Saturday, June 20, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Is Florida Dangerous?
I couldn't pedal my six miles fast enough on the stationary bike this morning. I was rarin' to write this article...I was ticked.
I live in a beautiful retirement resort community. It is a paradise located in Florida but most of the community is made up of retirees from other parts of the country. I'm guessing 99% of these wonderful people are not bashing Florida, but the other one percent...well, just let me explain.
On my morning walk this morning with other women, we began talking about crime. Of course, right away, Mrs. X states "there is more crime in Florida than
any other state."
I quickly retaliated with "that is because most of the people in Florida are from other states. It is not necessarily the Florida Residents that are into crime. Although, like other states we do have our percentages."
Mrs. X then replied, "I just don't think you have the police force working as hard in Florida"
That really got my ire up. I said, "I disagree with you. That is not true. Just 2 days ago, I heard the sheriff from Pasco County (Florida) speak about how the force had spent many, many hours and perhaps even days on the latest case of a child being kidnapped."
Then Mrs. X tried to smooth things by saying, "Oh, I didn't mean anything by that. I just meant you know, the swamps and all...they are all hiding out in the swamps."
I then said, in a much more emphatic voice. "I have never heard of that. I think a pedophile would be more interested in locating in a more populated area, so that he can prey on children." (The "swamp" ----exactly where is she talking about?)
Just a week ago I had heard Mrs. X refer to lawns in Florida as "swamp grass."
Last summer, while exercising in the pool with Mrs. X, she stated that Florida just didn't have "separate bakeries" like they have up north. I told Mrs. X that first of all, we are in a rural community, but if she went to nearby Tampa, St Petersburg or even Tarpon Springs, she would have her separate "bakeries." Secondly, times have changed not only in Florida but "up north", also. Many grocery stores house wonderful bakeries, though not in a separate building. I don’t know how long it has been since Mrs. X has been up north, but I am betting the same thing is happening.
That same day Mrs.X referred to Florida soil, as just "sand" that would not produce good vegetables. Different parts of the country have different types of soil for their own unique produce..that I do know. Florida has wonderful strawberries and blueberries, to say the least.
I would hope that Mrs. X gets her facts straight, instead of just talking without any knowledge of what she is talking about.
Plato once said, "Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something."
I have heard it all (about Florida). I have heard the "Florida Bashing" that is tiresome.....all the way from bad pizza, crazy drivers (most of the drivers are from another state) to having to wait too long for appointments with doctors. (Doctors are very busy taking care of all who move to Florida from other states.)
One lady even said to me one day that she was sure her husband would be alive today, if she hadn't moved to Florida.
So this is for all the Mrs. and Mr. X's out there who bash the very state (Fla) that they are now languishing in..the state that provides sunshine, warmth and beaches.
Mrs.X - the road that goes wherever you hailed from goes two ways. If you don't like where you are, I suggest you head back!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Day I was in a Pickle
(My obsession with pickle-making) by Francine Larson
Summary:I can still see the expression on Jim's face as he opened the kitchen cabinet that was filled with watermelon pickles, dill pickles, strip pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles.
When my four daughters were very young, my husband Jim and I would get a baby sitter about once a month and go to our favorite restaurant. At that time, our very favorite was Chief Charley's restaurant. Not only were the entrees good, but the salad bar was so complete and delicious, that it is by far the best salad bar I have ever had the privilege of sampling.
That is precisely how my story starts: It began at the salad bar of our favorite restaurant, Chief Charley's. That evening, I heaped my plate with all the usual goodies one gets at a salad bar. One particular thing stood out among the other delicious salads and cheeses and that was the watermelon pickles. Yep, that was the star of the whole show. Prior to this, I had never eaten watermelon pickles. These pickles became my passion. I don't think I really paid too much attention to the remainder of the meal because the watermelon pickles lured me back to the salad bar, time after time. The sweet-tart watermelon taste satisfied my taste buds. The pickles were absolutely and divinely refreshing and delicious!
After one of these evenings at Chief Charley's with Jim, I began to think about making watermelon pickles. I looked through a recipe book handed down to me from my mother. I am guessing it was printed about 60 years ago. I looked in the table of contents of the red-checked Better Homes and Gardens and there it was, a recipe for watermelon pickles. My mouth began to water as I wrote down the ingredients. Watermelons are plentiful in Florida from spring until about December, so that was a plus.
I didn't know if my pickles would taste like Chief Charley's, but I simply had to try and make this fantastic delicacy. I made my watermelon pickles. I was in paradise. After a couple of trial runs, I decided to leave out the cloves. (For my taste, I liked it better and it tasted more like the ones in the restaurant.)
I was actually thrilled with the results. Here is the recipe from Better Homes and Gardens, about 60 years ago: ___________________________________________________________________________________
Watermelon Pickles
2 pounds watermelon rind4 cups sugar2 cups white vinegar2 cups water1 lemon, thinly sliced2 tablespoons cinnamon bark1 tablespoon whole cloves (optional)
Trim dark green and pink parts of rind; cut rind in 1-inch cubes. Soak overnight in salt water, &fraq12; cup coarse -medium salt to 1 quart water; drain, rinse and cover with cold water. Cook just tender; drain.
Combine sugar, vinegar, water, lemon and spices tied in a bag. Simmer 10 minutes.
Remove spice bag; add watermelon rind. Simmer until clear. Fill hot, sterilized jars to &fraq12; inch from top. Seal. Makes 3 pints. ______________________________________________________
I kept making watermelon pickles and giving them away for gifts but mostly indulging to my heart's content when I craved watermelon pickles. (No, I was not pregnant at that time, just needed my pickles.)
That is just the first part of my true story. I decided I could be the pickle queen. My sister lives in an area in Florida where cucumbers are plentiful. She brought me the perfect size for dill pickles. My heart leaped with excitement as I began to make my first batch of dill pickles.
By this time, my kitchen cabinets were getting pretty full and I didn't have a pantry but I continued on my "pickle journey."
A friend of mine gave me her recipe for strip pickles but I can't seem to find that one.
As my "pickling" became a weekly occurrence, I experimented with mustard pickles and butter and bread pickles. They were all good, crisp and delicious, although watermelon remains my favorite. They are a taste of the south, for sure.
I'm sure my four daughters and Jim will not forget that summer, either. Since I didn't have a pantry at that time, most of the kitchen cabinets contained pickles and more pickles. Including the strip pickles that I don't have the recipe for, I made five different kinds of pickles.
I can still see the expression on Jim's face as he opened the kitchen cabinet that was filled with watermelon pickles, dill pickles, strip pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles.
Now that I have a pantry, I think it is time to roll up my sleeves and prepare some more pickles...
Dill Pickles
Francine Larson: franlarson@gmail.com
Her web site: http://www.goodcharacterpress.com/
(My obsession with pickle-making) by Francine Larson
Summary:I can still see the expression on Jim's face as he opened the kitchen cabinet that was filled with watermelon pickles, dill pickles, strip pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles.
When my four daughters were very young, my husband Jim and I would get a baby sitter about once a month and go to our favorite restaurant. At that time, our very favorite was Chief Charley's restaurant. Not only were the entrees good, but the salad bar was so complete and delicious, that it is by far the best salad bar I have ever had the privilege of sampling.
That is precisely how my story starts: It began at the salad bar of our favorite restaurant, Chief Charley's. That evening, I heaped my plate with all the usual goodies one gets at a salad bar. One particular thing stood out among the other delicious salads and cheeses and that was the watermelon pickles. Yep, that was the star of the whole show. Prior to this, I had never eaten watermelon pickles. These pickles became my passion. I don't think I really paid too much attention to the remainder of the meal because the watermelon pickles lured me back to the salad bar, time after time. The sweet-tart watermelon taste satisfied my taste buds. The pickles were absolutely and divinely refreshing and delicious!
After one of these evenings at Chief Charley's with Jim, I began to think about making watermelon pickles. I looked through a recipe book handed down to me from my mother. I am guessing it was printed about 60 years ago. I looked in the table of contents of the red-checked Better Homes and Gardens and there it was, a recipe for watermelon pickles. My mouth began to water as I wrote down the ingredients. Watermelons are plentiful in Florida from spring until about December, so that was a plus.
I didn't know if my pickles would taste like Chief Charley's, but I simply had to try and make this fantastic delicacy. I made my watermelon pickles. I was in paradise. After a couple of trial runs, I decided to leave out the cloves. (For my taste, I liked it better and it tasted more like the ones in the restaurant.)
I was actually thrilled with the results. Here is the recipe from Better Homes and Gardens, about 60 years ago: ___________________________________________________________________________________
Watermelon Pickles
2 pounds watermelon rind4 cups sugar2 cups white vinegar2 cups water1 lemon, thinly sliced2 tablespoons cinnamon bark1 tablespoon whole cloves (optional)
Trim dark green and pink parts of rind; cut rind in 1-inch cubes. Soak overnight in salt water, &fraq12; cup coarse -medium salt to 1 quart water; drain, rinse and cover with cold water. Cook just tender; drain.
Combine sugar, vinegar, water, lemon and spices tied in a bag. Simmer 10 minutes.
Remove spice bag; add watermelon rind. Simmer until clear. Fill hot, sterilized jars to &fraq12; inch from top. Seal. Makes 3 pints. ______________________________________________________
I kept making watermelon pickles and giving them away for gifts but mostly indulging to my heart's content when I craved watermelon pickles. (No, I was not pregnant at that time, just needed my pickles.)
That is just the first part of my true story. I decided I could be the pickle queen. My sister lives in an area in Florida where cucumbers are plentiful. She brought me the perfect size for dill pickles. My heart leaped with excitement as I began to make my first batch of dill pickles.
By this time, my kitchen cabinets were getting pretty full and I didn't have a pantry but I continued on my "pickle journey."
A friend of mine gave me her recipe for strip pickles but I can't seem to find that one.
As my "pickling" became a weekly occurrence, I experimented with mustard pickles and butter and bread pickles. They were all good, crisp and delicious, although watermelon remains my favorite. They are a taste of the south, for sure.
I'm sure my four daughters and Jim will not forget that summer, either. Since I didn't have a pantry at that time, most of the kitchen cabinets contained pickles and more pickles. Including the strip pickles that I don't have the recipe for, I made five different kinds of pickles.
I can still see the expression on Jim's face as he opened the kitchen cabinet that was filled with watermelon pickles, dill pickles, strip pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles.
Now that I have a pantry, I think it is time to roll up my sleeves and prepare some more pickles...
Dill Pickles
Francine Larson: franlarson@gmail.com
Her web site: http://www.goodcharacterpress.com/
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
September Changes Fill the Air with Anticipation
I can feel fall changes in the air.........
Our 1985 cream-colored colt churned and turned around the Rocky Mountain roads like a champ. I could hardly contain myself as I took in the sheer beauty of orange, yellow, and multicolored leaves. The breath-taking scenery was like going to a church revival. My whole outlook on life was renewed.
We had been to the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina almost every year, but never in the fall. You have to remember that living in Florida, one does not experience a definite change or temperature, nor do we see beautiful, colorful leaf changes.
However, like everyone else, even without fall leaves, September means change. It means the beginning of school, migration for birds, a new football season, chili, and new fashion for clothing.
Even though the temperature in Florida still looms around the low 90s, I can still feel a twing of something about to change.
Perhaps it is this change in the air that is somehow flowing to my heart and giving me a sense of newness and a longing for positive adventure. After all, change is the only certainty in life.
For inspiration, here are some quotes regarding change:
Tolstoy: Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
Oliver Cromwell: He who stops being better stops being good.
Anne Frank: How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single minute before starting to improve the world.
Teen awareness month to give wake up call to teen trends. (Select here to read this valuable article). Evangelicals have name September for this timely cause.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
September also is a time to thing about safety for children and teens:
Parents, Grandparents, click here to learn about how to protect children through the Power of Parents Program. This is a nationwide child safety program provided by Duracell and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
_________________________________________________________________
Bullying and Cyberbullyiing – great information:
Here is a family's true story about cyberbullying that you don't want to miss. Read how the middle school did NOT do anything to help.
More about bullying: http://www.linkup-parents.com/bullies.htm contains a heart-warming and wisdom-packed letter to Sam, an autistic child by Daniele Gottlieb.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Did you know that are young people are dropping out of high school in large numbers? Oprah has been talking about it. Is there anything we can do? Click here to read Connect for Kids annotated links to key reports on this dropout crisis:
Frannie’s’ s picks for Family Fall Fun:
Celebrating The Fall Harvest~Games & Activities For Kids
Fall Activities - crafts for kids, word searches and autumn ...
Thirty days hath September
,April, June and November;
February has twenty eight alone
All the rest have thirty-one
Except in Leap Year, that's the time
When February's Days are twenty-nine
This September poem that dates back to the 16th century has helped me since I was a child: (We can now pass it on to our children and grandchildren.) See my web site for an exciting creative contest regarding poems that teach things to children. Just log on to http://www.goodcharacterpress.com
I hope your Sept. Days are fun-filled, healthy and happy!
Fran,
web mistress for Good Character Press.
Our 1985 cream-colored colt churned and turned around the Rocky Mountain roads like a champ. I could hardly contain myself as I took in the sheer beauty of orange, yellow, and multicolored leaves. The breath-taking scenery was like going to a church revival. My whole outlook on life was renewed.
We had been to the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina almost every year, but never in the fall. You have to remember that living in Florida, one does not experience a definite change or temperature, nor do we see beautiful, colorful leaf changes.
However, like everyone else, even without fall leaves, September means change. It means the beginning of school, migration for birds, a new football season, chili, and new fashion for clothing.
Even though the temperature in Florida still looms around the low 90s, I can still feel a twing of something about to change.
Perhaps it is this change in the air that is somehow flowing to my heart and giving me a sense of newness and a longing for positive adventure. After all, change is the only certainty in life.
For inspiration, here are some quotes regarding change:
Tolstoy: Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
Oliver Cromwell: He who stops being better stops being good.
Anne Frank: How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single minute before starting to improve the world.
Teen awareness month to give wake up call to teen trends. (Select here to read this valuable article). Evangelicals have name September for this timely cause.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
September also is a time to thing about safety for children and teens:
Parents, Grandparents, click here to learn about how to protect children through the Power of Parents Program. This is a nationwide child safety program provided by Duracell and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
_________________________________________________________________
Bullying and Cyberbullyiing – great information:
Here is a family's true story about cyberbullying that you don't want to miss. Read how the middle school did NOT do anything to help.
More about bullying: http://www.linkup-parents.com/bullies.htm contains a heart-warming and wisdom-packed letter to Sam, an autistic child by Daniele Gottlieb.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Did you know that are young people are dropping out of high school in large numbers? Oprah has been talking about it. Is there anything we can do? Click here to read Connect for Kids annotated links to key reports on this dropout crisis:
Frannie’s’ s picks for Family Fall Fun:
Celebrating The Fall Harvest~Games & Activities For Kids
Fall Activities - crafts for kids, word searches and autumn ...
Thirty days hath September
,April, June and November;
February has twenty eight alone
All the rest have thirty-one
Except in Leap Year, that's the time
When February's Days are twenty-nine
This September poem that dates back to the 16th century has helped me since I was a child: (We can now pass it on to our children and grandchildren.) See my web site for an exciting creative contest regarding poems that teach things to children. Just log on to http://www.goodcharacterpress.com
I hope your Sept. Days are fun-filled, healthy and happy!
Fran,
web mistress for Good Character Press.
Friday, September 07, 2007
How Will Your Teen Face Bullying and Peer Pressure When Going Back to School?
As I was reading the wonderful articles on teaching teens and children about such issues as bullying, self esteem and peer pressure, I thought to myself, If only this had been available for me when I was in school. I wonder if my life would have turned our differently? I wonder if my life would have been easier?Yes, my parents loved me and provided for me, but somewhere along the line I missed the boat. My parents always looked at my report card, but there wasn’t some kind of report card to see if I was coping with life or even knew what to do in certain situations.Since I was the youngest of three girls and my parents were not into sports, I couldn’t even throw or catch a ball. At school, two good players were chosen by the teacher as team leaders. They, in turn, would then “pick" their team. One team leader would call out a name and then the other team leader would call out another name until everyone was on a team. I was always the very last one to be chosen. I wish I would have know how to deal with that. And how not to feel bad the rest of the day and dread the next day when the same thing would take place.At least I did have the “honesty thing" down pat. One summer, during my high school years, I received my report card in the mail. I knew I didn’t deserve the grade that was given to me. Now you are going to think I am a little bit touched in the head, but I just had to contact the teacher and tell him it was a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake. The teacher graded on the curve. Even now, I only want what is honestly mine. On occasion, when I tell a white lie, I think to myself how futile this is and sometimes wind up confessing. Due to my Christian up-bringing, to accept otherwise would cause me lack of peace and nothing is more precious than peace. That philosophy has served me well, as life has been good to me. Please don’t get me wrong. I am not a saint. I have plenty of faults and am still learning some life lessons. Why didn’t someone tell me about cliques? Why didn’t I know just to be myself, my real authentic self, instead of trying to fit into a group? If someone would have said, “Will the real Fran Larson please stand up," maybe I would have stood and found where I belong. I would have been enormously happy and would have seen that I was an “OK" person.I think I would have been forever grateful if I had been taught, “How to deal with peer pressure." When I was a teenager, my friend talked me into staying out hours after my curfew. I was convinced it was “ok" because she said it was . I learned the hard way how miserable you can be when you succumb to peer pressure.. When I got home and saw the worried and hurt look on my parent’s face, I was totally devastated. I wish I would have tried to please my parents that night, not my peers. Would a lesson in peer pressure have helped? Did I even understand what peer pressure was? Perhaps a class discussion on the subject would have been remembered or even a book that explained these issues.I didn’t know that even as an adult, I would remember the look on my mother’s face the day I lied to her…………it still haunts me………I was just thinking……..
Tips on How to Stop a Bully
Use positive body language. Stand up straight. Look the bully in the eyes. Walk with your shoulders back and your head held high. Your body language should say, "I am strong and in control!
Use mind control. Think to yourself - you don't deserve to be treated like this and you are not afraid of a bully. The bully has no control over you. You are now in charge.
Develop some strong and true friendships. Find others who share your interests and values. Stand up for your friends and they will stand up for you.
Surprise the bully by doing something really unexpected. A funny quote or silly joke can catch the bully off guard and make him or her back off and think of you in a whole new way.
(From Our Book: Character Keys to a Bright Future. See our site at: http://www.goodcharacterpress.com
Tips on How to Stop a Bully
Use positive body language. Stand up straight. Look the bully in the eyes. Walk with your shoulders back and your head held high. Your body language should say, "I am strong and in control!
Use mind control. Think to yourself - you don't deserve to be treated like this and you are not afraid of a bully. The bully has no control over you. You are now in charge.
Develop some strong and true friendships. Find others who share your interests and values. Stand up for your friends and they will stand up for you.
Surprise the bully by doing something really unexpected. A funny quote or silly joke can catch the bully off guard and make him or her back off and think of you in a whole new way.
(From Our Book: Character Keys to a Bright Future. See our site at: http://www.goodcharacterpress.com
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Fathers Day Thoughts
Daddy’s Shoes
It seemed so strange. They were slightly scuffed and worn but now lay unmoving and silent. They were placed on the closet floor just the way Daddy had left them, as if they were waiting for him. My heart heavy and searching for peace, I stared at them – Daddy’s shoes. No one else could ever fill those shoes. No one would ever have an imprint in those shoes like Daddy. He left an imprint in my heart, as well as his shoes.
Daddy had just passed away. My eyes locked on his shoes, the shoes that would never be worn by him again as I let my mind drift……
My father was the Depot agent for the Atlantic Coast Line, a southern railway. History tells us that during the 1940s, Citrus was the bread and butter of the community. Tons of citrus were shipped from Palm Harbor, Florida to all parts of the country. The Palm Harbor Citrus Association was active at this time. There were 46 growers in the cooperative, which had been formed in 1924. The “fruit season”, as the locals called it was bittersweet. The season was when all the orange growers made their money but it was also hectic. Daddy knew all of the orange growers, as they shipped their fruit through the depot. My two sisters and I would go help Daddy at the depot after school. My mother would work from about 8 am until after dark. I walked to the depot right after school. The first thing Daddy would say to me was, “Are you hungry? Here’s some money. Go to the Gas Station (next door) and get yourself something to eat.” Usually, I would get crackers or peanuts and a soft drink. Of course the peanuts were really good, if you put them in the drink and let them soak in cola. After that, I would usually stamp pads (shipping labels) at 5 cents a pad. My mother would write out tickets (name, address, etc) for each individual bushel of fruit. Sometimes there would be 200 or more bushels filled with oranges or grapefruit. We worked away, stopping only to greet the growers as they came in to give us an order. The old black pot bellied stove sitting in the middle of the big depot gave just enough heat. This went on from about November till May. Daddy looked so tired but no matter what, was always polite, as he would murmur, “Yes Sir” and " Yes Maam.”
Working at the depot was a way for my sisters and I to make money because Daddy would pay us by the hour. When the season was over, we would all go to Tampa for a shopping spree at O’Falks. What fun that would be! Maybe we would get to go the Columbia Restaurant for lunch and have Spanish bean soup and hot Cuban bread. Or we could have a Cuban sandwich and that wonderful Coconut Ice Cream.
One day, after school I went to the depot, as usual. The first thing Daddy would do was to give me money to go get a soft drink and snack at the gas station next door. However, this particular day, Daddy had something on his mind. He said he wanted to tell me something. He said that I needed to have an operation. I didn’t ask him what that was or why. If Daddy said I needed an operation, that’s all I had to know. He also told me that I would be going to Waycross, Georgia with Aunt Christine by way of the train. (All traveling on the train was free for all of us.) The facility at Waycross was where the Atlantic Coast Line sent us for any kind of surgery. I am guessing that it was paid for or almost paid for by going there.
The most meaningful thing that Daddy taught me was, “don’t worry about things that you can’t do anything about.” It is such a simple thought but has carried me through the trials of life. I am sure that is how he dealt with my undiagnosed illness and my mother’s bouts with depression.
Most of the time Daddy called me “Shug” or “Prissy.” When he called me Francine, I knew he was upset or sad about something.
One day, we got a terrible telephone call. Mother cried and Daddy was shut up in the bedroom. Daddy’s mother had died unexpectedly. I went with Daddy to Jacksonville to the funeral. Mother wasn’t able to come. I can’t remember if my sisters were there or not. I had never been to a funeral before. I was frightened. Most of the people were sobbing loudly and wailing. It was a long funeral. I didn’t know what was happening. It seemed like the world was coming to an end. I tried to think of a way to comfort Daddy. Tears were rolling down his cheek. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was too scared to be sad about my wonderful grandmother because everyone was crying so loudly. As I sat there, I tried to think of something to help Daddy. Then one thing came to my mind. I pulled out my handkerchief, turned to Daddy and wiped the tears from Daddy’s check. Daddy didn’t say anything and I couldn’t come up with anything either. Neither one of us said a word.
It was my father who taught me compassion. Even though my mother was ill, intermittently, throughout those years of my young life, Daddy always had time to think about others. He knew a family in the area that was very poor. We packed a box of food and toys, and he delivered it to their house. We were not rich, by any means but Daddy had a job and wanted to share. From time to time, I would see the mother of that family. Daddy would employ her when he could afford it. He always treated her like royalty, not like the family that lived in the shack. I can still hear him saying to her, “Yes Maam” or “No Maam.”
My father taught me to be interested in what was going on in the world. During my early years, he attended the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. My job was to fill up a scrapbook with anything political that happened while he was gone. Every day I would scan the newspapers for articles and information. I felt important because he trusted me this job. Again, that was a paying job. Even at ten years old, I was learning the value of my time and most of all, responsibility.
When I was around ten years old, a girl one grade below me lost her father through a car accident. I didn’t know what to say or do. A friend in my class came over to my house to talk about the accident. Her mother had instructed her to tell me and other girls that she knew to just “be" with her.” We didn’t have to talk about the accident. We were to take walks with her and do normal things. We all went for a walk that Sunday afternoon. My heart was heavy for her. I could only imagine how she must feel, as my mind drifted to Daddy.
Years later, on my wedding day, I stood in the rear of my church with my father. Our arms were entwined as we prepared to walk down the aisle. Daddy said, “Are you sure about this?” I knew what he meant. Life away from him, my mother and our precious Palm Harbor. “Yes, Daddy”, I answered. As the music swelled, I knew the memories of this small town and the honor of having parents so loving would remain in my heart forever.
Daddy’s shoes carried us both down the church aisle.
……………………..by Francine Larson
This is an excerpt from a book I am now writing, “My Life in Palm Harbor.” These were my most recent thoughts, although my father passed away many years ago.
Visit me at http://www.goodcharacterpress.com or http://www.writing-write.info
It seemed so strange. They were slightly scuffed and worn but now lay unmoving and silent. They were placed on the closet floor just the way Daddy had left them, as if they were waiting for him. My heart heavy and searching for peace, I stared at them – Daddy’s shoes. No one else could ever fill those shoes. No one would ever have an imprint in those shoes like Daddy. He left an imprint in my heart, as well as his shoes.
Daddy had just passed away. My eyes locked on his shoes, the shoes that would never be worn by him again as I let my mind drift……
My father was the Depot agent for the Atlantic Coast Line, a southern railway. History tells us that during the 1940s, Citrus was the bread and butter of the community. Tons of citrus were shipped from Palm Harbor, Florida to all parts of the country. The Palm Harbor Citrus Association was active at this time. There were 46 growers in the cooperative, which had been formed in 1924. The “fruit season”, as the locals called it was bittersweet. The season was when all the orange growers made their money but it was also hectic. Daddy knew all of the orange growers, as they shipped their fruit through the depot. My two sisters and I would go help Daddy at the depot after school. My mother would work from about 8 am until after dark. I walked to the depot right after school. The first thing Daddy would say to me was, “Are you hungry? Here’s some money. Go to the Gas Station (next door) and get yourself something to eat.” Usually, I would get crackers or peanuts and a soft drink. Of course the peanuts were really good, if you put them in the drink and let them soak in cola. After that, I would usually stamp pads (shipping labels) at 5 cents a pad. My mother would write out tickets (name, address, etc) for each individual bushel of fruit. Sometimes there would be 200 or more bushels filled with oranges or grapefruit. We worked away, stopping only to greet the growers as they came in to give us an order. The old black pot bellied stove sitting in the middle of the big depot gave just enough heat. This went on from about November till May. Daddy looked so tired but no matter what, was always polite, as he would murmur, “Yes Sir” and " Yes Maam.”
Working at the depot was a way for my sisters and I to make money because Daddy would pay us by the hour. When the season was over, we would all go to Tampa for a shopping spree at O’Falks. What fun that would be! Maybe we would get to go the Columbia Restaurant for lunch and have Spanish bean soup and hot Cuban bread. Or we could have a Cuban sandwich and that wonderful Coconut Ice Cream.
One day, after school I went to the depot, as usual. The first thing Daddy would do was to give me money to go get a soft drink and snack at the gas station next door. However, this particular day, Daddy had something on his mind. He said he wanted to tell me something. He said that I needed to have an operation. I didn’t ask him what that was or why. If Daddy said I needed an operation, that’s all I had to know. He also told me that I would be going to Waycross, Georgia with Aunt Christine by way of the train. (All traveling on the train was free for all of us.) The facility at Waycross was where the Atlantic Coast Line sent us for any kind of surgery. I am guessing that it was paid for or almost paid for by going there.
The most meaningful thing that Daddy taught me was, “don’t worry about things that you can’t do anything about.” It is such a simple thought but has carried me through the trials of life. I am sure that is how he dealt with my undiagnosed illness and my mother’s bouts with depression.
Most of the time Daddy called me “Shug” or “Prissy.” When he called me Francine, I knew he was upset or sad about something.
One day, we got a terrible telephone call. Mother cried and Daddy was shut up in the bedroom. Daddy’s mother had died unexpectedly. I went with Daddy to Jacksonville to the funeral. Mother wasn’t able to come. I can’t remember if my sisters were there or not. I had never been to a funeral before. I was frightened. Most of the people were sobbing loudly and wailing. It was a long funeral. I didn’t know what was happening. It seemed like the world was coming to an end. I tried to think of a way to comfort Daddy. Tears were rolling down his cheek. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was too scared to be sad about my wonderful grandmother because everyone was crying so loudly. As I sat there, I tried to think of something to help Daddy. Then one thing came to my mind. I pulled out my handkerchief, turned to Daddy and wiped the tears from Daddy’s check. Daddy didn’t say anything and I couldn’t come up with anything either. Neither one of us said a word.
It was my father who taught me compassion. Even though my mother was ill, intermittently, throughout those years of my young life, Daddy always had time to think about others. He knew a family in the area that was very poor. We packed a box of food and toys, and he delivered it to their house. We were not rich, by any means but Daddy had a job and wanted to share. From time to time, I would see the mother of that family. Daddy would employ her when he could afford it. He always treated her like royalty, not like the family that lived in the shack. I can still hear him saying to her, “Yes Maam” or “No Maam.”
My father taught me to be interested in what was going on in the world. During my early years, he attended the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. My job was to fill up a scrapbook with anything political that happened while he was gone. Every day I would scan the newspapers for articles and information. I felt important because he trusted me this job. Again, that was a paying job. Even at ten years old, I was learning the value of my time and most of all, responsibility.
When I was around ten years old, a girl one grade below me lost her father through a car accident. I didn’t know what to say or do. A friend in my class came over to my house to talk about the accident. Her mother had instructed her to tell me and other girls that she knew to just “be" with her.” We didn’t have to talk about the accident. We were to take walks with her and do normal things. We all went for a walk that Sunday afternoon. My heart was heavy for her. I could only imagine how she must feel, as my mind drifted to Daddy.
Years later, on my wedding day, I stood in the rear of my church with my father. Our arms were entwined as we prepared to walk down the aisle. Daddy said, “Are you sure about this?” I knew what he meant. Life away from him, my mother and our precious Palm Harbor. “Yes, Daddy”, I answered. As the music swelled, I knew the memories of this small town and the honor of having parents so loving would remain in my heart forever.
Daddy’s shoes carried us both down the church aisle.
……………………..by Francine Larson
This is an excerpt from a book I am now writing, “My Life in Palm Harbor.” These were my most recent thoughts, although my father passed away many years ago.
Visit me at http://www.goodcharacterpress.com or http://www.writing-write.info
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