So here we are, a full trip around the sun later, and what have I told you? What have I learned myself in this experience? Where does this all go? I will probably repeat myself over time, so just prepare yourself for that. I don't read as much as I would like, so there is a good chance I won't read back to see if I have already talked about something. There is lots more to tell about Mary and Charlie. They meant so much to me growing up. I need to revisit MaryAnne, my grandmaw Barton, my grandparents on dad's side, some more of the kids I spent my early days running with and get a few more recipes in. I will, of course, tell you more about my parents and my brothers. Maybe I will throw in a few stories that others have told me too.
My second entry was for #NationalSiblingsDay and here we are again. I pulled back from social media personally a while back. Mostly because I wanted to focus more on The Appalachian Tale and I work on social media for work, so I have enough of it to fill my time. I don't get to speak to my brothers as often and I was a little more up to date on what they were doing before, but that's ok. We know the other is there if we need anything. All we have to do is holler.
Some of my oldest memories of growing up involved my brothers tormenting me. Every now and then they would bring in reinforcements to help. There was the time that they put all of the cushions from the couch in the middle of the living room floor. Then they grabbed me and began to throw me against the ceiling, just to watch me hit the floor. I am comforted in my memories that they took the time to pad the floor. I don't think they did as much for Bobby. And there was the time that one of my brothers came up with the hairbrained idea to see how long one of us could survive in the fold-out couch, folded up. Now I don't mind a tight space, but that was too much. But again, I think Bobby got it worse than I did.
My mom must certainly have a special set of wings and the brightest halo in heaven today. All the things we put her through, and she still came back for more. She didn't go to work outside the house until I was in kindergarten. When she did, I think she always counted us to see if we were all still there when she got home. Sometimes we grew, but she didn't mind a neighborhood hooligan being added to the bunch. What she did mind was finding a new hole in a door or a piece of furniture broken. She had some "nice things" that she put up for when she really needed them or was afraid that they would get destroyed by us. We were the reason we could not have nice things. Today I have some of those nice things, so I guess it worked.