Anticipation is a wonderful thing. When faced with the unknown all manner of feelings come to light. There were so many what if’s running through my mind I had trouble falling asleep. For days I pondered: will I go, what should I wear. Being only a peasant I have nothing glamorous to impress the prince. Will the Prince be nice, will I make a fool of myself at the dinner table. How will I know which fork to use, will I know where to place the knife, is there a chance I will drop something on my sweater that will leave a bold, ugly stain. Will I know proper etiquette. O, so many what if’s to mar the wonder of the invitation. I just knew I could never be comfortable, I would not fit into the setting. There might be other illuminati from the kingdom in the vicinity. Would they be watching? O! What trauma. I knew I was doomed. I began to wonder whether I should decline the invitation. I thought - that is not possible. One does not turn down an invitation to have dinner with the prince. Doing that might cause me to be banished to the hill country never to be heard of again. Yes, intimidated or not, I had to have dinner with the prince.
Quickly the day approached. Early in the day, I laid out the clothes that I thought I should wear. Elegant they were not. Had I searched every nook and cranny I would not have found anything remotely resembling a ball gown. I remembered it was only a dinner. Possibly I could make do. I mused how thankful I was that I would not be forced onto a dance floor for everyone to see. I would remain less conspicuous seated at the table.
I busied myself all day doing mundane things that all peasants are forced to do. I did the laundry, cleaned the floors, made the hut presentable thinking ahead to the evening which kept creeping closer. It helped to fill the day with chores. There was less time to fret over things to which I had no control. The evening had been set. A driver had been contacted to pick me up. I was to meet the prince at the location which had been chosen earlier. I was thankful I did not have to drive.
I noticed my fingernails needed new polish. I could not go meet the prince with chipped polish. I was sure he would be well manicured. To show respect I stripped the polish, applying a fresh coat. Now if he noticed my hands shaking the nails would look better. Sitting still while the paint was drying was traumatic. I knew if I inadvertently scraped the new polish I would not have time to redo everything. It was almost time to dress. I nervously applied some makeup. Everything had to be perfect for the prince. Smudging the mascara was a no-no. Nervous or not, my hand had to be steady for this. I reminded myself I should have forgone the last cup of coffee. No need to add to the jitters with caffeine.
The phone rang. It was my driver saying the estimated time of arrival was in twenty minutes. I had waited for that call to slip into my chosen outfit. I had to make sure it stayed neat and clean. When the driver showed up, some scattered bits of threads were noticed on my clothing. I often have that problem. I had, just the day before ,fixed an outfit for the brother of the prince. My abilities lie in the transforming of clothing to make others look good. I am comfortable creating clothing for others to wear. I am not so comfortable being the one wearing the finery.
The evening was warm. I was thankful for the air conditioning in the vehicle. The car arrived at our destination in plenty of time to get settled before the prince arrived. We stopped at tables set up to show pictures of the prince. There was even a helmet he had worn in battle. There was a replica of the building which was to be built in his honor. His name was inscribed across the top. There were several weapons he had used in battle. He was victorious in battle. He has won the acclaim of the entire kingdom.
The dining hall was huge. Many tables were covered with white damask clothe. There in front of me was the place settings, which sported several forks, spoons, and a knife. Water glasses were placed just so and a napkin was folded in a festive manner atop a plate. The setting was a far cry from my setup on the deck in my back yard. My fears of knowing which utensil was proper to use surfaced once again. I thought I could just wait to see how the prince chose then follow suit.
Another of my fears was realized. There were crowds of people there. How would I ever survive this? Each person wanted a glimpse of the prince. As he came into the room people were yelling, clapping, moving en masse closer and closer. At this point the prince did not even know I had arrived. He went from table to table appeasing his adoring public. I was spared for the moment. He just passed by where I was seated. Dinner was being served. The salad was placed in front of me. The prince was no where to be seen as the crowd was still seeking his favor. I was thankful the driver had stayed by my side. I could take cues as to my next move. I was more comfortable in the presence of the driver. Over the microphone an announcement was made. Dinner was being served. I wondered; where was the prince? Again I was put at ease by the driver who told me the prince would not be seated at our table. I thought this a bit strange, but what do I know about prince protocol. I felt honored that I was there in close proximity. What more could a peasant girl want.
I was sitting at a table with other dignitaries in their own right. The owner of a firm, his field managers, those who did his bidding were all seated around my driver and me. I felt a bit intimidated only not as much as if I had been seated beside the prince. My nerves began to relax. So far all was going well. Only once did I notice an article of food had dropped on me. I quickly removed it hoping no one else noticed. This was a show-stopper of a gathering. It was all in honor of the prince.
I looked at the food placed before me. It surely didn't resemble the cornbread with soup beans I was used to eating. The food was served in sections which they called courses. At home we just put it on the table, everyone for themselves . There is no special person to serve or clean off the table. It was indeed a different kind of meal. Had the food tasted like paste, it would still have been worth eating. I told the driver I thought the chef had been watching too much TV. Iron Chef is judged on how the food appears on the plate. The evening fare would have judged well. I think I managed to eat all but two bites before the server removed my plate to make room for a dessert almost too pretty to eat. I forced myself, gobbling up every bite. I knew it might be a long time before I was blessed to be in a gathering so elegant. By this time I had purposed to chuck all my reserve choosing just enjoy the whole occasion.
I braced myself. Leaving my seat I headed to another table. I wanted to greet the queen. What a gracious lady she is. I introduced myself. She acknowledged that she was happy to finally meet the one that tailors her son’s clothing. Wow! What a rush. She made me feel comfortable, as did the others sitting around her. This table was not where the prince sat. He was at a different table altogether with many warriors of whom he had battled. Even those he conquered paid tribute.
My night was perfect. I was blessed to have an invitation to dine with the prince. It did not matter that I was not at his table. In fact I felt much relief. I did not have to watch my manners for fear I would not show favor to the prince in a proper manner. I could see him from where I was seated. I could not tell if he was actually looking at me or if he even knew I was there. It did not matter. I knew I was there. I knew why I had accepted the invitation. I knew I was blessed to even be seated in the room for many others could not be there. They missed a lot.
Too soon the prince had to say his goodbyes to his adoring public. Some had come from far off kingdoms just to get a glimpse of the prince. Flash bulbs were going off all over the room. I was glad to be in another location. At one time, I was standing beside the prince when I noticed a camera pointed in our direction. I quickly ducked behind him. I was glad his 6 foot 1 inch frame towered over my 5 foot 2 inch stature. Publicity is something of which I am not comfortable. I do much better sitting in my little corner with needle and thread making others look presentable. I don't think that has changed since I was a child on the farm. I can write much better than I can speak one on one. The words flow when I am alone with no celebrity.
Yes, I was blessed to be invited to dinner with the prince. I will live on the memories for many a day. Someday, somewhere, we might just meet again. I will welcome the opportunity. For now, it is back to the corner. The prince has gone on to conquer other kingdoms. I just hope he remembers the night we dined together.
O, the prince? You want to know his name? I guess I forgot to mention that. I also forgot to mention there were five hundred other people invited to the same dinner. It is true. Dick LeBeau has found favor in the eyes of many. He was honored with a dinner celebrating the fifty years he has been prince (actually more than that, we won't count them). Now his name will be repeated by generations to come. Maybe in years to come there will be grandchildren who say, who is Dick LeBeau. There will be many grandparents telling of this man while relating how the new LeBeau Field House got its name. As for me, I will keep this memory in my heart, remembering the anticipation I felt that was totally unfounded. Again, I have to say thanks to Dick LeBeau for a wonderful evening. I actually had a great time. I did not make a fool of myself trying to have a one on one conversation. O, I suppose I should remember the fact the prince gave me a hug, smiled at me and said he was glad I could come. What a prince.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Father's Day
This weekend we celebrate dads. One might think it unimportant to me as my dad has been dead since 1983. That is not the case. I can celebrate yet today because of the things he taught me.
My dad had to become 'the man of the house' at a very young age. His father was killed in a logging accident when my dad was in the third grade. That is when he had to quit school and work to help support the family. He had a very strong work ethic and was an honorable man who did right because it was right to do, not because he was forced to do so. He worked hard and although he had to quit school he had a longing to learn. He read books. In fact, when I was a young girl he went to an auction and bought a complete library of books. It was in an estate sale. Some of those books are still in my possession, not nearly all of them as through the years they were sold or discarded for one reason or another.
Without a formal education my dad continued to learn. At the end of his life he had learned to speak at least two foreign languages. He had a diploma hanging over the fireplace in his study which showed he had finished a fingerprinting course.
He migrated from Kentucky to Ohio in the early 20's to find work to provide for his family, which was now a wife, two children and one on the way. He labored as a tenant farmer during my growing-up years. He was known by everyone as an honest and fair man. He worked as a custodian of a cemetery where he is now buried. He was in the Armed Forces and served as a cook while stationed in Panama. He in fact baked the wedding cake for the Panamanian president while he was there. I still have his cookbook from that time. After leaving the Army he was involved with the National Guard and served with them for several years.
When I was only twelve, he started a new venture. With the help of the entire family he purchased a local restaurant. All of us had some kind of work and put our money in to help pay the down payment. This was the first of five restaurants he owned. In the meantime he was employed at our local police force. He was successful at everything he tried. He worked hard to realize his ambitions.
I look back at his life and see the pain he endured. First his father was killed. His little brother fell in an open fireplace and died from the burns. My dad was the one that had to pull his little brother out of that fire. He had one sister who died in childbirth. Another brother was killed in a motor vehicle accident. His mother also died as the result of an automobile accident. That left only one brother, who died later in life, but before my dad. It seemed everybody he loved was taken from him in a violent manner. His oldest son, my brother was killed in the Korean Conflict, on Pork Chop Hill. I do not remember my father shedding a tear, though I am sure he did. It was years later I finally saw my father cry. That was when my husband was killed in a trucking accident. It seemed to be more than he could bear up under. I cried with him.
He was indeed a mighty man. He was proud of his heritage, but did not flaunt it. You see, his mother was a descendant of Francis Scott Key, the writer of our National Anthem. It was not until this past summer than I discovered a handwritten copy of those famous words on a very old parchment paper. It had been hidden away in a box of letters and cards. It was this connection to the history that helped make my father proud to say he was an American. His lineage was immersed in the field of the law. His grandfather was a judge, and others in his ancestry line were lawyers, judges and the most famous of all was the Attorney for the District of Columbia. Many people only know the famous poem he wrote. He was much more than a poet.
Yes, I celebrate Father's Day by remembering what I was taught by my dad. He was and is yet today very special to me.
My dad had to become 'the man of the house' at a very young age. His father was killed in a logging accident when my dad was in the third grade. That is when he had to quit school and work to help support the family. He had a very strong work ethic and was an honorable man who did right because it was right to do, not because he was forced to do so. He worked hard and although he had to quit school he had a longing to learn. He read books. In fact, when I was a young girl he went to an auction and bought a complete library of books. It was in an estate sale. Some of those books are still in my possession, not nearly all of them as through the years they were sold or discarded for one reason or another.
Without a formal education my dad continued to learn. At the end of his life he had learned to speak at least two foreign languages. He had a diploma hanging over the fireplace in his study which showed he had finished a fingerprinting course.
He migrated from Kentucky to Ohio in the early 20's to find work to provide for his family, which was now a wife, two children and one on the way. He labored as a tenant farmer during my growing-up years. He was known by everyone as an honest and fair man. He worked as a custodian of a cemetery where he is now buried. He was in the Armed Forces and served as a cook while stationed in Panama. He in fact baked the wedding cake for the Panamanian president while he was there. I still have his cookbook from that time. After leaving the Army he was involved with the National Guard and served with them for several years.
When I was only twelve, he started a new venture. With the help of the entire family he purchased a local restaurant. All of us had some kind of work and put our money in to help pay the down payment. This was the first of five restaurants he owned. In the meantime he was employed at our local police force. He was successful at everything he tried. He worked hard to realize his ambitions.
I look back at his life and see the pain he endured. First his father was killed. His little brother fell in an open fireplace and died from the burns. My dad was the one that had to pull his little brother out of that fire. He had one sister who died in childbirth. Another brother was killed in a motor vehicle accident. His mother also died as the result of an automobile accident. That left only one brother, who died later in life, but before my dad. It seemed everybody he loved was taken from him in a violent manner. His oldest son, my brother was killed in the Korean Conflict, on Pork Chop Hill. I do not remember my father shedding a tear, though I am sure he did. It was years later I finally saw my father cry. That was when my husband was killed in a trucking accident. It seemed to be more than he could bear up under. I cried with him.
He was indeed a mighty man. He was proud of his heritage, but did not flaunt it. You see, his mother was a descendant of Francis Scott Key, the writer of our National Anthem. It was not until this past summer than I discovered a handwritten copy of those famous words on a very old parchment paper. It had been hidden away in a box of letters and cards. It was this connection to the history that helped make my father proud to say he was an American. His lineage was immersed in the field of the law. His grandfather was a judge, and others in his ancestry line were lawyers, judges and the most famous of all was the Attorney for the District of Columbia. Many people only know the famous poem he wrote. He was much more than a poet.
Yes, I celebrate Father's Day by remembering what I was taught by my dad. He was and is yet today very special to me.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
A MUST read for ALL voters
This is a paragraph from an email I received from an American who is living in a socialized country . Every American voter should read what she has to say.
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Yes, Obama is ruining our country, at the rate of an express train. BUT that is what we voted in, we wanted him to fix our money and said that everything else was unimportant--we got what we paid for (as a country, not as individuals, because I know neither you nor I voted him in!!!) Believe me, I'm living in a country that practices what he is trying to turn our country into and it STINKS, all those people who voted him in should live in a socialist practicing country for awhile and see how it Really is, NOTHING gets done and NOBODY is happy. In America when you walk down the street you make eye contact and smile or say hi or tip your hat or Something--that NEVER happens here, nobody laughs, nobody smiles at anyone, nobody chats with a stranger--it's very depressing. Being nice is seen as a weakness and the only "important" people are yourself and your family/friends, everyone else is considered fair game. It's very sad and its where we are headed. *sigh* enough of that. :-)
*********************
Yes, Obama is ruining our country, at the rate of an express train. BUT that is what we voted in, we wanted him to fix our money and said that everything else was unimportant--we got what we paid for (as a country, not as individuals, because I know neither you nor I voted him in!!!) Believe me, I'm living in a country that practices what he is trying to turn our country into and it STINKS, all those people who voted him in should live in a socialist practicing country for awhile and see how it Really is, NOTHING gets done and NOBODY is happy. In America when you walk down the street you make eye contact and smile or say hi or tip your hat or Something--that NEVER happens here, nobody laughs, nobody smiles at anyone, nobody chats with a stranger--it's very depressing. Being nice is seen as a weakness and the only "important" people are yourself and your family/friends, everyone else is considered fair game. It's very sad and its where we are headed. *sigh* enough of that. :-)
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