Wednesday, January 16, 2002
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Wednesday, January 16, 2002 |
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Pray this is finally the December of our Beth's annus horribilis. By
SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
What year was it 1992? that Queen Elizabeth pronounced her "annus horribilis," a horrible year? The royal offspring were behaving in anything but the well-bred ways expected of nobility. The queen capitulated to protests about her tax-free existence. And the year was capped off by a fire that devastated Windsor Castle, Her Majesty's residence. A lot of people would call 2001 America's national annus horribilis, and were glad to notice that their calendar ran out of pages. Hang up a new one, pristine and expectant, and hope nothing immortalizes a date in 2002 as happened in 2001. Actually, a year can start on any date, and need not begin on Jan. 1. Some folks' "years" may have started late and are still going on. Beth Snipes' current annus horribilis, for example, is not over yet. Or maybe she's having two of them, back to back. You remember Beth, the gifted photographer who used to shoot for The Citizen. I worked with her on several stories; we bonded over lunch and became good friends. Just in time to get my heart broken. Beth's husband John took a new job. About the time they needed to find a house in North Carolina, 94-year-old Aunt Grace, who lived with the Snipeses, became bedridden. There was no way Beth could leave her to go house-hunting. So John did it. We joked a lot about letting a husband choose a house. We had to laugh; the alternative was just too depressing. But in perhaps the only truly bright moment in Beth's year, John found a craftsman-style bungalow in one of the historic districts of Salisbury, N.C. The very first time Beth ever laid eyes on it was when she pulled into the driveway after an exhausting trip with Aunt Grace and discovered that the former owners had not yet moved out entirely. I'll skim over details: The house turned out to be perfect, the neighborhood friendly, and John-the-younger started school without much trauma. Even the family's two dogs seemed happy. Then Aunt Grace's declining health eventually required Beth to make the sad decision to find a nursing home for her. The process was grim. Aunt Grace died in August. And in that same sad week, John's job was "down-sized." Beth herself had not found a spot as a photographer, the Salisbury job market being every bit as depressed as those elsewhere in the country. It was apparent that they'd have to uproot once more. They didn't want to Johnny was doing well, and they all loved the house that John bought. Meanwhile, their beloved old dog Chelsea died. Her replacement was not long arriving. The Snipeses' daughter Stephanie, who works for CNN in Atlanta, had adopted a dog from a shelter. When Sept. 11 happened, Stephanie virtually lived at work, and could not give a pet the time she needed. She called her parents, and they swapped custody of Harper (named for Harper Lee, of course) on I-85, midway between Atlanta and Charlotte. The slim black dog with the heads-up look may actually be of the rare, ancient breed known as the Canaan dog. Once home, she settled in, but seemed to be gaining weight. You guessed it. Examinations by two veterinarians failed to discover that Harper came with a back order eight of them, actually. When we stopped on our way home from Thanksgiving in Virginia, the pups looked like fat baby seals. Dave played with them wistfully, and Beth and John were only slightly obnoxious about our taking one. We barely got away dogless. After Beth placed an ad in the local paper, however, the pups went quickly to good homes. "I'm much sadder than I thought I'd be," Beth wrote. "Now I kind of wish we had kept one." After weeks of searching, John found himself in the last of 11 interviews with Wal-Mart, a company where applicants seldom get past the second interview. The good news: He got the job (in distribution) and the Snipeses will be living in Auburn, Ala., only a 90-minute drive from Fayette County and Atlanta. John has begun work, and they're interested in a house on two acres. And it looks as though their precious Salisbury bungalow will be sold to a member of the family that built it. Ten inches of snow fell Jan. 7, and Johnny had a blast: "He did more sledding in one day than in his whole life," Beth wrote. "Get this ... he saw his first snow plow in person. What an exotic treat." This should be the end of the Snipeses' annus horribilis, right? Don't they wish. Here it comes: "When I took the dogs out on the first day of the storm they were so excited. I made it down the steps thank goodness when they zigged and I didn't. They pulled me off my feet and as I landed I heard a tree limb ccrrraaacckk. "The tree limb was my leg. The dogs ran away and there I was sprawled out gathering inches of snow. Luckily, neighbors heard me yell for help. They got the dogs back in the house and me to the hospital. "I broke the tibia, right at my left ankle. A friend took me to an ortho guy the next day they set it and put on a fabulous purple cast. "John made it home in a record 5 1/4 hours my hero. He took great care of me and tweaked everything around here so I can get around. The neighbors sent dinners and sympathy. Don't know what I would have done without them." Sounds like more than Queen Beth could say.
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