Tag Archives: life

Post-Summer End-of-the-Year Weirdness

Posted on by Lori Crane

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe it’s sunspots.

Maybe it actually happens, same time, every year.

It seems that things, by things I mean life, should become calmer this time of year. The kids are back in school. Everyone is on a schedule. Vacations and yard work are over. The only anxiety-producing dilemma is whether or not to put Prozac in the Thanksgiving turkey, and deciding when and if we should start our holiday shopping. No big deal, right?

Then why is it that everything from family to finances to work to major life decisions seem to come rumbling in with the force of Hurricane Katrina between now and Dec 31st? Is it just me or does everything/everyone get really bat-shit-crazy this time of year?

I’m just not up for it this year… just sayin’.

The Blood in My Veins

Posted on by Lori Crane

Throughout the work on my last book, I became more and more interested in the organization called the UDC – The United Daughters of the Confederacy.  On their website, the president, Mary Nowlin Moon, writes the following: “I am a Daughter of the Confederacy because I was born a Daughter of the Confederacy.”

That is my heritage also – a few times…

My book called “Okatibbee Creek” (available at Amazon.com) is about my 3rd great grandfather, Rice Benjamin Carpenter, who fought for the CSA (Confederate States of America) as a member of the 41st MS Infantry during the Civil War. Rice was born 15 Aug 1828 in Greene, TN. He signed up for battle in Marion Station, MS on 21 Apr 1862, and sadly, was killed at the Battle of Stones River in Murfreesboro, TN on 31 Dec 1862 at the age of 34. He was married and a father of five children. (His brother, Hilliard, also fought and died for the cause. He died at home on 16 Jul 1864 following wounds he received in battle on 28 May 1864 at Dallas, GA.)

I also have a 3rd great grandfather, William Lafayette Brown Jr, who fought for 37th MS Infantry. William was born 30 Oct 1836 in Lauderdale Co, MS. He signed up for battle on 8 May 1862 in Enterprise, MS at the age of 24, with four small children at home and one on the way (my 2nd great grandmother). William was a sharpshooter, guarding the railroad bridges in Chunky, MS from the Union troops. He was captured and escaped. He allowed himself to be captured a second time to help others escape. He/they did. There was a bounty on his head for the remainder of the war. He returned home when the war ended and lived until the age of 52. He died in Lauderdale County, MS on 23 Sep 1889. He was married and fathered ten children.

There’s another 3rd great grandpa: James C Howington. James was born in Wake County, NC on 15 Jan 1823 to Nimrod Howington and Milbury Bradley.  He was the second born of thirteen children. He was 5′ 11″ and had auburn hair and gray/blue eyes.

At some point, he ended up in Sumter Co, AL and married Amelia “Ann” Smith on 24 Sept 1843. By 1850, they had taken up residence in Newton Co, MS and had ten children before the start of the Civil War. James signed up with the 5th Mississippi Infantry, Co. A, on 7 July 1862. He was captured 15 Jun 1864 and held prisoner at Rock Island, Illinois. When the war ended, he returned home and they had two more children.

james c howington pow

howington James C Howington Headstone

I have yet another 3rd great grandfather, Joseph M Culpepper, who fought also for the 37th MS Infantry. Joseph was born in 1822 in Jackson, GA. He signed up in Marion, MS on 11 Apr 1862 at the age of 40. His records show that he was continually absent due to illness. He did not fight much, but died in battle on 15 Aug 1862 at Columbus, MS. He was married and a father of six children, two of whom were young boys also serving in the war.

The Rebel I filled out my UDC application under was my 2nd great grandfather, Joel Bluett Culpepper, 17-yr-old son of Joseph M Culpepper. JB and his brother, Benjamin, fought with the 63rd Alabama Infantry. JB was captured by Federal Forces at Blakely, AL on 9 Apr 1863 and held at Fort Massachusetts on Ship Island until the end of the war. He came home and married and had six children. At the end of his life, he lived at Beauvoir, the Jefferson Davis House in Biloxi, MS, under his rights as a Confederate Soldier. He died at Beauvoir on 11 Nov 1911. (The following photos are: CSA Military Record, Fort Massachusetts, Beauvoir pre-Hurricane Katrina, JB Culpepper, headstone.)

Even though I live in Michigan now, I have proudly been accepted as a member of the United Daughter of the Confederacy, Robert E Lee Chapter, in Meridian, Mississippi, where I was born. I am honored and humbled by the acceptance as well as by my heritage. The Rebel blood in my veins is strong. I can no more deny my place in the Daughters of the Confederacy than I can deny being an American.

We protect our future by remembering our past.

Photo take 26 Aug 2012 at the Jackson, Michigan Muster, the re-enactment of the Battle of Stones River 1862.

Author Extraordinaire….part two

Posted on by Lori Crane

The last time I wrote a blog about writing, I was in the middle of writing a ghost story that came from a dream I had. I’m still in the middle of it. Sometimes you just get side-tracked, ya know? During that process, I took a little vacation down to Mississippi to take pictures of ancestor’s headstones at cemeteries (Yes, another time-consuming hobby). While at a little cemetery in the middle of nowhere taking a picture of my 3rd great grandmother’s headstone, my husband, who gets dragged around incessantly on my jaunts, asked, “Now, who is this again?”

“What do you mean ‘Who is this?’  This, sir, is my great great great grandmother, Mary Ann Rodgers, daughter of Hays Rodgers, wife of Rice Carpenter and William Jolly.”

“Well, what’s her story?”

“Mary Ann lived through the Civil War and a typhoid epidemic and lost about SEVENTEEN family members to one or the other in an 18-month period. She was a strong and amazing woman. Just a taste in chronological order: she lost her brother and sister-in-law to typhoid in October 1862 leaving 5 orphaned children. In December 1862, her father died of typhoid. On December 31, 1862, her husband was killed in the Battle of Stones River in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. On January 30, 1863, she lost two of her sister-in-laws, her husband’s sisters. Three days later, her 1-year-old son died. A month after that, her mother died. She survived hunger and pain and loss the way none of us could even imagine today. We would be devastated today if we lost one family member. We would need anti-depressants if we lost two at the same time. How did she survive that kind of loss without going insane?”

“What happened to her?”

“Well, her husband Rice had a sister, yes, one of the sister-in-laws who died in January, who left behind a widower and four children. His name was William Jolly. In 1864, they married.”

“In those days, a woman needed a man to farm, and a man needed a woman to raise the children.”

“Yes, but it became more than a marriage of convenience. They were together for 26 years until his death, and they ended up having three children together, so they must have like each other. And, she lived a long life and died at the age of 70.”

“So, you come from very strong stock, eh?”

“Apparently. The women in my family had some serious backbone.”

“That’s a great story. You should write it down.”

Hence, my new historical fiction novel “Okatibbee Creek.” It is currently at the editor, and I hope to have it published on Amazon.com in December.

Back to the ghost story, right?

No, it turns out that one of the 5 orphans of her brother and sister-in-law had an amazing story as well. I’m currently working on my new historical fiction novel called “An Orphan’s Heart.”

Maybe I’ll get back to the ghost story after that.

Maybe not.

If you feel so inclined, please join me on the “Okatibbee Creek” fan-page on FaceBook. The story’s time-line and other surprises and information are available on that page. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Okatibbee-Creek-the-novel/369862926416517

Ancestry – or – Why I Am So Jacked Up – Parents and Grandparents

Posted on by Lori Crane

That title is a total fabrication. In reality, I come from strong, sturdy stock. My ancestors hail from England, Ireland, Scotland, and places of incredibly hardy men and women in Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Alabama and Mississippi. I’ve studied my ancestors for about 25 years and have built up quite a collection of information, pictures, certificates and documents. I need a place to put all this stuff. How about here?

Let’s start with mom and dad…

Father: Andrew Frank “Andy” Crane II 1940-1994. Andy was born in Mississippi and died of complication of a pituitary tumor removal in Tennessee at the age of 54. He married my mom in 1960 at age 19. They divorced when I was small, and he married another woman and had 2 sons. I have no full-blooded brothers or sisters, but I do have 2 half-brothers from his second marriage, along with 2 sister-in-laws, 3 nieces and 2 nephews.

Daddy

Mother: Linda Faye Culpepper 1944-2001. My mother was also born in Mississippi and was 15 when she and my dad were married. She gave birth to  me at age 18. After their divorce, she moved to Michigan with her second husband, dragging me to the snow and ice. She made her living as a nurse. She died in Michigan following a fall from her balcony at the age of 56.

Momma

Grandparents:

Andrew Frank “Frank” Crane I 1903-1979  and Margaret Azalea Pickett 1919-2006

Frank and Azalea were both born in Mississippi. He died in Mississippi at age 76, and she died at age 87 in Florida while living with her daughter. Grandpa Frank was the strong, silent type. He was quite a bit older than his wife, and as I remember, was already retired when I was small. “Miss Crane” (she would not allow us to call her “grandmother”) was a nurse. I don’t remember much of them due to my move to Michigan. I only saw them on summer vacations, but spent most of my time there with my cousins (who lived next door) and Miss Crane’s mother (who lived next door to my cousins).  Grandpa Frank was married previously and had two boys and two girls in the 1920s and 1930s. He and Miss Crane had one boy and one girl in the 1940s. The girl, my aunt, had three daughters (yes, the cousins who lived next door). Sometime in the early 2000s, my aunt and Miss Crane moved to Florida. Frank is buried in the family cemetery in Mississippi, and Miss Crane has a headstone there also; however, her ashes remain with her daughter in Florida.

Apparently, Ms Crane was not the most “domestic” woman in the world. I heard a story that my mother went to the house and found Ms Crane “mopping” the kitchen floor by using the hose from outside to “wash” it and mopping it out the back door.  😀

Grandpa and Miss Crane

Frank with brothers Horace T. and Thomas Jackson “Tommy”

Earl Wilmer Culpepper 1914-1994 and Ina Inez Burk 1915-1975

“Papaw” and “Mamaw” were both born and died in Mississippi. They married in 1937 and had 2 daughters who were 7 years apart in age. I seem to remember my mother saying there was either a boy stillborn between them or that she was the twin of a stillborn boy. I can’t find any documentation of this, and there is no one left to ask.

My aunt married and had three boys. While my aunt was delivering her third boy, my mother babysat the older two boys. They were 2 and 3 yrs at the time. After spending a week with two toddlers, my mother said, and I quote, “I will never, ever have children.” Nine months to the day after the third boy was born, I was born. Never say never.

Mamaw was a seamstress at the local shirt factory, and Papaw work in the shipping department. She was a fabulous cook, which is what killed her. She died of complications following open heart surgery at age 59. Papaw married a lady from the factory after Mamaw’s death, and we kind of lost track of him after that. He was pretty involved with his new family (the lady had 2 teenage daughters still at home).  He loved to fish and hunt and play his guitar and drink. He died following a stroke at age 80. Mamaw and Papaw are buried next to each other in Newton County, Mississippi.

Story: Not only did Papaw like to fish and hunt, there is also a story that he liked to walk down to the swamp in the dark and catch big frogs. I guess one day when he returned, Mamaw was not happy with him for some reason, perhaps just wondering where he had been. So, to show her what he had been doing, he dumped the bucket of live frogs on the kitchen floor. I can just imagine big frogs jumping around the kitchen.

Papaw and Mamaw

Me and my 3 boy cousins with Mamaw and Papaw

Coming Soon: Ancestry – or- Why I Am So Jacked Up – Great Grandparents

Featuring – The Great Grandparents!! Don’t miss the stories of  the Irishman, the Choctaw Indian, the moonshiner who went to prison for murder, a picture of baby grandpa, and the sad, sad story of the young woman who died three months after her 10 month old son died. Was it suicide, medical negligence, or as the death certificate says, acute melancholia?

Stay tuned…

Author Extraordinaire… more or less

Posted on by Lori Crane

Who knew writing a book would be so complicated and time consuming?  I had a dream about 6 months ago. You know how you wake up from a dream and think it would make a great movie, but the more you think about it, the more it just doesn’t make any sense? Well, I woke up from THIS dream and could not go back to sleep. The details were so vivid, and the emotion was so raw. I got out of bed and jotted down the whole story…and was still obsessively writing when daylight arrived.

The next morning, I told my husband about it, and he said, “You have to write the whole story down. That would make an excellent movie.”

Later that evening, we were having dinner with our kids. I told them about it, and my daughter said, “Oh, I just got goosebumps. You have to write a book.”

On the way home, my husband and I were discussing how to write a book and what to do with it once it’s finished. We passed a billboard that said something like, “Publish Your Book! Go to blahblahblah.com”.  Are you kidding me?? Okay fine. I’ll write the damn book already.

I did some research as far as getting a manuscript to a publisher vs. self-publishing and found that it was all do-able. Getting the finished product into the hands of readers is a whole different story. Marketing, social media, book readings, etc. I don’t know that I want to be a world-renowned author. I just have a story to tell. But then again, so did some very successful authors.

So…I’m writing a book.

Six months into it, and about 1/2 way done, I’m losing my focus. I know that the process of any creation is to lose some drive at this point, and that it will come back in full force soon, but I’m anxious to have it finished. The hardest part is done. The chronological order of sequences and histories was the most difficult part to tackle. I almost put a full-blown life-size story board on the walls of my office to make sure all the pieces fit together. That was a pain in the you-know-what. But thank goodness, that part is now done and over.

Now, I’m at the next hardest part…the second half of the book is a ghost story. I can see living people and ghosts communicating on the big screen, but I’m finding it extremely difficult to put that same vision into print. I guess I just have to tackle it and see what happens. Maybe I should forego the book idea and just write a screen play.

And, maybe when it’s finished, I’ll post the first couple chapters here.

….in about 2 years….

Bats In My Belfry!

Posted on by Lori Crane

Last night I learned what to do when a BAT gets in your house.

First, the whole family (husband included) crouches down to the floor and shrieks like little girls every time it flies by. And, let me tell you, that little thing flies very, very fast, and my family shrieks very, very loudly.

Second, daughter stands on the front porch with the door open, calling, “Here bat, here bat.”
(Yeah, maybe that’ll work…and she’s the smart one of the bunch.)

Third, everyone grab a weapon!!!
Towel, Broom, Bed Sheet, Couch Pillow – check, check and check.
Now, don’t actually use the weapon. If the bat comes near you, crouch down, cover your head with the weapon, and shriek loudly. This will screw up the bat radar and cause it become disoriented and fly away. (Well, that’s the plan anyway.)

Finally, after it flies out the door, look for it for a half hour, because no one actually saw it fly out the door due to hiding behind sheets and towels and brooms and all that crouching and shrieking.

😛

That was quite an interesting event. I wish I had pictures.

Livin’ the Dream, Baby

Posted on by Lori Crane

The other day, I asked an acquaintance of mine, “How are you today?”

He answered, “I’m livin’ the dream, baby, livin’ the dream!”

I thought that was the funniest thing I ever heard, and I laughed like crazy.

Well, since then, I’ve been responding the same way when folks ask me ‘how I am’. They always laugh out loud. I guess it’s better than the traditional, “Fine, and you?” response. I think I’ll keep it up.

Emergency Vet

Posted on by Lori Crane

A conversation with a friend who had a sick dog and needed an emergency vet got me thinking about the emergency vet phone number that SHOULD be posted on MY fridge. I have three, count them, three dogs. Do you think I have the emergency vet number posted on my fridge? Of course not. That would be too logical. And, I know the emergency vet exists. I’ve called them. I’ve used their services.

It was a wintry, cold Sunday morning in December. We had a BIG cat named Hooter Bear. I’m talking big. Raccoon size. 26 pounds, if I remember correctly. He was born during Hurricane Hugo, so was named Hugo, which turned into Huey, which eventually became Hooter Bear. It doesn’t matter what you call them, they don’t come anyway.

It all started during our quiet Sunday morning. In the middle of making coffee, Hooter Bear started screaming from the other room. He suddenly ran into the corner of the living room and was screaming and screaming. I don’t understand cat-speak, so I had no idea what was wrong. The hair on his back stood straight up, and he screamed and screamed.

The rest of the scene went something like this…

Me: What the hell is going on with the cat?

Hubby: I don’t know.

Me: Well, what’s wrong with him?

Hubby: I don’t know

Me: Did you do something to him?

Hubby: no

Me: What should we do?

Hubby: I don’t know

And so it goes. I guess we now know why I always feel the need to take charge of everything.

So, I searched for the phone number and called the emergency vet. I took him in and dropped him off so they could figure out why he was screaming. After a few hours, they called and told me to come back in. Hooter Bear’s tests were back. When I arrived, they showed me an X-ray of the cat. I would scan it so you could see it, but it’s too big. You won’t believe it if you don’t see it for yourself.

Let’s leave poor kitty right here and go back in time a few weeks, shall we?

Remember from the beginning of this post that I mentioned this was a Sunday morning in December? Yep, December. Holiday time. Time for families, baking, friends, presents, shopping, going into debt, credit card bills, etc. I decided this particular Christmas season, with two small children, that I did not want to spend gobs of money on distant relatives. I wanted to spend what I had on my kids and to stay out of debt. So my ingenious idea was to not BUY Christmas gifts, but to MAKE them instead. I guess I had delusions of Martha Stewart or something. I was young. Whatever. So, I trotted off Martha-style to the nearest craft store and purchased kits for a dozen or so holiday wall hangings and Christmas stockings. They were only $4.99 a piece! The great thing about them would be the love I put into them. Hahahaha.

I set up a card table in my living room, turned on the radio, got myself a glass of iced tea, and went to work. I worked at that card table nightly for quite a few weeks. Sequins, thread, felt, needles, sewing my little holiday tush off. These would be the best (and cheapest) gifts EVER. I was so proud of myself.

Don’t you think that was the best idea I ever had? The whole family would have beautiful, hand-made Christmas gifts for the low, low price of $59.89 plus tax. Heck yeah, I’m a genius!!

Let’s return to the emergency vet and poor kitty and see what that awful X-ray showed.

“A what? With what still attached?”

Yes, I can see the eye of the needle right there, plain as day, with the thread attached, but I still don’t believe it.

Hooted Bear apparently found a piece of thread and started playing with it. Apparently, said piece of thread had pointy, sharp needle attached to the other end. Apparently, stupid cat swallowed the whole thing, needle and all. It went all the way through his system and was being deposited into the litter box early that Sunday morning. Then, catastrophe, it turned at the last minute and punctured his bladder. Hence the screaming.

Here’s my choice:

A) $30 to put him down or B) $590 for surgery and he’ll be fine.

I loved that dang cat. I opted for the surgery. He turned out fine and had many more happy years in him.

This experience left me with one, and only one, thought…

I could have bought some really nice Christmas presents for $590.

If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Your Mother

Posted on by Lori Crane

Ok, time to tell the story. It’s long. It’s sad. Get some coffee or something.

November 18, 2000

I spoke with my mother that afternoon. She was getting ready for work and was in a good mood. I asked her if she would watch the kids Sunday afternoon, because I wanted to go out for a while to celebrate my birthday. Of course she said ‘yes’. She loved the kids more than anything in the world.

The phone rang about an hour later. “Your mother had an accident. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

“What kind of accident? What happened?”

“She fell off the balcony. The railing broke. She stopped breathing. I did CPR on her.”

Dammit. Those kinds of phone calls suck. One minute, you’re cruising along in your life and everything is fine. The next minute, you’ve been hit by a two by four.

She was throwing the squirrels bread from the balcony (like she did every day), and she leaned on the railing and it broke.

My daughter was just walking in the door from school. I told her to get in the car. We picked up her little brother from school and went to the hospital.

The three of us walked in emergency and saw him – looking like a ghost, wringing his hands, saying, “She is pretty bad.”

“How bad? Where is she?”

“They took her for a CAT scan.”

At that moment the emergency room folks wheeled her past us. I only recognized her because her arm was showing. She had a tattoo of a wolf. I told the kids to ‘sit’, and I followed the wolf. They wheeled her into a room. I followed. There must have been five or six people scurrying around doing stuff.

The doctor bent over her and said, “You have ruptured your spleen. We are taking you into surgery. You have quite a few broken ribs and two broken discs in your back. You also broke your elbow, but we’ll worry about that later. Right now, we need to get this spleen taken care of.”

She moaned, then turned her head and saw me. Her eyes were black as coal. She just starred at me.

I finally said, “Yeah, mom, I’m here.”

Everything the doctor said was beginning to sink in. This wasn’t good. My legs turned into jello, and the edges of my peripheral vision started turning black. I leaned back against the wall to keep from falling down. I knew I could not faint in here and take the medical attention away from her.

She said, “I love you. Tell the kids I love them.”

I said, “I love you too, mom.”

Those were the last words we shared.

They wheeled her out of the room as fast as they wheeled her in.

I called the kid’s dad to come pick them up. Poor little things looked scared to death. As we waited for dad, I assured them that everything would be fine. Then I put them in dad’s car, and I headed to the second floor waiting room.

I don’t know how long we were in there, but finally, the doctors came in and said they removed her spleen and she was ok. However, they found a lot of blood around her heart. They did not know if she had any heart damage and were taking her to do another procedure with a catheter to look at her heart.

We moved back to the first floor to another waiting room and waited some more.

Again, I don’t know how long we waited, but they finally told us that her heart was fine. The blood was not coming from any leaks or tears in the heart muscle.

They moved her into ICU, and we waited in yet another waiting room until they let us see her.

Walking into her ICU room was almost too much. Heart monitor beeping, ventilator breathing for her, back brace, arm in a sling, IVs and tubes running in and out and everywhere else. They had put her on paralyzing medication to keep her asleep and still. That was probably a good thing.

The next day, Sunday, they took her off the meds, and she opened her eyes while I was with her. Her forehead was wrinkling, so I asked her if she wanted pain medication, and she nodded. They doped her up and she went back to sleep.

The next morning, I arrived at the ICU visitation time and was with her for only two or three minutes when the nurse came in. She asked me to leave the room so they could take her off the ventilator. Thank goodness. I hated that thing. I’m sure she did too.

I headed down to the cafeteria to get some tea and a bagel or something. As I was just starting to sit down, the loud speaker said, “DR. AL, ICU WEST, STAT, CODE BLUE.”

There were only two patients on west, and that was her doctor’s name.

I knew something went terribly wrong. I threw the food in the trash and headed outside to smoke a cigarette. What else could I do? I was the most helpless and useless person in the hospital at that point.

When I returned to ICU, the chaplain was pacing, looking for me. He said something went wrong and she ‘coded’. Yeah, I already figured that out. Yet another wait. The chaplain sat with me.

At the time, I worked at a large non-denominational Christian church. My Senior Minister was Jewish. My other two bosses were Christian Ministers. My mother and her best friend practiced Wicca. Her other close friend was a Catholic Priest.

The poor hospital chaplain asked what religion we were. I wanted to laugh. “I think we have it all covered,” I replied, “unless, of course, you know any Muslims who will pray for us.”

Finally, her doctor came out and said, “She stopped breathing. She coded.”

I said, “Yeah, I know that. What happened? Is she ok?”

He said, “She’s stable right now, but I don’t know how long she was without oxygen and don’t know the state of her brain. It is possible that there is brain damage, but we’ll have to wait and see when she wakes up.”

That was the last time I ever saw him.

Suddenly all the hospital staff started disappearing when I came around. They were all acting strange. No one would look at me. No one would answer any questions. No one came in the room when I was there.

The real kick in the butt was that my mother was a nurse. She was in charge of the cardiac step-down unit. She was injured at the hands of her colleagues.

Finally, her girlfriend (also a nurse) came in, opened her chart, and started crying. She said, “She was without oxygen for 15 minutes. See here? You can see on the strip where they were doing CPR on her. I’m surprised she’s alive. She’s not going to wake up.”

Over the next three weeks, she opened her eyes, but there was no life in them. She did not look around or respond to sounds or voices or anything. Her temperature would spike for no reason, she was starting to develop sores on her heels, and her muscles were starting to atrophy. Her wrists and ankles were starting to become deformed.

We eventually moved her to a rehabilitation center, but the staff said they could not get any response out of her either. I didn’t expect them to.

After almost nine months of visitation, tears, anger, and pain, she finally died on July 12, 2001.

I miss her.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Momma…and I did tell the kids what you said.”

Issues

Posted on by Lori Crane

Don’t you hate it when the sheet comes un-tucked from the foot of the bed, and at the same time, the blanket wiggles down into the foot of the bed and you can’t find it?

Now, you end up with 3 feet of sheet wrapped around your neck, freezing your ass off for lack of blanket, and can’t figure out why the comforter is diagonal.

Dammit.