Frogs, Frogs, Everywhere!

I was reading a blog by NIKIMARIE about what she carries in her purse, and it got me thinking about the quirky things we carry around with us. Do you have some strange thing in your purse or your wallet that you couldn’t part with? My trophy husband carries a torn piece of his friend’s underwear from twenty-five years ago. Don’t ask. Just do what I do, shake your head and quietly back out of the room.

Well, I have one of those quirky things, too! I carry a carved, soap-stone frog!

The frog thing started a while back.

I read somewhere that it’s good Feng Shui to place a frog by your front door. It attracts money. Well, who wouldn’t want that? So, I put a little frog by my front door and sure enough, I instantly got more money.

If you know me, you know how obsessive I can be. So, I figured if one frog was good, more frogs would be better. Don’t laugh. It’s logical, no? My trophy husband didn’t think so either. But let me tell you, we always have the money we need. Nine years of putting children through college, new homes, family emergencies, we always have it, no matter how much.

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So, where else would you put a “money frog” except where you keep your money? I placed this little one in my change purse, and my change purse is always full of money. I will keep it there forever and ever!

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Here ends our Feng Shui reading for the day. So, give it up, what’s your quirky thing?

Happy 143rd Birthday, Aunt Dora!

culpepper mary eudora culpepper saterfiel familyMary Eudora Culpepper Saterfiel Watson was born March 31, 1871.

She is pictured here in the center with her husband WB Saterfiel to the left, her father JB Culpepper to the right, and her children from left to right in front Dewey Oliver Saterfiel and baby Alma. In the back row, left to right, Evie Mae Saterfiel Hodges, Indeola “Necie” Saterfiel Byrd, Willie Carlos Saterfiel, Adie Joseph Saterfiel.

Side note: I ordered my grandparent’s marriage license and the witness was D.O. Saterfiel, the little guy. He was my grandpa’s cousin. I sometimes forget these people knew each other. 🙂

She was my grandpa’s aunt Dora. She was born to Joel B Culpepper and Mary E “Mollie” McFarland in Sumter County, Alabama, as the only girl with five brothers. There was another girl born to the union, but she died at birth. Aunt Dora was the eldest of the children, so I imagine she was the caregiver to her little brothers. At some point when the children were little, the family moved to Kemper County, MS. After her mother’s death in 1908, her father moved in with her for a short time. That’s when this photo was taken. Shortly after this, he was placed in a soldier’s home in Biloxi, MS, where he died less than a year later, on Nov. 11, 1911. Dora was 40.

culpepper Mary Eudora Culpepper SaterfielWhen she was about 19, she married William Bartley Saterfiel around 1890 and had six children. Three of her children married into the Hodges family. Mr. Hodges married three times, and with each union came more children. The three Saterfiel children married a Hodges child from each of the three wives. The Hodges/Saterfiel family reunion must be confusing.

She lost her youngest child in 1912. Baby Alma was only five years old when she died, not very long after the top photo was taken.

Following her husband’s death in 1925, she married GW Watson in 1929. Though she was married to Mr. Watson for 21 years, her headstone reads Eudora Saterfiel and her obit says nothing of Mr. Watson’s children. She died at the age of 78. Her obit is as follows:

culpepper, mary eudora culpepper saterfiel watsonFriday, January 6, 1950

Mrs. G. W. Watson

Mrs. G. W. Watson of Collinsville died Friday at St. Joseph Hospital, following a heart attack. Funeral will be held Sunday at 2 p.m. from the Union Funeral Home. The Rev. Edward McKeithen officiating. Interment will be in Union. Survivors include three sons: A. J. and D. O., Collinsville, and W. C. Saterfiel, Causeyville: Two daughters, Mesdames Joe Byrd and George Hodges, Collinsville: several grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  

Her father, husband, and baby Alma are buried at Zion Cemetery, Kemper Co, MS. She and her other children are buried at Pine Grove Cemetery in Lauderdale Co, MS. Mr. Watson and his first wife are buried at Memorial Park in Newton Co, MS.

To be inspiring!

Being inspiring for other’s creativity is so awesome… as I usually struggle with my own.

Here are a couple nuggets inspired by my book The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge. Granted, I didn’t create the legend, but I’m happy to have brought it back to life and more than thrilled that others have been touch by the book enough to put their time and talents to it.

The first is a folk song written by Kris Carmichael.

The second is a blog post at Lowry Wilson’s page along with his conceptual photography you just have to check out.

It’s a little creep, no? 🙂

My Grandmah – the Doctah

In the early 1900s, my great grandmother, Nancy Didama Spencer Burke (Grandma Damie) was a doctor. She rode around the back hills of Newton County, Mississippi, taking care of the sick. She didn’t ride in a car. She rode side-saddle, and a woman doctor was a rare thing.

Many moons ago, women were the caretakers and caregivers, but at some point the medical power was given over to men. Gaining that power back was a hard door to open.

T909228_08It was opened by Elizabeth Blackwell (pictured left) in the mid-1800s. Miss Blackwell was born in England, but raised in America. A dying female friend told her she would have suffered far less if her physician had been a woman. This statement encouraged Elizabeth to pursue a career in medicine. She was told she would never become a doctor, because there was no schooling available for a woman, but that didn’t stop her from applying to every medical school in the country. Finally, as a joke, she was voted into Geneva Medical College in New York. I can only imagine the ridicule she received at the all-male school. But she showed them. She graduated first in her class in 1849 and later studied surgery, midwifery, and obstetrics. One can imagine she had very few patients and no camaraderie, but she persevered. Keep in mind this was 100 years before women even got the right to vote. She was a strong and intelligent woman.

She paved the path for many women in the field of medicine – even Grandma Damie.

186 years doesn’t make any difference

186 years doesn’t make any difference

March 17th is my 3rd great grandmother’s birthday. She was born in 1828. Her name was Mary Ann. In 1862/63 during the Civil War, she lost her husband and three brothers to war, both her parents and her 1-year-old son to typhoid, and a host of other family members to one or the other. The total death count in the family over a one-year period was seventeen. She was 35.

In 1923, my great grandmother, Eula, lost her baby girl to pneumonia. That was the same year she lost her father and her sister, and the same year her husband was sent to prison for shooting down a man in a gunfight over a moonshine still. She was 25.

February 24, 2014, after a four-year battle, my daughter lost her fiancé to cancer. She’s 28.

Driving back and forth to the hospital, we spoke about Mary Ann and Eula and their ages during those horrific times, and she said it must be some kind of curse on the women of our family.

I don’t think so.

As her fiancé took his last breath, it was only she, I, and his mother at his bedside. As usual, it was the women who held the dying and kept the rest of the world from caving in. When Mary Ann’s brother died of typhoid, it was she who took in his children and raised them. She was a women who remained steadfast in the face of despair. When Eula’s husband was sent to prison, it was she who raised the other children and took care of the farm. She was a woman who stood strong in the eye of the storm and saw the family through.

I think the women of our family are the rocks. We are the ones who carry the weight for everyone else. There is no curse. There are only miracles, and we are the ones who perform them.

Happy birthday to our grandma Mary Ann. Thank you for teaching us to be strong.

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5-star review for ELLY HAYS!

Readers’ Favorite is one of my favorite sites. Click HERE to visit them. If you look down the left side of their page, you will find the genre of books you like and can spend hours and hours looking at great reviews of books. The site is a gem! One of their reviewers, Brenda Casto, gave my book ELLY HAYS a 5-star review! I’m tickled!! Here’s the LINK if you’d like to read it on their site or it is copied and pasted below. ELLY HAYS is the third book in the Okatibbee Creek series, but the books do not need to be experienced in order. Writing about Elly was very dear to me as she is my 5th great grandmother. She was one amazing woman! ♥

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elly cover_webReviewed by Brenda Casto for Readers’ Favorite

Elly Hays is a story that takes place in the early 1800s. The book opens with a speech from Tecumseh urging the Creek Village that lives in the Mississippi Territory where Tafv and his son live to join forces and go to war against the white man. But many of the Creek have started adopting the white man’s ways, even marrying their women, so Tafv is torn about how to handle the problem. Meanwhile in Tennessee, James Rodgers has heard about cheap government land in Creek territory and convinces his wife Elly to move their eleven children there. When they arrive, they are faced with aggravation from the Creek, because Tafv’s plan is to run them off instead of killing them, hoping that they will go away and tell other whites how difficult it is to live on Creek land. The Rodgers are a tenacious bunch, though, and don’t go easily. But when Tafv’s only son is killed, he vows to seek revenge against the Rodgers.

Elly Hays by Lori Crane is a rare gem because it’s a fictionalized story based on a real family that lived during the 1800s. What makes it so unique is the way Ms. Crane portrayed the Indians in this story. Instead of portraying them as savages, she allows us to glimpse them as real people with real feelings, who grieve over losses just as the white man did. Tafv was a brave warrior, but more than that he was a caring individual that felt hurt and grieved deeply for those he lost. She provides insight into the plight that the Native Americans must have felt during this time period as they desperately tried to figure out a way to hold onto their way of life. Unfortunately, the Rodgers family found themselves in the middle of this struggle. Smoothly written, the chapters easily transition between Elly and her family and the issues with Tafv and his clan. Ms. Crane really did her research because she provides rich detail that truly allows the reader to feel as if they are part of the time she is describing. A historically rich tale where there are really no bad guys. Instead the author allowed me to see both sides. The epilogue and author notes added to this story in my opinion because it allowed me to learn what happened after the story. Historical fiction where there is plenty of truth woven in made Elly Hays a page-turning read for me.

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Lori Crane Books at Amazon

STUCKEY’S LEGACY Sneak Peek

As I was writing “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge,” I came across the most amazing fictional character. He is eccentric, charming, rich, and good looking, mixed with a heaping tablespoon of psychopath. I am completely obsessed with him and his story. What if someone in the story is not as impressed with him as I? What if that person would rather see him dead?

unnamedThere is an undeniable sequel to “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge”  – “Stuckey’s Legacy: The Legend Continues” – available June 1st in paperback, Kindle, Nook, and iBook.

For my dear friends and faithful readers, here’s a sneak peek. It will give you a flavor of my new favorite psycho Levi.

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December 31, 1911 11:59 p.m.

“…five…four…three…two…one…Happy New Year!” the crowd chanted in unison and the orchestra began to play “Auld Lang Syne.” Balloons fell from the ceiling and confetti was tossed from the mezzanine. It fluttered to the floor, covering couples who clung together on the ballroom’s massive dance floor. Wine flowed and lovers kissed, and twenty-two-year-old Levi stood off to the side, sipping his champagne, observing the festivities with a mixture of apathy and loathing.

A gentleman in a crumpled tuxedo, heading toward the bar, staggered by him and nodded. Levi coldly nodded back, hoping the intoxicated man wouldn’t stop to chat. He was here to observe and mingle, not to spend the evening listening to a slurring drunkard. It had taken him a decade to get into this elite circle and he wasn’t going to let some sot spoil it. He downed the remaining liquid, plopped his empty champagne glass on the nearest table, and quickly moved across the room.

Following a magnificent dinner of pheasant and turkey in the Grand Dining Room, he had thus far spent the evening strolling around the luxurious Jekyll Island Club, chatting with people with familiar surnames—Firestone, Carnegie, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt. He introduced himself to them as Levi Temple, a business partner of the late Cornelius Bliss.

Temple wasn’t his real name, though he had been using it for the last ten years. Most people in his hometown of Meridian, Mississippi, would remember him as Levi Stuckey, the boy who’d mysteriously disappeared following the hanging of his father from the iron rails of Stuckey’s Bridge. His father was Thomas Stuckey. He wasn’t Levi’s real father, but when someone back in those days assumed he was, Levi never bothered to correct them. As a matter of fact, Stuckey wasn’t that man’s real name, either. He took it from one of his victims, a man named Carter Stuckey. Carter Stuckey had spent the night at Thomas’s inn on his way to deliver a trunk to Vicksburg—a trunk full of gold. Not many visitors ever left that inn, especially visitors who carried great wealth. Carter Stuckey fit that description, meeting his demise for being a deliveryman. Thomas Stuckey never got to enjoy the gold he stole, though. He was strung up for murder before he even viewed the sparkling contents of the trunk.

Following Thomas’s hanging, twelve-year-old Levi disappeared with the trunk. He took a horse and wagon and rode away from Meridian with the trunk, and he didn’t leave a trace.

After he fled, he dropped the name Stuckey so he’d never be associated with Thomas, Carter, or the missing trunk of gold. He considered taking back his given name, but he didn’t want to be linked to the sack of crap who owned that name, either. It had been so long since he’d used his real name, he could barely remember what it was. So, after a quick deliberation, he took the name of the only man he’d ever trusted, the sheriff of Lauderdale County—J.R. Temple. Yes, Temple was a good name, a good name from a good man. Levi always felt a tinge of remorse for disappearing and leaving Sheriff Temple to wonder what happened to him, but at the time he didn’t have a choice. He deserved more in life than a stolen name and a tainted past with murderers, drunks, and whores. The gold could give him the future he wanted.

Since the moment he left Lauderdale County, Levi had spent every waking hour infiltrating the inner circle of high society, and as of tonight, he had finally arrived. So far, this seemed a very good place to be. He sipped imported sparkling champagne as he socialized with gentlemen in expensive tuxedos, beautiful women adorned with exceptional jewels, and even a few servants who scurried around catering to the social elite. Though he wasn’t born into this circle, and he thought most of them idiots who were beneath him, he felt at home here. He was finally receiving the respect he deserved.

As the orchestra struck up a lively ragtime tune, Levi walked toward the patio door to step outside and get a breath of fresh air. His heels clicked on the marble floor as he passed velvet chaise lounges and crystal chandeliers. The leaded-art glass was a sight to behold and the classical details of the mansion were breathtaking. He would have a house this fine someday.

He found the patio alit with lanterns and twinkling holiday lights, flanked by sweeping staircases that led down to the beach. The half moon shone brightly in the winter sky, and an ocean breeze rustled through his dark blond hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the gentle wind on his face. He took a deep breath of the ocean draft. It smelled like fresh linen hung on the line. He opened his eyes and looked around. Baskets filled with late-blooming roses were spaced intermittently around the cement patio. Other than the fragrant flowers, he found the patio nearly empty. Everyone was inside on the dance floor celebrating the arrival of the new year. Everyone except that brunette he had been eyeing all evening.

He had noticed her hours earlier, the moment she entered the front door. She was petite but floated into the room like she owned the place, all willowy with a smoky air about her. Her charcoal-lined eyes were dark and seductive, hiding playfully behind the rim of her extravagant black velvet hat. When she walked, the long, white ostrich feather on top of her hat danced with each step. He found her movements intoxicating.

She wore the most luxurious mink stole he had ever seen, and when she removed it, she looked like a Grecian goddess. Her empire-waist dress flowed to the floor, the black velvet bodice cut low enough to make every man in the room stop and stare. The black fan she fluttered in front of her face made her even more exotic. Levi had attempted to approach her a few times throughout the evening, but she was always surrounded by admirers and he couldn’t get close enough to utter a single word. Out here on the patio, she was again with a gentleman.

Levi stepped to the edge of the patio and placed his fingers on the railing. She had her back against the railing, being courted by some wealthy boy in a man’s suit. Levi snickered. These rich boys don’t know how to seduce a woman, he thought. They think they can have anything they want, including a woman, simply because their fathers gave them money.

He remained still and looked out to the sea. The moon illuminated a path of white on the dark water. The reflection went all the way to the horizon. He absentmindedly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his silver lighter. He flipped it open and closed over and over with one hand. He kept stealing glances to his left at the couple, wondering if he should interrupt them. The rich boy stumbled forward a little, almost falling onto the woman. He seemed to be more than a little drunk. Levi held his breath and waited for the woman to say something, hoping he’d be able to tell whether or not she needed him to intervene.

When she spoke, her voice had a deep rasp with the slightest Southern drawl. Why did that not surprise him? He felt a stirring in his loins and glanced again at the couple.

“Mr. Goodyear, I’m flattered by your attention, but don’t you think we should be going back inside now? Your friends are surely looking for you.”

The boy caught his balance, stood up straight, and countered, “No, they’re not looking for me. They’re having their own fun…just like we should.” The boy leaned in for a kiss, but the woman turned her face to the left and looked directly into Levi’s eyes. She smiled faintly.

It was not the plea of a woman needing assistance that he’d been expecting to see. The expression he saw on her face was one of confidence and power. This woman didn’t need his help. She was more than capable of fending off a drunken suitor. Levi watched her as she scowled and playfully pushed on the boy’s chest to back him away.

“Really, Mr. Goodyear, that’s enough for now.” She pushed harder on his chest.

The boy shrugged and mumbled something Levi couldn’t make out. The woman pulled her fur around her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at Levi, suggesting he should mind his own business. She turned the boy toward the open doorway, tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow, and led him toward the ballroom. As the two made their way to the door, a woman’s bloodcurdling scream came from the direction of the beach.

Levi and the couple turned toward the ocean, attempting to see the source of the screaming through the palm trees that lined the patio, but it was impossible. The screaming continued. People began streaming out of the ballroom, asking what was going on, and men sprinted down the stairs on both sides of the patio, hurrying toward the sound.

Levi turned and looked at the alluring woman, whose young suitor had left her standing alone while he joined the other men heading to the beach.

She stared into Levi’s eyes with no expression.

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Just for kicks, I think this is the woman Levi was watching, and I think she’s going to be trouble with a capital T.penny fisher

Lori Crane Books at Amazon

Reflection

I’m taking a moment to reflect upon our current and tragic family events.

FoDog2 smlA couple years ago, my daughter brought home a boy. She described him as, “He’s Chinese and he’s wearing a Detroit Lion’s jersey.” I fell in love with him the moment I met him, and him being Chinese with a lion on his chest, I immediately adopted him as my Foo Dog. Foo Dogs have traditionally stood guard as the protectors of palaces and tombs. They are powerful and fearless. This boy carried those traits. I knew my daughter was in very good hands, and I could tell by her face, this boy was The One.

A few months later, she called with troubling news. The Foo Dog had before suffered from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and was in remission. The words no thirty-year-old should hear once, much less twice – the cancer had returned. I would like to say my daughter did some deep soul searching before deciding to continue the relationship, but there was no choice, they loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, whether that time be 3 months, 3 years, or 30 years.

They were engaged April 2013 and planned a November wedding, but in September his health began to deteriorate dramatically. The treatments were doing as much harm as good, and cancer is a cold and calloused bitch. Reluctantly, the wedding was cancelled only a few weeks before it was to occur. Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent with him suffering through yet more treatments and pain and drugs. January crawled with trips to the hospital for treatments to ward off the side effects of the initial treatments. We didn’t know if his rapid decline was due to the disease or the treatment or a combination of the two, but in the last few months, she took care of him twenty-four hours a day, hoping for a good day, praying for some good news, wishing for anything positive. I am awed and humbled by her strength and love for him. These two young people deserved so much more than what they received from the universe.

On February 8th, he was admitted to the hospital with dangerous, life-threatening numbers, and a week later, he was admitted into hospice. We stood vigil at his bedside night and day and were with him as he took his last breath at 10:30 p.m. on February 24th.

He was without a doubt the bravest man I’ve ever met. He faced the disease without a blink of fear, every setback without complaint, every failed treatment with “We’ll find another way.” He was intelligent and handsome and kind, but more than that he was powerful and fearless. He was my Foo Dog. Godspeed my dear one.

Trien Duong 

June 15, 1981 – February 24, 2014

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