"Melvue" is my Great Aunt's, Marie Elizabeth Lucas, house in rural Columbia, South Carolina. My sister and I spent just about every summer here when we were kids. My aunt and her friend, Shelby Driggers, taught us a lot about nature, art, fishing, poker, and Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I wanted to come and visit before going to travel around the world. I bought Aunt Lib a WebTV and she's now online -- no small feat for an 83 year old technophobe (it's just a remote control, Lib!) Feel free to drop her email encouraging her: melvue@webtv.net
I've put together a photo montage of her wonderful house (that she built herself, mind you), and some of the places Ashley and I would frolic away the summers. These are the best of those photos -- enjoy!
Here's a poem she wrote about me...
Phil
"Aunt Lib! Ashley's in the bathtub again
Splashing water all over the place!"
These tattling words came from her big brother,
My great nephew with an angelic face.
Words like these came from the mouth
Of a four-year-old with a disciplined look.
He played the part of mom and dad
Without consulting a parent's book.
Phil was born in the state of Texas.
Six months passed before I saw
The heavenly bundle of bouncing joy
And a very proud "maw" and "paw."
Bald and slick was his head
With eyes blue as two sapphires,
Long eyelashes that fanned his cheeks,
And a happy smile to which an angel aspires.
The family moved from Texas to Atlanta;
From Columbia to Atlanta was our traveled trail.
All holidays and weekends were spent
Visiting, taking gifts without fail.
I was greeted with a kiss and hug,
Followed by a whisper in my ear.
"Will you let me go back home with you?
My mom told me she doesn't care."
From birth he has been a challenge;
He holds invisibles strings as you dance.
His acts and thoughts he has blueprinted
And are mentally executed far in advance.
Always placed on an adult level,
Here Phil functioned and did well.
His mind and hands I always kept busy --
This made me a genius fit for show and tell.
The illusion of my being a genius
Led him to make a morbid request:
That when I died he wanted my head
Before I was put to eternal rest.
From head to toe he was a boy --
Not destructive, loud or brash,
But sensitive, caring and considerate --
Who could pose as an angel in a flash.
As long as he allowed me,
I gave him the best I knew how.
With the maturing and spreading of his wings,
I now sit and applaud him taking his bow.
(C) Elizabeth Lucas, 1995
Lines and Rimes, A collection of poetry