Putting My Prayers Into Action

In my post, "I Prayed to Marry a Preacher," I mentioned how I prayed for my daddy while he was living a sinful life. Daddy spent his money on the bottle and we didn't have much as we grew up. As I listened to him snoring in his drunken slumber, I knelt by my bed and prayed that he might not die in that condition. I loved him and didn't want to see my daddy die lost. Here is the rest of the story.

Daddy became sick and was admitted to the hospital. He had been in there several days in the small town of Elba, AL. I worked with the Mayor and City Clerk and our office was located right off the city square. Dr. Bancroft Cooper's office was within walking distance and he was caring for daddy. One day an idea came to me concerning my daddy. I knew Dr. Cooper. He was my doctor too. I called his office and made an appointment to go and "talk" to him about daddy. I don't recall how long it was until the appointment, but it wasn't too long. I remember walking into Dr. Cooper's office and him inviting me to sit down across from his desk.

"Dr Cooper," I said, "My daddy is in the hospital and you are caring for him. All my life, all I have ever known is my daddy drinking. I wouldn't ask you to lie for anything in the world, but if you could tell my daddy something to make him, or scare him, so he would stop drinking you would make our house a home."

I don't remember what Dr. Cooper said to me, but my mission was over and I returned to my office.

Daddy got out of the hospital in a few days and on a Wednesday morning I stuck my head into his room before leaving for work. Daddy said, "I thought I would get to talk to that little preacher, but I never did." I knew he was talking about our local preacher, Raymond Elliott. He probably had visited with Daddy every day he was in the hospital. He was so good to visit people.

I went on to work and the city of Elba closed at noon on Wednesdays. That morning brother Elliott called me at work and asked how daddy was doing. I told him he was at home and better, but I did not tell him what Daddy had said to me that morning before I left for work. We hung up and I went home at noon.

I had mowed the yard that afternoon, came in the house and got a bath, and washed my long hair. Raymond Elliott came to visit Daddy and I felt like I had to be in the living room with them because mother was gone to work. Daddy was seated on the sofa, Raymond on a matching chair, and I was on the swivel rocker. I really wanted to get out of there and go roll and dry my hair.

To anger my Daddy was not something I liked to do. He had a bad back hand slap up side of the head that I didn't like to receive. I decided I would take a chance, and I said, "Daddy, didn't I hear you say this morning that you wished you could have talked to the preacher?" The pause and the silence was long. Daddy looked over at me and said, "Yes I did." Whew! Raymond was up off his chair ushering me out of that room, and closing the door behind me, in no time flat! I went to do my hair.

I was sitting under the old bonnet type dryer on the side of my bed when I heard daddy coming down the hall. I was so afraid of what he might say to me and how angry he might be. He came to my door and stopped.......and said, "Glenda, you have company." A friend from Enterprise had come to visit me. I was so relieved I didn't know what to do.

Daddy asked to go to church with us the following Sunday, and that is the day I will never forget. Douglas and I were seated in the center section half way to the front, when during the invitation song I looked over to the left aisle and saw my daddy walking to the front. He confessed living in sin for over 30 years. I had lived 21 of those with him at that time. Daddy laid down his smoking, his drinking, his cursing and our house became a home. God answered my prayers. Daddy died in 1985 as a Deacon in the Elba church of Christ. He made the statement after he returned to the Lord that he couldn't understand why anyone would want to drink.

For years I didn't know what Dr. Bancroft Cooper said to daddy, and one time I was telling this story to my older brother, Hoyt Williams. He said, "Well, I know." I asked, "You do? How do you know?" He said, "Because Daddy told me." Anxiously I asked, "Well, what did he say?" Hoyt said, "Dr. Cooper walked into the room one morning and said, 'Mr. Williams,' and daddy said, 'Yeah Doc.' 'Do you want to live?' Daddy replied, 'Yeah Doc, I want to live.' 'Then you have to give up your drinking. We have found a spot on your liver.'

This is just another time that I know God answered my prayers and I am so thankful He did. One day I believe I will be reunited with my daddy on the other side.

Gifts to Give God this Year

This morning I was checking email and found an article written by Tim Hall about gifts we can give God this year. Recently I have been thinking about what I would call a wonderful sermon for a preacher to present at this time of the year. My Douglas is a preacher and I like sermons that have good illustrations with them. That may be because of the artistic ability in which God has blessed me.

At this time of the year people are thinking about giving gifts. Visualize walking into the auditorium and seeing several beautifully wrapped Christmas gift boxes across the front of the stage. Inside each box would represent a certain gift we could give the Lord this year. The preacher would be down on the floor (always miked) and start on one side and talk about the gift in that particular box, working his way to the last box.

You can imagine my surprise when I received the email early this morning with an article that would go perfectly with my Christmas gift sermon idea. Since today is Christmas day, it is too late to use it now from the pulpit. I decided to go to my Adobe Illustrator program and illustrate the lesson. I sent it to a missionary friend in Brazil who in turn has forwarded it to Tim Hall. The lesson could still have more work done to it, like listing scriptures to go along with the thoughts on the gifts, but check it out above. I'm sharing it with you. Maybe we can all profit from the idea even now. Enjoy!

New Year 2010 - New Goals

My goals for this year, or at least one of them, was made the first of October, 2009, when we had a visiting preacher come to do a seminar at the Geneva church of Christ. Carl S. Sims of Manchester, TN came to teach us the 3 lesson Ivan Stewart Bible Study course. I had volunteered to videotape the sessions, edit and make DVD's for him to give away. I was seated behind the camera, center aisle of the church building and not too far back. You might say I had a "ring-side seat."

Brother Sims began his introduction and I was watching closely the viewer on the camera, trying to listen to him and keep him in view. I almost yelled, "Stand still!" Not really, but he certainly kept me on my toes in keeping him centered in the viewfinder. Pretty soon in his lesson he made a life-changing statement for me. Maybe it will be for you too! He said, "I have been reading through the New Testament from one to two times a month for more than twenty years. I read in the Old Testament too, but have concentrated my reading mostly in the New Testament. I do this by reading nine chapters a day. Sometimes I read more than nine chapters but by doing the nine chapters a day a person will finish reading the New Testament a little before the end of the month."

Whew! I tried to remain calm but that was the most wonderful thing I thought I had ever heard. For years I have tried to read through the whole Bible and every time I have tried to do it, I have bogged down in the Old Testament and failed to finish it completely.

Brother Sims statement seemed to give me permission to read just the New Testament, and in the Old Testament as I choose, but I determined that I would also try to read it through in a month. So in October 2009, I shared my goal with friends and I began. By the end of October I was finished!!!! November came and I started reading it again. By the end of November I had read completely through the New Testament and also the book of Genesis, the first book of the Old Testament. Here it is December and I am on target for my monthly Bible reading. It amazes me the things I continue to find that I haven't noticed before in my earlier readings. It is fresh to me each month and grows sweeter with each reading. I have found when I want to read something, my Bible is my book of choice these days. Isn't that wonderful? By the way, I learned about an easy reading Bible by Hugo McCord, Th.D., "The Everlasting Gospel" which is the New Testament with Psalms, Proverbs and more and ordered two of them from Freed-Hardeman University bookstore. It is praised as being the most accurate translation of the Holy Bible on the market today. I ordered Douglas a copy and me a copy. I didn't want to share my Bible with Douglas because he might be using it when I would want to read it. He was as proud of his copy as I was mine.

We serve an awesome God. How do I know? The Bible tells me so!

May I challenge you to try this for one month. Start the first day of the month and read nine chapters. Do this every day and see what a feeling of accomplishment you will have at the end of the month. You will be so pleased with yourself and God will be pleased with you too! "Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needs not to be ashamed rightly dividing the word of truth" (2 Tim. 2:15).

My special goal for next month is to have a notebook to make notes in as I read. I have noticed the sin of fornication is mentioned often as the first word in a list of sins and I want to count the times it is mentioned, not just as the first in the list, but in general. The penalty for such is terrible!

Join me. Won't you? It would thrill me to know you are going to try to read with me. Post a comment to let me know if you will accept this challenge. It is a wonderful way to start the New Year off right! God bless you in the New Year.

Ramblings - Where have I been?

I didn't realize it has been so long since I posted on my blogspot. You would think I didn't really care, but not so. My time has been devoted mostly to caring for my 98 year old mother, who has lived with us six years last September 22. It is such a joy to care for her at this particular time in her life. She is loving, meek and gentle and kind and makes it very easy to love her. I am so much her security blanket so to speak. Seldom do I get a sitter and go anywhere, but when I do she is asking them when I am coming home. She sits in her chair by the large glass window in the family room and watches for our vehicle to come and park in front of the house. I always wave to her and she waves back. Sometimes she is overjoyed to see me and wants to hug and kiss me and hold me tight, all the while telling me how glad she is that I am home. Not many people are that happy to see me coming in a door, you know what I mean? Ha. Now with all that explanation of why I haven't written sooner, I am ready to write a very important blog entry now. Read on.

I Prayed to Marry a Preacher

We never had much growing up. Daddy drank and wasted his income on the bottle. Mother sewed our clothes from flour sacks she saved. I remember how happy she would be to find a sack full of flour at the grocery store that had the same print as others she was saving at home. I remember her saying, "I have enough to make a dress now." I was happy for her. Ah me, what memories. My mother was something else. She didn't have to use a pattern to make a dress. She made my brothers shirts out of flour sacks and recycled clothes long before it was even a popular thing to do.

Time went on and I grew up and realized how things were at our house. Mother tried to live right and she taught us the one way. Daddy didn't have any interest in spiritual things. Mother always told me, "You may not have much, but you have your character and if you keep it clean you will be all right."

I wanted better for myself than what I had and mother and daddy wanted that for all of their children. What they didn't know was just how much I wanted it better. Deep within me was the dream of marrying a good man who didn't drink, curse, and who put the Lord first in his life. I wanted to marry a man completely opposite from my daddy. The best person I could think of who would fit that dream was a preacher, so I knelt by my bed at night and prayed to marry a preacher. I didn't know a boy that was making a preacher, but I kept praying. Often times at night I could hear my daddy snoring across the hall in his intoxicated state and as I prayed I asked God to let him live to change his life. I didn't want my daddy to die lost. I loved my daddy but didn't love his habits or life style.

Jerry Humphries was our local preacher and one summer when I was 19, he left for two weeks to preach in gospel meetings. He invited this young preacher man, Clifton Tuggle, from Alabama Christian College in Montgomery, to preach in his absence. Clifton was so cute but he brought his girlfriend, Marcia Moulton, who later became his wife, with him. Mother and I invited them to eat lunch with us at our home. Daddy went to the country store and visited with friends all afternoon and avoided meeting them. During the afternoon I asked Clifton and Marcia if they didn't have a fine young man they could bring down and let me meet the next time they came. After thinking a little bit Marcia snapped her fingers and said, "Old Doug." The following Sunday when they came, they brought "Old Doug." I thought he was one of the nicest people I had ever met. There was just something very special about him. We four went riding in my new red and white 1963 Rambler that afternoon. They spilled a Coke in my car, which I didn't appreciate, but didn't let them know it since they cleaned it up nicely. At some point during our outing I started singing unconsciously, "Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry." It was a popular song back in the 60's and they roared with laughter at me. I was embarrassed.

Douglas and I dated for a year and a half. He invited me to attend banquets at Alabama Christian College with him and I wore evening gowns mother had made for me. I was just as proud of those brocade satin dresses as if they had cost a fortune. The one pictured above was a light green and with my green eyes, it really looked nice. I felt like a princess.

After one year with a potential preacher for a son-in-law, Daddy quit drinking and smoking after being in the hospital. The doctor warned him he had to stop or he was going to die. Daddy asked if he could go to church with us one Sunday when Doug was visiting. We were thrilled beyond words that he wanted to go and worship with us. Mother and Daddy sat in the back of the auditorium. Doug and I were in the center section about half way to the front. During the invitation I looked over and saw my Daddy walking down the aisle toward the preacher. He confessed having lived in sin for 30 years. He rededicated his life to the Lord and later became a Deacon in the Elba Church of Christ. Things really changed around our house. My daddy died in a right relationship with God.

Douglas and I were married December 18, 1965, by brother Raymond Elliott, at the Elba Church of Christ. We've had a wonderful life together. God answered my prayer as a young girl to marry a preacher, and I am so thankful He did. We look forward to celebrating 50 years together in 2015, if it is God's will.

THE DUMB BULL WASN'T REAL

We lived out in the country from Elba, AL when I was growing up. Just a short piece away from the house was the old Holland Cemetery. Word had it that Indians were buried in the back part of that cemetery, but no one had been buried there in years. We also enjoyed walking through the cemetery reading the headstones or looking at the wood stakes and just wondering about the person laid to rest in each spot. I grew up with the cemetery being close, so I didn't have any problem with it being there......until dark. When dark arrived I didn't want to go near the cemetery, pass it, or anything else especially on foot.

My youngest brother was seven years older than I, and he always liked a good prank or a good joke. He was the prankster in our family. I always begged to go with him, to do things with him and naturally he didn't like that.

My brother must have been 17 when I heard him asking our daddy about how to build a dumb bull. Daddy cautioned him that those things were illegal to use because they would frighten people and animals so badly. I'd never heard of such a thing so I was all ears to hear what they were saying. First of all, he was to get the old wood keg out back with the top and bottom out of it. Then he was to stretch a piece of dead animal skin over the top very, very tightly and let it dry for several days. In the top he was to make a small hole right in the center before the skin dried. A heavy string that he had waxed with a knot on the bottom end was inserted in that hole. As the skin dried it would be tight around the string in the hole. Someway when he pulled that string he had waxed with bees wax up out the keg it made a reverbrating awful, awful, sound that could be heard for miles around. It sounded like what I suppose a very large bull would likely sound, or should I say a "dumb bull."

I had forgotten about the dumb bull until one night my brother announced he was going to go out on the hill by the cemetery and try it out. Of course I asked to go with him even though the cemetery was an area I didn't like to go at night. The Morris family, an elderly man with his two sisters and a grandson, lived in the little house way off the road and down at the bottom of the hill. Mr. Morris would come up to our house in the day time to sit on our porch because he said there was no air stirring in the bottom where they lived, and none of us had air-conditioning back then. Our front porch was shaded by a large oak tree and our being on the top of the hill made us able to feel the breeze blowing. We thought a lot of all the Morris family.

It must have been as late as 10:00 o'clock that night when my brother and I, along with the dumb bull, made our way to the edge of the hill so we could look down and see the Morris home. There were no lights on anywhere. People didn't have yard night lights back then and it was pitch dark. Only the sounds of the night were around us. My brother must have been grinning when he started slowly pulling that string through the top of the dumb bull. I've never heard such a loud, vicious sound in my life. The night was black and still, and he pulled it again. He saw it first. A light came on in the back of the small Morris house, and we could tell they were coming through the house by the lights coming on. Finally the porch light came on and Mr. Morris came out. The young grandson came out, stood with the screen door open and Mr. Morris yelled, "Get back in that house, boy. Get back." The boy went back inside.

I don't remember if my brother pulled the dumb bull again that night, or ever again, but I know it scared Mr. Morris. My brother was laughing so hard, and I was scared and wanted us to go home.

The next day when it got too hot in the bottom for Mr. Morris to stay home, we saw him walking slowly up to the house. Mr. Morris was a small in statue man, but a very nice person. He made his way to our porch where my daddy was sitting and he sat down on one of the white metal rockers. In a little while he said, "Old man, there was a big one that came through the valley last night. I didn't see it.......but it was a bigggg one. I heard it." I can just see my daddy now with the knowing smile on his face. I think he never revealed our secret about the dumb bull and we never did that again. Just so we know.....things are not always what they appear to be.

HEAVY ON MY LAP

When I was a little girl, perhaps eight years old, mother started to work outside the home. We lived out in the country and when I came in from school I had to go to someone's house and stay until mother and daddy picked me up. I remember staying with Mr. & Mrs. Gaines at the bottom of the hill and Mr. Sylvester and Mrs. Etta Crocker on the other hill from our house.

Mr. and Mrs. Crocker had a son, Willard, who was one year older than I. We grew up together but never were boyfriend-girlfriend, rather just friends. We always got along nicely. In the afternoons after we got home from school, Mrs. Etta would have baked sweet potatoes waiting for us to eat. Those were the best baked sweet potatoes I've ever tasted. We'd laugh and talk as we ate our sweet potatoes and Mrs. Etta would be right there laughing along at our joking.

One afternoon after school I was seated on a single wood porch rocker out on the front porch. We didn't have air conditioning and the porch was shaded by an oak tree and was the coolest place around. Willard was out there with me, and I don't remember if anyone else was or not. Now let me tell you a little bit about Willard before I go on with my story. He was full of devilishment. He was going to have his fun, anything for a good laugh. That didn't keep me from liking Willard. He was my friend until.....

As I said, I was seated on the porch rocker talking when Willard came up and threw something in my lap. I had on a dress, and I looked down in my lap to see the largest multi-striped (did I say large?) lizard I have ever seen. He had rainbow colored stripes running down his body. Well, as I screamed at the top of my lungs I came up out of that rocker. There was no way I was going to share a seat with that wicked looking thing. I flung my arms, screamed, and danced a jig until I got the lizard off me and was able to calm down.

And there stood Willard belly laughing at me. I don't think I've forgiven him for that yet. And I don't like lizards either!!!

I tried to find a picture like that lizard and was unsuccessful. I think he was almost as big around as a quarter and about 6 inches long. I probably gave him the scare of his life too!!!

Red Birds Out My Window

Spring arrived. We were at the kitchen table looking out the large double window as we ate breakfast and I saw them. Two red birds, a male and female, were gliding across the yard together. It was obvious they were a team, a pair, working together, and may I say lovers?

I have always resented just a little bit that the male red bird is prettier than the female. I like bright colors, especially red. Grandma Bryant always said "a little red will help anything," and I tend to agree with her. So red birds are one of my favorite birds. The woodpecker is second in line.

I watched the birds as the male sat at the feeder. The female was on the ground below. I noticed he got a particular seed in his beak and flew down where his lady was waiting. He walked over to her and for a moment I thought they were kissing. He gently touched his beak to hers and gave her the gift he had brought to her. She accepted it and he flew back up to the feeder. Again he brought her something and she took it. On and on this continued that day, and the next, and the next, and I got in dangerous poses at the kitchen window, trying to conceal myself as I snapped pictures.

I watched the little birds day after day as they worked together in their routine and wished to know even more about them. Sometimes they would sit at the feeder and still he would get the particular seed and take it to her. Wherever one was I could look and find the other nearby.

It was the most beautiful sight I thought I had ever seen. There he was showing love to her by staying with her, by providing for her, and protecting her. He was working with her in caring for her well being and no doubt showing his respect and love for her being the future mother of his children. And God planned it all, just that way. Is there not a lesson in this for us, the greatest of his creations? I think so. Learning a lesson from the birds--the bees were no where to be seen. Nature will teach us if we are receptive to their examples.

MOTHER CELEBRATES 98TH BIRTHDAY

Last Saturday, June 13, 2009, has to go down in history as one of the most memorable occasions in mother's life. She turned 98 on June 11, and the 13th was the closest time to celebrate. We reserved a room at Ryan's Restaurant in Enterprise. Patsy and Herschel brought balloons for the tables and I dressed mother for the occasion. She wore a soft red suit, a tiara, a sash that had "Happy 98th Birthday" on it, and carried a bouquet of red roses. Maggie Moyer and Kellee Jackson, her daughter, provided the sash, tiara and roses. She could not have looked more beautifully. As if it was planned that way, she woke up feeling good Saturday morning even though she couldn't remember what we planned to do that day. It was a good day for her and for us.

We arrived at the restaurant and lots of the guests were already in the room waiting for us. As I wheeled her through the restaurant someone said, "Now we know who the party is for." Mother was so glad to see everybody and enjoyed the food and fellowship.

After enjoying a wonderful buffet meal, the birthday cake was brought out with the numerical candles. After eating the cake she opened gifts and cards brought by those attending. She was so proud of everything she received. It is amazing how much gifts mean to an elderly person, no matter how small or large.

Each year we wonder if this will be the last birthday we will celebrate with mother. Should this be the last, we can all rest in knowing that we did our best and she enjoyed it very much. It could not have been any better in planning, her health, the weather, and everything pertaining to it. There were family members who were unable to attend due to sickness, work and distance and we regret that very much. Her three children and companions, except Patsy who was sick, were with her to honor and help celebrate her day and that made it very special for her. Who knows? Maybe next year we can all be there!!!! We'll work toward that end and thank God for every lovely day she is here with us.

"Boiled Peanuts, Boiled Peanuts"

One of my favorite memories as a child was eating Mr. Sylvester Crocker's boiled peanuts. He and Mrs. Etta planted their own field of peanuts to gather, boil, and sell in downtown Elba. Occasionally I would go to his house, three houses over from us on the small country road, and help pick the peanuts off the vines. We would sit outside in straight wood chairs circling the pile of freshly dug peanuts. It was a dirty job. I never liked to get my hands dirty with red dirt under my figernails, but the reward was too great to not be willing to help. You see, Mr. Crocker would give me a bag of boiled peanuts for helping him. That was a great gift. After the peanuts were picked off, Mr. Crocker would wash and get all the dirt off them. Next, he put the peanuts in a large black wash pot outside in the yard, started a fire under it and boiled them until they were tender. He added salt as he stirred and let them boil. Not only were they delicious, but he sold them for ten cents a bag. The only problem was ten cents was expensive to me.

Mr. Crocker had a long, green, wood, wagon that he pulled with his horse. That is the way he went to town, three miles away, to sell his peanuts. I recall riding on the back of the wagon. I would jump off and say, "I can walk as fast as you can go." Of course I soon hopped back onto the wagon because it was such fun to ride and to hear the clippity clop of the horses hooves as they hit the road.

Occasionally in the summer time I would go and spend the night and day with Brenda, my first cousin. Her daddy, Fred Jackson, was the local butcher in Elba. He killed animals that were bought at the local stock yard right beside their little brown sided house on the Troy highway. More about that story will have to wait for another time, but Uncle Fred would some way buy two bags of boiled peanuts for us. The highlight of the day was sitting at the kitchen table and eating our peanuts. I liked those that were firm and filled out best. Brenda preferred those that were soft and had lots of salty juice in them. We made a neat little pile with our peanut hulls on the table. We talked and ate peanuts. When we finished Brenda would go back and relick some of her hulls hoping to find a little more of that salty juice that she loved. I had nothing to revisit the hulls for since I had cleaned them the first go round.

When I grew up and started dating Douglas, he had never eaten boiled peanuts. He was from the hills of Tennessee, as he called it, and had always eaten roasted peanuts. He would try one of the boiled peanuts and say, "I don't see how you eat these things," and reach for another one. I wanted to scream, "If you don't like them, please don't waste them!" Douglas kept trying to eat boiled peanuts until he learned to like them.

Here in Southern Alabama farmers will often have the large peanuts with three or four peanuts in one hull. I prefer the smaller Spanish peanuts with only two nuts in each hull and always look forward to the first boiling of the season. When we boil too many we let them cool, put them in a freezer bag, and freeze them for winter and once again remember Mr. Crocker yelling "Boiled peanuts. Boiled peanuts."

The Rhyming Cousins

As little girls we all felt special. We didn't have much and didn't see each other often enough, but there was something special among us. We could feel it. Quite frankly, I don't know why our mothers did what they did to us, but it has made for an interesting ride on our parts. We're all two years apart except for the baby in the group. Our mothers gave us names that rhyme. Brenda was first. She has always been a cotton topped blond. Two years later I came along and Mother named me after both my grandmothers and then stuck her favored name on me. Nancy Evie Glenda Williams. If that wasn't enough, I grew up and married a Williams. Nancy Evie Glenda Williams Williams is unique, but it is the rhyming that my cousins and I share that is even more unique. Brenda, Glenda and then came Lynda two years later. Another blond and she fit right into our little group. Brenda, Glenda, Lynda and a few years later here comes Trenda. Brenda, Glenda, Lynda and Trenda. We all found ourselves together last Friday at a cousin's funeral in Opp, AL. We had to do it. We had to have our pictures taken together. We are proud of our picture and our rhyming names. The funny thing is Grandma Bryant never could seem to get the right name with the right girl when we were growing up. She'd start at the top calling Brenda, Glenda, Lynda......and I learned early on if it rhymns to answer to it. I've done that a lot through the years, but it's been fun. Each rhyming cousin holds a special place in the other's hearts.
Seated far right and continuing clockwise: Brenda, Glenda, Lynda, Trenda.

Rampage Shooting Too Close for Comfort

The siren was screaming in the distance as it came closer and closer. I took note. Usually I think that someone has trouble and say a prayer for them. The urgency of the siren yesterday seemed more than usual, so I went to the back door, opened it wide and stood looking out over the wood fence at the back of our yard. I wanted to see what vehicle would be passing our house soon. The screaming siren was chilling to hear on our usually quiet street. It was a local police car traveling at an enormous speed. I estimated 90 miles per hour. It was dangerous. I thought about calling the police station and telling them that was too fast, that someone could pull out in front of them and be dead instantly. Little did I know what was prompting the fast speed, the police car, the screaming sirens. By the time it was gone, there was another one coming just like it, and then another. The sirens wouldn't stop. I couldn't leave my watchful post. Two rescue squads from Hartford passed with sirens screaming and lights flashing. A beautiful long fire truck passed. I knew something terrible had happened down the street. It had to be terrible. I stopped counting when car after car and truck after truck and suv after suv came by with sirens and blue lights flashing....unmarked vehicles, yet heading for an emergency situation. I stepped outside and heard a helicopter in the sky. Looking up I noticed it was not the usual Ft. Rucker Army helicopter, but rather a medical copter. I watched it circle around and come back to our local hospital pad and land. Trouble was evident in Geneva, but what was it? We didn't know.

Turning on the television to our nearest local channel 4 out of Dothan, across the screen rolled the terrifying information of South Alabama's greatest tragedy to date. I wish it would just go away. I wish it had never happened. A 27 year old man who had an excellent name and had worn it well, too young to die, too young to kill, too loved to hate, went on a rampage with assault rifles, pistols, and the news says he shot 200 rounds of ammunition at human targets. Many of his targets were those who loved him. He killed his young mother first, shot her in the head and then set their house on fire with her, and her dog in it. He came to the next town, Samson, AL, and shot his grandmother, his uncle, aunt, and others. Innocent people sitting on the front porch enjoying our first 82 degree day. Surely they must have waved to him when they saw him approaching, maybe even glad to see him coming for a visit. Then they might have seen the gun and just froze in disbelief facing the greatest horror of their lives. The young sheriff deputy's wife had just gone to the nearby store to get a soft drink. No doubt she walked since it was so close. She took her precious two children with her. She walked out of the store at the wrong time. He was passing and shooting and he got her and one of the children. The other one is in surgery in a Florida hospital. A man pumping gas dodged his bullets by getting behind the gas tank. Thank God the bullet didn't strike the tank and make it explode. He continued on toward Geneva shooting as he traveled. He killed 10 and then killed himself. There are several who are injured from his rampage.

I don't know what kind of charge, thrill, or euphoria he got from his spree of killing yesterday. I do know he has done damage that will never go away. Forever it is etched in the lives and memories of those who witnessed or heard the sirens, the shots, the screams. It wasn't worth it. He cheated a lot of people, but most of all, himself. He deserved better. He could have done better things with his life and gotten far greater rewards. By the time his soul passed from this life to the next, I'm sure he knew how stupid he had been. And there is no way to make it better now. It is a done deal. It is too late. And we weep.

Our Neighborhood Friends

I don't know what it is about little animals and me. Not long ago a beautiful tame rabbit showed up in our yard. I knew Bugs Bunny liked carrots and I thought this little guy might also, so I got a carrot from the refrigerator to feed him. He liked it. He liked it well enough to eat it from my hand. I fell in love with the little rabbit. It wasn't long until he no longer came to our house every day. Without doubt someone caught him and penned him up. I missed him.

Recently at daybreak Douglas and I was awakened by the crowing of a rooster. It had been a long time since we had heard that in the early morning hours. We got out of bed and went to the front, and there he strolled around our driveway telling everyone it was time to rise and shine. He was so pretty and very unusual to us. He was small but had lots of feathers down near his feet. I started telling him how pretty he was and he started coming toward me. I remembered at about 5 years old having a rooster try to spur me. I cried and bent over to cover my legs. Mother yelled for me to stand up or he might put my eyes out. Wow, I couldn't get away from him fast enough. I don't remember him ever spurring me though. Being older now, it never occured to me to be frightened of that pretty little rooster with the beautiful wake up call. I went and got bird seed and started feeding him. He liked the seed, and it seemed he liked me.

One day I showed mother the little rooster underneath a berry tree across the road. I told her to watch me and how he would come to me when I went outside. He saw me come out and he immediately stepped off the curb and started across the street. He came down the driveway and got closer and closer until he made it all the way to the porch where I was. He would follow us all over the yard. Sometimes it frightened me at how fast he could get near my feet. I guess I showed that fear because he started coming up to me sideways, and even today he ruffled his feathers someway making a sound that really got my attention. I could tell he wanted to fight me. Talking firm to him didn't work. Walking faster didn't work because he got faster too. So I took off my jacket as he stood and watched. I thought I would throw my jacket over him if he kept threatening me. You see I wasn't just protecting myself today. I had taken mother over to the church building on her wheelchair and I was more concerned about protecting her. Her skin is so fragile and I didn't want him to tear it. We made it into the house safely and I went and got some seed and once again fed the rooster. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see him alive. A large bird swooped down and killed the little rooster at the end of our house late this afternoon. I suppose he was hungry too and the beautiful little rooster provided him food. Somehow I think God also was looking out for us, protecting us, and I thank Him.

FLUSHING UP A BIRD

It is my understanding that some little children are afraid of water going out of the bathtub and down the drain. They are afraid they will go down the drain also. Mr. Rogers addressed this subject on one of his TV programs, assuring the little ones they couldn't go down the drain. Since hearing of a snake coming up in a commode years ago, to say the least I have had my own fear and been a little anxious when using the potty, no matter where.

A few years back we were visiting Doug's mom in Tennessee. It was one of those cold, windy days, even though the sun was shining. I went to the bathroom and used the commode. Nothing major, mind you, but being the nice person I am, I turned and flushed it. Well, guess what! It didn't go down. The water started rising. I immediately thought someone had put something in the commode that was stopping it up, and it wasn't I!!!! I grabbed a plunger and standing back at a proper distance lest I get showered with commode water, I began the ritual of up and down motion at a very fast pace. Nothing worked!!! My next thought was to leave it a while and come back and flush it after it had time to rest. I couldn't go very far and leave it that way. It is my nature to fix anything that is broken. There is no telling how many public commodes I have fixed in our travels across the country through the years. Someway, I just know how to do it, and I don't mind doing it. Probably some reading this are getting nauseated by now. I just always think of how nice I will leave it for the next person, and then wash my hands and arms well and go on my way rejoicing. My children will be shocked to read this about their mother. But back to my episode in Grandmommie's bathroom. I turned and looked down in the commode and got the shock of my life. There was a black bird in the commode!!! He was wet and almost drowned. I screamed at the top of my lungs and started running through the house, scaring everybody nearly to death as I yelled, "There is a BIRD IN THE COMMODE!!!!" Everybody lined up to see the bird. I thought there was no way anyone would ever believe my story of flushing up a bird out of the commode, so being the amateur photographer that I am, I headed to get my camera and I made pictures, each step of the way. Well, you know what I had to do, don't you? The little bird was broken, and I had to fix him!!!! I grabbed the nearest fluffiest towel I could find and down in the commode I went. I grabbed that bird as everyone cleared the way for me to go outside. I placed the little bird down on the towel on the deck out back and left him to dry, or die, in the sunshine. There was no way he was not going to have another chance to live while under my care! I watched through the glass door as he turned in a little while from his side to an upright position. Soon he began to flutter his wings to help them dry. I went out and talked to him from time to time, and on the final occasion he made a mad dash for the bush right off the porch. That wasn't good enough for me. I had to see if he was going to live. I found him perched on a low branch in the bush and knew that once again he would indeed fly high in the sky. I had done what I could.

Now we wonder how that little bird got in the commode. Grandmommie has a vent pipe on top of her house that goes to the bathroom. Without doubt the little bird was resting on the side of the open pipe when a high gust of wind made him lose his balance and fall into the pipe. Now you know the rest of the story. And yes, it is true.

Somewhere there is a little black bird that once was flushed up in a commode, and I have lived to tell his story.

My Birthplace

It was June 21, 1943 when my mother took to bed in the front bedroom right off the porch and gave birth to me. A neighbor, Mrs. Ailene Prescott, came to assist mother along with Dr. Charles Hayes. Dr. Hayes picked me up after the birth and guessed I weighed 7 pounds, and we've claimed that weight ever since. Hoyt and Herschel were sent off from home that day to be with neighbors to play or visit.

The little house pictured above is not the actual house that I was born in, but it is a neighboring house with the side porch added on. It is just like the little government house I was born in, without the side porch. My actual house is now brick and spreading out due to nice additions, and right down the road a piece.

Imagine me in a few years, say four, standing at the front door or window looking out and seeing Daddy walking across the front yard coming to the house with a red tricycle in his left hand and you will be visualizing the first memory I can remember. The blog before this shows me a little later on that tricycle, after we moved to the Holland Place on Route 4, Elba, AL.

I have heard through the years that it was in the backyard of this homeplace that my brothers took me up into a tree with them to sit on a limb. Mother didn't like that a bit.

It wasn't too long ago that I took mother and we rode down to see the old homeplace, and stopped and visited with the lady who lives in the modernized actual home. Her home is surrounded by large pecan trees and I couldn't help but wonder as I looked at them if perhaps my daddy might have planted them years ago. She was gracious to let me come in and look at the kitchen, the corner of the living room where my birthroom used to be, and stand and look out the window as I once again visualized my daddy coming across the yard with my tricycle, some sixty years later. The lady had one more thing to show me, that pulled at my heart strings. She brought out the actual deeds where Daddy and Mother had bought the place, and then the one where they sold it to she and her husband. I made pictures so I could forever remember their signatures.

Looking back and from this side of the life we had there, I wonder how things would have been had we not sold the house and moved on......

My Tricycle

A few years ago I tried to think back as far as I could to see what my earliest memory would be. To the best of my knowledge, it my Daddy walking from the road with a red tricycle in his left hand. I got so excited. He had bought it just for me. I was three or four years old at the time.

Daddy had hitched a ride home with someone on a car, and they let him out at the road. I'm sure he bought the tricycle in Opp, AL. I felt so special to have my very own tricycle.

The picture above is of me on my treasured possession. My brother, Herschel, was hovering over me to get in the picture. Notice his grin. Herschel and Hoyt were, and still are, my older brothers. I was the baby and the only girl in the family.

I remember the tricycle had a place on the back where a person could stand on it and ride with me. It was a fun way to ride with a friend close behind.

My Baby Bassinet

My Baby Bassinet

The old bassinet sat in a prominent place in the Texas dining room of our daughter and son-in-law's home. This time it wasn't holding a precious baby so dear, but rather a quilt I had made for our daughter when she was a child. Still to see it flooded my mind with memories of years gone by. It would be interesting to know how many precious little ones have slept in that old bassinet. I was among the first so I lay claim to that beauty. Mother let others borrow the bassinet through the years always with the promise of returning it.

As a child my cousins and I played on the frame of the bassinet. One of us would sit on the rod right below the handle with our feet on the other rod across from it. One cousin would push while the other rode. I remember the time Mama spotted us and said, "You're going to tear it up." Somehow we cared and didn't want to do that, so we stopped riding on the bassinet frame. From that day forward the old bassinet became a treasure to be handled with great care.

This year we spent Christmas with our daughter, Stephanie, and her family. It was in their dining room that I spotted the bassinet standing ever so proudly beside the large china cabinet. A piece of history resting right beside a new expensive piece of furniture. I looked at it and saw the quilt I had made for Stephanie when she was a little girl. Memories flooded my mind as I recalled sitting in our Birmingham preacher's home piecing the quilt top and later quilting it. I looked at the paint on the bassiet and remembered well when Douglas and I chose the pink, blue and white paint and then painted the bassinet. We were expecting a baby in April 1969, and back then we had no way of knowing what sex the child would be, so we painted the bassinet pink and blue for either. Our Stephanie was the first of our children to rest in the bassinet. Later on our son, Art, had it for his first bed at home. Ah, the memories that flooded my mind as I once again recalled the past with my bassinet. Through the years it has continued to hold those newborns who are special to us. Stephanie has used it with her two children. No doubt in a few years it will be called on again as those daughters grow up, marry and have children of their own. And somewhere in the distance I think I will smile and be proud.