Memorial to a Southern Mentor - Mike Mullins

For any of you that might not know, I grew up in a small town in Kentucky. Nowhere near the big cities, but tucked away into the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. I lived in a tiny, close knit community. In a county with one stop light, where any stranger could easily be connected to you through one degree of separation. 

shed at the Hindman Settlement School, Hindman, KY

But I wasn't born into my Kentucky citizenship, it took a great deal of indoctrination. You see, my family moved to Pippa Passes, Kentucky from eastern Ohio when I was 8 years old. At first it was a real struggle for me. Everything was new, I didn't know anyone, and I could hardly understand what people were saying through their country twangs. In short time, however, my heart melted for the place and the good people that live there. 

the view from the top of my hill in Knott, County, KY

Even now, after 6 years away, that region and those nestling hills represent the strongest ties I have. There were a few people who taught me to love Kentucky the way that I do. One of those mentors was my first boss, Mike Mullins, at the Hindman Settlement School. 

Mike and his wife Frieda were staples in my life from church. Where I grew up, it was still a cultural understanding that it takes a village to raise a child. As a result, I had a great many wonderful adults who invested themselves, at different levels of involvement, into my up-bringing. My own parents were raised in Ohio, and though they enjoy and respect Appalachian heritage, it wasn't something I could inherit from them. It was through my kinship with people like the Mullins' and my dear friend Virginia Combs that I grew into the Kentucky girl I am today.

Mike passed away yesterday, at age 63, from a heart attack. Even from all the way up north in Tipp City, OH I can feel the great void his passing will leave in Knott County, KY. He will be sorely missed.

The following is an excerpt from a paper I wrote while doing a summer internship at the Hindman Settlement School during the summer of 2005. 

* * *

Evening up the Score 

One morning, as I pull into work I meet Mike walking down the hill from the summer school girls’ dorm. Five or six little girls came in tow, donning tangled hair and glittered jeans, still sleepy-eyed. Mike holds a rifle in one hand. 

tackling some copperheads with a rifle

“Is that the only way you can get them up in the morning?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. Mike’s not really a laugher. He’s a happy guy, but with his job, it's as if he's too busy to smile. In all of the pictures he’s taken over the years for local and statewide newspapers, Mike mostly sports this same “get on with it” look, his mouth sometimes open in conversation with the photographer, telling him what he should remember to include in the shot. Mike’s still a bit of a newspaper man himself. He knows what makes good news. He’s now spent much more time as the cover story than in the paper business, but he’s still uncomfortable in front of the camera. 

the lucky hawk

This particular morning he’s got his sleeves rolled up around his elbows doing some of the more hands-on work of his executive position. 

“He shot a bird,” a little girl says matter-of-factly as she runs past me towards breakfast. 

Mike points to the front of the office building with his free hand. “Some crows were gangin’ up on this hawk over there.” He slaps the butt of the rifle on his palm like a baseball bat. “I just evened up the score a bit.” 

He chuckles so abruptly I believe he surprises even himself. Just reveling in another one of the perks of his job, it seems. 

* * * 

Seems like this happened just yesterday. It is easy for me to imagine Mike sitting in his office in the morning, the summer sun just peeking above the hilltops. I can still smell the mustiness of the old offices, hear the creak in the floorboards, feel my fingers fumbling with the old door latch. I might have sat down for a moment in a rocking chair in his office, looked around at the frames on his wall, his collection of hand-crafted election signs. One brittle board painted with the words: "Jesus is Soon Coming."

only one sign of many

In that moment or moments like it, he might have asked me what my plans were next, listened to me as I shared some unfocused dreams. Then he probably told me that I could do a lot more than I thought I could, and that whatever I did choose to do, to do it well. 

This, I know he said: No matter where I ended up, I could always come home. There would always be a place for me in Knott County. I am so grateful to know that. 

Mike's birthday/my going away lunch with some HSS "family". A smile here! 

Tippacanoe & Old Stuff Too! (or) Antique Antics 2

A picture diary of a fun pre-valentine's day gift: a day with some lovely gals doing something I love to do! Mostly, this is a look-what-I-found entry. Bear with me. Ooh and ahh if you wanna.

The antique shop we visited had a great selection of creepy dolls, as shown in these pictures. And check out that awesome Santa Claus washing basin and pitcher. 

It seems odd to me that someone would want to collect creepy doll heads and display them in their home. But then again, I come from an odd family, so who's to judge. 

When I was a child, my mother kept her doll collection in a large glass-doored curio-cabinet in my bedroom. I used to sneak into the drawer at the bottom of the locked cabinet. I would shuffle open a brittle box and inside? A beautiful, pristine original Barbie in a black and white swimming suit. Her hair was so soft, like the underside of a puppies ear. The other dolls in the collection included some Madame Alexanders and several dolls collected by her mother and grandmother during international travels. I always felt like their little eyes were watching me sleep.

And now, for the booty that came home with me. No creepy over-sized clowns made it into my shopping basket. But I did come home with three awesome things:

 

Wanna come visit me and go shopping? It could be arranged. I have a guest room.

Many Earrings Made in Absence

Hello, internet friends. I went on an adventure or two in the last couple weeks and so have experienced a little (much needed) distance from the internet. You should see how behind I am in all my Words With Friends games! But I've returned with a couple finished projects. I've been doing a little tv-time crafting lately.

Mainly, I've been making earrings. Some are inspired by some sparkly fishing lures I picked up at Cabella's on the way home from a long weekend visit to Ann Arbor. One pair went to my mother for her 57th birthday. She opened the gifts as she sipped on her first mango lassi at a very grown up Indian food dinner treat from her very grown up youngest daughter. I didn't snap any pictures of her earrings, but they were a hit.

The little green bead on the top of the below earring also made an appearance on mom's earrings. It was originally from a wind chime that my family had at the island house at Put-In-Bay. Mom was excited to see it in a new form. The best kinds of gifts, in my humble opinion, mix old memories with new beauty. And now my mom and I have matching-ish earrings. It's a new take on the broken heart, best-friend necklace.

I thought I'd also share this shot I took while I was doing the earring photo shoot. I flung on a coat and some rubber boots over my favorite lazy day outfit: my adult-sized zipper sleeper (minus the feet, sadly). 

Lots of bloggers take beautiful pictures of themselves looking all perfectly primped and pulled together. Not me. I am a schlub. Don't expect cute coiffures and pressed hems from me. Sometimes, maybe I'll get it together for that- but more likely than not, my house is looking cuter than I am on any given day.

I already have more to share with you. Get ready for a post valentines recap of an awesome antiquing day that I had with "the Amys" (two friends who share a great name!) today. 

For now: I hope tomorrow is fantastic for you. Valentines day isn't my favorite, but I do love vintage-y valentine fare. This handkerchief belonged to my grandmother. I found it crumpled up yesterday in a red silk purse hidden away in a box of family things in my closet. 

The design is by Carl Tait. I did a little online seeking and found out he has a vast collection of handkerchief designs. They are really wonderful- playful, quirky and bright.

fyi (or) at a new site

It probably won't affect most of you, but for your information:
This blog can now be found at  
glasshufffull.blogspot.com
(instead of the previous sarah-huff.blogspot.com)

This is in further efforts to make the site easier to find and reference. Now you can tell all your friends more easily, AND they don't even need to know my name to remember the name of the blog.

Also, I kinda dig those 3 f's in a row. Don't you? Seems like a design opportunity.

p.s. the linkwithin widget below each entry will be out of commission temporarily while the site catches on to the newness. (or something like that...)

3 Reasons I Love My Local Public Library

1. The VHS selection in the Children's Area.  Perusing the shelves in the Children's Video section of the Tipp City Library is like time-traveling to my own childhood. Today, I came home with a fistful of old videos. The clear, plastic cases are scratched to a dull grey with hand written dewey letters and numbers on the beaten spines. I marked several for-later-rental, Mighty Ducks, Ninja Turtles, and some Shirley Temple numbers to name a few. Today's take-home winners were: Pollyanna, Angels in the Outfield, and a Huff Family favorite: Sarah Plain and Tall. 

If you aren't familiar with the latter, you should be schooled. The film is based on Patricia Maclachlan's Newberry and Scott O'Dell award-winning children's novel of the same name. It is about a woman from Maine who moves out west to become a companion to a lonely widower and his two children. Made for television by the Hallmark Hall of Fame, the movie features a young Christopher Walken as a soft-spoken, heart-broken farmer and Glenn Close as Sarah, an independent (and plucky!) romantic with a penchant for poetic descriptions of daily life. This was my introduction to both actors, so you might imagine my surprise when I found out Christopher Walken was not usually cast as a kind, quiet, rural gentleman. In my heart, he's still just a sweet lil' leading man.

Images of Walken and Close in "Sarah Plain & Tall"

2. You can sit and read for free without ever buying a cup of coffee.  I like a coffee shop as much as the next girl, maybe more. But I'm a thrifty booger that hates to spend money on things she can easily make at home. Still there is one thing that you get at a coffee shop for which there is no homemade facsimile: a sense of community. Even if you don't speak a word except to order a cuppa-jo, there's a homey togetherness feeling to a good coffee shop. An ambiance that makes the overcharged bean juice worthwhile. Except, that you can get all that for free in a good library. Big picture windows, rocking chairs and couches, surrounded by words penned over hundreds of years of human thought. The perfect place to finger through magazines to which you can't afford subscriptions.  

3. All are welcome. Men and women old and young all frequent the library. And, yes, maybe the purpose of the facility has changed. Mainly, there is less book reading and more movie rental. But the institution remains important to the area. It is a place to receive information about taxes, local history, and it is a public space- often, the only one with a free gathering place. Today, as I finished a book on a couch in the front of the Tipp Public Library, I witnessed: elderly men and women chatting over the contents of their reading list, a quilting group, teenagers flipping through periodicals, and a clutch of pre-teen boys sneaking snacks out of crinkly brown paper bags. There's something beautifully old-fashioned about a Library, I hope that others see their charm and importance as I do. I would hate to see them stage out of our societies with the influx of a more digital world. 

On a side note. When I left the library this afternoon, I found a slip of paper folded over and wedged in my car's driver's side window. I had a note written in slanting cursive. It reads:

1-30-12, 3PM

Hello. What year is your Saturn? Does it burn oil? Mine is a 2000 SL2. It burns oil!! 

         Phyllis   (She signed her full name and gave her phone number.)

Though the note is charming -in a small town way that would have been creepy in a big city- I am not sure what to do with it. Should I call this stranger and exchange notes on our oil leakage? My car does, in fact, leak quite a bit but there's nothing to be done about it at this stage in its life. Do I call and tell her that? 

I imagine this sweet, old woman who saw my car thought that, if I had been in ear shot, the coincidence of our similar vehicles would have lead to a nice conversation. Probably, she is in need of a conversation today and I understand that sentiment. I can truly empathize. I have said only a few words out loud today. Most of them were to myself. These past few months living on my own have helped me gain quite a bit of insight into the solitary life. I'm surrounded by friends for a good portion of my week, so this isn't a call out for sympathy, just an acknowledgement of God teaching me new lessons daily. 

Little shared moments mean so much to so many. I am so grateful for the multitude of friendships I have. I am blessed to be a part of a large community, but not everyone is so surrounded by relationship. As I walk my day through and entwine with other lives on the way, it is important that I make every interaction, with strangers and friends alike, one that communicates respect and love and inclusion.

Adventures in Cincy (and) The Pink Chair

On Monday, I went on an excursion with a friend in Cincinnati. I had only visited the city briefly before for a concert, and was glad to have a tour guide who knew the city a little more intimately. It was a grey day with winds forecasted up to 50 mph. I was in need of an adventure. And an adventure we had.

First stop was lunch at a great little diner called The Bluebird Restaurant. I like to think myself a sort of Reuben aficionado. I tend to order them where ever I go and compare. The issue is that I never really remember which ones are good and which aren't so good. Let it be remembered that this was a good one. Plus, it came with these awesome hash browns that had scrambled eggs mixed in with the potato shavings. Whodathunkit? And for lunch! The flavors were probably assisted by the cute vintagey surroundings and sweet attentive waitresses. Check out the individual jukeboxes at the tables!

Much of the day we spent tooling around the city via car. It was chilly and there was lots of ground to cover. Perhaps on another day we would have hoofed it, but this was just right as it was. My chauffeur was kind enough to slow down whenever he sensed my camera raising for a photo opp. Excuse my through the-dirty-window photography.

And check out this crazy building that looks totally flat! I am not convinced that it was even wedged shaped. I think maybe it was a Harry Potter-esque facade for something very magical. But the sign just says, "Church of Christ". Hmmm. 

Again, we learned the lesson that museums are not open on Mondays. (I have learned this lesson too many times. You'd think it would stick by now.) But made the most of it by troopsing about in the gardens beneath the Cincy Art Museum. There was a large reflection pool there. I found some saturated osage oranges floating in one end. They looked beautiful, like summer fruits, out of place in the dingy water. 

 

The day culminated with a impromptu (which was kinda the theme for the day) venture into an enormous Goodwill store in a Cincy suburb. Whereupon, I found the perfect little pink chair to accompany my teal couch and yellow furniture in my cozy little -colorful!- living room. It was only $20 and just barely fit in my car for the ride home. Meant to be!

My new piece of furniture reminds me of a storybook I grew up with. "A Chair for My Mother" by Vera B. Williams.  It's a sweet story about a family who lost all their belongings in a house fire. As a child, I loved the story for the bright splotchy paintings and the details of imagery. As an adult, I can see that there is a serious nature to the story. One of heartbreak and trials. A community comes together to restock their home, but it is still left to the family -grandmother, mother and daughter- to take the final steps to recovery and purchase a big comfy chair to put their feet up in. It's a story about regaining self worth after receiving charity, and about recovering from loss. 

As I collect the pieces of furniture in my home, I hope they will last and that they will become family heirlooms. I know that I sometimes struggle with putting too much weight on the importance of things. I love the design and the beauty of craft and construction. And when you keep a house by yourself, your home kind of becomes your family in many ways. But it is good also to remember that the spaces are only made important by the moments and memories shared with people in them. I would never wish to lose my things to disaster, but I'd like to think I wouldn't be lost without them.

The Single Homemaker (or) Juice for 1

There are a lot of blogs out there. Blogs about cheezeburgers and blogs about videogames and tons of blogs much like my own, about pretty things and pretty moments. Still, there's an obvious trend amongst the crafty homemaker blogs. So many of the blogs I follow are the anecdotes of wives and mothers. They are homemakers, in an awesome and traditional way (I have nothing against mommies and wives). But  I'm also a homemaker, sans a husband and sans kiddies. There's a market for a lady like me in the blogosphere. I'd love to see more of us out there. Where are all the single ladies?!

This has been a busy week filled with lots of social outings and innings. I think that I am really becoming comfortable in my skin as a lady who lives on her own. AND I came up with a fix for a single lady issue I've been struggling with. 

Whenever I drink juice, I always cut it 50/50 with water. (I'm sweet in nature, but not-so-much in the tastebuds.) Some years ago, I started just keeping a frozen juice container in the freezer and simply spooning out enough mix for a glass at a time. This works fine for the heftier plastic containers that you can snap the top back on, but the cardboard and aluminum can rolls present a sticky problem. 

My solution? An old glass soda bottle and a liquor pour spout. Half a "shot" of juice is plenty sweetness for my drink. (The cutie pie glass adds a little extra saccharine, though, doesn't it?) Just take what you need and refrigerate until the next time. 

Any nifty "fixes" you've discovered in your happy homemaking adventures? Do share.