New University City Branch Charlotte Meck Library

University City Branch Library

5528 Waters Edge Village Drive, Charlotte

Opened February, 2025

So I crossed the swollen Catawba some 50 miles before it pours into the Wateree. We were four weeks into Puxatawny Phil's winter extension and I had one foot solid in my 6th decade of life.

I criss-crossed the interstates, exited on a six lane highway that used to belong to an old sod farmer and squealed to a stop in what used to be my mom's driveway.

Dad jumped in, pulled in his cane and buckled up.  "Where we going?"

"The libary."  (Leaving out the middle r.)

He perked up. "The new one?!"

"You know it." I hit the gas.

The University City Branch of the Charlotte Mecklenburg Library just opened in a brand new location, 38,000 square feet with over 60,000 books, magazines and more.

We took my niece and nephew along to give the library a run for it's money to see how well it holds up.

It held up well.

In addition to common Library features, this one has laptops patrons can check out to use in the library.  They have a lot of events offered, including a yarn, hook and supplies exchange on March 16th at 2:00.  AARP is currently set up to help seniors do their taxes.

I love the little coves where you can sit and read in a semi-private area.  Also, I love the booths by the back window that overlooks the lake.

And get this, when you put a book in the drop box, it is automatically scanned, credited as a return on your account and sorted by genre. Like magic.

After I checked out my books, I found the kids in the non-fiction section and dad in a comfy chair reading a magazine. I swooned when the kids selected piles of books AND had their own library cards. Shucks, I'm so proud. 

Grief Update

Daylight was barely breaking as I crossed the Saluda and was full blinding me by the time I crossed the Catawba. Charlotte traffic was mild at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. 

With time to spare, I pulled into Starbucks. With the creamy caramel sliding over my tongue and with my magazine before me, I opted for my phone and jumped on Facebook.

And there it was: Shine on my beautiful child.  A message from mom in the form of an ad. That's SO perfectly something she would say, I could hear her voice in my head. It took my breath away.

I accepted the words. Had she been here, she would have spoken them. Now that the shock and disbelief have passed, the tremendous longing for her is intense.

Does she know I'm shining on? Does she know we are soldiering on? Does she know I feel her love and pride every single day? She left me such a treasure. ❤️

Imagine & Jimmy Carter

Is anybody else uneasy with John Lennon's song Imagine being sung at Jimmy Carter's funeral?

Jimmy Carter lived a life of service to the Lord God of Heaven, the maker of Heaven and Hell. He spent his life preaching that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.  He very seriously believed in Heaven and Hell and worked diligently to spread this knowledge to others so he would in turn see them in Heaven.

This song is the opposite of what Jimmy Carter believed and I think he would have been very sad to hear it song at his funeral.

He did not preach for people to "live for today," he preached for them to live for eternity.

Singing this song at his funeral seems insanely reductive to his life of preaching the gospel:

"Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us, only sky

Imagine all the people
Livin' for today
Ah

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too....."

I'm in Perfect Health... Except....

Sitting on a swiveling chair, I so casually said "My mom died this year," and I added "Unexpectedly" as if that explains everything.

The doctor glanced my way and, upon some mental calculation that I was not breaking apart, turned back to her computer. I can see her thinking... Okay. Mom's dead. Let's check that off our list.

I wanted to grab her sleeve, her sparkling white medical coat, her RUXINGX Smartwatch constipated with its information of her steps, her heart rate and her deep sleep patterns.

"No!!" I wanted to say. "It's not a box to check on MyChart that will spread out among states and doctor's offices.... blood pressure is good, weight is high, mother died, no allergies to drugs. "

"No, I beg you, this is important." I want to explain. "I haven't taken a breath since the end of June."

The doctor examines me. " Let me listen to your heart," she says, pulling out her stethoscope and squinting her eyes. She pats the examination table, "Hop up here."

Yes, an examination table, I think. That's what I need. Listen to my heart. It broke June 18th. It was in a slow decline for a week and then boom, broke, just listen!

I breathe deep, several times. She listens and nods accordingly, "Yes that's good!" she nods.

"No!!" I want to scream. "Don't you hear? Nothing! Nada. Empty heart. Didn’t you hear me?? My. Mom. Died.

I can't say this. My voice catches in my throat. My body betrays me and seizes up.

"OK then," she helps me off the table like I'm a tottering old woman.

"See you in six months!!" She cheerfully smiles. I am speechless. Really? 6 months? I'll be better? Six more months without my mom and you think I'll be fine.

I tuck the appointment card in my purse and hope. 

In Which We Bring Back Cousin David....Again

So. I crossed the N. Edisto and much later, the Saluda and Broad, hung a hard left and later crossedtheCatawba at 751 feet above sea level in search of CousinDavid.

I found him in a corner of my dad's house in a city of 2,400,000 bringing in the new year. He looks low-key, but watch out. He's a real hum-dinger after midnight. He's just subdued here in a mashed potato, ham and apple bread induced stupor. And? You might notice he has aged a decade. But don't say anything.

Speaking of hum-dingers, 2024 was a rough one. We ushered 2025 humbly bowed in prayer after prayer. I hesitate to say this, lean in close and I'll whisper. I think '25 will be a good year. I know, right? Look at me, allpositive and everything.

I have to say that 2024 did produce something good.... baby Niall!

Such a happy baby! Like 2024 is the best thing that ever happened to him.

But back to CousinDavid.

He brought me some eggs from his chickens. Rain or shine, holiday or not, he delivers. In a fluke of Brilliance, CousinDavid sold his city house and moved out to the country since you've heard from him. He chases snakes and all.

Between the eggs, the Tacky Tour and New Year's Eve, we spent a lot of time together. It was so fun to see him again. And I know my faithful readers have wondered where he's been. So here's the tea.

TheLittleMissus has kept him busy out on the new farm, ain't she a keeper?!  She's my favorite on account of how we endured a doosie of a situation together one time.

The Surgeon Dug Deep and Stirred Up More than Cataracts

The bright hot white light in my eye was borderline painful, there was no color kaleidoscope from the refraction of instruments or scrubs. This was cold and harsh, bright, dramatic and imposing, hostile.

I felt no euphoric relief from the IV, just a sense of impatience running through my veins .

"You're doing great." The surgeon would try to speak soothingly. He would quietly request an instrument or firmly issue a directive focused solely on the eye before him, the eye that would sob hysterically in the motherless recovery room

The nurse responds to the anesthesiologist as they discuss Christmas plans.

I cannot possibly hold my eye open with that bright beam overhead. I'm sure I'm not doing great, just great.

The nurse pushes my cot through the halls to the recovery room. I want to scream as we pass the prep rooms just to scare the patients about to endure this. I think it would be funny. I resist the urge but grin nonetheless.

The tears explode fast in recovery when my body reconciles debilitation and my motherless status.

Mom. I want my mom.

I whisper it and gasp with the shock of the reality that I won't ever see my mom again in Earthly form.

The nurse runs to my side anxious, confused

"What's going on?" 

"My mother died recently," I tried to say, "And she was always here for me." The lack of her presence at my recovery takes my breath away.

The desolation of nothing but bright light followed by the desolation of a dark client empty recovery room was too much. 

I broke.

The nurse wheeled me out to my daughter's car, Marjorie, my mother's namesake. Her eyes melted with compassion, "What," she whispered. 

"I miss my mom."

She nodded, reached over and tucked my loose hair behind my ear and slid the car in gear, wiping a tear from her eye. "Let's get you a Starbucks coffee."

Mom always got me a 3 Musketeers bar, but... OK!

I slide the old timey large, dark sunglasses on over my bandages and accept that I'm the old person now.  

Hold 'Er Tight, Dad

I'm in the passenger seat of a '93 silver Chevrolet pickup truck with the wind blowing my hair into my eyes and my dad beside me, hands firm on the wheel.

"She's strong," he says.

"WHAT?!" I scream over the wind and loud engine.

"I said, 'She's strong,' I have to hold her tight."

I'm taken back 46 years earlier in an even older pickup we called Sanford where our positions are reversed. I am at the wheel; dad, the passenger, windows down.

"Hold 'er tight," he tells me. "She'll want to pull to the right."

He is teaching me how to drive on a stick shift pickup. I am 14 years old and I have to stretch my legs full out to reach that clutch. 46 years later I still drive a stick, still stretch full out.

Since mom passed, the two of us remain, still side by side trying to survive, still loving an old vehicle, an old pickup.

Mom was so mad when he bought Sanford, mainly because of it's color -- chartreuse, but also because it was so old. The stick shift didn't bother her, she was tough, I get it from her. And she could drive anything, including my motorcycle which she crashed into her own Mustang without leaving my driveway, her mother swinging on my front patio, yelling at her. Otherwise, she drove good. I mean, normally.

Mom broke her wrist that day, requiring surgery and it never recovered well. She broke her other wrist years later, also at my house, when she missed the chair she meant to sit in. It missed her, actually, by rolling out of position. She didn't realize the chair was on wheels.

An 18-wheeler passes us on I-485 Outer and the extra gust of wind jerks the old truck. 

"Hold 'er tight!" I scream.

Dad's knuckles go white.

Dad with his first car, the Green Machine, a 1950 Plymouth, outside his campus dorm.

The interstate is clogged, bumper to bumper, but moving fast. Very dangerous and most cars around here have minor dents.

The 2.38% increase in population this past year has created problems for the department of transportation. 117 people move to Charlotte every day, making it one of the fastest growing cities in the US. The annoyance of which dad expresses every time we go out for a ride - or "rotating" as dad calls it. We pronounce it "rotatin'" with a nod to Uncle Moose.

When Uncle Moose and dad went out rotatin', I was not allowed to go along. I'm not positive what all they did, but once a year they would return with Uncle Moose driving a new Cadillac for Aunt Dawn. Then Moose and Dawn would have two cars in Charlotte to drive back home to upstate NY. Every year, Aunt Dawn got a new caddy and every 8 or 9 years she would get a new Doberman Pinscher. I was scared to death of those dogs. That was how my uncle expressed his love.

Dad and I pull into my brother Steve's driveway and kill the engine.

The quietness is shocking. I comb my hair with great difficulty, crank open the heavy steel door and fall out of the truck, giving my brother my usual greeting, "Oh, hi Steve."

Dad used to buy used cars in NC and we'd drive them up to NY to sell. New Yorkers loved the cars with no rust. I loved having a different car every few months. Dad would let me drive them around for a few weeks before selling them. I especially loved this one.

I don't know how many more years we have living side by side without mom, but Hold 'er tight, dad, Hold 'er tight.

Snapping Green Beans

I'm snapping beans in a large, bright unfamiliar kitchen in a city of 2,321,000 at the end of the first quarter in the 21st century.

I was 12 when my mom let me use a sharp knife to snap beans grown in dad's unreasonably large family garden. She taught me to nestle the smooth end in my palm, extending my pointer finger on the back of the blade.

"After you snap the ends, cut the beans in half and set them in the collander," mom instructed while Nana slid her eyes up to peek at me.  

"It's time to cool off," mom would periodically announce. Nana, Lisa and I would set the beans aside and jump into the pool.

The neighbor boys would come swim, standing shoulder to shoulder at the pool's edge while my brother, in his cowboy hat up on dad's shoulders would shoot his toy gun at the boys. "Pow! Pow!" One by one the boys would fall into the pool like a row of dominoes.

A bird sat outside the fence eating dad's blueberries through the netting.

My brother was 2 by then, sucking his two middle fingers at nap time and wearing his blankie thin.

We girls would get back to the business of the beans, our swimsuits dripping through the wide, scratchy chair webbing.

The new owners have long since filled in the pool, covering it with grass. I can't imagine not wanting your pool.

Even dad, who couldn't swim proper enjoyed the pool, flopping and splashing frantically as he grasped the pool's edge moving slowly down the length of the pool.

Uncle Bill had to rescue him one time. Dad lost his grip of the edge and began to plunge toward the hopper. Uncle Bill tossed his large, bulky video camera to the ground and rescued his brother. 

People today won't understand how rare a video camera was the the 70s. People today have a video camera perpetually in the palm of their hand.

Yesterday somebody somewhere dropped their video camera (phone) from an airplane as they were jumping out. The phone filmed sky and earth in rotation until it landed with a thud in a pig sty at which point it kept filming nothing but blue sky until an enormous pig's face appeared. The thing recorded the pigs until a farmer's face appeared. The farmer posted the video, it went viral within hours and the owner retrieved his phone.  Hi Ho the Dairy-O.

Mom would carry our snapped beans into the knotty pine, dark kitchen and rinse them well, all the while humming a tune or listening to Jim Nabors singing from a 5 foot long walnut stereo system. She would boil those beans forever, blowing her steamy bangs off her forehead, having loosened them from her bandana. It was a fancy bandana, don't get me wrong. Probably called a kerchief back then. Mom would cringe hearing me call it a bandana. 

As I snap beans 51 years later with my brother's daughter, at my brother's house, I smile at fond memories and make a note to ask my sister-in-law if he still sucks his fingers in the night. I'm told he still has his blankie.  I toss the beans in heated oil for 8 minutes, pour some soy sauce and rice vinegar on them and sprinkle them with ginger. I blow the bangs out of my eyes.

Indulge Cookbook Review

So... I love Valerie Bertinelli's new cookbook called Indulge.  I made three of the recipes this weekend and had some friends over for an outdoor picnic under the fairy lights. Very much Indulge style.

Pretzel Buns.  

I strongly recommend. These are easy to make, but time consuming. Detail oriented. Caution:  eat them fresh from the oven. They are unbelievably good at that point.  When I served them 7 hours later? Not so tasty, kind of bland. And that is precisely when my guests ate them.  Then I froze them and ate one the next day. Ugh. Hard as a Rock.

I will definitely make these again, many more times, but I will serve them freshly baked

Homemade Cheeze It's.

I also definitely recommend these. They are so good. But again they are best when they are freshly baked.  However, not so bad the next day too.  

Blistered Green Beans.

Amazing!!  All of my guests wanted the recipe.  I will be sending it to them. However you, my friend, will have to buy the book. Or check it out at your local library. I checked it out at the library first to make sure I liked it and then I went and bought it.

I very much recommend this book and this is not a paid sponsorship. Indulge is a lifestyle and not just a cookbook. It is so good. 

Muah, darlings. Go ahead... indulge.

Blue Ridge Snorkel Trail

Did you know there is a Blue Ridge Snorkel Trail? No, I didn't think so.

So I found this sign on the greenway along the Catawba River in Marion, NC.  Very intriguing. I'm a sea snorkeler, but I've never thought snorkeling about local rivers. I'd like to try it. 

The snorkel trail goes from Murphy to Marion, NC. It's a series of curated snorkel sites in NC rivers with easy access points to do some snorkeling.

Follow the links to the NC Fisheries Snorkel Trail page for more info and a map.

FAQs

Sounds like a Bucket List item!

Kielbasa & Kraut

So I crossed the Saluda and the Broad, hung a hard left and crossed the Catawba 90 minutes later.  I was going to spend some time with the Pops.

While I was there, he cooked me something his mama cooked for him when he was a wee boy circa 1947, Polish Kielbasa with kraut and potatoes.  It was SO GOOD I must share the recipe.

1 cup chicken broth

1 large jar of sauerkraut 

1 Polish Kielbasa

4 potatoes, cut into 3" pieces

Garlic and onion powder to taste

Salt and pepper to taste

Toss all of this into a crockpot. Cook on high for 6 hours.

Serves: 4

Enjoy!!

Indulge Cookbook (Valerie Bertinelli) Book Review

 So I know what I want for my birthday....

I checked this one out of the library. I'm only on page 72 and I know I want this book.  I don't even cook anymore! But THIS will get me going. This is just the ticket. I picture myself blissfully in my apron, cooking with a grandchild by my side, a cute little apprentice.

My favorite recipes so far:

• Eggs in Purgatory with Kale
• Classic Eggs Benedict 
• Cuban Sandwich with Slow-Cooked Pulled Pork
• Spinach and Ricotta Grilled Cheese
• Thyme and Gruyere Savory Cookies

Imagine!  ME.... Shopping for Gruyere! I'll have to dress nicer for that grocery trip. Maybe wear my strappy black sandals.

This recipe book is full of foods I love, mixed in interesting ways. It'll push me just enough to be fun and challenging. And I'm really looking forward to some new recipes to share with friends and family gathered around my picnic table while the kids swing in the hammock and birds chirp in the trees.  

And THAT, my friend, is how to Indulge.