October 19 '02
Volume 333
Celebrations
Homecoming And Birthday
This past Friday
night
(10/04/02) marked a first for my family.
Anna Lynn Butler, this writer's granddaughter was a Freshman Maid in the
Homecoming Court at Pontotoc High School. That she looked lovely and that
her parents and grandparents were duly proud goes without saying. Anna's
parents are Ashley and Christie Butler of Pontotoc and Rayanne and Anson
Adams of Belmont. Her escort was John Downing, son of Craig and Anna Downing.
Anna is also a cheerleader at Pontotoc High School and a flautist in the
band as well as a member of the guard line of the marching band. It’s
probably too much to do in the way of extracurricular activities, but she
comes by it honestly. Her mother’s choices were different but no less
in number when she was Anna’s age.
Barbara and I had made plans to attend the Homecoming ceremonies, but when
our youngest granddaughter developed a viral infection, it fell our lot to
keep her, in order that Rayanne and her husband could attend the ceremonies.
We have since taped the homecoming event that has been shown a number of
times on the local cable TV channel, and Barbara has made sure everybody
who has dropped by this past week has seen the video clip.
After the ball game, Rayanne and Anson stopped by long enough to eat before
heading back to Belmont with Katherine in order to be at home early Saturday
morning for Merilese’s birthday party. Rayanne had rented a local beauty
parlor for Merilese and friends to get makeovers and manicures. It’s
not something that I would have dreamed up for a birthday party, but then
I’m a guy. The children seemed to enjoy themselves, and a couple of
the moms thought the party idea had enough merit to warrant them doing something
similar.
The portion of the party that Barbara and I attended was held in the home
of Charles and Beckie Adams, Merilese’s paternal grandparents. Partygoers
gathered on deck where sandwiches and refreshments were served to all, as
was the traditional birthday cake and ice cream. A goodly number of colorful
balloons decorated the area and added to the playful atmosphere.
In the outdoor arena, spilled food or drink was not a stress-maker for either
adults or children. Children romped about while eating. Adults, males in
particular, munched and drank while chatting about problems, preventative
measures, and eradication of nuisance critters such as squirrels with attic
apartments and turf-tilling armadillos. Little is known of the female
conversations, but they doubtlessly spoke little of either squirrels or
armadillos, though I did manage to overhear phrases relating to hairstyles
and manicures from time to time. If, among the women, talk of war with Iraq,
our stagnated economy, or prognostications related to football ever surfaced,
I didn't hear it.
The hour devoted to eating party food and opening presents passed quickly.
Rayanne hurried her brood off in order to attend a band festival in Tupelo
that afternoon. Barbara and I made our way back to Pontotoc, stopping only
in Fulton to pick up a few household supplies from Wal Mart. Back in Pontotoc,
I spent the remainder of the afternoon mowing the "circle" and Sarah's yard.
Moms To Love
Commentator Sparks Memory
Daniel Pinkwater is a guy I've never met, but I've come to appreciate his
occasional commentaries on the "All Things Considered" portion of National
Public Radio. Pinkwater often describes a scene in which he remembers
something his Jewish father once did or said. At such times, he employs a
thick Yiddish accent to bring a sense of realism to listeners,
The other day, Pinkwater recalled a recent phone call from an irate listener.
He said that heretofore he had always heard nice things from persons commenting
on his radio commentary, but this particular caller boldly stated that nobody
ever talked the way he did when mimicking his father and went on to say,
"You are not talented, and you are not funny."
Daniel Pinkwater shares a malady that afflicts many of us. We can always
think of the perfect thing to say minutes or hours after the fact, but never
at the moment.
This time, however, Pinkwater said it was different, and after listening
to the caller he said, "Mother?"
Not everyone is blessed with such a mother. Some mothers are far more encouraging
of their young than others. In fact, some mothers continue to encourage their
offspring far into their children's adulthood. You'd have to ask my two brothers
how they feel about Mom's encouragement, but Sarah and I can't remember there
being much.
It's not that our mother did not wish us to do well, it's just that she
approached life with great anxiety. Hers was an "expect the worst" philosophy,
so if "the worst" happened, she was prepared for it. If it didn't, fine.
It didn't bother her if she was wrong about "the worst."
Sarah did not learn her cooking skills from Mom, because Mom didn't have
the patience to teach her. Instead Mom would rather do it herself. Of course,
in her youth, that was fine with Sarah, too, because she'd rather lie around
the house reading or watching TV than helping with household chores and cooking.
If I ever held a job that made Mom proud, she didn't say so. Either the pay
was too little, the hours too long, the hours too short, or there was no
future in it. I learned to find my reward in the work itself, and not in
the praise of others. Persons of a more sensitive nature might have become
depressed in my situation, but I accepted Mom simply for who she was and
not for the person I needed her to be.
In spite of her fault, with respect to encouragement, Mom loved her children
and would, herself, "do without" in order to see them fed and clothed. Sarah
and I disagree over which child she loved the best. Sarah will die convinced
Mom loved our younger brother, James, the best. I believe she loved us all
differently, choosing unique ways to express her love to each, but nonetheless
loving us all equally in her heart.
My family and that of my sister will gather on October 27th, to
continue a tradition set many years ago. In our youth, Mom's birthday dinner
signaled the beginning of the Holiday Season. We always observed her birthday
with a Thanksgiving-style dinner on the Sunday falling closest to her 10/27
birthday. Mom died on a Wednesday in 1989. She was buried the following Friday
(on her birthday), and on Sunday we honored her life in the manner to which
we'd grown accustomed, a feast, whose main entrée was chicken and
dressing.
I began my writing hobby long after Mom died. I don't know what she'd have
to say about my musings and remembrances, but I sometimes think if she were
around to read this newsletter she would frequently echo the words of the
mother of Daniel Pinkwater, "You are not talented, and you are not funny."
In memoriam, Frances Crausby Carter, 1917-1989
Reader Response
Stuck A Nerve
RRN is grateful for the opinions shared by others with regard to articles
published in this newsletter. This writer recognizes that viewpoints and
perspectives are colored and flavored by one's own experiences. Persons who
choose to comment may be assured opposing opinions will be respected. A reader
in Minnesota shared the following after reading Fall of '62 in the
last issue.
I take such offense to the reference of the North "forcing" the South
to be integrated. You made it sound like we should have taken the speck out
of our eye first before taking the speck from your eye.
Why shouldn't the North be telling the South what to do about segregation?
Lets start with those ever present signs we see when viewing documentary
of that time. "White Only" and the disgusting "Colored Only" and the lynching,
and the KKK and the African Americans that could not even eat at a "sticking"
lunch counter at some greasy spoon restaurant.
No, I think the South made themselves perfectly clear that they would have
NEVER been as Integrated now if it were left up to them. I thought the South
had that famous Bible Belt. Apparently no [one] bothered to read "Do unto
others as you would have done to you." And as for the Southerners not shedding
a tear for JFK, well then I guess if the murder of the country's' highest
official doesn't mean much, what would.
Now I am not saying that the North was without prejudges, but never did I
see such degrees of discrimination such as the South was doing during that
time.
Of course this discussion will go on through the ages and I am not the best
at expressing my thoughts in writing but, I just had to respond to this.
I really thought that in forty years civilization had progressed much further
then this. But I guessed wrong.
Lynette Carlson
A Christian and thankful to be a Northerner.
Note: That which follows is also from Lynette after this writer responded
to the above letter.
I always enjoy reading what you write about, but, I guess this particular
article struck a nerve with me. I so much hate discrimination and prejudices.
After reading your article it reminded me of how times were when I was growing
up. I feel so terrible about the way this country treated the African Americans.
Even going all the way back to the slave days.
It's painful me to think of all the advantages I had and all the things
I took for granted that a Black family could never have experienced during
that time. I never had to worry that my house could be burned down by some
lunatic, or that someone in my family or myself could be tortured or murdered
because someone didn't like how I looked. And then knowing that there would
probably be no justice done to the offenders.
As I stated before, the North was not so innocent in their prejudices either,
but again, we never had those disgusting signs all over town of "White Only"
& "Colored Only". I can't imagine how that would feel, seeing those signs
and being an African American. It puts an ache in my heart.
I thank you for writing a personal message back to me. I had a feeling I
would hear from you. And I do understand from where your article was speaking,
I guess it just dredged up some memories that I did not like to be reminded
of.
Thanks…
Bodock Beau
Poetry Prose & Picture
Reminisce Magazine reminds its readers that "Nostalgia is like a grammar
lesson…you find the present tense and the past perfect." Persons longing
for the "good old days" may appreciate the following poem:
Black and White
By Steve Vaus
You could hardly see for all the snow,
Spread the rabbit ears as far as they go.
Pull a chair up to the TV set,
"Good night, David; Good night, Chet."
Dependin' on the channel you tuned
You got Rob and Laura - or Ward and June.
It felt so good, felt so right.
Life looked better in black and white.
I Love Lucy, The Real McCoys
Dennis the Menace, the Cleaver boys
Rawhide, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train
Superman, Jimmy & Lois Lane.
Father Knows Best, Patty Duke
Rin Tin Tin and Lassie too,
Donna Reed on Thursday night--
Life looked better in black and white.
I wanna go back to black and white.
Everything always turned out right.
Simple people, simple lives
Good guys always won the fights.
Now nothing is the way it seems
In living color on the TV screen.
Too many murders, too much fight,
I wanna go back to black and white.
In God they trusted, in bed they slept.
A promise made was a promise kept.
They never cussed or broke their vows.
They'd never make the network now.
But if I could, I'd rather be
In a TV town in '53.
It felt so good, felt so right
Life looked better in black and white.
I'd trade all the channels on the satellite
If I could just turn back the clock tonight
To when everybody knew wrong from right
Life was better in black and white!
Contributed by Ed Dandridge
Language is a queer thing. The word "queer" does not necessarily relate to
male homosexuals any more than "ass" is necessarily a slang word for a portion
of ones anatomy. In the text of the King James Version of the Bible, "ass"
legitimately refers to a donkey. Keep that in mind, while reading the following.
The Pastor's Donkey
A pastor wanted to raise money for his church, and on being told that there
was a fortune in horseracing, decided to purchase one and enter it in the
races.
However, at the local auction, the going price for a horse was so high that
he ended up buying a donkey instead. He figured that since he had it,
he might as well go ahead and enter it in the races.
To his surprise, the donkey came in third. The next day the local paper carried
this headline: PASTOR'S ASS SHOWS
The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race
again, and this time it won. The local paper read: PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT
The Bishop was so upset with this kind of
publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.
The next day, the local paper headline read: BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR'S ASS
This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of
the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent. The
local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next
day: NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN
The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she
would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for ten dollars.
The next day the paper read: NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.00
This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered
the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run
wild. The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND
FREE.
The bishop was buried the next day.
Contributed by Ed Dandridge.
Contributed by Dena Kimbrell
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