Hickman Marriage, Continued

Sorry, This is going to take some time as I am trying to compile more information about Charles' backstory and those archives are not very searchable. Is searchable a word?

I have names and dates and locations of people and places. Currently, this novice detective is trying to pinpoint his exact route that led to his demise. Today, I took the kids to the Summerville Cemetery to find the Hickman graves. His father, H.H. Hickman, has about the largest grave in practically the middle of the cemetery. He was easy to spot.

The kids were with me. The kids are always with me and I can already my sister-in-law saying, "What is it with you and graveyards?" I pulled up a picture of Dr. & Mrs. Hickman's gravestones and showed them to Birdie. Those hawk eyes looked up and said, "There it is, Mommy!" And off we ran.

Chas, his wife- Blanche, and spinster daughter- Gladys are buried on a slightly smaller plot than his father's- northwest from H.H; directly west/ad…

Hickman Marriage

Dr Charles W Hickman and Miss Blanche G. Walton were married on a Wednesday afternoon at the Church of the Good Shepherd-- allow me to quote:

....The scene of a beautiful ceremony in which the society of that elegant suburb was considerably interested and which furnished a pleasing episode to the midsummer record. At six o'clock that beautiful churched commenced to fill with white dresses and black coats and to brighten with expectation, while the suggestive sweep of vehicles around the carriage walk anticipated the happy tendency of the evening's service. The church lamps burned low in the twilight and sweet music stole softly through the aisles, wound among the flowers and seemed to form wavelets about the marriage bell. At half past six the bridal party entered the church....

The ushers and bridesmaids have names I see again and again in the newspaper: Mr. Willet, Mr. Berckmans, Mr. Gibson, and Mr. Stovall; Miss Turpin, Miss Walton, Miss Cuthbert, Miss Walton, Miss Adams, an…

Playing Clue

For Birdie's birthday, a friend gave her the travel size game of "Clue." She loves to play it at night with Bennie and the 'rents. Of course, a parent has to help Bennie who is pretty much clueless {pun not intended}, but she enjoys participating and Fuzzy loves running in circles around the coffee table and making quite a mess of things. Husband and I lose patience with Fuzzy but try to be active participants in the game without cheating. Ya know, like looking at those cards the kids have flipped up or the ones they show us when they are asking questions about Colonel Mustard and if his favorite condiment is ketchup.

It's not, we have decided. He likes honey mustard.

In addition to playing Clue, I have been listening to Unsolved Murders, a podcast about, well.... unsolved murders. Let's combine this podcast and Clue playing with my research loving historically inclined self.

A few days ago I was digging through the archives of the hometown newspaper. This is…


These past few days {read: weeks} I feel like motherhood isn't my strong suit. I get mad at a lot of things that normally shouldn't bother me. Or, I look around and see my children chasing each other in the grocery store and want those little ducklings lined up behind Mama Duck and be good. Not because the running bothers me, rather- they look like they are being bad. I was rubbing my temples while the chasing was going on and the butcher said, "Hey! .... Hey! .... HEY! You!"

I turn around.

"Take two aspirin and call me in the morning. I see you rubbing your temples."

I didn't know if he was trying to be funny or to tell me that I needed two aspirin. The kids kept running and I collared the first one as she made the next lap around the bread island. I asked the baker for three children's cookies. He looked over my shoulder, "It looks like you need three children's cookies."

What's my deal today? Is he being funny or telling me that…

A little for the History Fanatics.

Something that has fascinated me of recent is the history of our new home. A few weeks ago, someone bought a house up the street that needs a "hug" as my neighbor calls it. It doesn't just need a hug, it needs CPR. As we were speculating who bought the house before it went on the market, I started researching the life-support home to see what I could find out.

You know what I found out?

House Be Haunted.

It has to be. Okay, so it doesn't have to be- but I have two words for you: Indian Graveyard.

Right, right, right... political correctness and all: Native American Place of Eternal Rest.

I am exaggerating. At least, I think I am.

sidenote: the people buying the house are going to do an awesome job restoring it and I cannot wait to see what will happen when they breath life into the walls. 

When I was a kid, there were two homes next to each other in my old neighborhood that my dad swore were built on a Indian Native American Place of Eternal Rest. In the span of about…

First Communion

My first born received her First Communion this past weekend. It was such a sweet and beautiful thing watching all those little second graders in their springtime best and white dresses.

If you follow me on Facebook, then you already know this. But, if not-- See her veil?

It is my Aunt's veil from when she made her First Communion. Both of her daughters wore it and then I wore it for mine. Her eldest daughter had a slew of boys and I grew up and had children of my own. As soon as Birdie started second grade, I asked my aunt if we could please use the veil again. She came through for me! The dress was one my aunt had made for her only granddaughter when her son was married. Don't they look like they were made for each other? 

She did such an amazing job and we were over the moon proud of her. Before the Mass, we told her to be on the lookout for a kid to either throw up or pass out- it happens every year. This year, they figured out if the air conditioner was on, nervous little…

Watery Rainbows

Fuzzy takes the award for being my first child to find food coloring and to also find it fascinating.


I was organizing one of my kitchen pantries the other day and did not think twice about putting two containers of 8 dye packets at Fuzzy height. No other kid took a second glance at those beautiful bright colored lids, why would he?


Truly, the food coloring was in the new home probably 68 hours before I round the corner and find a rainbow that had been hit by an 18-wheeler. Food coloring, when squeezed, will spray a beautiful arc on a white wall. There Fuzzy was, sitting in front of the pantry that he had never noticed before, covered in food coloring.


His new outfit-- toast. His skin-- tie-dyed. His smile-- massive.

We found 6 containers of dye with only two lids missing. They weren't in his ear, we checked. Score one for parenting. Peeking in those little ears, we discovered that he squirted food coloring in his canal.

Green, in case you were curious.

Just …