This is an old photo of my son and me. It's one of my favorites because a fly had landed on his nose, thus the expression. When the photo was new, the fly could be seen flying away above his head.

MAIDEN — Hugo was on his way.

My career hadn’t landed me at The Gazette yet. I was,  however, an eight-year member of The Fourth Estate. During the day before Hugo, all news media was warning that the storm was going to reach so far inland that it would be pounding at our front doors.

I don’t think anyone around me was quite prepared for what came that night.

My son and I lived alone. My parents lived two city blocks away, which gave me a sense of security for most things but even they couldn’t save my son and me from a hurricane.

It wasn’t the first one I had been through. I was so young and had lived in so many states that I don’t remember which one it was. I wondered if it was Hurricane Hazel behind our car the night I sat backward on my knees in the back seat of a 1955 two-toned green Pontiac with an Indian head as the hood ornament. My mother assures me it couldn’t have been Hazel. Our family spent the night in a National Guard Armory that night. My mother is surprised that I remember the event.

In preparation for Hugo, I informed my then-16-year-old son what was coming and told him, “if anything happens, if you get scared, hear noise or anything, grab your mattress and pull it in the closet or bathtub behind or over you. Stay there  until it’s over no matter what happens.”

I was so antsy, I couldn’t sleep. I kept checking to see if the son was asleep. I worried about flying glass. First grade in Dover, Del., prepared me to worry about flying glass. We had air raid drills.

There was way too much quiet outside — eerily so.  At midnight, I went to the front door, and hearing nothing opened the front door and stuck my head out. The air was still, the sky was black but there was no hint of an approaching storm, as far as I knew.

Again, I tried to sleep, but to no avail. A few hours later, I again opened the front door. To my surprise, a section of my neighbor’s roof was lying in my front yard. It was still dark, and I had heard nothing.

I must have fallen asleep after that. I woke up, turned on the TV and learned how many people were without electricity. News reports were showing downed trees, homes torn apart and power lines down everywhere. Traffic lights were out. My neighbor’s roof had disappeared from my yard. 

The next thing I knew, the general manager at the newspaper where I worked was on the phone, telling me not to try to come to work. I had to know why. The answer I received was the power lines down vs. my safety (I did appreciate it but I’m a better driver than that, knock on wood), and the newspaper had no electricity. It was in the dark and the press won’t run without electricity.
But I’m a member of The Fourth Estate. I felt like the often falsely cited US Postal Service creed:  “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” 

I went to work anyway.

What people at the newspaper didn’t realize was that I had an old manual Royal typewriter at my desk. I had candles and holders in my drawer. It’s not that I was prepared for what was coming, I just had those things. I got in there and did the day’s obituaries, anything else I could do for others who couldn’t get there. The general manager and I went to the Sheriff’s Department to find out anything we could. I took my camera and took photos that showed destruction. We had enough photos for a double truck that day.

We sent everything we could to our sister paper, which hadn’t been affected by the storm. And with no electricity, we got out a paper that day.

I’m still proud of what we accomplished. That was dedication as far as I’m concerned. 

For those who don’t know, newspaper jobs can be thankless.

The icing on the cake came a few days later. I was driving through Hickory. Traffic lights were still not working. Right after I passed through an intersection, a Hickory Police officer pulled me over and started telling me I had run a red light and sped up to get through the intersection.

I was unable to respond because what would have come out of my mouth would have been very disrespectful, besides, after the way he behaved, I preferred to say it in court. And oh, I did my homework. I went back to that intersection, sat where he was sitting when I came through and shot photos, which showed that tree limbs and leaves blocked the traffic light from his vision. I called the city’s transportation engineer, who verified that the light wasn’t working that day.

I went to court with all my little goodies only for the judge to dismiss every traffic violation. A case where an officer had seen marijuana from the porch of someone’s home, entered their home and arrested them had taken up too much time that day. The judge admonished the officer to the point that if it had been me, I would have felt like crawling under the carpet.

It was the same officer who had written my citation.

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I felt so bad, and I carried that feeling with me until Wednesday.

As soon as I heard people talking about Allyson Siegel of Charlotte, I could have hugged her. Siegel is a UNCC student who upped the bid on the puppy to $4,000 and stopped the bidding when she took him home with her. Bless her.

Like Siegel, I have cats. I have had dogs, too. I intend to send her as much money as I can. It may not be much, but I love this woman for what’s she’s done. Anyone with me? To make a donation, contact the Animal League at 704-718-HOPE or info@algc.us. Our story says if Siegel gives Presious up for adoption, she will do it through the Animal League.

If that day comes, I hope I get my foot in that door first. Then Precious would be an aunt to Killer and Maggie, my son and his family’s chihuahuas.

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Davis is the woman charged with murder after she was accused of killing a man while driving drunk in Belmont the night of Aug. 7. She’s been in jail since her arrest. Davis is 44. In August, her hair was light brown but more than seven months later, it’s totally gray. Can someone grow an entire head of hair in a few months?

It’s easy to assume that hair coloring washed out while she was in jail but it could be something else.

In some horror movies, people have turned gray overnight. Whoever wrote those scripts had some knowledge of an autoimmune disease called alopecia areata.  Normally, the disease only affects pigmented hair. Thus a character could go to bed with a full head of hair and wake up the next morning totally gray with all their pigmented, or colored, hair lying on their pillow. 

Alopecia, or hair loss, can occur in any area of the body but is most noticable when it affects the scalp.

Web research on the condition concludes:

Alopecia areata is a common condition. It can occur at any age, and affects males and females equally. Women with alopecia areata are immediately confronted with the drastic change in their appearance, and the implications of this on how they view themselves and how society views them. The National Alopecia Areata Foundation has many programs that were created to ease the burden of all patients with alopecia areata, including women.

NAAF has been at the forefront of many fruitful studies that yielded answers to some of the largest questions surrounding the autoimmune disease. We are committed to continuing this search until all of the questions about alopecia areata have been answered and the mechanisms of this disease are clearly understood.

In the 1990s, it was determined that alopecia areata was an auto-immune disease, meaning that the disease is the result of the body producing an inappropriate immune response against its own tissues. In alopecia areata, it is the hair follicles that are mistakenly attacked by a person’s own immune system, resulting in the arrest of the hair growth stage.

Alopecia areata occurs in males and females of all ages and races; however, onset most often begins in childhood and can be psychologically devastating. Although not life-threatening, alopecia areata is most certainly life-altering, and its sudden onset, recurrent episodes and unpredictable course have a profound psychological impact on the lives of people disrupted by this disease. But there is hope. In all cases, hair regrowth may occur even without treatment and even after many years.

There are three types of alopecia areata; alopecia areata, alopecia totalis totalis and alopecia areata universalis.

Alopecia areata, the most common variation of the autoimmune disease, presents itself as round, smooth patches of various sizes, usually on the scalp.

Alopecia areata totalis presents itself as total loss of hair on the scalp.

Alopecia areata universalis is the rarest form of alopecia areata and presents itself as the loss of hair over the entire scalp and body.

In all forms of alopecia areata, the hair follicles remain alive and are ready to resume normal hair production whenever they receive the appropriate signal. In all cases, hair regrowth may occur even without treatment and even after many years.

This is not to say Davis has this condition but only a chance to educate people who have never heard of alopecia. I’ve seen people mistake it and assume people are cancer patients.

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St. Mary’s Chapel in Charlotte was where the vows were exchanged between my oldest niece, Meredith, and her groom, Thomas. A reception was given at Villa Antonio Ristorante in the Ballentyne community. 

Look at them. They’re even more handsome in person. I apologize for not uploading a wedding picture, but I couldn’t find one with both of their faces showing, to my disappointment.

The ceremony was held at St. Mary’s Chapel in Charlotte. On its Web site, http://www.charlottecultureguide.com/organization.php?id=192, it is described thusly: Nestled beneath the trees in an urban oasis, St. Mary’s Chapel was originally on the campus of Thompson Orphanage and dates back to 1892. Today it stands in Thompson Park, which also features a gazebo and a Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The chapel seats approximately 125 people and may be rented for weddings and other special events.

Thompson Park is so fitting for the wedding. Thompson is the maiden name of the bride’s mother. Meredith wore my grandmother’s favorite diamond ring during her wedding. How proud my grandmothers and father would have been Saturday.

I’ve seen lots of newly married couples who I didn’t think had their lives together enough to be getting married. I have a much better feeling about Mere and Thomas. They’re smart, talented and use good judgment.

Saturday was a beautiful day. The wedding was like a fairy tale. I hope Thomas and Mere’s lives are as beautiful as their ceremony and reception.

A toast to the happy couple: Here’s wishing that every subsequent day of your lives together are as beautiful as your wedding day.

Thomas and Meredith --- April 4, 2009

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As we expected, about 6 p.m. the snowfall had arrived in the parking lot. It must be the kid in all of us, but the snowfall brought lots of excitement. I’ve never had much trouble getting home (about 34 miles from our back door), but on this night as I started to leave at about 11 p.m., one of our photographers was giving me warnings.

He said he heard on the scanner that U.S. 321 was closed at Hardin Road, and I had to pass that very spot. It isn’t that I didn’t believe him, I just can’t accept my inability to get home from anywhere at anytime. Going home is one of my favorite things. Call it stubborn.

My worry started before the Hardin Road exit. It was as I hit the end of the off ramp of I-85 to U.S. 321 that a little dashboard light came on warning, LOW FUEL. Wouldn’t you know it, the gas stations I was counting on didn’t have electricity. No power. No lights. No gas. I couldn’t turn around.

So, I said a prayer and kept going. What usually is a 40 minute trip would take two hours. I’m cautious in the snow. I passed many vehicles off the side of the road. I saw rear-wheel-drive automobiles fighting road conditions. They appeared to be losing the battle.

Then came the Hardin Road exit. I was coming up on a vehicle with flashing blue lights. The only stopped vehicles weren’t in the lane I was travelling. They were in the southbound lanes — miles of stopped vehicles burning their headlights as far as I could see. My path was clear, at least as long as I still had fuel.

Lights were visible as I neared the Lincolnton exit. That had to mean electricity, lights and gas. I veered off to the right into the exit behind several vehicles. The snow was deep and wet. A red sports car halfway up the exit was spinning and sliding.

My next prayer — please don’t make me have to stop. To my misfortune, I had to stop, which made me the next car in a spin. OK, here was the plan. I was going to roll up paper in little logs, put them in front and behind my wheels, roll back and forth on them until they gave me traction, and drive right on out of there. I reached in the back seat then opened the driver’s side door only to be startled to see a dark figure standing at my door.

He said, “Mam, if you’ll straighten your wheels, we’re going to push you out of this.” Thank you. I don’t know who those fellows were, but bless their hearts. I bet they get that kindness paid back tenfold.

I was able to fill my tank, get back on U.S. 321 and zip right home on well-scraped roads while the mantra echoed in my head, there’s no place like home.

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I have about four heart-breaking things going on around me now, and this story made such a difference in my outlook today. When people ask if I’m a dog or cat person, well, I can’t answer that. I’m an all-God’s-creatures person. if I could rescue all the abused and unwanted animals in this world, I would.

And Rea? After reading his story in the files of The Gazette on Wednesday, I had to go on a hunt to find all the photos we had of him. What a face. It’s adorable, and getting rescued from a storm drain (poor puppy) made me want to give a standing ovation to Garry Gleason. Hats off to Garry.

It gave me more sadness to read that Rea had more misfortune with his recent fall but my spirits were lifted to new heights to read that when confronted with the coming bills for Rea to heal, Gleason was quoted as saying, “I would’ve spent every cent I had.”

What a great couple, Rea and Garry. What a great story and photos by Diane Turbyfill and John Clark, respectively.

Wow! I needed that. Pet that handsome puppy for me and applause for his human.

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Today had extra excitement in it for me. During my tenure at my second newspaper job, I had a friend named Donna Cox. She was a sweet girl who was determined to do a good job. She was cute.

We talked about work-related subjects, who we liked and didn’t, boyfriends and one particular Christmas tree in her apartment.

I hadn’t seen her in a long time but my son had. He was enrolled in a master’s degree program that she was in. He would tell me he talked to her and about me.

Although we hadn’t stayed in touch, I knew where she was, what she was doing and that her last named had changed when she married a photographer who works for a competing newspaper in the area.

I’ve meant to call her to see if we could get together since I started working in Gastonia. I haven’t gotten it done.

But today (Jan. 14), when I walked into the newsroom, there was the face. It was Donna, now Lahser instead of Cox. The way I feel about old friends is probably a tear-jerker country music song.

It was great to touch base again after all these years. And after she left, a fellow nearby asked me, “Who was that ‘girl’ you were talking to? Is she married?”

Oopsie!

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The path leading to it is an example I wish legislators could see before they pass legistation that will affect us all … legislation such as how Social Security deals with college students and taxes on the number of miles we drive. If a politician has been born of money and lived rich every day of her life, how can she understand what so many of us endure way down here?

My son was in the first class at Maiden High School to be inducted into the Beta Club as sophomores. I watched as a finger pointed at me from across the gym that day.

“David Painter said, ‘You know if you made it, your mom would be here’.” Both sets of eyes scanned the parents side of the stands. I don’t remember which one of them spotted me first or why they would assume I was there to see my son enter the Beta Club. After all, even way back then, I worked for a newspaper. I could have been there taking photos.

But they were right. I was there to see my son become a Beta.

We had plans for his college future and plans for paying for it. What we couldn’t plan for was what would come at and after graduation in the 1990s.

MHS graduation was outside on the football field. It was June. Ronnie had turned 18 near the end of March. He was going to be on the starting offensive team for Charleston Southern’s first football team. He had picked Charleston Southern because one of its coaches had graduated from Maiden. He knew Ronnie’s skills.

There was a lot of family there to watch Ronnie get his high school diploma. When an ambulance began backing up to the stands, I was saying a big prayer under my breath.

“Please don’t let this be anything that will upset Ronnie’s graduation.” So many things had worked that way before. The ambulance took my son’s father out of the ceremony and flew him to Richmond, Va. He had been released from the hospital that day after a kidney transplant.

Ronnie canceled his senior beach trip. His dad died two days after graduation. I hurried to get Ronnie to the Social Security office so college could still be a reality. The person we talked to at that office said that since Ronnie had turned 18 already, Social Security would not help with his college education.

We were on our own. Six months later, Ronnie’s biggest fan, my dad, died on Christmas Day.

Ronnie made it through two years of college, came home one day and said, “I have to drop out. I just can’t make it with the money like it is.”

It broke my heart. It would have broken my dad’s heart, too. There were few times I saw my dad cry, but I saw him drop lots of tears when something bad happened to my son. We cried together after a doctor told us Ronnie had tuberculosis. He didn’t have it.

In August 2001, Ronnie was at my house telling me he’d found a way to finish his bachelor’s degree. He tried to soften the blow by starting, “There’s no fighting going on anywhere in the world right now that would ever affect me.”

Nooooo. I knew what was coming next. The Army. I was still trying to talk him out of it when the Twin Towers fell. I have a photo of him standing at windows at the top of one of the towers when he was about 11. A month didn’t pass before he signed up. I feared the worst.

He finished meteorology school at the top of his class after basic training. Each time he finished at the top of the class, the Army put him in another class.

He was finally shipped out to Kuwait, back home, to Fort Benning, Ga., and then … to Iraq. Again, I feared the worst. As he left, he promised me he would come home alive. I had a friend in high school who told me he was going to die in Vietnam, and he did.

Ronnie did come home and with no injuries I can see. He finished him bachelor’s degree but not this month. This month, his daughter, wife and I watched him at Western Carolina University get his master’s degree.

Merry Christmas to me. I’m sure that sight would have brought tears to my father’s eyes.

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“Hey! Do my dishes,” he shouts.

 If I said I stay inside my warm house while all my neighbors cut my grass and pick up my leaves without any coaxing from me, I just bet everybody would think I was daydreaming or out of my mind.

And I didn’t pull a Huck Finn on them either.

The first chapter started during the time my son was in Iraq. I was outside cutting the grass when my neighbors to the north started walking toward me. I had never met them before. The family matriarch started talking as soon as I shut off the engine.

“Is your son in Iraq,” Sue asked.

He was. He had joined the Army less than 30 days after the twin towers of the World Trade Centers collapsed. I have a photo of him when he was about 11, standing at the windows of one of the towers overlooking New York.

She began telling me that their grandson was in the Army, too, and about where he had been. He was there with them.

“He loves to cut grass,” she said, “and we have this new riding lawn mower. If you don’t mind him mowing your lawn, you could use the rest of the day to relax or do whatever you want to do, and it won’t take him 15 mintues to finish.”

How could a female who never had to cut grass before argue with a deal like that?

So, for the next few years, he cut my grass religiously.

It wasn’t too much longer before my neighbor to the west knocked on my door.

“I just cut my grass, he said. “If you want me to, I’ll cut yours, and it’ll give me time to finish my cigar.”

What can I say?

Then there was the part about the tree branch. A giant branch from one of my four huge trees had fallen. There’s an older gentleman in the neighborhood who walks his daughter’s Yorkie. He stepped into my yard as I was leaving for work and said, “Would you like for me to bring my chain saw down here and cut that branch up so you can handle it?”

I’ve always had great neighbors, but nothing like this.

The next day, that branch was all cut and piled up at the edge of the yard where the city picks up those kind of things. I had never talked to this man before. I was starting to scratch my head. (For people who don’t know the expression, that means it had me thinking.)

So, the next time I saw the man, I asked him what payment he wanted for the task.

He replied, “Well, if you wouldn’t mind, after the leaves fall I wouldn’t mind picking up some of the nuts in your yard.”

I forgot to mention that those branches are falling straight off four giant pecan trees that produce bigger pecans than I see in any stores.

Sue’s husband knocked on my door a few days ago. He had a huge bowl full of pecans in his arms. He had mulched leaves on one side of my yard and picked up about 10 pounds of pecans.

“Sue and I were noticing the other day that all your neighbors are picking up the nuts in your yard, and you don’t seen to be getting any of them. I’m going to take these home and shell them tonight. When I get through, I’ll bring you half of them.”

I really do have some great neighbors.

As for the others, if you can’t afford a swimming pool, just plant some pecan trees.

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