By Olivene Godfrey
After retiring from newspapering , which included writing a daily newspaper column for ten years, I spent several years writing novels. Finally, I was “burned out” for the first time since I wrote, produced and directed a play for neighborhood children to perform in my father’s barn when I was nine years old and already had a driving compulsion to write.
I went around with a note book and pencil in my hands during my youthful years and would interview anybody at the drop of a hat. I remember my short, spry grandmother who always wore long dresses sitting on the porch swing at the family farm in middle Tennessee giving me funny answers to my questions when I interviewed her, sending both of us into gales of laughter.
I thought my writing days were over and then my son, Barry, bought a computer and I started exchanging E-mail messages with my sister at West Palm Beach. The letters were the high point of my day as by then I was the caregiver of my beloved husband, Ralph, who died August 20, 2002, and when he died a part of me died with him. He had Parkinson’s, prostate cancer and mild dementia. It was heartbreaking to watch him lose his keen mind and strong body. Taking care of Ralph was a labor of love for me, and for Barry, but it took its toll emotionally and physically, on both of us. On July, 7, 2002, I collapsed and had pneumonia and was hospitalized a week and took weeks to recover at home. I also came down with a severe case of the shingles during this time.
I have mourned Ralph for nearly a year now and am only now emerging into the real world again. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I try to remember the happy times I shared with Ralph. One of our more zany experiences was when Ralph stripped down an old Chevy , leaving only the front seat, steering wheel and dash. We used it for a while as our only form of transportation and our friends were amused when we drove into the church parking lot in our Sunday finery, me with my white gloves and fancy hat, and Ralph wearing a suit and tie.
Then, when we were still young, we moved from northwest Georgia to Florida where we lived for a few years a carefree lifestyle and best of all our only child was born while we were there.
Still, I had not regained my desire to write. Then, Barry recently introduced me to the Blogger columns. As I read some of the columns, I began to feel a spark of interest to write again. And in the future, I will share memories of my family who Barry says, “are straight out of a Southern Gothic novel”., as well as musings from autiful foothills of the northwest Georgia mountains.
After retiring from newspapering , which included writing a daily newspaper column for ten years, I spent several years writing novels. Finally, I was “burned out” for the first time since I wrote, produced and directed a play for neighborhood children to perform in my father’s barn when I was nine years old and already had a driving compulsion to write.
I went around with a note book and pencil in my hands during my youthful years and would interview anybody at the drop of a hat. I remember my short, spry grandmother who always wore long dresses sitting on the porch swing at the family farm in middle Tennessee giving me funny answers to my questions when I interviewed her, sending both of us into gales of laughter.
I thought my writing days were over and then my son, Barry, bought a computer and I started exchanging E-mail messages with my sister at West Palm Beach. The letters were the high point of my day as by then I was the caregiver of my beloved husband, Ralph, who died August 20, 2002, and when he died a part of me died with him. He had Parkinson’s, prostate cancer and mild dementia. It was heartbreaking to watch him lose his keen mind and strong body. Taking care of Ralph was a labor of love for me, and for Barry, but it took its toll emotionally and physically, on both of us. On July, 7, 2002, I collapsed and had pneumonia and was hospitalized a week and took weeks to recover at home. I also came down with a severe case of the shingles during this time.
I have mourned Ralph for nearly a year now and am only now emerging into the real world again. Sometimes I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I try to remember the happy times I shared with Ralph. One of our more zany experiences was when Ralph stripped down an old Chevy , leaving only the front seat, steering wheel and dash. We used it for a while as our only form of transportation and our friends were amused when we drove into the church parking lot in our Sunday finery, me with my white gloves and fancy hat, and Ralph wearing a suit and tie.
Then, when we were still young, we moved from northwest Georgia to Florida where we lived for a few years a carefree lifestyle and best of all our only child was born while we were there.
Still, I had not regained my desire to write. Then, Barry recently introduced me to the Blogger columns. As I read some of the columns, I began to feel a spark of interest to write again. And in the future, I will share memories of my family who Barry says, “are straight out of a Southern Gothic novel”., as well as musings from autiful foothills of the northwest Georgia mountains.
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