Memoir: My Great Aunt Pansy

Every time I dye my hair red (which I began doing decades ago to spice up the mousy brown), I think of my paternal Great Aunt Pansy, who also dyed her hair red. And for all I know, hers, unlike mine, was perhaps naturally red earlier in her life. I do know that red hair suited her personality well, as it did her wise blue eyes.

As a child, in my eyes Great Aunt Pansy was the rich one in our family. Sometimes when we went to visit my dad's family on the farm in Bowman, South Carolina, we would drop by Aunt Pansy's for a couple hours. Living in the city of Anderson, SC, in a really nice neighborhood, she had a brick house painted white, usually with a new Cadillac parked in her driveway.

Once inside the house, there were luxurious furnishings with the softest carpets on the floors and velvety towels hanging in the bathroom. The house sounded like laughter and always smelled nice, as did my Aunt Pansy. She wore the loveliest clothes my eyes had ever seen: saucy hats atop her head and sumptuous furs across her shoulders. Pansy was a country girl who had grown comfortable in the city. The elegance she had learned never could disguise the real Pansy--funny and down-to-earth, genuine, sprung from humble roots.

Born in 1905 on a farm in Orangeburg County, SC, she was the second daughter of Carrie and Charlie Ayers. The first daughter, born 17 months earlier, was Flossie, my father's mother and my paternal grandmother. These two daughters were the only children of their parents. Flossie went on to live in that same farmhouse and to have nine living children. In contrast, Pansy moved to the city, married twice, had a career. No children.

This is me, about the same age as Pansy was below. I never realized how much we favored until I saw this picture of her recently. I guess I do look like the Ayers sisters after all.

Pansy's first husband was Earl Hammerly, a professor at a small private college in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains in Rome, Northern Georgia. He was apparently older than she, a man of some means who had a chauffeur. After his untimely death, she married Harry Groce, a traveling salesman, who was gone during the week days. He adored Pansy and called her P.A., short for Pansy Ayers. Like his beloved, Harry didn't take things too seriously; he was full of laughter, jokes and pranks. Also like her, he was a sharp dresser. He smoked cigars, liked his bourbon, and drove a white Silverhawk Studebaker around Anderson, SC., where they lived together.

In the meantime, Pansy was named the manager of the Western Union office in Anderson. She invited two of her sister's grown children to live with her at various times. Once Flossie's first born graduated high school, CF (Charles Fulton) went to live with and work for Pansy, delivering Western Union telegrams. Later she sent him to Clemson College, then procured him a summer job at Carolina Beach, NC, where he met his future wife. His subsequent marriage and World War II changed his course, and he didn't return to college. A disappointment to her, I'm sure.

My Great Aunt Pansy in her younger days.

Flossie's third daughter Bonnie also lived with Pansy and attended Anderson College for a semester, where she met and married her husband. Pansy was said to be put off about her not continuing on in college. Still later, after CF had a son, my cousin Butch would visit Pansy for a fun-filled week during the summers, and she would buy him spiffy back-to-school clothes from the downtown J. C. Penney's. With Aunt Pansy's attention, Butch almost felt that he had two grandmothers on his father's side of the family. Butch remembers, "We always went to church on Sunday morning and then went to Clemson House in Clemson for a lunch of she-crab soup, roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy and real strawberry shortcake for dessert. We would joke around about how could they tell if it was a she-crab or a he-crab. We would laugh and talk; there was never a dull moment around Aunt Pansy." Butch also recalls his family going to lots of Clemson football games with Pansy through the years.

Later in life, Pansy opened her home to a feisty little fleet of Chihauhaus who would nip at the heels of her guests, particularly of children. She dearly loved them. To me, they always looked like puppies, and I could think of nothing I wanted more. Finally, my family got a Chihauhau/Toy Manchester mix from her. We named him Jose, and I considered him my dog.

Little Jose and little me in Madison, Tennessee, during my best childhood years. 

Pansy remained close to her sister Flossie and sent money to help out with all of the children. When Flossie's fourth girl Sandra was a junior in high school, Pansy and her mama went shopping in Orangeburg and came back with a surprise for her: a beautiful white evening gown with layers of lace and a striking blue cummerbund, which she wore to her junior-senior prom.

Some years after Harry and Flossie's husband (my father's father and my paternal grandfather) died, Pansy retired from Western Union and moved into a nice house in Orangeburg. Still later she moved into the farmhouse in Bowman with her sister Flossie and had the farmhouse beautifully remodeled. Then a stroke took her to the nursing home in Orangeburg, where Flossie joined her several years later. She would enjoy keeping up with her beloved Atlanta Braves on radio and TV. Pansy died there in 1993 and is buried beside Harry in Anderson. Her sister Flossie died a year later.

Most of us who remember Pansy remember her with a smile on her face and on our faces. "Her chin would quiver when she was tickled," Sandra recalls. She loved to have a glass of wine in the evenings and is said to have been the life of any party. I regret not knowing her better. As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to feel that same way about many people in my father's family. Independent, fun and funny, quick witted, with a twinkle in her eye, my Great Aunt Pansy is a lady whom I remember with great fondness.

Random thoughts on housework or house-care

Thank you for all of your perspectives about housework that I got on my Facebook status last week. Here was the status:  Have you ever gotten a hold of the housework? Where you felt that things were under control for once and always? I may be quoting some of you.

Almost all of the images that I found on the internet about housework are cartoons. It's as if housework is a big joke, but as any woman knows, most of the time, it's just not that funny.

I used to have two places of residence to clean and organize--one was my house and the other was my classroom. For the nearly forty years of my career, I never quite felt that my classroom was as in good shape as it should or could be. At last, I don't have to fret about cleaning my classroom anymore!

Parental voices inside our heads die hard. Even though my mother (and father) have been gone for over 25 years, I still remember their white glove tests when they would come to my house for periodic visits. If you read the blog on my mother, then you may recall some of her harsh remarks on my housekeeping when she would visit. And even though (of course) I would clean the house super well when my parents were expected for a visit, my rather tall father once or twice told me that I had dust on top of my refrigerator. Bu the way, my mother was a housewife all of her life and kept a clean, clutter-free house. My older sister keeps her house so clean (and organized) that you could literally eat off her floors. So those two have been my examples in my family.

I'm so glad that my daughter Ellen doesn't feel that she has to clean up her house for me! We focus on what is important when we visit each other--the people. I'm so pleased that she and I feel that we can leave our houses the messiest/dirtiest for each other as for anyone!

It bothers me that hardly any of us mention housework, It's taken for granted. Hardly worthy of mentioning. If someone asks you, What are you gonna do today? few of us say that we are going to clean out that refrigerator or scrub those toilets. It's just assumed that those chores will get done and that they hardly count.

One of my favorite responses to my FB status came from Susan King, one of the best housekeepers I know. She responded, "Once but not always." When I was much younger than I am now--say 25 years ago--every summer, I would give my house a thorough cleaning. I mean from top to bottom--like with a toothbrush! I organized inside every closet, cabinet, and drawer as well. But that craziness ended when I began kayaking and hiking and traveling in the summer months. In other words when I began to have fun! Well, there you go--that should tell me something.

Here recently after I began to fret once again about housework, it came to me that the solution to my housework quandary lies within me. I need a whole attitude adjustment! There is no "perfect" way to keep house. (And therein lies part of my problem--the dysfunction and futility of my thinking I'm supposed to do things perfectly. One of my mantras can be--Embrace imperfection!) Each of us must keep house to suit herself.

Besides embracing imperfection in my housekeeping, I also want to train myself to look for and see the good--to see what has been done and what's beautiful about my home--instead of seeing always what needs to be done. I also need to say to myself that something I've done to clean, organize, or improve my house is "good enough." And no damn guilt about what doesn't get done. Or about those drawers, closets, etc., that don't get cleaned out often enough. "Often enough," according to whose standards? Consciously lowering my standards about some aspects of housework is another really good idea!

I'll have to say that what bothers me most about housekeeping is that it seldom stays done. It's such a circular activity. From bed making to washing clothes to cooking and dish washing to dusting and vacuuming from window washing to mopping floors to bathroom cleaning and outdoor sweeping, it all so soon needs to be done again and again. Housework is a progressive activity that never stays done. I think that perhaps accepting that little truth and appreciating what does get done is half the housework battle.

On FB, I like how Linda Bush said, "Call it house-care instead of housework." Caring for my house is something I understand. I recall that she also had said that we need to be good stewards of our houses because they were given to us by God.

Bottom line is what I've already said on the Facebook status, I feel that I've wasted too much time, too much of my life, worrying/thinking about my housework or lack thereof and feeling guilty that I don't do better! Less time thinking about it and more time doing it might have helped, but oh well!

My other bottom line (and yes, I can have two bottom lines!) is that I'm just not disciplined enough to have a regular housekeeping schedule such as bathrooms on Monday, vacuuming on Tuesday, grocery shopping on Wednesday (grocery shopping could also be considered part of housekeeping), washing clothes on Thursday, etc.

I tend to do better when something bothers me so much that it needs to be done, or as I like to say, it calls to me. The glass storm doors or windows may say to me, "Wash me today. Let the sun shine in!" Or the over-flowing trash cans may call out, "Empty me. Or it's time to take a trip to the landfill today!" When I see no birds outside my windows, the empty bird feeders say to me, "Fill us please." Ad infinitum et ultra. Even so, sometimes I can choose to ignore their voices!

"A clean house may be a sure sign of a wasted life," but housework is a part of that life, so getting a good perspective or a handle on it is important to me. I want to remember how much I really do love my house as I blogged about over a year ago, and I want to remember Mindfulness, with a capital M. When I do choose to tackle a household chore, I want to do so mindfully and try to get all the fun and enjoyment out of it that I can. If it's some chore that I dread (like cleaning the stove), then I can set my phone alarm for an hour and work on it for an hour that day. It doesn't have to get all done in a day. I can work on it an hour again the next day or the next week.

Perhaps my Aunt Sandra  gave the recipe for true peace of mind about housekeeping: "Keep your house as clean as you want to live. Then have 2-3 friends who swear on their lives that the moment they hear you've passed on, they'll rush in and clean before the hordes start arriving!" Now that should do the trick!

Agreement No. 2 to make with yourself for the new year!

Way back in September, I wrote a blog about The Four Agreements. It was primarily about the agreements: Don't make assumptions. It was particularly about not assuming that someone got your text or email or other communication unless you have heard back from them.

Through the years, I imagine that there have been lots of hurt feelings and misunderstandings when someone did not receive another person's letter/communication. Recently, I heard of someone sending an apology letter that the other person never got. Sadly, the friendship ended permanently.

Another of the four agreements is one that I wish someone had taught me in my youth and explained to me what exactly it meant, for I have wasted a great deal of time with this one. It's don't take anything personally.

Wow, through the decades, I have taken so, so many things personally--when they have had nothing--absolutely nothing--to do with me! For example, my father was bi-polar, and I took this personally. What I mean by that is that I hid his illness from others (because my mother told me to) and because I thought that it would reflect badly on me (us). Also somehow I thought that it was my job to fix him.To figure out what would be the perfect treatment or medicine that would "cure" him. What a burden that was on a child and on a teen/young adult! I wish that someone had told me, "Your father is sick, it is not your fault, nor is it your responsibility to fix him (period)."

Also for most of my life, I took my older sister's behavior personally. From her years at home on through her three marriages, she kept me and my family turned upside down much of the time. In my 20s and early 30s, I stood ready to go at a moment's notice if  my parents should need me to help them with Lynda and her latest antics. She tried to control me (and everyone else), treated me poorly, and often made me feel bad about myself, even told a therapist that she "could destroy me." Finally in my 50s, I figured out that she was truly a narcissist, and then all of the pieces fell into place.

With my mother, I commiserated and thought that I could somehow help her with her sadness about my father and my sister and her own sadness from her early life.

Even my parents' not getting along, I took personally, felt somehow responsible for their misery, and thought that I could help them, so that they would be happy.

What illusions on my part! Or as one therapist asked me, "Who died and made you God?"

By the time I met and married my second husband, I thought that if only I were prettier (for by that time, everything for me had become boiled down to that issue), he would love me more and come home to me. Then after discovering that he was an addict, I thought that I could "fix" him.

After writing much of my memoir piece by piece here in my blog, I now understand myself and my family better than I ever have. I clearly see that I was so enmeshed in them and in their dramas that it would have taken a wiser person than I to extract myself from their lives sooner than I did. I'm just pleased to have now learned not to take their stuff personally--because it helps me not to take anything personally from anybody today, and that makes me a much happier person!

Of course, sadly all of this family stuff set me up to take things personally in the workplace too. That, along with my inability to communicate tactfully, caused some problems, dramas, and some unnecessary sadness for me among some of my co-workers, students, and their parents. But that's a story perhaps for another day.

Now with my daughter, my son-in-law, my friends--old and new--, my granddaughters, my neighbors, I try not to take anything personally. Of course, it still creeps in sometimes, but now I can say to myself, "It's not about you."

Because as Don Miguel Ruiz said in The Four Agreements, very little of what others "do is because of me. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering."

Boy, have I suffered needlessly. And played the victim way too many times! But I've learned and am still learning. I'm changing my mindset, looking at things differently. Rising above hurt and victimhood.

Ruiz further tells us, "Don't take anything personally, even when a situation seems so personal, even if others insult you directly. It has nothing to do with you. Their point of view and opinion come from the programming they received growing up. When you take things personally, you feel offended and your reaction is to defend your beliefs and create conflict. You make something big out of something so little because you have the need to be right and make everybody else wrong."

Now when I find myself feeling offended and trying too hard to prove my "rightness," it's a sure sign that I'm taking something personally! So I simply take a deep breath in, and let it go, let it go, let it go with the out breath--as many times as necessary. Try it. Conscious breathing is a step into mindfulness, into the present moment, into sanity.