As my life moves forward and I mature, I realize that I AM my grandmother -- my Memie. Beulah Jane Weaver Harris Howard….what a spitfire. She never had a gray hair on her head. Well, it’s because she dyed it, but still……. She used to say she was ¼ American Indian. Maybe that’s why. NAW, it was the dye!
As my life moves forward and I mature, I realize that I AM my grandmother -- my Memie. Beulah Jane Weaver Harris Howard….what a spitfire. She never had a gray hair on her head. Well, it’s because she dyed it, but still……. She used to say she was ¼ American Indian. Maybe that’s why. NAW, it was the dye!
As a child, I remember that, probably because my sister, my brother and I were her only daughter’s children, we would always receive “special favor” from Memie. We’d gather at her home for Christmas or birthdays, and ours were always the “best gifts”. Even as very young children, my sister and I would look at each other embarrassingly as the other cousins gawked at our cool gifts. It was bittersweet. But Memie didn’t make any excuses. She made her decisions, had her own convictions and stood by them.
My Memie was the patriarch of the family. A business woman from the time I could remember. She was a beautician, they called it back then, who worked her way up in her profession to own and operate her very own beauty college in Victoria, Texas (my home town). There she and her team of instructors taught young women not only a career in hair styling, but true “style”, independence, how to earn their own living and to become all they could be.
She’d click her gum with her teeth as she chewed it, (which annoyed the adults but I loved it) all the while flashing those pearly white teeth through bright red glossy lipstick. I think she believed God created lipstick and every girl needed some. So do I.
She always smelled good. Not like “old lady toilet water”, but like rich, expensive perfume. Her dress was flashy and bright, and maybe a little tastefully gaudy at times and untastefully gaudy at other times, but gaudy nonetheless. She always wore jewelry – what my daughter Courtney would today call “blingy”. Big jewelry -- necklaces, bracelets, huge earrings. She never went anywhere without her makeup and her fingernails were always polished and shiny -- and BRIGHT. She was confident and sure of herself, and presented herself with excellence, not to impress others but because she liked it that way.
Mrs. Howard was respected and honored the town of Victoria. And people knew not to mess with her, her family, children, grandchildren, friends, business or anything else her hands touched or her heart loved. Even when my brother and his friends as high school students were accused of putting Tide detergent in the huge spraying water fountain in front of the biggest bank in Victoria (which they denied but I’m sure they did it), and the townsfolk gasped and newspaper displayed the front lawn of the bank covered 6 feet high in bubbles and foam, she dared and glared anyone to say anything about it – especially the bank president who liked having her money in accounts at his bank.
My mother and I would go to the cafeteria (something like Luby’s but I don’t remember the name of it) and I always got purple Jell-O. Because Memie bought it for me once, therefore it became law. Still my favorite flavor is grape and my favorite color purple.
She bought my sister and I some of the very first Go-Go Boots in town from an exclusive children’s shop in Victoria called “Tots ‘N Teens”. You know, those white shiny high ones that Nancy Sinatra made popular in the ‘60s with “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” – a song that fit my grandmother perfectly. But it was MY boots that helped to define who I am today….a woman more like my Memie that I ever realized.
You see, my brother, Ronnie, who is 11 years older than me, was a Senior in high school when I was about 6. He was such a hot shot with his tall lanky frame, letterman jacket with a big “V” and little running shoes with wings on it. He also had a huge high school senior ring on his finger that he loved to turn around and pop me on the head with, leaving a huge knot every time. I’d cry, Mom would yell, and he’d grin that crooked smile and plan for next time. His pimply faced high school buddies thought it was funny. One friend (whose names I won’t bother to protect because they deserve it) in particular, Gary Crick, whom everyone just called “Crick”, thought he’d play along with Ronnie’s meanness. He picked on me continuously, and he was kind of a little guy, so I suppose I thought I could take him on. I reared back with all my might and kicked that big bully in the shin! Through his straight leg Levi jeans and all, I brought blood to his leg with my Go-Go Boots’ pointy tip. He went down holding his leg, bleeding through his jeans, and I remember saying, “I’ll bet you won’t do that again!” He never did. Neither did Ronnie’s other friend Mickey Costello, but he was the nice one who mainly just laughed at the meanness of the other two.
Oh, those guys were harmless. They loved me and thought I was a cute little kid (which I was!) so they picked. But today I realize that on THAT particular day, I had a decision to make in my life of what kind of person I would be. There was a forked road in front of me. I could choose to run and hide and cry, or kick him in the shin and say “NO MORE!” What would Memie do? Well, she bought me the boots, now didn’t she? The decision was easy for me, and “Crick” has a scar on his leg to this day I hear.
Memie smoked cigarettes the whole time I was little and then one day she just -- quit. Laid them down and never picked them up again. I remember even as a child thinking, “What strength! I want to be just like her!” She was a Christian and went to church more than not I suppose. She just showed her faith in her love for and dedication to her family, for people and through her life. I don’t ever remember her drinking alcohol or using foul language -- ever. I do remember her always having a “deal” working, a “project” going and a profitable money making adventure.
I remember her helping her grown children out of situations, and just being there for them, even if they did have to hear her tell them what and what not to do. But none of them would accuse her of ever being wrong or not having wisdom. They knew she learned life the hard way -- by kicking the world in the shin and saying, “NO MORE!”
I don’t know a lot about the early years of her life except that she ran a cafe. I’ve heard she was a bit of a “loose” woman from time to time. Her husband (my real grandfather) was an alcoholic who dropped dead some time after they divorced and she married Albert Howard. This man was MY grandfather – Daddy Howard, I called him – which to me was better than calling him just Grandfather or Papaw or something like that. He was for the most part quiet and calm – the opposite of her. A burly, big bellied redheaded rancher who said few words, but when he wanted to get your attention he certainly could. They balanced each other out perfectly. I followed him around like a little tail-wagging puppy dog. Boy, did he have a way with animals. He’d walk out into the corral, slap the reigns of a bridle on the ground and the horses would just tuck their head and walk right up to him and let him bridle them up. He didn’t even have to walk over to them! It was like they WANTED him to bridle and saddle them just so HE would ride them.
He was OCD about taking care of his livestock and tack. You'd BETTER hang the saddle and bridle right when you're done riding! I recall that during cattle round-up he put me on his big red Arabian, named “Red” of course, that was about 18 hands tall when I was about 4 years old and said, “Hold on to this horn. Or fall off!” I held on.
He taught me to the ride horses and care for of them like precious gifts. The saddles and tack had to be put the right way, the horses had to be brushed the right direction, and the horses must be fed and watered the in a precise, consistent manner. He taught me to round up cattle, brand, powder and worm the calves, drive a tractor, watch the guys bale & stack hay (my brother would remember this with fondness!).
I was hugely a tomboy waiting for the little lady to spring up from within but not caring if it ever did. My cousin Roger taught me to fish in the Guadalupe River and hunt doves and quail. Well, not really hunt I was more like the dog that went and got them when he shot them. But still…..He taught me where NOT to grab the catfish and how to pick buckshot and feathers out of the birds before my Auntie Mildred cooked them for us to eat. My Uncle Butch gave me a horse – Nugget. And I loved that horse. I’d ride all day, all around their 600 acre ranch located outside Victoria on the Guadalupe River bottom. I’d see coyotes and wolves and snakes and bobcats -- I wasn’t scared. My horse knew how to get me back to Memie’s house.
You know that’s kind of like God. He’ll give us choices for directions in life, and somehow he works through our heritage, our families and loved ones to influence and teach us. Even the ones that weren’t Super-Christians – He still uses people at their own level of spirituality to influence your life.
I see the heritage of my family being passed down to my children. My oldest son Kris is a preacher – an awesome one at that – just like my grandfather on my dad's side. My daughter, Courtney, is a smart, stylish, beautiful and confident woman – just like my grandmother. Cody, my youngest son, is skilled and talented in drawing and drafting – just like my father and my husband. And both of my sons are awesome writers – I’d like to think they got a little of that from me.
I knew that Memie lived a full life of passion, determination and an overcoming, victorious spirit that seemed to dare any demon to interrupt her journey or that of her family. She had a tenacity to succeed combined with a joyful life that I recognized and desired as a child, and that’s what I want now. Although circumstances of life sometimes made me forget these traits that were implanted in my dna, God reminds me often to pursue what my grandmother passed down to my mother, and to me and hopefully to my children. Hope, happiness, faith and love……everything that Jesus Christ is. He will give us confidence and peace through the storms of life, and a voice to praise Him in it all.
It’s a great big world out there to explore and people who need to hear about how God has worked in your life. Telling your storilsony doesn’t only encourage others – it will encourage YOU! Purposely go back and take inventory of all the times that God has come to your rescue even if it did seem like just the nick of time. Recall all he’s done for you – even the little things. Follow Him. Chase after Him. Choose Him. He’ll let you explore that ranch, pass right by the coyotes, wolves and snakes, give you peace and get you Home, and He will allow you to enjoy the ride!
He always gives us the “best gifts”. OK I’m not calling my brother’s friend the devil here -- it’s a “parable” – sort of. But sometimes we have to kick the enemy in the shin let our faith rise up in us to bring blood to his shins and say “NO MORE!”, and just go for God!
Linda King Wilson * written July 21, 2010
As a child, I remember that, probably because my sister, my brother and I were her only daughter’s children, we would always receive “special favor” from Memie. We’d gather at her home for Christmas or birthdays, and ours were always the “best gifts”. Even as very young children, my sister and I would look at each other embarrassingly as the other cousins gawked at our cool gifts. It was bittersweet. But Memie didn’t make any excuses. She made her decisions, had her own convictions and stood by them.
My Memie was the patriarch of the family. A business woman from the time I could remember. She was a beautician, they called it back then, who worked her way up in her profession to own and operate her very own beauty college in Victoria, Texas (my home town). There she and her team of instructors taught young women not only a career in hair styling, but true “style”, independence, how to earn their own living and to become all they could be.
She’d click her gum with her teeth as she chewed it, (which annoyed the adults but I loved it) all the while flashing those pearly white teeth through bright red glossy lipstick. I think she believed God created lipstick and every girl needed some. So do I.
She always smelled good. Not like “old lady toilet water”, but like rich, expensive perfume. Her dress was flashy and bright, and maybe a little tastefully gaudy at times and untastefully gaudy at other times, but gaudy nonetheless. She always wore jewelry – what my daughter Courtney would today call “blingy”. Big jewelry -- necklaces, bracelets, huge earrings. She never went anywhere without her makeup and her fingernails were always polished and shiny -- and BRIGHT. She was confident and sure of herself, and presented herself with excellence, not to impress others but because she liked it that way.
Mrs. Howard was respected and honored the town of Victoria. And people knew not to mess with her, her family, children, grandchildren, friends, business or anything else her hands touched or her heart loved. Even when my brother and his friends as high school students were accused of putting Tide detergent in the huge spraying water fountain in front of the biggest bank in Victoria (which they denied but I’m sure they did it), and the townsfolk gasped and newspaper displayed the front lawn of the bank covered 6 feet high in bubbles and foam, she dared and glared anyone to say anything about it – especially the bank president who liked having her money in accounts at his bank.
My mother and I would go to the cafeteria (something like Luby’s but I don’t remember the name of it) and I always got purple Jell-O. Because Memie bought it for me once, therefore it became law. Still my favorite flavor is grape and my favorite color purple.
She bought my sister and I some of the very first Go-Go Boots in town from an exclusive children’s shop in Victoria called “Tots ‘N Teens”. You know, those white shiny high ones that Nancy Sinatra made popular in the ‘60s with “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” – a song that fit my grandmother perfectly. But it was MY boots that helped to define who I am today….a woman more like my Memie that I ever realized.
You see, my brother, Ronnie, who is 11 years older than me, was a Senior in high school when I was about 6. He was such a hot shot with his tall lanky frame, letterman jacket with a big “V” and little running shoes with wings on it. He also had a huge high school senior ring on his finger that he loved to turn around and pop me on the head with, leaving a huge knot every time. I’d cry, Mom would yell, and he’d grin that crooked smile and plan for next time. His pimply faced high school buddies thought it was funny. One friend (whose names I won’t bother to protect because they deserve it) in particular, Gary Crick, whom everyone just called “Crick”, thought he’d play along with Ronnie’s meanness. He picked on me continuously, and he was kind of a little guy, so I suppose I thought I could take him on. I reared back with all my might and kicked that big bully in the shin! Through his straight leg Levi jeans and all, I brought blood to his leg with my Go-Go Boots’ pointy tip. He went down holding his leg, bleeding through his jeans, and I remember saying, “I’ll bet you won’t do that again!” He never did. Neither did Ronnie’s other friend Mickey Costello, but he was the nice one who mainly just laughed at the meanness of the other two.
Oh, those guys were harmless. They loved me and thought I was a cute little kid (which I was!) so they picked. But today I realize that on THAT particular day, I had a decision to make in my life of what kind of person I would be. There was a forked road in front of me. I could choose to run and hide and cry, or kick him in the shin and say “NO MORE!” What would Memie do? Well, she bought me the boots, now didn’t she? The decision was easy for me, and “Crick” has a scar on his leg to this day I hear.
Memie smoked cigarettes the whole time I was little and then one day she just -- quit. Laid them down and never picked them up again. I remember even as a child thinking, “What strength! I want to be just like her!” She was a Christian and went to church more than not I suppose. She just showed her faith in her love for and dedication to her family, for people and through her life. I don’t ever remember her drinking alcohol or using foul language -- ever. I do remember her always having a “deal” working, a “project” going and a profitable money making adventure.
I remember her helping her grown children out of situations, and just being there for them, even if they did have to hear her tell them what and what not to do. But none of them would accuse her of ever being wrong or not having wisdom. They knew she learned life the hard way -- by kicking the world in the shin and saying, “NO MORE!”
I don’t know a lot about the early years of her life except that she ran a cafe. I’ve heard she was a bit of a “loose” woman from time to time. Her husband (my real grandfather) was an alcoholic who dropped dead some time after they divorced and she married Albert Howard. This man was MY grandfather – Daddy Howard, I called him – which to me was better than calling him just Grandfather or Papaw or something like that. He was for the most part quiet and calm – the opposite of her. A burly, big bellied redheaded rancher who said few words, but when he wanted to get your attention he certainly could. They balanced each other out perfectly. I followed him around like a little tail-wagging puppy dog. Boy, did he have a way with animals. He’d walk out into the corral, slap the reigns of a bridle on the ground and the horses would just tuck their head and walk right up to him and let him bridle them up. He didn’t even have to walk over to them! It was like they WANTED him to bridle and saddle them just so HE would ride them.
He was OCD about taking care of his livestock and tack. You'd BETTER hang the saddle and bridle right when you're done riding! I recall that during cattle round-up he put me on his big red Arabian, named “Red” of course, that was about 18 hands tall when I was about 4 years old and said, “Hold on to this horn. Or fall off!” I held on.
He taught me to the ride horses and care for of them like precious gifts. The saddles and tack had to be put the right way, the horses had to be brushed the right direction, and the horses must be fed and watered the in a precise, consistent manner. He taught me to round up cattle, brand, powder and worm the calves, drive a tractor, watch the guys bale & stack hay (my brother would remember this with fondness!).
I was hugely a tomboy waiting for the little lady to spring up from within but not caring if it ever did. My cousin Roger taught me to fish in the Guadalupe River and hunt doves and quail. Well, not really hunt I was more like the dog that went and got them when he shot them. But still…..He taught me where NOT to grab the catfish and how to pick buckshot and feathers out of the birds before my Auntie Mildred cooked them for us to eat. My Uncle Butch gave me a horse – Nugget. And I loved that horse. I’d ride all day, all around their 600 acre ranch located outside Victoria on the Guadalupe River bottom. I’d see coyotes and wolves and snakes and bobcats -- I wasn’t scared. My horse knew how to get me back to Memie’s house.
You know that’s kind of like God. He’ll give us choices for directions in life, and somehow he works through our heritage, our families and loved ones to influence and teach us. Even the ones that weren’t Super-Christians – He still uses people at their own level of spirituality to influence your life.
I see the heritage of my family being passed down to my children. My oldest son Kris is a preacher – an awesome one at that – just like my grandfather on my dad's side. My daughter, Courtney, is a smart, stylish, beautiful and confident woman – just like my grandmother. Cody, my youngest son, is skilled and talented in drawing and drafting – just like my father and my husband. And both of my sons are awesome writers – I’d like to think they got a little of that from me.
I knew that Memie lived a full life of passion, determination and an overcoming, victorious spirit that seemed to dare any demon to interrupt her journey or that of her family. She had a tenacity to succeed combined with a joyful life that I recognized and desired as a child, and that’s what I want now. Although circumstances of life sometimes made me forget these traits that were implanted in my dna, God reminds me often to pursue what my grandmother passed down to my mother, and to me and hopefully to my children. Hope, happiness, faith and love……everything that Jesus Christ is. He will give us confidence and peace through the storms of life, and a voice to praise Him in it all.
It’s a great big world out there to explore and people who need to hear about how God has worked in your life. Telling your storilsony doesn’t only encourage others – it will encourage YOU! Purposely go back and take inventory of all the times that God has come to your rescue even if it did seem like just the nick of time. Recall all he’s done for you – even the little things. Follow Him. Chase after Him. Choose Him. He’ll let you explore that ranch, pass right by the coyotes, wolves and snakes, give you peace and get you Home, and He will allow you to enjoy the ride!
He always gives us the “best gifts”. OK I’m not calling my brother’s friend the devil here -- it’s a “parable” – sort of. But sometimes we have to kick the enemy in the shin let our faith rise up in us to bring blood to his shins and say “NO MORE!”, and just go for God!
Linda King Wilson * written July 21, 2010
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