Deana Landers

Writer’s Note: I want to dedicate this column to our mayor, David Helms, who died on March 21. He told me once that this was one of his favorite columns. For 17 days and 17 nights, John McCrae, a soldier in World War 1 and a surgeon during the second battle of Ypres in Belgium, said that he and his comrades never took their clothes or boots off, except occasionally. “In all that time while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for 60 seconds,” he said.

She was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, twirling strands of her dark brown hair with her fingers. She looked pensive and a little preoccupied. I sat down next to her. “Are you afraid of going to see the dentist today?” “No, I’m afraid of the ghost,” she said. “Well, don’t worry. There are no ghosts in the dentist’s office,” I replied. “I am Not afraid of the dentist,” she exclaimed. “I’m afraid of ghosts!” “Oh!” That opened up an entirely different conversation that lasted a while.

With dark auburn red hair and beautiful green eyes, my mom bore 13 children - only 11 of us lived. On a farm in Juliette, Georgia, she cooked our meals, made our clothes, taught us how to care for ourselves, and loved us. One day I was sitting alone outside digging holes in the red clay beside our house. The dirt was hard, but I had a fork and I liked exploring and creating little clay houses for my stick people to live in. The wind was blowing.