.

Lost my dad long before her and when she died, it hit me later on that I was an orphan. Guess anyone who has lost both parents comes to that realization as hard as it is to comprehend.

As an only child, I didn’t have a close relationship with my mom; she worked before I was born and afterwards—working was her life. Either I stayed with her mom, my grandmother or baby sitters until I was in the sixth grade for my dad also worked. I look back at so many times I wanted to be close to her but something in her make up put a barrier between us and that barrier lasted until the last three months of her life.

My mom wanted me to be like her but alas I was not—I was me. The things she liked were things I didn’t like and yet, she had given me lessons in everything from dancing to tennis to modeling but she was an executive secretary and there was no way I wanted to be one. She made me start work at fifteen [with a work permit] as a typist for the department of highways; this summer job lasted seven years. Did I like it? No way! I hated it but I did save the money I made and used while in college and afterwards for I became a teacher. I suppose she was proud that I chose that profession for she told me several times that she was.

As a grown up, I lived about ten minutes from her and tried to be the dutiful daughter; it was harder on my part for I had two sons and she only had one child—me. Anyone with two children knows how hard it is to work and take care of them and be everything and yet I tried. In 2001 she started getting a metal taste in her mouth and went to dentists and doctors; she told me that every single thing she ate tasted like metal. And then she got the bad news that that metal taste was cancer.

She knew what type she had as did I for it was cancer of the liver, lungs and adrenal glands but she didn’t want to know how long she had to live. One day I called her doctor whom I knew and was told that she had three months left of her life. I was in utter shock and didn’t say anything to my mom—no one did. Chemo was tried and her outlook seemed full of hope but she was in and out of the hospital so much that it ravaged her already ninety pound body into someone I hardly recognized.

That last few weeks of her life, I stayed with her-- took off from teaching and wish now I had taken off earlier.  Her favorite place to sit in her apartment was in her kitchen: She would sit at the round glass table and peer out the window to see the street and the passing people. I sat there with her those weeks and it was during this time that she told me how proud of me she was and that she loved me. Never had said that to me in my entire life and yet I knew she did love me but to hear it was what I had wanted all of my life.

We talked of miracles happening before our eyes but avoided the talk of cancer; do remember her saying “We don’t remember what it was before we are born and won’t know what happens when we die.”  Those words numbed me. No one thinks that their mom will ever die for they seem invincible even though we shove that back in our minds.

I was in the hospital with her that last week of her life. Things went from bad to worse; she was in horrific pain. Luckily, she had a living will and a caring doctor. Got in bed beside her and told her it was all right to let go [how I found the courage to say those words I don’t know] and she took her last breath on my face. It was over—I had lost my mom.

Weeks later I would find these little signs such as a butterfly landing on my face or arm—those signs went on for several years. Other unexplainable things have happened since her death and they have been good things on my part. I am left with so many unanswered questions to which I will never find the answer and perhaps that is how it should be.

Today I think of her and the birthdays past and wish her with me. All I have to do is to look at yellow roses and I am flooded with many good memories and a lot of missing. I’m glad I was with her those last weeks of her life—no one can take that back for it was the mother-daughter bond I so desperately sought and received.

Sherry Hill

*Rose picture from online: Apologize for don't remember source.

"DO YOU HAVE A PET?"

“DO YOU HAVE A PET?”

How many of you have a pet? I have a large black dog and a calico cat: Both are female. Have had a pet in my life since I was eight years old—wish it had been earlier but it wasn’t. Over the years, my family has had numerous dogs, cats and one time a pet rat that lived a short time. But during all those years of having pets, my sons learned so much as did I: It takes a lot of responsibility to be a pet owner.

Not only does a pet have to visit a veterinarian but has to have shots, be groomed, bathed [unless it’s a cat—never attempt to give a cat a bath unless you’d like your arms to be scratched all over,] fed, walked [not a cat] and loved. Like humans, pets need attention and appreciate hugs or pats on the head. If they are neglected in this area, they will become withdrawn and then extra attention will have to be given; I’m sure you have noticed this with your pets.

Pets give us so much unconditional love. Doesn’t take much to please them unless you happen to have one that wants up in your face all of the time—some pets are like that while others can be standoffish. No matter what, having a pet just makes you feel better. It’s been proven that people who have pets live longer than those who don’t—maybe it’s the bond that is created between owner and pet or maybe it’s much more than that.

Would love to hear back from you if you have a pet and how you get along. My cat and dog demand a lot of attention but it is so worth it in the long run. And remember that dogs have owners but cats have staff—I am both. Are you?

Sherry Hill