by Lee Smith
The kids are fine, though Joe has gotten in a scrape or two, boys will be boys, I reckon. He is just crazy about a car, any car, and I must say that Bill aids and abets him in this pastime, having bought him three to date, which they are always “working on.” Joe is just as likely to be found under a car as driving it, and though I may complain about his dirty clothes and mediocre school reports, this is clearly his passion, and his talent.
I guess it will remain up to Mary to be my scholar, and in fact it looks as though she will be the Valedictorian of her class this June if she can keep her grades up. Or she may end up in a tie with Ernest Birdsong (a Brain). We are very proud of Mary who was awarded the Rotary Club Scholarship at a lovely Semi-formal Dinner in November, to be applied toward the college of her choice. She has applied to several schools, all of them fairly near by, as Bill says he could not stand for her to go too far from home. Her first choice is the Woman’s College in Greensboro, but we hope she will go to Longwood which is also a teachers’ college, and closer to us. Mary says she is going to be an English teacher. She idolizes Mrs. Diane Hope, her senior English teacher, who graduated from W.C. herself. (This is the big appeal of Greensboro.)
Mary also takes after me in liking to cook, in fact she won the 4-H Cooking Contest last spring with her Carrot Cake recipe, and would have won the Regional except that she forgot to wear a hairnet at the competition, I think this is so silly.
I have always privately hoped that Mary would make the most of her God-given writing talent, for she has been writing poems and stories ever since she was a little child. No one in this neighborhood will ever forget The Small Review, Mary’s newspaper, which she wrote all by herself and then got Joe to help her copy out by hand, and sell it door to door. Some of the news items were so funny, such as “Miss Mary Pickett and Miss Ruthie Pickett were taken on a shopping trip to Raleigh by their mother, Mrs. William Pickett of 110 Maple Avenue. They bought new shoes at Buster Brown and enjoyed the opportunity to look at the bones of their feet through a machine. Their bones are green.” How we all laughed at that! But I had to make Mary apologize to our neighbor across the street for her editorial, “Mr. George Maguire Is Too Grumpy.” And once when we had taken the children to the Outer Banks for a vacation, Bill found a beautiful Poem that Mary had written and then crumpled up and left in a dresser drawer, entitled “The Merry-Go-Round of Life.” It was just beautiful, and impossible to believe it had been written by a twelve-year-old girl, which Mary was at the time. Bill folded it up and put it in his billfold, he has carried it around ever since. Sometimes he will take it out and read it aloud to somebody, if the occasion arises, which just embarrasses Mary to death. You know how teenagers are! So, I harbor some hopes that my Mary will be a writer, but you may rest assured that we will be proud of her whatever she does.
And as for Ruthie, it is becoming clear that she might do just about anything. Bill has always said, “Ruthie is a firecracker!” This fall she was a J.V. Football Cheerleader, you ought to see her turning cartwheels out across the field. Now she is practicing for the Miss Elementary School Pageant, she is driving us all crazy by singing “I Enjoy Being a Girl” over and over, which will be her Talent. Since Mary and Joe were going to Myrtle Beach with the youth group from church last summer, I felt I should go as one of the chaperones, which I did, and it was a lot of fun but No Vacation, I have to say.
Merry Christmas from all
the Picketts,
Mary, Joe, Ruthie, Birdie
and Bill
P.S. Here is Mary’s prize-winning recipe for Carrot Cake. Be sure to wear a hairnet (ha ha).
MARY’S CARROT CAKE
2 cups sifted flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1½ teas. baking soda
2 teas. cinnamon
1½ teas. salt
2 cups sugar
1 cup salad oil
4 eggs
2 cups finely grated carrots
1 8½ oz. can flaked coconut
½ c. chopped nuts
Preheat oven to 350°. Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. Add sugar, oil, and eggs; beat well. Add carrots, nuts, and coconut; blend thoroughly. Pour into 3 9-inch round layer-cake pans that have been greased and floured. Bake in moderate oven 35 to 40 minutes. Remove from oven, cool a few minutes in pans. Turn out on wire racks and cool thoroughly. Fill layers, and frost top and sides of cake with cream cheese frosting.
CREAM CHEESE FROSTING
½ cup butter
1 8-oz. package cream cheese
1 teas. vanilla
1 Ib. confectioner’s sugar
Combine butter, cream cheese, and vanilla; cream well. Beat sugar in, adding milk if necessary.
Dec. 24, 1966
Dearest Family,
I apologize for these carbon copies, I hope you can read them. Too bad Mary and Joe are all grown up now and can’t copy this letter out for me, as they did in their Small Review, so long ago. But I am in a hurry, and we have a lot of news.
Our lovely Mary is now Mrs. Sandy Copeland, having Eloped in a romantic trip to South Carolina in the dead of night. Sandy is a carpenter and such a nice young man, we love him like a son already. Sandy and Mary met in the drugstore in Farmville, Virginia, where Mary was enrolled at Longwood College prior to her marriage. Naturally we were disappointed when she dropped out of school, but as Mary says, “Mom, I can finish school anytime.” Of course this is true. Bill and I are not too old to remember those early Days of Romance ourselves. After a very brief wedding trip (apparently it is easier to get married in South Carolina), they are living in Petersburg, Virginia, where Sandy works. Mary is not crazy about Petersburg, but she says she will be happy anywhere as long as she is with Sandy.
The other big news is, Joe is now in the Army serving Uncle Sam. We all went through much soul-searching before he left, I have to say. I will not even go into the endless discussions that took place night after night around our kitchen table after dinner, with Joe voicing all his objections to War in general and this War in particular, and Bill trying to tell him what is Right, and urging him not to make a decision that would ruin his life forever. This long discussion was cut short when Joe was drafted, and in the twinkling of an eye, he was gone. Now he is in Bien Hoa. I have worried and worried over it myself, and wish that the Lord would provide us with easier answers. Bill has put a big map of southeast Asia on the wall so he can see where Joe is at all times.
Speaking of Bill, his Health is still not too good though he continues to go down to the store every day without fail, I don’t know what he would do with himself if this was not the case. He will be having some more tests at the University Hospital in early January, maybe they can find out what is wrong. As Bill says, his get-up-and-go has got up and went!
Speaking of get-up-and-go, Ruthie says she is going to major in Business when she goes to college, now who would ever have thought it? She was our light-hearted child. I will never forget that comedy routine she did at the March of Dimes benefit, dressed as a Bum.
In closing, I ask you to remember both Joe and Bill in your prayers, and ask God to bless our Country, and our boys in uniform.
Christmas Blessings from
Birdie and Bill
P.S. We are going to be grandparents! I can’t wait! I believe I am just as excited as Mary and Sandy are.
P.P.S. And even a sick man can’t resist:
BILL’S FAVORITE FUDGE
1 12-oz. package chocolate chips
4 c. miniature marshmallows
1 c. peanut butter
Melt peanut butter and chocolate chips over low heat until smooth. Gradually stir in marshmallows. Pour into 9-inch square pan and chill until firm. Cut into squares.
Dec. 18, 1967
To my dear Family,
I want to begin this Christmas letter by remembering Bill. You know that he died In Peace on August 10, at home, with me beside him, as I have been through Life. I woke up at the crack of d
awn that morning, it was a Tuesday, filled with the strangest sense of deep peace yet a terrible urgency at the same time, and went immediately to his side.
I had been sleeping for months on a little rollaway cot right next to Bill’s hospital bed which we had put in the living room so everybody could visit him, you know how much he always loved company. Somehow I was not surprised to find Bill wide awake too, though he had been sleeping around the clock for several days.
“Hi there, Birdie honey,” he said, and I said, “Hi.” It was scarcely light, but I could see him well, his brown eyes as bright and lively as when we first met, all those years ago. He grinned at me like the young man he was back then, a touch of the devil in him, and so I kissed his lips, and squeezed his hand, and sat there with him all day long while he slept as peaceful as a child until the late afternoon when he stirred a bit and then was gone, along with a little breeze that blew through the house just then like an angel passing.
At first I did not see how I could go on alone, but we have to, don’t we? We have to do what we have to do, and God will give us the Strength for it, as I have learned, bless His sweet name. And speaking of God, there is one more thing I want to say here and now, since many of you know how mad I used to get at Bill for not going to church. It is this. If there is a heaven, and I believe with all my heart that there is, then my Bill is right there, right now, even though I know he would rather be in the dime store. And I know I will be joining him by and by.
In the meantime, James Grady has taken over the dime store for me. Most of you know James who has worked for Bill since he was a high school boy, he has a Sterling Character. Though I had planned to retire from Birdie’s Lunch, nobody will have it, and so I have bowed to Popular Opinion and stayed on. James is putting in some booths, they will be real nice. It will look more like a real restaurant. Also I have a more modern menu now, including taco salads which are a big hit.
I have saved the best part for last.
I am so happy to announce the Birth of my adorable grandson Andrew Bird Copeland, born June 10 in Rex Hospital, Raleigh, N.C., 7 lb. 8 oz. He came into this world with a full head of black hair to everyone’s amazement, you know Mary is so fair. But then the black hair fell out and Mary says it is coming back in blond now, and she further reports that the baby looks more and more like his daddy every day.
Little Andrew is Just Perfect in my opinion, of course I am not prejudiced at all!
And I’m just so glad he had a chance to meet Bill.
Joe got to come home for Bill’s funeral, he has lost 20 pounds and looks very handsome in his uniform, but he was all upset about his daddy of course, and about what is going on over there as well, though he did not want to talk about it. I guess Joe is just not cut out for war, and often I wonder if we made the right decision in urging him to go.
Bill thought it would make a man of him, but I don’t know. I don’t know what to think about it. I pray for Joe daily, as for all our boys in this awful and confusing War, and ask you to do the same.
I guess that’s about all, except I should add that Mrs. Pickett—still going strong at 100—got a birthday card from Lyndon Johnson.
May God bless each and every one of you this Christmas Season,
Birdie
2. Letters from Mary
Dec. 26, 1967
Dear Family,
My apologies for mimeographing this letter to stick in your card, but please consider it a very personal Merry Christmas anyway, from me and Sandy and ANDREW BIRD COPELAND who is six months old at this time, almost completely bald but the cutest baby in the whole world according to his proud parents MR. AND MRS. SANDY COPELAND of #20 Greenacres Park, Raleigh, N.C., where we have now moved as Sandy says there is more opportunity here in the building trades.
Greenacres Park is actually a trailer park, and we are living in a rented trailer which would not have been my first choice, as it is aqua, but it is very reasonable since everything is furnished—wall-to-wall carpet (yuck—more aqua!), blinds and drapes at the windows, a built-in bar and stools in the little kitchen, etc. All this is lucky for us since we have started our housekeeping on a shoestring, you might say. Of course, the size of this trailer is a little bit small for Sandy (who is 6′3″, after all!). He has to walk around hunched over all the time. But he works so much that he is not home a lot, so it is okay, and will suit us fine until we can afford to move to another place. Actually this trailer reminds me of a dollhouse—remember when I “took care of the dolls” for Daddy? I was so proud of myself. The big difference is, this little doll is real!
I wonder if everybody is so crazy about their first baby, and so worried about him. Even though Andy is sleeping through the night now, I still wake up every three hours and can’t go back to sleep until I have tiptoed over to his crib just to see if he is still breathing, and I’m happy to report that so far, he is! And one nice thing about the size of a trailer is that I can check on Andy constantly. We are never far apart in here!
When Sandy comes home from work in the evenings, he always asks me what I’ve been doing all day, and honestly I don’t know how to answer this question. “I can’t exactly remember,” I tell him, “but whatever it was, it just wore me out!”
The truth is that with a baby, the time flies. Of course I can remember how, as a teenager in the not-so-distant past, I used to get so bored. Sundays, for instance, just dragged on and on. . . . I truly did have “time on my hands” and never even knew it until now, when I don’t have any! Who was that girl who used to “moon around” (Mama’s word for it!) and read so much? I feel like she was somebody else, not me, not this new me who always has something to do. Fold the diapers, feed the baby, burp the baby, put him down, peel the potatoes, pick the baby up and change him, put him in the playpen, put the water on to boil, wash off his pacifier which he has thrown down in the floor, put the potatoes in the boiling water, cut up the chicken, find the pacifier again, wash it off, etc. I won’t go on and on, but you can get the general idea!
It is a major expedition whenever we go out, such as to the grocery store or to the laundromat or the library or the little playground behind the Episcopal Church up the street (St. Michael’s). Or we might go to visit Susan Blankenship in #11, who has just had a baby girl named Melanie, or Marybeth Green in #45, whose John is actually three months older than Andrew, though of course Andrew is much more advanced and smarter. Andrew really enjoys visiting John. They are so cute—they love to play side by side, though they are not old enough to play together yet. This is called “parallel play”—I keep checking out all those books on child development. Sandy teases me about it, but I am just so terrified that I will make a mistake. Some mistakes are irrevocable, a thing I never really realized until I had a baby of my own. This thought scares me to death. I feel like everything I have ever done before means nothing, in comparison to taking care of this baby.
Sandy comes from a family of seven, so he thinks I worry too much. For instance Sandy believes in letting a baby cry, that this develops his lungs, but I can’t stand it, snatching Andrew up the very minute he opens his mouth. And let me tell you, his lungs are developing just fine anyway, thank you very much! Sandy tells me all the time that I am spoiling “that baby” but actually he is just crazy about him too, and calls him “Duke.” (I’m not sure where he got that name!) “Hey, Duke,” Sandy will say, and kind of box with him. They both get the biggest kick out of this little game.
So I want everybody out there to know that I am fine, happy as can be in this little aqua blue shoebox of a home with my baby Andrew. We are so busy in here that it is very difficult right now for me to even imagine any other world outside these four walls.
I watch Vietnam on television of course, and often think of you, Joe, but honestly it is hard for me to concentrate too long or to believe that the war is actually real and not just another show on television. I know that’s awful, but it’s true. Somehow I believe it would seem more real to me if it wasn’t on televisi
on all the time. Honestly, my imagination has failed me on this. I’m so glad you will be home soon.
But Joe, I do wish you would write, at least to me. I’m sure you are hearing this from all of us, so do it! Make copies and send one to everybody, like I am doing here. I’m sure the Army has got a mimeograph machine someplace! By the way, it is hard for me to believe you scarcely know Sandy yet. Somehow I think that all the people I love, love each other as much as I love them, and I forget that you all have hardly met.
Well, I will quit running on and on and tell you now about Sandy’s and my first Christmas dinner together (yesterday). It was a riot! We had a baked hen which barely fit in my oven (I am trying, Mama!) and oyster casserole which did not work out because I used smoked oysters instead of the real other kind which I guess you are supposed to use. (I had bought these flat square little cans of oysters at the Piggly Wiggly, they were very expensive and blew my whole food budget for the week, but I thought you had to have oyster casserole on Christmas, Mama. I thought it was the law!)
Well, it looked okay, the cracker crumbs having formed a nice golden crust just the way they are supposed to, but the minute I bit into it, I knew something was the matter. But Sandy did not even know the difference because he had never tasted oysters before anyway. Luckily, Sandy will eat anything, and he thought it was delicious! We ate Christmas dinner on the floor—on our aqua shag carpet, that is! — since we don’t have a table yet (though Sandy is going to build us one soon, he can build anything, if he can get off from work long enough to do it) while Andrew slept on his blanket right beside us. And when we got up to do the dishes, we saw it had started to snow! So we bundled poor little sleepy Andrew up in that red snowsuit you sent, Mama, and took him out in his first snowfall ever, which was coming down so thick and fast at first that we couldn’t even see beyond our little row of trailers, to the street.