tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-324601212024-03-17T13:54:20.873-06:00Forever YoungForever Young is about us (Sandy and Frank) and our family (Wendy, Todd, Corey, and Jackson), our travels, and other things of interest to all of us. We want our family and friends to check on us every once in a while through this blog to see what we're doing. Occasionally, you may find a little personal essay that I've written just because I want to. Enjoy!Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.comBlogger161125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-25143571223850837692024-02-05T13:04:00.007-07:002024-02-05T14:14:02.943-07:00<p> </p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96b-iqGCD6QTrUP0zwG5tA9wLK4fXoepZSLpLz_mL-t4Rl6v8cxgdJ-Ld0DTpEYRWt6lj1iA-BXMmhL0R2ZWd8IBBDFfnqF8fOPlaB7MNyQX2JFS98r0SXYC59RFaho1Dyk-lMm_yaib7FlQaidgELKE91R7LxjswIQ0e-3gkFy7Q_7Ra7Kel/s500/Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="500" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96b-iqGCD6QTrUP0zwG5tA9wLK4fXoepZSLpLz_mL-t4Rl6v8cxgdJ-Ld0DTpEYRWt6lj1iA-BXMmhL0R2ZWd8IBBDFfnqF8fOPlaB7MNyQX2JFS98r0SXYC59RFaho1Dyk-lMm_yaib7FlQaidgELKE91R7LxjswIQ0e-3gkFy7Q_7Ra7Kel/s320/Cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><br /> A Love Letter to My Family
</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-weight: 700;"> Sandy Young</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: 700;">I dedicate this “letter” to all of the people and furry friends in the
photos below<br />
(with special thanks to Todd for the covers)!
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Noteworthy'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">for my family...
</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorRlbgcJnzqcjvdpXpAgKMNgmidzxptaRLKzZja6LJ8YtA98Rt_Ibvqufl6ao7yUJ5z9cXKIefzG3URNNsk2hxEBODxferkD70nReQSSN9q_lr6OSTEHo6T9-yWRZYAurJ7lfd7Ofqp-ATzH8MHdi5avgZZT2ImTMNUeN7eZAFUQTUMX7YRf5/s261/download%20copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="261" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorRlbgcJnzqcjvdpXpAgKMNgmidzxptaRLKzZja6LJ8YtA98Rt_Ibvqufl6ao7yUJ5z9cXKIefzG3URNNsk2hxEBODxferkD70nReQSSN9q_lr6OSTEHo6T9-yWRZYAurJ7lfd7Ofqp-ATzH8MHdi5avgZZT2ImTMNUeN7eZAFUQTUMX7YRf5/s1600/download%20copy.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><span style="font-family: BradleyHandITCTT; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: 700;">Before you begin to read this book, I offer an apology. It took me
more than two years to write this love letter, so here at the end, I’m
eager (maybe even anxious because of some of the things I’ve said)
to get it printed and bound. I had hoped to have it for you as a
“giff” for Christmas 2020, then Christmas 2021, and now
Christmas 2022. I’m writing this message on October 5, 2022,
and you never can tell what might happen before I give your love
letter to you. The publication date and gifting to you will be a
surprise to all of us. I’m tired of prognosticating! Ready to get this
book in your hands and hopefully in your hearts.</span><p></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: 700;">CONTENTS
</span><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Introduction
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Preface
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">My God Beliefs
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">My Political Beliefs
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Ever the English Teacher
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Thoughts on Writing
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">My Reading Life
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Letter Writing and Journaling
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Traveling with the Youngs
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Christmases I Have Known and Loved
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Social Media — A Love-Hate Relationship
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Retirement<br />
(Both the pros and the cons)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">The Old Folks at Home
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Psalm 30:5<br />
“For His anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for
the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">A Little Bit of Bible<br />
A Potpourri of Last Thoughts
Just Two More Things . . .
Afterthoughts
</span></p>
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</div>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-84504462552664295812024-02-05T13:02:00.004-07:002024-02-05T15:43:47.155-07:00<p> </p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Introduction
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">How does one know when a “thing” is exactly the “thing” that you think it is?
Sometimes we make a purchase only to ;ind that it is not as it was represented, doesn’t ;it
as it should, doesn’t perform as it should, doesn’t last as long as it should.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We live in a society that enables us, allows us, a quick ;ix when the “thing” doesn’t
seem to be just right. We send it back, exchange it for another.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Can’t do that when the “thing” happens to be a person. Can’t do that when the
“thing” is what a person feels. Can’t do that when the “thing” is who the person is. Can’t do
that when the words written are but an expression of a truth lived out in a person’s life.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As you read </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Love Letter to My Family</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, written for you, recognize that it is written
by a daughter, a wife, a mother, a mother-in-law, a grandmother, and, yes, a surrogate
mother, not a legal mother but a mother by selection. Recognize that it is a “thing” written
out of love for each of you, and if you ;ind words that don’t exactly ;it your life, who you are,
or think you are, don’t send it back, but like the old-timer railroad sign said, “STOP,” “LOOK,”
and “LISTEN.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">STOP living a life on a boat without a rudder, being tossed and turned by every wind
and wave that buffers your boat. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1) Anchor your boat of life to the Word, and you can’t
do that without reading the Word, practicing the Word, and sharing the Word with others.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">LOOK for others whose life is centered in the Word, and associate with them, pattern
your life after them, share your life with them. As completely as life occupies our time, it is
very wasteful to spend time with those who tear us down instead of building us up.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">LISTEN attentively to that which builds you up, which adds positively to who you
are, and who you want to become. We don’t have time to waste on the negativity that is so
readily available and is so harmful to health of our bodies, our minds, and our value to
others.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As you read this book, you will discover why I chose the writer to be my beloved wife,
your mother, your grandmother, your mother-in-law. In keeping with my admonition to
STOP, LOOK, and LISTEN, in particular here is what I suggest you pay heed to. Our son, Jay,
your brother, brother-in-law, uncle, found himself in a conversation one night at a bar after </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">a performance. The discussion at the conclusion of the evening came around to whether or
not it matters if you believe in God, Heaven, and Hell. As I recall, his answer was as follows:
If you believe in Heaven and Hell and believe in Jesus as your substitute for forgiveness of
your sins, and you die and find out you were wrong, there will be no penalty. You have lost
nothing. If, however, you do not believe and accept His gift of salvation, die, and find out you
are wrong, you have lost everything. Logic demands that you believe.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 5"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 15pt; font-weight: 700;">Frank Young
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Preface
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Right about now, you’re probably thinking</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">, Oh, no! She’s writing another book. I
haven’t even started the ones that she gave me for Christmas in 2019, and now here’s another
one. How in the world can she even think of what to write about after all those other words? </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I
must admit that after I ;inished all the books that I gave you, I had to search my brain to
think of the topic for another book. I started to write a history of Cerrillos Community
Church, but it just didn’t seem right for now. I may write that at another time. One of my
favorite “books” that I did when I was still teaching was the Alphabet Journal. I included it
in </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Grammy . . . Then and Now</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. I thought about doing another of those journals concentrating
on blessings that I have received “then and now.” I considered writing about my years in the
classroom or about the years that I traveled thousands of miles as a sales rep/consultant.
None of those topics grabbed me. Back in the fall, a writer friend read </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">My Mom’s Always Hot!
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and said very forcefully that I needed to write a book for grieving parents. Maybe later, but
not right now.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As I was pondering the topic for another book, I decided to re-read a book that my
high school best friend, Sharon Downing Jarvis, wrote for her grandchildren. I believe that
God pointed me to the book, not because I would even agree with everything that she
wrote. You see, Sharon and her family are devout Mormons, and many of their beliefs are
different from mine. Sharon has always been a talented writer, and I thought I could learn a
bit about writing from getting into her book again. In </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">These Things I Believe</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, she talks to her
grandchildren about their Mormon beliefs so that they would understand them better. She
also includes experiences that she had had in connection with their church and experiences
that her parents had after becoming members of their denomination.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have been praying for months that God would let me know if I should write another
book and, if so, what the topic should be. As I read Sharon’s words, I felt that God wanted
me to write a book about my beliefs, not necessarily the way Sharon wrote, but my beliefs </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">about a lot of things. The writing that I’ve done in the past had some of my beliefs at least
alluded to, but I felt led to write about some very speci;ic beliefs. You’ll see them on the
CONTENTS page. I haven’t decided on the order of my chapters, but I hope you’ll read the
ones titled “My God Beliefs” and “My Political Beliefs” first because I’m not sure that all of
you really understand those areas of my life. I’m not including them in this book because I
want to argue about my beliefs. You all know that I really dislike arguments! I just want you
to know my heart in these two respects.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 7"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Some of the topics that I’ll write about aren’t necessarily beliefs. They’re more
opinions or feelings or attitudes . . . or maybe something akin to memoir – memories. I’m
not planning to be repetitious of what’s in the other books, but a little something
reminiscent of those books may creep in.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t start this book until February 24, 2020, so it won’t be finished at the time
that I wanted it to be – our reunion in Pagosa Springs. I’m far too wordy to finish by then.
Maybe it’ll be my birthday “giff” to me but given to you. We’ll see. Or maybe you’ll get it for
Christmas 2020. (As you know, that didn’t happen!)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve titled my book </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Love Letter to My Family</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, not because I’ll be writing it in the
form of a real letter but because it’s written with love to each one of you. I hope you know
how much I love you even though these days some of us have differences of opinion in
certain areas. There is absolutely nothing that could make me not love you! And I hope you
feel the same about me. By the way, the title just popped into my mind while I was writing,
so I think maybe the Lord gave it to me.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll warn you ahead of time that I’ll be including quotations from famous writers in
the book. There are some (lots of!) things that others have said much better than I could
ever say them, so bear with me on the quotations.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And, as Columbo would say</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">, Just one more thing, ma’am</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. As of the writing of this
Preface, no one knows that I’m writing this book. Who knows? I may be able to tell you,
when I give it to all of you, that I wrote it right under your noses! (Actually, Todd knew
about it. He made the covers!)
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">My God Beliefs
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I didn’t title this chapter “My Religious Beliefs” because I think the word religious
sounds pious, and I don’t want to sound that way. It sounds almost negative to me; however,
when I checked the meaning of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">pious </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I found that it is a synonym of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">religious </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and refers to a
person who goes to church every Sunday and studies the Bible during the week. So maybe I
am religious and pious. I still don’t want to claim those words!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In this chapter, I want to do two things: to share what is called my personal
testimony (my path to becoming a Christian) and what the Bible says about salvation. I’m
writing about these because I love all of you, want you to know what Christianity is in my
life, and want to be sure that all of us will be in Heaven when our lives on earth have ended.
I have no intention of preaching, just sharing. If I find myself sounding preachy, I’ll do some
editing before passing this book on to you. You can feel free to tell me if I haven’t edited
enough.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Here’s my Mouth-of-the-South-length personal testimony, written several years ago
when Chad asked us to be prepared to give our testimonies in church. He never asked, but I
have it now to share with you.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Mine is a simple story. One of my very first memories is of walking hand in hand
with my mother down Government St. in Mobile, AL, to West End Baptist Church. There I
heard Bible stories and went home every Sunday morning with one of those beautiful little
leaflets with a picture of Jesus and a Bible verse on the front and a wonderful story inside.
</i></span></p>
<p><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We moved to New Orleans when I was five, and I have the same memories of walking
to church, only this time Mother and I walked down Carrollton Avenue to Carrollton Avenue
Baptist Church. I have the same Sunday School memories, only this time I can see lovely
Christian ladies sitting with us children at those little tables that were far too low for adults
but just right for us kiddies. Again, I learned about Jesus and how much God loved us. He </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">loved us so much that He sent Jesus to die on the cross for our sins. At a very early age,
maybe seven or eight, I knew that I wanted Jesus to be my Savior, to live in my heart always.
So I told my world . . . members of Carrollton Avenue Baptist Church . . . that I believed that
Jesus was the Son of God, that He died for my sins, and that I accepted Him. In other words,
I wanted to be a Christian. I followed Him in baptism, and so began my Christian life.</span></i></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 10"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Fast forward through teenage years in Pensacola, where I truly began to grow as a
Christian, to 1961, Mississippi College, Clinton, MS. Frank and I met in February, had our
;irst date on March 10, and married on December 17. After we married, we lived in
ministerial housing, and we met one of the ;inest Christian couples that we’ve ever known.
They were a bit older than we were and were role models for us. The woman helped me, a
young wife, in many ways; however, unintentionally, she really caused problems for me and
ultimately for Frank.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>She had become a Christian in her adult life and had had a truly life-changing
experience with the Lord. Therefore, she was very adamant in telling me and everyone else
that a real acceptance of the Lord had to involve an almost “Saul on the road to Damascus”
experience. I hadn’t had that kind of experience, so I began to doubt that I was a Christian.
You know, Satan can take a little seed of doubt in a Lord-loving person who is prone to
worry and nurture that seed into a big plant that just takes over. And so he did with me.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>For two or three years, I agonized over whether or not I was a Christian. I would
wake Frank in the middle of the night, crying and worrying about my salvation. Many times
I talked to God and renewed my Christian vows, but I still worried. Poor Frank. He was so
patient, always trying to assure me, but to no avail.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Finally, when we moved to Pascagoula, MS, he asked our pastor to come to our house
to talk to me. Brother Mac did just that, and after hearing me pour out my heart to him, he
asked me a couple of simple questions in an effort to help me put away my worries forever.
He said, “Sandy, do you love the Lord? Do you believe that Jesus is God’s Son and that he
came to save you from your sins? Have you told God that you believe that?” All of my
answers were in the affirmative. “But,” I said, “I don’t know exactly when I became a
Christian, and even worse that that, I didn’t have a big experience.”
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>“Listen,” said Brother Mac, “suppose you and Frank are driving from Pascagoula to
Pensacola to visit your parents. Frank’s driving on Highway 90, and you’re talking away.
(Surprise! Surprise!) You cross the border between Mississippi and Alabama, but you don’t
realize that you’ve crossed over until you get to Bayou LaBatre. Just because you didn’t
know when you crossed the state line, does that mean you didn’t go into Alabama?”
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Maybe that little example wouldn’t be the answer needed for assurance of
Christianity, of eternal life with God for others, but for me, it clicked. I didn’t need to know
an exact date of conversion or have an explosive experience for me to be a Christian. All
along I’d had what I needed. Those many years ago at Carrollton Avenue Baptist Church, I
had accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior in a very simple way. No bells and whistles
. . . just a simple crossing from non-belief to belief. I was a Christian.
</i></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Now fast forward again, this time to Santa Fe, NM, January 2010. For the past four or five months, I had been going to Rodeo Road Baptist Church on Thursday to “build” the
Sunday bulletin. Because of budget problems, we had decided to change our church
secretary’s job from full time to part time; therefore, several of us were taking on volunteer
positions to fill in the gaps, mine being the builder of the bulletin. After I got the hang of
using Publisher, I enjoyed my new job and loved trying to put together a bulletin that gave
honor to the Lord.</i></span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 11"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>One Thursday not long before Christmas, Pastor Bill Achilles met me with a smile
and told me that I’d love one of the new inserts for that week. I knew what he was talking
about even before he told me—the church had hired an Administrative Assistant and Media
Specialist (the new name for secretary). My services were soon to come to an end. I had
loved working at the church one day a week, getting to know Pastor Bill better, and doing
my part to honor Jesus; however, it was time for a professional to take over, and I was happy
to relinquish the computer to someone who would really know how to build the bulletin.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>When Nena Roberts reported for work, I took the keys to her. I knew the minute that
I met her that she and I would be friends. Even though I felt and looked like a giant next to
her, we clicked immediately . . . began comparing ideas, likes and dislikes, and chatting
about writing. I found out that she was having a book signing the next Saturday at Hastings,
and I told her that I’d be there. And I was.
</i></span></p>
<p><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">She and her son were sitting right inside the door, and there on the table were copies
of her book </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">am i a Christian? </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">It was a tiny book, but I would ;ind later that evening a
powerhouse inside. Nena and I visited for a while before my friend Mary McFadin arrived.
During our conversation, I told Nena about Jay and gave her my blog address so that she
could read about him. I left shortly after Mary arrived, planning to read the little volume
later that evening.
</span></i></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>I think I began reading around 8:00 p.m. and couldn’t put it down until I finished it
in a cold sweat. Why a cold sweat? Because it spoke to me and told me that I needed to do
something. The book is a collection of stories from people, including Nena and her husband,
who discovered later in life that they hadn’t really accepted the Lord and let Him be King of
their lives. I have never in my life doubted that God through Jesus is my Lord and Savior;
however, as you can tell from reading about my early life, I have doubted my salvation.
Doubted whether or not I had made it clear to God that I accepted Jesus. That sounds silly,
doesn’t it? Yes, I began to doubt again.
</i></span></p>
<p><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">During the next three weeks, I went through bouts of questioning, sometimes the
Lord waking me in the middle of the night to question more . . . to talk to Him . . . to tell him
over and over that I love Him, that I know for sure that He sent Jesus to save me from my
sins, that I repent of my sins, that I accept that divine love, that I want Jesus to be the center
of my life, and that I want the Holy Spirit to control everything that I do. I called one of the
middle-of-the-night bouts “wrestling with angels” and even credited Satan with one night’s </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">agony, telling him to get out of my head, heart, and life, hoping that that action would give
me peace. It didn’t.</span></i></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 12"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>I’m not exactly sure when the Lord made it plain to me that sometime I would need
to go to the front of the church, talk to the pastor, and pray for myself the prayer that would
seal my salvation for me. One day soon after I read Nena’s book, Pastor Bill, in his sermon,
mentioned over and over again letting the Holy Spirit be in control and having the courage
to submit. I felt that that day was the day when I would leave my seat on the ;irst stanza of
the hymn of invitation (“Only Trust Him” was the song on January 31, 2010). Even though I
had talked to the pastor earlier about my feelings of doubt, he looked a bit surprised as I
walked the few steps to him. I told him that I wanted to make my salvation sure, that I
needed a specific time that I could point to as my day of salvation, that I wanted to know for
sure that I am a Christian. I prayed for salvation; Bill prayed for my assurance from God.
</i></span></p>
<p><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Everything in our lives happens for a purpose. God brought Nena Roberts into my
life that day in the church office, made me aware that she was a sister not only in Jesus but
in writing, told me to go to her book signing, gave me the awareness that I needed to read
her book, made me very much uncomfortable as I read, and led me to a true acceptance of
Jesus as Lord and Savior of my life. And so I thank Nena for writing </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">am I a Christian</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">?; I
thank Bill Achilles for being a pastor with a heart for the Lord and for his ;lock; I thank God,
for convicting me and for seeing me through to true acceptance.
</span></i></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>I cannot close this written testimony without saying how thankful I am for Frank,
who has been my sounding board, my example, my hero in Christ through fifty-eight years.
Through all of my doubts, he has always been my strong supporter. Needless to say, he’s
happy that I’ve found the peace that I need.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>In retrospect, I truly believe that I accepted Jesus as my Savior back at Carrolton
Avenue Baptist Church. And I also believe that Satan made me doubt every time I began to
question my salvation. Recently, I talked to Eric during refreshment time at church. Since
he, too, had become a Christian when he was just a child, I asked him how he gives his
testimony to people. Many people who become Christians have really sordid pasts that they
need to repent of. Eric and I were children with the most egregious sins being telling lies or
walking out of a store with un-paid-for candy in our pockets. He said that he just says that
he was blessed to hear the Gospel message early in life and goes on to tell about what the
Lord has done in his life from childhood to adulthood. And that’s essentially what I’ve done
in my personal testimony.
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Even though all of you reading this book are my family, I don’t know your exact
relationship to the Lord. We have no assurance of how long we’ll be here on this earth, and I
want to be sure that you accept Jesus as your Lord and personal Savior just as soon as </i></span><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">possible. I’ve told you in my testimony what has to happen in a person’s life in order to
become a believer, a Christian. However, I’m giving you here a website that I’d love for you
to check out. If you’re not a Christian, it will tell you how to join the fellowship of believers;
if you are a Christian, it’ll just be a “refresher course.” It’s a website that I give to many of
the people to whom I write on Search for Jesus: </span><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b>www.peacewithgod.net</b></span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. I’m always willing
and eager to talk to you about salvation! I hope I haven’t been too preachy.</span></i></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 13"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><i><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In closing this chapter of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">A Love Letter to My Family</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, I must tell you that there are
only two things that I fear in life: that Pop/Dad will die before I do and that I will die before
everyone in my family is a Christian. That’s it. Just those two things. I love all of you so
much!
</span></i></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">My Political Beliefs
</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6jU-R9cqqY7TVrvXPRQS29eSgJg_C2zT0fR6PPqgFpUwmXUFpr_GJm8bKjtICEXvwMotz7-LCekvO0uy_x2Rv4mscJLnTqAVNUq5IabOWn9D_qBfk01ziH_WegPkLs0z-4GYhnGL0GXUOkfbkEwDqTSrLuqbDz4g1Jo2Zc1JFkPCgKtnSuiQ/s1200/Quotation-Thomas-Jefferson-I-never-considered-a-difference-of-opinion-in-politics-in-14-56-48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1200" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6jU-R9cqqY7TVrvXPRQS29eSgJg_C2zT0fR6PPqgFpUwmXUFpr_GJm8bKjtICEXvwMotz7-LCekvO0uy_x2Rv4mscJLnTqAVNUq5IabOWn9D_qBfk01ziH_WegPkLs0z-4GYhnGL0GXUOkfbkEwDqTSrLuqbDz4g1Jo2Zc1JFkPCgKtnSuiQ/s320/Quotation-Thomas-Jefferson-I-never-considered-a-difference-of-opinion-in-politics-in-14-56-48.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>This is a difficult chapter to write because there are so many differences of opinion
about politics in our family right now. In fact, it’s such a difficult chapter to write that I’m
just going to say a very few things and get on to the next chapter, one in which I’ll be able to
talk more freely and intelligently. I hope all of you know that I’m conservative (I’d hate to be
labeled liberal because, to me, that sounds wishy washy or changing with the wind . . . just
not very stable) and happy to be so, that I’m registered Republican but that I don’t
necessarily go along with all the things that staunch Republicans believe.</span><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Since I have a dif;icult time enumerating exactly what I believe about politics, I went
to the Internet to see if I could find a good article about what Republicans believe. I found
all sorts of articles that listed a gazillion beliefs, but I didn’t agree with all of them. I found
two that I liked, though; however, rather than try to summarize them or to copy them here,
I’ll give you links to the articles. If you really want to know what I believe, please go to the
articles to find out. I had Pop read the articles, and he thinks that they’re good. You know
Pop, though, he had some additional comments; however, I couldn’t figure out how to
include them.<br />
</span><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.studentnewsdaily.com/conservative-vs-liberal-beliefs/
</i></b></span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://townhall.com/columnists/johnhawkins/2007/04/27/10-differences-between-
conservatives-and-liberals-n1372988
</i></b></span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And now for a very few comments about the president (Donald J. Trump). I like him,
and I approve of lots of the things that he has done for our country. Unlike many in the USA,
I think he has the best interest of Americans at heart. He’s a patriot. But . . . would I want to
live next door to him and be his best friend? Probably not. I always watch his press
conferences and other speeches on TV and like what he stands for, but I get exasperated at
his delivery. I know he’s not a good public speaker. In some of his speeches, he’s so funny
(like the one at CPAC that I’m watching right now in February 2020). He’s an entertainer. He
exaggerates. But he knows the proper use of </span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">who </span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and </span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">whom</span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, something that very few
people know. I wish he had another hair-do, but he’ll probably always have it, and besides,
it’s his hair, and he can wear it any way he wants to. Also, I think he looks like a chicken in
profile. Just a few comments. I know they’re not very political, but neither am I.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 15"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You know that Pop is the political one in our home. You know that my respect for
him is as big as the world and that there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. Maybe you
think I’m a wimp, and maybe I am, but I trust and respect Frank Young, Builder! We watch
Fox News, and I’m not apologizing for that; however, Pop gets almost all of his ideas from
reading what respected people write. Yes, they’re mostly conservative, but he also reads
what liberals write. He believes conservatives the most. I don’t enjoy reading all of those
articles and books that he reads (no plot!), but he does a great job of summarizing . . . and of
reading articles aloud to me. Maybe I am a bit wimpish as far as politics are concerned, but I
usually understand when my sweetheart explains to me, and I </span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">usually </span><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">agree with him.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m glad I’m not a Democrat because there’s not one person running that I would
vote for. I guess I’d have to say that I like Tulsi Gabbard somewhat, but she doesn’t have a
chance. I really can’t understand why she’s a Dem. As far as I’m concerned, she’s far too
reasonable for that Party.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll be voting for President Donald J. Trump on November 8, 2020, but you already
knew that. I pretty much know what to expect from him, and I pretty much like what I know
he’ll do for our country. I know that he has things in his past that people criticize him for,
and I know that he’s done things during his presidency that many don’t like. My feeling
about those things is that I don’t have to be the judge of him. God is the ultimate Judge, and
if President Trump has done sinful things that he should be judged for, the Judge will do the
judging. That’s not my responsibility. I’ve heard Democrats and others criticize the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">president for saying things that sound religious. They say he shouldn’t say them because he
can’t possibly be a Christian. And he has said things that make me wonder. But again, that’s
not for me to judge.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 16"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On the evening of November 4, 2008, we, along with the Christensens, attended an
Election Night Party at the home of Margaret and Jim Janis. We two couples were the only
Republicans who were there, the only ones who had voted for John McCain and Sarah Palin.
The TV was on the whole evening, and every time McCain won a state, I cheered and was
laughed at. When Obama was announced president (and I knew he’d win), the rest of the
crowd cheered. I didn’t boo! We left, and as soon as I got home, I wrote a group email to
everyone who had been at the party. In it, I said something like this: “Congratulations to all
of you for having your candidate win. Barack Obama is now our president. He wasn’t my
candidate, as you all know, but now I must support him. You will never hear me bad-mouth
him the way you Democrats have bad-mouthed President Bush for eight years.
Congratulations on the win!” And, you know what? I never did say bad things about
President Obama. Well, Frank and I talked at home, but I never criticized him in public,
especially around my friends who loved President Obama with all their hearts. (I must
admit that John McCain would not have been a good president, and I really am glad he
didn’t win the election. Sarah Palin might have been OK. HaHa!) Although I don’t believe
that President Obama was a good leader for us, he was much better, in my opinion, than any
of the ones running right now would be. But I hope, if one of them is elected, that I would
treat him or her the same way that I treated #44.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I know that we have lots of disagreement about politics in our family right now, and I
feel the disagreement. I’m going to tell you something that really hurts my heart. I feel a real
animosity toward Pop and me in the political aspect. We wish that you understood us better
or that you could just put political feelings out of the picture. I don’t have negative feelings
about any of you who disagree with us, and I don’t believe Pop does either. I wish that we
could talk civilly about our differences, but I doubt that we will ever be able to, and that
breaks my heart. It’s so difficult to have to tiptoe around when we’re together as a family. I’d
even be willing to have a Democrat as president if it would heal wounds in our family.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">But . . . for right now, we’ll be voting for President Trump on November 8, and you’ll
be voting for either Bernie Sanders or Joe Biden. If either of them wins, I’ll pray every day </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">for him just as I pray for President Trump now. I pray for our country every day now, and I’ll
be praying doubly hard if we become that Socialist country that Democrats are promising.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 17"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I love the quotation from Thomas Jefferson that I’ve posted. I hope you do, too.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Here are additional articles about differing opinions in politics:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(16.470590%, 16.470590%, 16.470590%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This one addresses friends who disagree, but I think everything in it pertains to families,
too:<br />
</span><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.wikihow.com/Deal-With-Friends-With-Different-Political-Views
</i></b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This one, too, addresses friends, but I think it’s good advice for families:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.realsimple.com/health/mind-mood/emotional-health/political-frenemies-
social-media
</i></b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Definitely about families:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/living-between-worlds/201610/what-do-
when-politics-and-family-collide
</i></b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Families with different political beliefs:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.scholarshippoints.com/campuslife/how-to-deal-when-you-and-your-family-
disagree-on-politics/
</i></b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And more about families:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.verywellfamily.com/when-families-disagree-about-politics-4112342
</i></b></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The title of this new book is </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Love Letter to My Family</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. I hope you see L.O.V.E. in this
chapter. I wrote it in hopes of showing love. Did I succeed?</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 18"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 23pt; font-weight: 700;">Ever the English Teacher
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Sometime during the summer of 1956, we had a youth-let revival at Brownsville
Baptist Church. Bob Troutman was the youth pastor, and every evening he talked about
young people being called to full-time Christian service. As I listened, I began to feel that I
was being called . . . maybe to be an educational director or youth director in a Baptist
church.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My mother went with me to those services and watched me in the choir, struggling
with whether or not I should respond to the call. On the last night, I walked down to the
youth pastor and surrendered to the definite call that I felt at the time. Mother told me after
the service that if I hadn’t gone down, she was going to walk up to the choir and drag me
down. She always knew me better than anyone else and knew that the Lord was dealing
with me and that I needed to make that commitment.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My best friend, Sharon Downing, and I had been making plans for about a year to go
to Florida State University together; however, in October 1957, I went to Mississippi
College, a Baptist college in Clinton, Mississippi, for Homecoming. I knew as soon as we
turned in to the college, when I saw all those young people having so much fun, when I
heard the tom-tom beating for all the MC Choctaws to hear, that I wouldn’t be going to FSU.
I’d be a freshman at MC during Homecoming in 1958!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I stayed in the dorm with Yvonne Chewning, the daughter of the folks who drove
Nancy Chewning and me to MC, that weekend and fell in love with everything that smacked
of Mississippi College. And so . . . I broke the news to Sharon and started planning to go to
MC. I don’t recall that she was very much disappointed, and she continued to make her
plans for going to Tallahassee. My parents were elated that I would be going to a much
smaller school (and I imagine much less expensive, though money was never mentioned in
our family).
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Fast forward to a Sunday afternoon in September 1958, and you’ll see my parents
and me arriving at Jennings Hall, an ancient dorm just for freshman women. We went in
two cars, probably because my dad had to hit the road for work as a supervisor of Auto-Lec
Stores on Monday morning. In those days, just about the only thing that students took to
college was clothes, so both cars weren’t full of stuff. My roommate, Alice Dillon, was in our </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">room (Room 202) and started weeping and wailing when we walked in. She had been there
for almost a week all by herself in our room and was horribly homesick, crying that if she
had anyone to marry back in Tylertown, she’d go home right then to get married. Her sister,
Dawn, was in charge of welcoming freshman girls to MC in hopes that they’d join
Kissimmee social tribe and had all sorts of things to do before we freshmen arrived. Alice
had had to go to MC early in order to have a ride. To make a long story short, Alice got over
her homesickness when I arrived (I was the one who was homesick after my parents left),
and we became best friends.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 20"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve said all that to say this: By the end of first semester, I had decided that the Lord
was probably just calling me to MC, not to full-time Christian service. I firmly felt that He
wanted me to be an English teacher, and I began making plans for a major in English instead
of Christian Education. I could be a Christian in the classroom.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As all of you know, I taught English mainly to seniors in high school for thirty-two
years. During those years, I taught tenth grade for four or five years, but the vast majority of
my years were with seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds, those know-it-all kids whom no one
else wanted to teach. I loved them . . . until after Spring Break. They were so ready to
graduate that they wanted to do nothing but chat about the future and sign yearbooks until
the end of the year. Not in Miz Young’s class, though! I kept them working till the bitter end.
I fibbed a bit. I still loved them, but they exasperated me big time!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">These days I don’t have a class (note that I didn’t say “any class,” though you may
think sometimes that I don’t have that either), so I “teach” on Facebook and holler at the TV
when I hear grammatical errors from reporters and commentators and when the scrolling
info at the bottom of the TV screen has errors. I know my teaching and hollering are silly,
but this old English teacher can’t help it.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Almost every year on March 4, I post a reminder that it’s National Grammar Day. I
wish I had known that when I was in the classroom. We’d have had a wonderful time with
grammar for the whole week ahead of the date. I know. I know. How can anyone have a
wonderful time with grammar? We could do it in Room 107 at Woodham High School!
There are great activities online, and I’d have copied the talented English teachers who
thought them up. Here’s the poster that I posted this year (2020) . . .
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Funny, but no one really wanted to do either of the activities.<br />
I sometimes post about specific grammar rules. In 2010, I posted about the extreme </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">negligence of the difference between </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">bring </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">take</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. Here’s the post and all the comments:</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: 700;">An old English teacher's pet peeve . . . one of them, at least
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">I hope the misuse of bring and take is one of your pet peeves, too! I'm probably just "whistlin' in the wind" to
even mention this, though. Lately, I never hear the two words used correctly, and that hurts my teacher heart!
The word </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt; font-style: italic;">take </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">has practically disappeared from the English language.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">“Use </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: 700;">bring </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">to indicate movement toward the person who is speaking or is being spoken to; use </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: 700;">take </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">to
indicate movement away from the person who is speaking or is being spoken to.” </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt; font-style: italic;">The Dictionary of
Disagreeable English </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">by Robert Hartwell Fiske
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Susan Hughes </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Definitely one of my pet peeves<br />
</span><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Michael White </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">See that's always been my issue with English. There are always exceptions and exceptions to </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">the exceptions. Latin has always made more sense. Ghoti.</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Julie King Evans </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy, thank you. My son, Sam, and I read it together. It reinforced the importance of proper
use of the English language. It always helps when he hears, or reads, it from a source other than his Mom.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sally Van Kirk </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Isn't that "bring" and "take" thing a regional speech pattern? Seems to<br />
me that I hear it more often with folks from certain parts of the country - not sure now where it is.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">I don't think so. I hear the mistakes all over. People just don't adhere to the rule.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Hetty Krucke </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Ok, remind us of the rule...<br />
I think it is: I take the book with me on vacation and bring the book to the library.
Is that correct and why is it correct?
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Peggy Schnupp </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Amen!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sally Van Kirk </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">I like the explanation you posted and I think that's probably what we were told "back in the
day" Don't know why schools (and parents) have gotten so far from teaching grammar to their kids. But then
the current crop of parents didn't get that teaching either.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">And you know what, Sis? Many English teachers, I hate to say, don't like to teach grammar and
practically skip it. So . . . as Grandma would say, "There you have it!"
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Hette . . . yes you take the book with you on vacation, but you also take it to the library. If the
direction is away from the speaker, use take; if it's toward the speaker, use bring. So . . . I say to you, "Hette, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">bring your book with you when you come to my house." Make sense? How it thrills my heart for someone to
want to know how to use those two words correctly!!</span></p></div></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 22"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="section" style="background-color: #f2f3f5;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Johanna Kanen </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">You should also have a discussion about bought and brought.
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sally Van Kirk </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy; I am not on Facebook, at least not yet but saw your post and ... </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">I really struggle with TV programs like the local and national news. The errors in grammar and pronunciation
just grate on my nerves and Sally get </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">English. And then there is the repetition-gag me with a spoon- how many </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">so irritated with my snide remarks about the pathetic level of spoken </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">times do I have to hear the same poorly spoken, mindless/content less story about idiotic behavior. </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">Phew, wonder what set me off this morning, could it be because the rain </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt;">started here in the Pacific NW ?(from my brother-in-law Larry Van Kirk)</span></p></div></div><div class="section">
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<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Candy L. Carter </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Thanks, Sandy! As a whole we have become very lazy in our speech and it is even worse now
with "text speak." I refuse to use it-ever!!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">I can only imagine how frustrating it must be as an English professional listening to and reading all the
mistakes made each day. It drives me nuts when people use "to, too, two" or "there, their, they're"wrong, and
what happened to the thesaurus anyway?.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sally Van Kirk </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Quite a can of worms you opened here, sis. Wish it were limited to bring and take. Very few
people speak good English anymore and it's really irritating when it's the people on radio and tv who are
some of the worst offenders......
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Oh, Candy and Sally, you are ever so right! I'm probably the last person in the world to begin
texting, and would you believe that I spell out everything and even put in commas? As you can imagine, I don't
text very much, but I feel as though I should do it occasionally because I'm paying a whopping $5 a month for
the privilege!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Larry, you are right on target! Radio and TV reporters/commentators are the worst! Let's get
you set up on FB. Then I'll know for sure when you're writing to me, dear brother-in-law!!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Hey, Johanna! Good idea . . . and there are lots more!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Wonder if anyone noticed the title of the book from which I copied the page . . . <i>The Dictionary of
Disagreeable English.</i> Cost me only $5, and it's a treasure trove of things that bother me. And why, you ask,
would anyone in her right mind spend so much money on a book like that? Beats me . . . guess she's still partly
in the classroom. Besides, the book was on sale, and I can't pass up a good grammar deal.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Candy L. Carter </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy, I text all the time, but I text like I email or write here on FB. In complete sentences and
with punctuation. I'm proud to say that for the most part both of my boys do as well, at least when they are
texting me! But, it drives me nuts when others text me in text speak--and then they branch out to FB and such
with it.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">I'm with you, Candy! And I'm proud of you AND your boys! I'm sure you're NOT proud of your
old English teacher, though. Did you notice my error? It's the Dictionary of Disagreeable English, not
Dictionary English. I should proofread my FB comments, huh? Oh, well . . . I'm taking an online course in
proofreading later this month, so maybe I'll do better then. HaHa!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Candy L. Carter </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Ha, you were writing that comment while I was writing mine! But we all make those mistakes
and that you can make them as well makes the rest of us feel better! So, thanks.
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(21.960780%, 34.509800%, 59.607850%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Sandy Young </span><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">Whew! That makes me feel better!!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(10.980390%, 11.764710%, 12.941180%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 10pt;">(Just a little sad note. Candy’s husband, Arthur, was killed while riding his bike on Sunday, March 8, 2020.
They were such a team! My heart is broken for Candy, one of my favorite former students. I believe I went to
her wedding. I know I gave her a gift because she mentioned it recently. I wish I lived close to her so that I
could give her a great big hug right now!)
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I can’t get too much upset at grammar, usage, and mechanics errors on Facebook
because all of us write quickly there, and I certainly do make mistakes. I love getting
messages and comments from friends and family on Facebook, so mistakes are not
important. What’s important is that they cared enough to write to me.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">There’s one punctuation error that bothers me, especially on email. I do believe that
most people were absent the day that their teacher taught them to use a comma before and
after a noun in direct address. So </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">what is a noun in direct address?</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, you may be saying to
yourself. Here’s a definition with punctuation:
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Always use a comma when directly addressing someone/something, regardless of whether
the direct address is at the beginning or end of the sentence. If the direct address is in the
middle of a sentence, use a pair of commas to set off the direct address.” (grammarerrors.com)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">So in a letter or an email, you should write </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Hi, Sandy</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, not </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Hi Sandy</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. Or you might have the
direct address in the middle of a sentence: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">You know, Sandy, I think this is a silly rule</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. Or
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Surely, you don’t expect me to follow this rule, Sandy. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I like this rule! And I’ll continue to set
off nouns in direct address with commas.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Getting on with grammatical errors that really bother me . . . do you know what the
positive, comparative, and superlative degrees of adjectives are? Well, I do, but it’s so
difficult to explain. I’ll tell you a little bit; then I want you to check out the definition and
examples on </span><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>https://www.learnesl.net/three-degrees-of-adjectives-in-english/</i></b></span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>. </i></b>I’ll use
examples to explain: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">John is smart </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(positive). </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">John is smarter than Jim </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(comparative). </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">John is
the smartest person I know </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(superlative).</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">She is pretty </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(positive). </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">She is prettier than her
sister </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(comparative). </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">She is the prettiest girl in the class </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(comparative). You get the picture.
One- and two-syllable adjectives have </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">er </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">added for comparing two people, items, places, etc.
and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">est </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">added for comparing groups of people, items, places, etc. If the adjective has three
or more syllables, use </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">more </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">for comparative and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">most </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">for superlative degrees: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">She is more
beautiful than her sister. She is the most beautiful girl in her class. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">It’s not unusual today to
hear a person say something like </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">John is more smart than Jim </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">or something like that (can’t </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">think of any really good examples). Check out that website to see charts of comparisons.
Errors in comparisons really “get my goat.”</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 24"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Have you ever noticed all of the misspelled words in that news stream at the bottom
of news programs on TV? Pop says that either the person entering the words has to work so
fast that he or she makes mistakes or that the person speaks the words into a machine, and
the machine makes the mistakes. I don’t know . . . I’m not sure that I buy either of those
explanations. Those errors just annoy me.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Have you seen the Liberty Mutual commercial? I love Doug and Limu Emu, but I
don’t love the way they advertise. Doug (and others, but I like Doug and Limu best) says
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Only pay for what you need. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Nothing wrong with the message, but </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">only </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is in the wrong place.
It should be </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Pay only for what you need. Only </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">shouldn’t modify </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">pay</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">!!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And the errors that annoy me the most are in usage. I’ll give you the words that are
used incorrectly and their definitions. All of the definitions in quotation marks come from
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Dictionary of Disagreeable English</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, one of my favorite grammar and usage books. Did
you know that I have a collection of those kinds of books, mainly ones with strange titles?
I’m leaving all of those to my firstborn grandchild, Corey Elizabeth Mansfield. I’m sure she’ll
be elated to learn of my bequeathal! (Do you like that word? I looked it up!) Most of the
errors in the following words are found in writing; a few are found many times in speaking.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">a lot/alot – Sandy’s definition – </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A lot </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">means a bunch! </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Alot </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is just plain wrong. It’s
never correct.<br />
alright/all right – As with </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">alot</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">alright </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is never correct! Examples: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Your answers on
the test are all right. It is all right for you to go to the mall.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">amount/number – “The word </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">number </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is used with that which can be easily counted;
the word </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">amount </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">with that which can be measured.” </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The number of people who came
was astounding. </span><span color="rgb(20.000000%, 20.000000%, 20.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">After a fair amount of fumbling with the lock, I was in.</span></p><p><span color="rgb(20.000000%, 20.000000%, 20.000000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">anxious/eager – “A</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">nxious </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is best reserved for feelings of dread, apprehension, or
uneasiness; let’s not use it for a synonym of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">eager</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">.” </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">He was very anxious that they
would discover his secret. He was eager to start his new job.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">bring/take – “Use </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">bring </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">to indicate movement toward the person who is speaking ;
use </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">take </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">to indicate movement away from the person who is speaking</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">.” Please bring
your laptop when you come to my house. I will take my laptop when I go to your house.
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(Take has practically disappeared from the English language, and that makes me
very sad!)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">come/go – Use </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">come </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">to indicate movement toward the person who is speaking; use
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">go </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">to indicate movement away from the person who is speaking. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">See sentences in
bring/take!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think I’ve done enough teaching for now, so I’ll close with just a listing of a few more pairs of words that are misused frequently. If you don’t know the
difference between them, you can look them up: enormity/enormousness, every day/
everyday, feel bad/feel badly, fewer/less, its/it’s, nauseous/nauseated, and who/whom.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As I said in the title of this little piece, I’m “ever the English teacher”!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">A Few of My Thoughts on Writing<br />
and Many Thoughts of Professional Writers on
Writing
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve read about writers who began writing in childhood. Envy is not a Christian
virtue, but I envy them. I wish that writing had grabbed me in childhood or even in earlier
adulthood, but it didn’t. It took a workshop one summer in the late ‘80s to convince me that
I could both teach writing that my students wouldn’t rebel against and write along with my
students, even sharing my writing with them.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As you know, I have written several books both to all of you and to friends with
whom we’ve traveled or whom we’ve visited. They are treasures to me, especially now
when my memory slips more and more every day. No, I’m not thinking that I’m “coming
down” with dementia or Alzheimer’s. I just have so much stored in my little pea brain (as
my little brother Bob would say about his noggin) that I can’t move those things around
enough to call up everything. Every once in a while, stuff stored shifts around, and I
remember something else. When you get to be 82, you may understand. Anyway, I’m happy
that I’ve written down lots of things that may get lost in the shuffle of my brain. I hope
someday all of you (even Danil and Dasha) will read what I’ve written. I’d feel really good if,
after reading this, one or two of you would tell me that you HAVE read some of my writing. I
guess you can tell that this is a sore spot with me. I almost subtitled my newest book: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A
Confession of Sorts. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I decided against that. Much too negative.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I doubt that any of you really understand my need to write. I’m not very good at
telling people what I believe or think, the main reason being that so often they immediately
want to correct me . . . to tell me that I’m wrong. If I write what I believe or think, it doesn’t
matter if they don’t agree with me because I can’t hear what they’re saying. Every day, when
I’m having a conversation with Jesus first thing in the morning, I pray that I’ll write more,
not because what I have to say is earth-shattering, but because I want all of you to know my
thoughts, my beliefs, even if you don’t agree with them.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I’m pretty much rambling in this piece. Sorry! What I had in mind when I started was
to give you some great quotations from famous writers, writers who think the way I do, or
rather, whose ideas I agree with. Here are a few:</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 27"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Epictetus — “If you wish to be a writer, write.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">John Fowles — “But all this advice from senior writers to establish a discipline always, to
get down a thousand words a day whatever one’s mood , I ;ind an absurdly puritanical
and impractical approach. Writing is like eating or making love; s natural process, not an
artificial one. Write, if you must, because you feel like writing; never because you feel you
ought to write.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">William Goldman — “Writing is essentially about going into a room by yourself and doing
it.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Guy de Maupassant — “Get black on white.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Caryl Rivers — “I enjoy the process of writing. The torment comes in getting my bottom
on the chair and in front of the typewriter.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Richard Seltzer — “Writing in longhand has a special kind of magic to it for me. You are so
engaged in the manual work of fashioning the word which ;lows out of the end of your
hand as though it were a secretion from your own body, and you watch it being spilled on
the page in a certain calligraphy, and it has an energy of its own that carries you </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">along.” (This is the way I wish I felt! I hate writing in longhand. Sandy Young)</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">E. B. White — “A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die
without putting a word on paper.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Roger Simon — “There is no such thing as writer’s block. My father drove a truck for 40
years. And never once did he wake up in the morning and say: “I have truck driver’s block
today. I am not going to work.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">William Kennedy — “Inch by inch, the words surprised me.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">John Hersey — “The voice is the element over which you have no control: it’s the sound of
the person behind the work.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Somerset Maugham — “I do not write as I want to; I write as I can.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Alexander Pope — “True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,/As those move
easiest who have learned to dance./’Tis not enough no harshness give offense,/The sound
must seem an echo to the sense.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">F. Scott Fitzgerald — “All good writing is swimming under water and holding your
breath.”
</span></p>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div></div><div class="page" title="Page 28"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column"><ul style="list-style-type: disc;"><li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Mark Twain — “The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the
difference between lightning and the lightning-bug.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Geoffrey Chaucer — “The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.” (No typos . . . Middle
English!)
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">John Hollander — “A long project is like a secret houseguest, hidden in your study, waiting
to be fed and visited.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Job — “Oh, that my words were now written. Oh, that they were printed in a book.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Thomas Mann — “A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for
other people.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Red Smith — “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and
open a vein.”
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Henry David Thoreau — “Time never passes so quickly and unaccountably as when I am
engaged in composition, i.e. in writing down my thoughts. Clocks seem to have been put
forward.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As Grandma Young would say at the end of a phone conversation, “So there you have
it.” Then she’d hang up. Just hang up without another word. I’m at the end of my piece on
writing, but I won’t just “hang up.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">But I will make my closing short. I love those quotations about writing, some
because they reflect what I do now, some because they are what I aspire to. In conclusion, I
love writing, but you already knew that. And before I leave, I must tell you that I didn’t
research all of those quotations, nor did I know them from memory: All of them came from
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Shoptalk: Learning to Write with Writers </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">by one of the teachers whom I most admire,
Donald M. Murray. I haven’t ever met him, but I did attend a workshop that he conducted at
a National Council of Teachers of English Fall Conference. Pure pleasure!
</span></p>
</li>
</ul>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">My Reading Life
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t think I need to tell any of you that I love books and that I love to read. The two
don’t necessarily go hand in hand: I collect books, but the truth is that I haven’t read all of
them in our “library.” And some of them I’ve read more than once. But I digress. What I want
to do in this chapter is write abut reading in my life.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Many years ago, back in Florida, I was asked to evaluate essays written by students
all over the state in an attempt to determine the students who would receive recognition of
some sort from the Florida Council of Teachers of English. I don’t recall how many essays I
read or the level of evaluation that I gave to any of them . . . except for one. I can’t say that I
remember the “grade” that I gave any of them, but the topic of one of the essays has stayed
with me through the years. In fact, I liked the content of the essay so much that I developed
it into an assignment for my students . . . and I completed the assignment myself. The
student who wrote the essay for the contest wrote about the reading that he had done in his
short life. The topic that I gave my students was “My Reading Autobiography.” I’m sure that
they used the topic as their title. I know that I did. Here’s my heartache: I wrote pages and
pages about my reading, but I have no copy of it. I think that I wrote it on my computer, but
back then, we saved on ;loppy discs . . . and I have none of these. Even if I did, I wouldn’t
have a way to read them. And so I’ll try to reconstruct some of what was in my very long
essay. Don’t worry . . . I can’t remember my reading life in nearly so much detail as I did
probably twenty-;ive years ago. So relax, dear family!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">This may surprise you, but I have absolutely no recollection of my mother and/or
daddy reading to me when I was a child. Not one memory! I hope they did, but if they did, it
didn’t impress me very much. Also, I have no memory of learning to read or at least of the
process that Miss Kytle (my first grade teacher) used with us. I do remember that we were
divided into reading groups and that I was in the top group: the Bunnies. I guess we had
that group name because we hopped ahead of everyone else. I hope the slowest group
wasn’t called the Turtles . . . but that memory hasn’t stayed with me. I also don’t remember
whether or not our first readers had Dick and Jane as the main characters, but they
probably did. I doubt that there were lots of publishing companies competing with each
other and thus presenting lots of different readers for teachers to choose from in 1946.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 30"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In those early days of reading, I remember my teacher taking the class to the library
to check out books, and I’m sure that I did just that. All of my elementary teachers (Miss
Kytle, Miss Gillane, Mrs. Slokovich . . . and others, whose names won’t come to me right
now) took us to the library. The specific kinds of books that I remember were the orange
biographies. I probably read all of them in our little library at Judah P. Benjamin Grammar
School. Surely do wish that the content had stuck with me!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We lived in New Orleans from 1945 - 1953, and in approximately 1950, when I was
ten years old, I began weekly trips to the Nix Public Library. I had to walk three blocks to
Carrollton Avenue to get on the streetcar. I would pay my seven cents as I got on the
streetcar and pull the cord when we got near the library, signaling that I needed the driver
to stop. I loved going to the library, walking up and down the aisles, taking books off the
shelves and examining them before putting them back if they didn’t interest me. I always </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">found several books that I wanted to read, took
them home, read every one of them, then returned
them the next week. If you’d like to see a photo of </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the old library that I visited, go to <b><i>https://neworleanshistorical.org/items/show/
360#&gid=1&pid=1</i></b>. The building has been renovated to the tune of $320,000, but I
couldn’t find a photo.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 31"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think I read the Bobbsey Twins books, but I have no memories connected to them.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In my late childhood days and early teens, I read Nancy Drew mysteries and Sue
Barton and Cherry Ames nurse novels. I loved the Nancy Drew books for the mystery, but
the nurse novels interested me because my daddy was sure that I’d become a doctor or a
nurse, and I wanted to see what my life might be like in the future. I wish I could remember
the stories themselves.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t think I read much in high school. I’m sure I did, but titles and authors have escaped
me. I do remember reading </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Tale of Two Cities</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and I know that the opening lines are some
of the most famous in all of English literature:</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 32"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"><i>It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was
the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the
season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of
despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to
Heaven, we were all going direct the other way...
</i></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This memory is a bit fuzzy concerning other reading in high school.. I think we had
to read one novel each six weeks in our English classes from tenth to twelfth grades. Did we
discuss them? No. We just read them and then took a multiple-choice quiz on them. I guess
the teachers bought the quizzes and used them to determine whether or not we had really
read the novels. I’m trying to remember sixty-three years ago, and now I’m thinking that
this kind of book reporting was something that I did with my students. Your old mom/
grammy can’t remember doodley squat these days. I don’t remember a time when I just
checked out books from the library to read in high school. Sad, huh?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In college, I don’t remember doing any personal reading. I guess I was too busy
studying, or at least I thought I was. I know I read </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moby
Dick </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(Actually I cheated in this reading, I’m embarrassed to say. Dr. Walker, an almost
demented professor required us to read so many pages for each class and to write
something on cards to turn in at each class meeting.. He never read what we wrote. He
merely had his student assistant check off that we had turned cards in. The assistant
cooperated with us as we turned in the same cards every week. Shame on me? I think not.
Teachers shouldn’t be so lazy!!), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The House of the Seven Gables </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(I liked this so much when I
read it probably in 1962 that I just ordered it on Kindle in hopes that I’ll read it again
someday), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Scarlet Letter</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and other classics. Add to the novels </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Odyssey</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Iliad</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">,
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Paradise Lost</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Canterbury Tales </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(some in Middle English), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Inferno</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and others that I
can’t remember. Many of the works that I read in college I also taught to my students.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I still didn’t do any or much reading just for pleasure when I began my teaching
career in Pascagoula and continued not reading just because I wanted to in Pensacola. I was
always so busy making lesson plans, grading papers, and taking care of children that I
THOUGHT I didn’t have time to read. Does this sound familiar? All of you are so busy, but I </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">hope you find time to read just for yourself. You can find time to do whatever you want to if
you just make yourself do that. I do remember one time when I did some just-for-me
reading — when I was up in the middle of the night nursing Jay. He didn’t sleep more than
two or three hours during the night in his very early days, so I was up with him for an hour
or so each time. I read </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Christy </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">by Catherine Marshall. It was a beautiful book, and someday I
want to reread it. I loved those hours of being with my baby boy and reading!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 33"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">During my thirty-two years of teaching, I assigned to my students books that I hadn’t
read, either because they were on a syllabus that I was given and was required to teach or
because they were recommended to me by other English teachers or because I knew that
they would be good for my students to read before leaving high school. Some that I
remember are: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Silas Marner</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Portrait of Jenny</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Julius Caesar</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, T</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">he Return of the Native, The
Metamorphosis, Alas, Babylon</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Power and the Glory</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, T</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">he Chosen</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Macbeth </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(I read this my
senior year in high school, but I really had to study it when I taught it), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Hamlet</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and so many
others. Just can’t think of them right now. Maybe I’ll come back to this later . . . before I print
. . . to add others.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My official retirement began on May 4, 2017, and since then, I have read lots of
books . . . maybe hundreds. Frank and I read lots of the same books. Here are some authors
that we really love and have read most, if not all, of their books: Lee Child, Harlan Coben,
William Kent Krueger, Jojo Moyes, Vince Flynn (he died a few years ago, and someone else is
writing his books . . . not nearly so good an author). To list all of the books that I’ve read in
the last four years would take pages. These days, I’m reading </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The New Testament in a Year</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">,
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Jesus: the God Who Knows Your Name </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(Max Lucado), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Jesus You May Not Know </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(Dr. David
Jeremiah) , and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Live Wire </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(Harlen Coben). If you really want to know what I’ve read in the
last four years, go to <i>goodreads.com</i> and use my information: Login:
nmsandyyoung79@gmail.com. Password: Jackson13. You’ll probably think that all I do is
read!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In addition to all of these books, I have read </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The MacArthur Daily Bible </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(read the
Bible through in one year) three times and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Daily Bible in Chronological Order </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">one time. I
hate to admit that in my adult years I have thought that I didn’t have time to read the Bible
daily. That idea changed for me when I discovered </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The MacArthur Daily Bible </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">while visiting
my cousin Nancy Posey in June 2016. I ordered the book and have been hooked on reading </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the Bible every day for five years. I begin every day, while Pop is still sleeping, in reading the
Bible and praying. Praying every day at a speci;fc time when I can be by myself is something
else that I didn’t do consistently until I retired. Don’t get me wrong. I have always prayed
almost every day, but it was usually while lying in bed before going to sleep (and many
times falling asleep before I finished) or on the way to work or while I was traveling the
highways and byways of Florida and New Mexico when I was a sales rep/consultant for
McDougal Littell/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Not very consistent. Today, I can’t imagine not
having a specific time for Bible reading and prayer. My dear family, I strongly suggest that
you find time just for you and God.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 34"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I hope you can tell by reading this chapter that reading is an important, integral part
of my life. I honestly can’t even imagine a day not reading. You have probably also noticed
that these days I read mostly novels, with the exception of books by Max Lucado, Robert
Jeffress, and David Jeremiah, Christian authors. I don’t read nonfiction that taxes my brain.
Life is too short to force me to read something that I can’t understand. I’m not all that
smart, I’m afraid. If I start reading something and find that it doesn’t interest me (either
because it’s over my head or it uses too much foul language or has too many explicit sex
scenes . . . I don’t mind if you call me a prude), I abandon it. As I said, life’s too short. I like
thrillers but not horror, books about love between people but not what is called romance,
historical novels but not ones that have lots of military stuff that I don’t understand. I love
to read poetry that I understand (Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, the Romantics, Victorian . . .
and poetry by my cousin Nancy and my writing mentor Melanie Faith). I used to love
reading and teaching the classics, but I’m not much into them nowadays. I guess my taste in
some books has changed. I apologize for this paragraph. I’ve just rambled, and I wouldn’t
give a very good grade to a student who wrote such a paragraph. Oh, well . . . that’s the
elderly for you. We can do what we want!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I do hope that you read this chapter someday. I couldn’t leave it out of my love letter
to you. I know absolutely nothing about reading in my parents’ or grandparents’ lives. And I
surely do wish I did. Well, I do know that after my dad became a Christian, he tried to read
the Bible from cover to cover. He got as far as the rather racy part about Noah and his sons
and decided that the Old Bible, as he called it, was nasty and he’d read only the New Bible. I
also know that my mother read a novel while she was pregnant with me, saw the name </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Sandra Kay, and named me that. I wish she had read another book; however, she might have
come across a character named Gertrude and named me that. I surely wouldn’t have liked
that!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 35"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">So much for reading and books. I think you get the picture!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Letter Writing and Journaling
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I want you to know about my feelings/beliefs (almost) about letter writing and
journaling, but this is a difficult chapter to write. Why? Because I’m not very faithful in
doing either. So what I’ll do is share some experiences that I’ve had with these, what I’ve
done personally in both, what I’d love for you to do, and what I want to do. </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I put this little picture </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">in because I think it’s </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">pretty. I don’t really know
the art of letter writing. I just
know that I love to get
letters and that I ought to
write letters!f </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">The first letters that I remember writing were to JoAnn. She and I wrote back and
forth regularly. They always began, “Dear JoAnn . . . How are you? I am fine.” I don’t
remember anything else about the letters. I do wish I had been a saver back in my
childhood. I think Mother regularly threw everything away that we weren’t using.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">The next letters that I remember were to Alice Dillon, my roommate at MC. When we
were assigned to room together in 1958, we immediately started corresponding. Long
distance phone calls were very expensive back then, so we resorted to writing . . . not many
times, I’m sure, but I know that we decided, in letters, who would supply curtains and who
would buy bedspreads. Alice made our curtains, and I bought bedspreads. Of course, we
coordinated colors. I know that the spreads were dark green. I’m sure the curtains were a
pattern with dark green in them. We did a good job even though Pensacola and Tylertown,
MS, were 200 miles from each other. The Registrar’s Office did a good job of putting girls
together. Alice and I were roommates from September 1958 to December 2061, when
Frank and I married.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 37"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">While we were newlyweds in Clinton, my mother begged me to write letters to her.
I’m sorry to say that I thought I was too busy to write a few lines. So she made postcards on
her typewriter. She mailed them to me so that I could just check off some things that she
was interested in. If I remember correctly, they looked something like this:
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Please check off items that pertain to you: </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We are well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">We are sick.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">We are studying.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">
We have money.<br />
We need money.<br />
We will be home soon.<br />
We don’t know when we will be home.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure her items were much more creative than mine. I just remember that years after she
sent the postcards, I found them bundled up neatly, never checked off, never sent. Shame on
me!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I graduated from high school, I was given a little wooden box to keep precious
things in. A jewelry store in Pensacola gave one of these to every “sweet girl graduate.” I
don’t know whether or not they gave the boys anything. Probably not. Poor boys! I wish I
knew where mine is now because it contains all of the letters that my sweetheart wrote. We
were separated for only a few weeks during the summer of 1961. We were engaged and
really wanted to be together. Frank had to be in Clinton to work (maybe he took some </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">classes, too), and I went home to take some classes at Pensacola Junior College. We both
spent a lot of time writing letters, telling each other what we were doing but also getting in
some words about how much we loved each other. He wrote his letter on cute MC
stationery that had a little Choctaw in the upper corner. I wrote mine on baby blue very thin
stationery . . . almost like onion skin paper. I always put a drop of whatever perfume or
cologne I was using at the time, and we both signed our letters “Much love.” I’m pretty sure
that I wrote SWAK on the back of the envelope. We wrote and received three or four letters
a week. Since then, I’m afraid I haven’t written many letters in longhand and mailed
through USPS . . . I call it Snail Mail or Pony Express. Until I started working for McDougal
Littell in September 1996, the summer of 1961 was the only time that we were away from
each other since we met in February 1961. We still don’t like to be away from each other!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 38"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure that I wrote letters sometime between the love letters that I wrote to Frank
and an assignment that I gave my students in 1987, but I can’t remember that I did.
Anyway, in December of 1987 (it may have been 1998 . . . can’t keep the years straight
anymore), my mother was living with us. She was very ill at that time, and I was having a
dif;icult time even thinking about lesson plans. My friend Shirley Clark told me about
something that she was doing. She made the assignment to her students to think of an adult
who had influenced them. She wouldn’t let them choose a teen-aged friend . . . it had to be
an adult. A kid wouldn’t appreciate the letter the way an adult would. They were to thank
the person for the influence they had had on them. Details! Details! Details! I gave the
assignment in all of my classes. Are you hearing groans? I did. Their complaints were that
the people would think they were silly for writing. I assured them that the person would
love the letter. They wanted to know if they really had to mail them. I assured them that </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">they did because they would bring the letters to me, addressed properly (we had to do a
review of how to address letters), and stamped. I would mail the letters! I think I had them
turn in rough drafts to me so that I could help them with grammar, spelling, and
punctuation. The final copies in unsealed envelopes (I wanted to be sure that they had the
letters in the envelopes) were due at least by the last day before Christmas break. I wanted
the letters to arrive before Christmas. Sort of a special Christmas gift for those influential
people. Some students put their letters inside Christmas cards. Beautiful gifts! Many wrote
to parents, grandparents, or older brothers and sisters; some wrote to neighbors; one very
sweet black student wrote to Sue Straughn, a news anchor at WEAR TV. When the students
returned to school, I asked them what the reactions were. Several said that they found their
mother crying at the kitchen table. The student who wrote to Sue Straughn received a sweet
note from Sue along with a signed photo. What a wonderful assignment! I thanked Shirley
over and over. She not only helped me get through a very trying time with my mother, but
she also gave me one of the best assignments I ever gave to a group of teens!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 39"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I just remembered another kind of letter that I wrote while I was teaching at
Woodham: the letter of recommendation. After I had written many for students who were
applying to colleges and after I had tried to think of positive things that I could say about
them (I really didn’t know some of them very well outside the classroom), I hit upon a great
idea. Before I would write the letter, they had to fill out a form that I devised, one on which
they had to brag about themselves. They had to tell me what they wanted the college folks
to know about them! That was one of the best ideas I ever had. I kept a stack of the forms in
my classroom (probably on my messy cart that went everywhere with me) so that I could
give the “cheat sheet” to them as soon as they asked me for the favor. After I came up with
that idea, I didn’t mind writing the letters . . . and I knew that I would say the right thing. I’ll
have to admit that the letters that I took the most time with were the ones going to
Annapolis, West Point, and the Air Force Academy. I knew that all of the letters were
important, but I felt that the ones to the military academies were ones that would really
count!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The letters that I write today are mostly emails. I don’t know whether or not I should
call text messages letters, but some of them are long. I know that electronic letters aren’t
nearly so dear as ones written in longhand or even typed and mailed. I do like to have little </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">note cards on hand so that I can write a note every once in a while. I sometimes buy them
while we’re traveling so that they will be special. I send birthday, sympathy, and get-well
cards frequently and always include a note . . . sometimes letter length. I’ve heard it said
that it’s a good thing to write letters to people when you’re upset with them and then to
destroy them, not to mail. Here’s one that I wrote recently. It’s to Cynthia Rowe’s sister.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 40"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">August 10, 2021<br />
This is the letter that I would not send!
Dear Jamie,
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">Thank you for your note. You, my dear, are Monday-morning quarterbacking. You
haven’t seen Cynthia in a long time. I really don’t know when you saw her last, but I
can assure you it hasn’t been in the last six months, so you don’t really know her
condition. It is getting worse all the time, and it’s not because she’s at Legacy, where
she is getting the best care possible at an assisted living facility.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">She can’t remember things that she said five minutes ago. For example, when we are
driving to Santa Fe from Cerrillos, she will ask us five or six times where we’re going
and what we’re doing there. Every time, we gently answer. We have never lost
patience with her. The next day after she threatened suicide, she couldn’t believe
that she had said those things.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">Did you really look at the photos of her house? They don’t really do it justice in that
you cannot smell what we smell every time we go there. I don’t know whether or
not you have ever smelled a house that is full of cat pee and poop, but it is
nauseating, to say the least. After her house is cleaned professionally, she will be
safe from cat ammonia; however, if she lets it get in the condition again that it’s in
now, for sure the state will put her in a state home (not anything like the beautiful
Legacy), sell the house, and keep the money. And you are in dreamland if you think
you could clean that house!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">Your note indicates that you want Cynthia to live with you, meaning to us that you
will take full responsibility for her. We know that you told Monica, at APS, that you
definitely don’t want Power of Attorney, but if she lives with you, that means that
we’ll have to turn the POA over to you. This means that you will have to pay all of
her bills and see to her health, which are the two things that we do for her. That,
my dear, is what a person does if he has POA! Are you willing to do that? We will
have to either rent her house or sell it AFTER it is cleaned professionally . . . and, </span><span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 12pt;">yes, she has money to pay for the cleaning. She’s not a wealthy woman, but she has
money.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 41"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">You mentioned that you’re happy that we go to see her. Wait a minute! Is that what
you think we do? We do everything for her . . . research everything about what she
owes, pay her bills, take her out to eat and pay out of our pockets, take her
shopping for the few groceries that she wants (Diet Coke, cookies, frozen dinners,
cat food), and take her trash can out to the road every Thursday afternoon so that
it can be picked up on Friday. Frank is still trying to find out what she owes Uncle
Sam in back taxes. She probably hasn’t paid in three years. And, BTW, all the Diet
Coke that she has drunk (Frank has found and thrown away a gazillion plastic
bottles since January, when you called us) has contributed considerably to her
dementia. If someone in her family had been checking on her these past two or
three years, they might have known that all those Diet Cokes weren’t good for her.
Have you ever read about the dangers of aspartame to the brain?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">As far as keeping her house clean, she won’t do that. We’ve been told that the state
will provide a housekeeper once a week. Because of the location of Cerrillos, I
seriously doubt that that will happen. If it doesn’t, we will hire someone to clean
either once a week or every two weeks. Cynthia has money to pay for this service.
She will NOT be able to have feral cats in her house. We may take her to the animal
shelter to get a cat that has had shots, knows how to use a litter box, and can stay
inside. Right now, all of her cats have disappeared even though our daughter left
food out for them while she and we were gone. No, we haven’t told her that, and I
hope you won’t either.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">I feel sure that every time Cynthia has mentioned going home, you have encouraged
her; therefore, I blame you somewhat for her leaving Legacy when she has. If you
had told her to have patience and had assured her that she’d go home after her
house is cleaned, she wouldn’t have been so unhappy. I hold you partly responsible
for her unhappiness at Legacy, where she could have been at least a bit happy. Why
didn’t you leave us with Cynthia’s responsibility? You have said awful things about us
and what we were doing TO Cynthia, and you don’t even know us. You have chosen
not to trust us, and that’s a shame. We certainly don’t trust you anymore because of
the way you’ve talked behind our backs.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">And now, because you shared with Lynda and Celli Cynthia’s being at Legacy, Celli
has taken it on herself to say ugly things about us to Tohnia, and she doesn’t know
us at all . . . not even as much as you do. All of you in her family have done us
disservices when you don’t even know us.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Chalkboard'; font-size: 12pt;">That’s all for now. Probably more to come!
....................................................................................
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">That’s sort of a nice-nasty letter, don’t you think?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You know how much I love quotations . . . especially ones about writing. I think I’m
always hoping that they’ll inspire me to write more. You probably don’t think I should write
more but maybe less. Be that as it may, I want inspiration for writing, and sometimes
quotations help me. Here are a few that I found about writing letters:
</span></p>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere, without moving anything but your
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">heart.” Phyllis Grissim-Theroux
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“A letter is never ill-timed; it never interrupts. Instead it waits for us to find the opportune
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">minute, the quiet moment to savor the message. There is an element of timelessness
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">about letter writing.” Lois Wyse
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“In an age like ours, which is not even into letter writing, we forget what an important
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">part it used to play in people’s lives.” Anatole Broyard
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Letters are among the most significant memorials a person can leave behind them.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“I have made this letter longer than usual, only because I have not had the time to make it
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">shorter.” Blaise Pascal
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Letter-writing on the part of a busy man or woman is the quintessence of generosity.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Agnes Repplier<br />
Willa Cather was a faithful letter writer. Here’s a beautiful image to prove it:
</span></p>
</li>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And now to the second part of this chapter . . . journaling. A couple of hours ago
today (October 14, 2021), I decided to check my Penzu, an app where I used to do a lot of
writing. Maybe you could call it journaling, but I don’t think that’s the way it turned out.
Originally, I think I meant it to be a journal of sorts. In noodling around in my writing, I
found something that I wrote in 2015 in a class titled Writing Our Hearts Out June - July,
2015. I think that’s the class that Melanie Faith taught to my cousin Nancy Posey and me.
Anyway, I liked what I wrote about journaling. I’m copying it here:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I surely do wish a teacher in school had taught me about the importance of keeping
a journal. I have friends who have kept journals for decades, but I can’t even say
that I’ve kept a journal for a year. I’ve wanted to, but I just haven’t had the
stamina and dedication. I let lots of things get in the way of writing and especially
of journal writing.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I used to get those cute little diaries with locks and tiny keys, thinking (on my own </span><span style="font-family: ComicSansMS; font-size: 12pt;">way back when) that
there was much of
was prone to lose the
thoughts. </span></p></div></div><div class="layoutArea">
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<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">Why, oh why, didn’t I think it important to write about college life, such a
memorable time! I could have written about classes and teachers and friends and
my roommate (who is still one of my best friends) and boyfriends, one of whom
turned out to be gay (though that word didn’t even exist with the present-day
meaning), one of whom dumped me because his mother told him that I wasn’t a nice </span><span style="font-family: ComicSansMS; font-size: 12pt;">girl (there’s a great story!), and the love of my life, Frank. What interesting
reading those entries would make today!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 44"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve done all sorts of things to make myself journal. Books by the gazillion. Online
classes with Sam Lytle and Nathan Ohren. Even a journal of sorts called A Photo a
Day. I lasted through February with a photo and at least a comment. Actually, I
just looked back at it, and I have a lot written about each photo. I might just
continue that one, not trying to be faithful EVERY day, but occasionally writing and
attaching a photo would be good. It seems like forty forevers ago when I did this
journal, but it was just back in 2014!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">When I was in Nathan’s class, one in which we all met online once a week, he
encouraged us to write in a physical journal. He even told us the kind of pen that he
liked to write with, and I bought his favorite. I wrote diligently in my notebook for
a month or so, but my hand almost fell off, and that was one of the reasons that I
quit the class. In addition, it seemed to me that Nathan and the other members
were getting to be a little . . . what I call . . . woowoo. They were wanting to
interpret dreams and such, and I wasn’t interested. I like writing on my trusty Mac
so much that I copied all of my handwritten entries into my computer and threw
away the notebook.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I even tried for a VERY short time The Artist’s Way, thinking that writing a
certain number of pages every day would help me. Nope! I didn’t last. I tried it
years ago in Pensacola, then threw the book away. Actually, I probably put it in our
garage sale. Then later, after we had moved to NM, I ordered a used copy, thinking
surely I had changed. Nope! I never even started.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I tell myself that I really have tried journaling; however, the quotation from last
week fits here . . . “Thinking about writing isn’t the same thing as writing” . . . or
something like that. And if I say that I really have tried to journal, you could say in
all truthfulness, “Liar, liar! Pants on fire!”
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m going to try again during June and July, and I hope I’m successful.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">(I wrote this in Penzu. If you’re interested in seeing everything that I wrote,
just go to penzu.com and use the User ID </span><span color="rgb(0.000000%, 0.000000%, 100.000000%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">nmsandyyoung79@gmail.com </span><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">and the
Password Jackson16!!. I don’t think I’ve posted anything that you shouldn’t
read, but if I have, that doesn’t matter. I probably won’t be around for you
to fuss at anyway!)
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On the other hand, I have had some great experiences with journaling. After I went
to a writing workshop in my home county one summer, I began putting a journal topic on </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the board every day for my students to react to. They were supposed to write at the
beginning of the class while I was doing “housekeeping chores.” Some wrote then; some
wrote at home; and many wrote everything the night before I was going to take up
notebooks. Reading their responses was pure pleasure! Their grade was based on whether
or not they wrote at least half a page on each journal topic. At the beginning of the school
year, I heard groans about having to write. By the end of the ;irst six weeks, if I forgot to put
a topic on the board, they complained and asked, “Where’s our journal topic, Miz Young?”</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 45"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">One morning I couldn’t find the little book that I was using for journal topics (Oh,
how I wish we had had the Internet back then . . . wouldn’t have needed a little book. I can find thousands of topics today.), and I couldn’t think of one. I thought for a minute and came
up with one of the best assignments I ever made. When someone asked where the journal
topic was, I told them that they were going to do a different kind of journal. They’d be
writing a journal entry of their choice for the next twenty-six days. I asked if they could
think of anything that I’d want them to write about for twenty-six days. I wish I could
remember all of their answers before someone finally said, “The alphabet!” Right! They
would think of a word for each letter of the alphabet and write at least half a page on it. Of
course, I envisioned my dear students writing conscientiously while I did my
“housekeeping chores.” Wrong! Again, most of them wrote at home . . . and many wrote the
night before journals were due. After the ;irst year of reading their scratch, I required that
the journals be typed. Again, they groaned, but they did what Miz Young required. I have
written Alphabet Journals several times myself. Lots of fun!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As you know, Frank and I traveled in Europe with students for many years. Since the
students received college credit for the trip if they completed the requirements, one of
which was to write in their journals every day. I was the administrator of the trips and as
such was responsible for reading the journals. I took them up periodically and read every
word. And I loved that part of my job! Since the students were required to keep journals, I
kept one, too. I didn’t share my journals with our travelers, but in several years I made a
book for each student. I know I did this several times, but I can ;ind only one, the one that I
wrote for the students who went with us in 1993. The title of the book is </span><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">European
Adventure 1993. </span><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In addition to keeping a journal, the students had to write an essay in </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">which they gave their opinions of the trip, their favorite places, and suggestions for future
trips. I read these carefully and picked out parts of the essays to share with all of the
students. I also asked the advisors — Beverly Pritchett, Steve Long, and Frank to write a
paragraph or two giving their opinions of the trip. The last thing in the book is my
evaluation of the trip. This is what I said in the first paragraph: “I could write pages and
pages about what I feel about this summer’s trip, but I know that you’re just about all read
out if you’ve made it this far. Therefore, I’ll try to curb my desires and write only a little of
what I felt after we returned to our homeland . . . that place that we were all so eager to
leave but to which we could hardly wait to return after being gone for only a few days.” Well,
my evaluation was four pages long. So you can once again say to me, “Liar, liar! Pants on
;ire!”</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 46"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Again . . . a few quotations:
</span></p>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” William Wordsworth
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“A journal is your completely unaltered voice.” Lucy Dacus
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Journaling helps you to remember how strong you truly are within yourself.” Assad
Meah
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Journaling is like whispering to one’s self and listening at the same time.” Mina Murray,
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Dracula
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="color: #4b525b; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">“Preserve your memories, keep them well; what you forget you can never retell.” Louisa
May Alcott
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I can’t close this chapter without mentioning two of my friends who still write
letters. Mary Arrowsmith always writes a long note . . . I call it a letter . . . inside my birthday
card. She never forgets my birthday! And just recently I received a card with a long note in it
from Nana Hilsenbeck. We usually correspond via email, but when I told her a little bit
about my life with Cynthia, she said she’d like to read a few of my last journals about my
friend. Her card was in response to my journals and made my heart sing. My best friend in </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">high school, and still a precious friend, still writes letters in longhand. Her penmanship has
always been beautiful, and it still is. I love to see an envelope with a letter from her. I don’t
have to look at the return address to know that it’s from Sharon Downing Jarvis!</span></p></li></ul></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 47"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(29.411770%, 32.156860%, 35.686280%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe someday I’ll become a true letter writer and journaler. I’d better hurry
because I probably don’t have too long!
</span></p>
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</div>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-57476602906417960052024-02-05T12:55:00.003-07:002024-02-16T15:42:40.543-07:00<p> </p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Traveling with the Youngs
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt;">(A warning: This chapter is a bit of a hodgepodge. I didn’t have time to do anything
better with it. I think you can understand it.)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Wendy can never remember a time when we didn’t take family vacations, family
trips. Every summer, or almost every summer, we took a trip somewhere. I guess there
were a couple of summers when money was really scarce or Frank didn’t feel that he could
leave the store and we didn’t feel that we could go anywhere. But those times were few and
far between.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The rule for us when our children were young was that we needed to go to
Washington every two years. Why? So that they would grow up knowing grandparents,
aunts, uncles, and cousins. And they did know them. In some ways, they knew their
relatives on Frank’s side better than they knew many of the ones on my side, even though
my relatives lived much closer than Frank’s.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We probably did some things as parents that we shouldn’t have done; however, one
of the things that we were right on target with was showing our children the beautiful
country that we live in (we always drove). Many times, we introduced them to history as we
traveled. They always wanted to stop at roadside attractions like “The World’s Longest
Snake” or “Alligators That Eat Children Alive” or some such. Instead, we took them to
museums. I don’t know that they paid much attention, but they didn’t complain. Wendy can
probably tell you more details than I can about those museum and history stops. Her
memory is much better than mine. One thing that the three of us remember is all of the
problems we had while traveling. But those problems didn’t make the trips awful; they just
made them memorable.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In an effort to make this book not quite so long as others that I’ve given you, I’ll send
you to </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Married to My Hero: the Pensacola Years</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. The next-to-last chapter is titled “Just Three
More Things.” There are several stories about our travels in that chapter. I hope you’ll read
it someday!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">One of the trips that I’ll never forget was in 2006. The day after Corey’s high school
graduation, we left for three weeks in Europe, going to the following countries: Germany,
Croatia, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and England. I wrote all about this trip in the book
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Warm Remembrances, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">which I gave to all of you for Christmas in 2019. I hope you’ll read
that book someday, even if you don’t know all of the people. Lots of pictures in that book!
And ever so many good memories.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Another one of my favorite trips was the one that we took with Sam to Alaska in
August 2013. Masako had died in August 2011, and Sam and Tim’s house had burned in
August 2012. We were determined to make August 2013 a happy month.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Just as I was trying to wrap my head about what I wanted to say about Alaska, I
decided to check what I had written on Facebook concerning the trip. What I found was the
last post that I wrote, and I thought it would be good to include here. As I mentioned at the
beginning, this chapter is a hodgepodge. I wrote the following on October 13, 2013, a long
time after we returned from our August trip:<br />
</span><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">A Bittersweet Ending (;inally written almost two months after returning home from Alaska)
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I believe I need to give a little bit of a history of vacations that Frank and I have taken in our
almost 52 years of marriage before I explain the meaning of this title. So bear with me for
just a few more words before I sign off from “North to Alaska: Sandy, Frank, and Sam’s Big
2013 Adventure.”
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Our ;irst vacation was in August 1962, when we struck out from Clinton, Mississippi, one
Friday afternoon after work, headed for Fall City, Washington, so that Frank could introduce
his bride of not quite one year to his family. That’s right! I hadn’t met anyone in his family
except his sister, Sally, and the wonderful man who is now my Big Brother Sam . . . and of
course, his sweet little wife, Masako. You can read the complete story of this ;irst vacation in
</span><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Married to My Hero</span><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, the book that I wrote for Frank as a gift for our 50th anniversary.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Our family vacations began, I believe, in the summer of 1965. Wendy was two years old
when we took her to Fall City to meet aunts, uncles, and cousins. She had met her
grandparents and one uncle, Bob (whom we taught her to call a “rat ;ink”), the summer
before, but we wanted to be sure that she knew other relatives on her dad’s side. I have no
siblings, but I have two cousins, Marilyn and JoAnn, who are like sisters, and she had
already met them and their families. My parents lived only a couple of hours away from us
after we moved to Pascagoula, Mississippi, where we lived at this time, so she knew them
well. After the great time that we had with all of our Washington family, we determined that
we’d go every other year to visit them. After Jay was born, we continued our tradition. I
wish that I had been a journaler during all of those trips so that I’d have lots of details, but I
wasn’t, and the trips all sort of run together in my mind at the tender age of 73. Someday,
though, I’ll write all that I remember because we had some vacations just full of adventures.
We made these Northwest trips until Wendy and Jay were in their teens. What fun we had!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Frank and I had other vacations without our children . . . mainly to Europe, when we were
advisors and administrators of trips with high school students. Ah! Those were the days! I
could write another book or two about these trips. I think we went at least ten times. Our
reason initially for going was that we’d never be able to travel to Europe if we didn’t go as
the adults on the trips because of ;inances. Our trips were free because we were willing to
;ind the students whose parents could foot the bill, educate those students during the year
so that they wouldn’t be “ugly Americans” and so that they’d know what was awaiting them
in Europe, and to be parents/teachers/principals to the kids for two to three weeks. We had
a wonderful time, and many of those “kids,” who are now adults with families of their own,
are still our friends, mainly because of Facebook.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 50"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We took another vacation alone the year after I completed my ;irst year as a sales rep for
McDougal Littell Publishing. The year was 1997. We went up the east coast all the way to
Prince Edward Island, stopping to see friends and family along the way. It was on this trip
that we found out that Frank’s aunt, Doris, had died, and we were able to connect with
cousins who had gathered for the funeral, cousins that Frank hadn’t seen since 1944 and
some that he had never seen. I never had met any of them before that day.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In 2006, right after Corey’s high school graduation, we took what we have always referred
to as our “Dream Vacation.” We went to Europe by ourselves, visiting all of the friends that
we made during our years of traveling with students and of having exchange students in
our home. That summer, we went to Germany, Croatia, Switzerland, Holland, and England,
most of the time staying in the homes of our dear friends.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Two of our most memorable vacations were planned by Wendy. The ;irst was in 2007.
Wendy, Jackson, and I had planned a road trip to Pensacola, and just a couple of weeks
before we were to leave, Wendy convinced Frank that he HAD to be in Pensacola by April 27
and assured him that Todd would travel with him. Her dad couldn’t refuse her, and on April
28, we had a surprise that we’d never forget . . . a reunion of MelonHeads, followers of
Velvet Melon, Jay’s band. We had a grand celebration of our boy with his friends. The next
vacation was also a Velvet Melon Reunion, but we were absolutely privy to that one. The
really exciting part of this reunion, on August 28, 2012, was a concert by Velvet Melon guys,
all but one of them members of the band when Jay was alive. Truly an evening to
remember!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And then came January 2013, when we decided to visit the Bremerton Youngs. During our
far too few days with Sam and his family, we asked our big brother if he might like to take a
vacation with us the coming summer. We wanted to go to Alaska, and we wanted Sam to go
with us. He deserved an August that he’d remember for good things. You see, in August
2011, his wife of more than 50 years, our sweet Masako, died; then in August 2012, Sam,
Tim, Molly, Mackenzie, Becca, and Harrison had lost their home to ;ire. Sam NEEDED a good
August, and we thought we could plan one for him. He immediately accepted our invitation,
and all three of us began to make plans.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You may be wondering why I thought you needed to know about earlier vacations, so I’ll tell
you. I wanted you to know, when I told you that this was the best vacation ever, that I had </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">lots of vacations to compare it to. This wasn’t our ;irst vacation; it was just the best. And
why was it the best? Mainly because we went to super exciting Alaska, the only state that
we hadn’t visited. But also because Sam was with us. What a treat to travel with my hero
husband and his big brother, one of my favorite people in the whole world! I told you in the
;irst paragraph that I’d explain my title, “A Bittersweet Ending,” after “a few more words.” I
;ibbed about the “few more words,” I’m afraid. You know I can’t say anything in a few words.
But here’s my explanation. It’s always so exciting to plan a trip and to have a wonderful time
traveling, but it’s sweet to go home again. For Frank and me, the old saw “There’s no place
like home” rings true. So why “bitter”? Because I had to leave my Big Brother in Bremerton,
not knowing when I would see him again. I’m sure we’ll see him sometime in 2014, but that
seems like a long way away.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 51"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Sam, thanks for making our “North to Alaska” trip my most memorable vacation yet. I
wondered before our trip how I’d like having two gentlemen roommates. The truth is . . . I
loved it! We did just ;ine, didn’t we?
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I love you, Big Brother!
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">you about the gatherings. I loved
them and hope that we can have another one . . . maybe in 2022.
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have lots of photos of our trip, but
I’ll post only one . . .
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(1.960784%, 1.960784%, 1.960784%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll end my travel chapter here, but
you know that our trip to Alaska
wasn’t our last wonderful trip. All of
you have participated in some of
our family reunions at Destin and
Pagosa Springs. Lots of fun at those
places; however, since you were
there, there’s no need for me to tell
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Christmases I Have Known . . . and Loved
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Christmas in 2020 will be so different from Christmases in past years. I can’t say that
I like the difference as far as celebrating goes; however, the </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700;">reason </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">for Christmas is the
same, and for that I am grateful . . . much more than grateful. The birth of Jesus is what
Christmas is really about, and this year I hope that we will celebrate this miraculous birth
even more than we have in the past. I’m not nearly so involved in gift-buying this year and
am much more involved in thinking about the gift of Jesus and thanking God for sending His
Son to save us from our sins. I can’t even imagine God’s love for us.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Our family celebration this year will be in the form of a Zoom gathering on
Christmas Day, and it will be so much fun, but I must tell you that I’ll miss the gathering at
our house, the hugs, the big Christmas dinner . . . all that I’m used to on December 25. And
so . . . since we won’t have the usual celebration in 2020, I’ve been thinking about
Christmases in the past, trying to conjure up speci;ic memories, and smiling as some of
them have come to mind. Let me share some of those with you, and forgive me if I ramble a
bit.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">If my mother hadn’t had two or three miscarriages before I was born, I wouldn’t
have been an only child; however, God’s plan wasn’t for a big family for Nina and Arlie
Cheatham. We were a small family with enough love for a huge one. The ;irst Christmas that
I remember was in New Orleans. We moved there in 1945, so it might have been that year
or maybe a couple of years later that I remember the beautiful tree that my mother must
have decorated herself because I have no memory of helping her. It probably just magically
appeared . . . maybe Santa brought it. I just don’t remember. I do remember lots of presents
under the tree and that the tags on ones that appeared even before Christmas were labeled
“To Sandra from Santa Claus.” I always thought it strange that gifts from Santa Claus could
appear before Christmas Day. It took me a while to catch on. Not the brightest light on the
tree, huh? I remember that I always insisted that I have a gift for every child in my class and
that my mother helped me to decide what girls would like and what boys would like. I don’t
remember that other children did this, but my giving probably had something to do with
being an only child and wanting to share Christmas with other children since I had no </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">siblings. I also did the same thing on Valentine’s Day. Every child in my class had to have a
valentine. But I digress.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 53"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Many, maybe most, children have remembrances of being at their grandparents’
house for Christmas. Not so this girl. I spent only one Christmas in Logansport at my
mother’s parents’ house. I recall other grandchildren being there, and I suppose their
parents were there, too. My mother and daddy were, and they came loaded with gifts for
their only child. I remember that I had lots more gifts than my cousins had. Mother and
Daddy should have taken that into consideration because my having more than the other
girls caused a big problem. I remember that all of us girls were sleeping on pallets in Bud’s
bedroom. I was sleeping next to Marilyn, and we were whispering secrets to each other,
thinking that the others were asleep. I asked Marilyn if she believed in Santa Claus, and she
said </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">no</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. I told her that I didn’t either. I found out years later that JoAnn overheard us. What
her sister and I whispered, plus my receiving so much more from Santa convinced her that
Santa Claus wasn’t real. I’m glad that I didn’t ;ind out about Jo’s discovery the only time that
I was at my grandparents’ house for Christmas. The visit would have been ruined for me.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I received a doll every year until I was probably twelve years old. The last two that I
remember were one with blonde hair that I could comb and one named Kathy. I’m sure her
name came with her. She was beautiful! She had red braids and was dressed in a pink and
green dress. I’m sure that if I had gone to the Pensacola Motor Lodges no later than 1956 I
would have found both of these dolls, plus many other treasures from my childhood in a
garage at the back of the property. Maybe some day I’ll get up the nerve to go there just to
see if maybe, just maybe, some of my treasures are still there.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The Pensacola Christmas that I remember best was in 1958, at the end of my ;irst
semester of my freshman year. My dad had been talking about a car for me for weeks, but I
didn’t know if he was really serious. He was! On Christmas morning, he and Mother
escorted me, blindfolded, to the front porch. They took the blindfold off with a ;lourish so
that I could see my beautiful Inca Gold and White Ford Fairlane. Daddy had bought it from
his cousin in Florence, Alabama. Mother wasn’t nearly so excited about my Christmas gift as
I was, and every time something went wrong with the car, she’d say “Give it back to Lynn!”
And my sweet daddy would answer, “Mother, I’m sure Lynn would be happy for me to give it
back to him.” Mother would huff and puff a little and walk off. I was the envy of every girl in </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">my dorm when I showed up in my lovely new vehicle. You need to know that not many
students had cars on the campus. My girlfriends and I went lots of places together, but I was
forbidden to drive Inca, my car’s name, home to Pensacola. I had to enlist either Bob
Gilchrist or Gary Kohr to drive. Fine with me!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 54"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The first Christmas that Frank and I spent together was just eight days after our
wedding. We went on a quick honeymoon to St. Augustine after we married and returned
probably on December 21 so that we could help Mother and Daddy in the store during the
rush of the ;inal days before Christmas. I’m sure Frank spent almost all day every day
putting bicycles together. The only thing that my sweetheart could think that I really
needed (lots of wedding gifts) was a beautiful little parakeet. We named him Christopher
Christmas, but all he knew was Chris.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Our second Christmas (1962) was memorable for a couple of reasons. I was
pregnant and had just begun wearing maternity clothes. I loved “showing” in my new skirts
and tops because cars stopped for me to walk in front of them as I crossed the street. I loved
my two-piece out;its and the beautiful dresses that were full and didn’t show my fat tummy.
I don’t like it today that women seem to want to emphasize their tummies by wearing
dresses that ;it tightly over them. Guess I’m just old fashioned.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The second reason that Christmas #2 is memorable has to do with our Christmas
tree. We wanted a real tree (there were very few arti;icial ones back then), but we couldn’t
afford one. Frank was working for Frazier-Morton Construction Company, renovating
Crestman Hall on the Mississippi College campus. They would dump their trash in a place
just behind a beautiful stand of “Christmas” trees. So . . . one rainy, muddy Saturday, we
ventured out to cut a tree. We cut a lovely tree, but it cost more than one from the tree lot
would have. You see, we got stuck in the mud and had to call a wrecker to get us out. Very
expensive! But we had a beautiful tree, and I bragged about it so much at work in the
Registrar’s Of;ice that Mr. Mohon, the registrar, asked us to get a tree for him . . . which we
happily did. Only later did we ;ind that we had “stolen” trees from the Mississippi College
tree farm. I suppose we could have gotten in a lot of trouble, but the authorities never found
out about our escapade!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Our first Christmas with Wendy was very special. We didn’t have much money to
spend on gifts for our baby, but I remember that Mother and Daddy loaded her up with </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">toys; I also remember that she liked the boxes, wrapping paper, and ribbon more than the
toys. Somewhere I have a photo of her in the middle of what would become trash. Frank
made a Christmas card for us in 1963. I don’t know that I have an actual card left, but I have
a photo of it. My husband is so creative. I have no idea how he made it!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 55"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When we lived in Pascagoula, Mother and Daddy always came to our house for
Christmas because Santa Claus wouldn’t know where Wendy was if we weren’t at home for
him to deliver her toys. I have a very special recollection of Santa and Wendy when she was
about three years old. In Pascagoula, at that time, we didn’t have a Santa for the children to
visit before Christmas, so she and I went to Sears in Mobile so that she could tell him what
she wanted for Christmas. We stood in line for quite a while; then Wendy walked shyly to
Santa and climbed up in his lap. While she was walking, Santa’s helper asked me if there
was anything that I wanted the jolly old elf to say to my little girl. I told her to ask him to tell
Wendy if she didn’t stop rolling her eyes up in her head (an annoying habit that she had
begun several months ago and which we couldn’t get her to stop), he wasn’t going to take </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">her any toys. Oh, my goodness! I wish I had a photo of her face when Santa told her! </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Amazed
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">shocked </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">are hardly the words! And you know what? After our visit to Santa, she caught
herself every time she started to roll her eyes and put them back where they belonged! And
now, Wendy knows the story of how Santa knew about her bad habit! That is . . . IF she ever
reads this chapter!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 56"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The next Christmas that I remember isn’t for any one thing special. I don’t even
know the year, but I have a photo. It’s of (left to right) Angela, Karen, Wendy, and Kathy.
Such cute little girls in front of Mema’s silver aluminum tree!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">One Christmas, Wendy and Karen were sleeping together in mother’s room on
Christmas Eve. Both little girls were still ;irm believers in Santa Claus. They lay there
whispering about what they wanted to ;ind under the tree the next morning. All of a
sudden, the bedroom door opened, and in walked Santa! At least that’s what their vivid
imaginations caused them to see. I don’t know if they ever ;igured out that it was mother, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">quietly going into her room to get something. Children!</span><span style="font-family: 'AppleColorEmoji'; font-size: 12pt;">🎅</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve written before about one of my favorite Christmases in Pensacola. Here it is
again . . .</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 57"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I believe it was the Christmas after the guys returned from New York when we had a
wonderful surprise. For many years on Christmas night, the guys had gigs, and Jay usually
left for the gig around 7:00. On this particular Christmas, Jay got up from the lunch table
and announced that he had to leave. We assumed that he was going to a practice before that
evening’s gig. Not so, though. About two hours after he left, we heard Christmas carols
outside. Upon checking, we found the guys playing the carols for us. What a sweet
Christmas surprise for the families of all the guys. They were going from home to home to
give this special “giff” to families.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My memories of Christmases here in New Mexico are best told in photos. Whenever
I have a real Christmas photo of our family, that photo will be for Christmas. In some years,
we didn’t do a family photo, so I’ve just chosen one that is special to me. Early in our years
here, I would prepare a big Christmas Eve dinner and then do another big dinner on
Christmas Day. Eventually, your old mom/grammy wore out. I was so happy when everyone
agreed that we should get together at a restaurant on Christmas Eve, usually for brunch.
Thank you so much! I love preparing Christmas Dinner, but two big meals back to back
were just too much. Because of COVID, our last Christmas Dinner was in 2019, but I hope
that 2021 will be different and that once again we’ll gather to celebrate!
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Christmases in Cerrillos
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Some of my favorite Christmases have been here in Cerrillos. One Christmas, we
didn’t have Jackson because he was born in 2005, our ;irst Christmas being in 2004. And
after that, we didn’t have Danil until 2012 and Dasha until 2016.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">During our ;irst years here, I would cook a big dinner on Christmas Eve and then
again on Christmas Day. I don’t know whether you should call it laziness or old age on my
part, but several years ago, I suggested that we go out for brunch at a restaurant on
Christmas Eve. In the early days, I loved being able to foot the bill myself because I was still
working; however, since 2017, I haven’t been able to do that. The get togethers weren’t
nearly so much fun for me after I was of;icially retired. I was so sorry to cancel the brunch
this year, 2021. I was a bit in;irm, plus I was trying to do some cooking ahead of time for
Christmas Day, when there would be seventeen at our table.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I ;irst began this section of </span><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">A Love Letter to My Family</span><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, I inserted LOTS of
photos from Christmas Eves and Christmas Days from 2004 - 2021; however, Pages isn’t
nearly so easy to use as Word when it comes to inserting photos, and the photos just
wouldn’t stay in place. The photo section was a mess, to say the least, and I spent hours
trying to get everything in place and staying there. I don’t give up easily, but I ;inally did.
And so I’ve just chosen some of my favorite Christmas Family Photos for my book. (I
couldn’t ask any of you to help me with my photo problem, but eventually I ;igured out for
myself how to insert photos. Pages has things hidden. There’s an old saying from TV
commercials . . . </span><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">it isn’t nice to fool Mother Nature! </span><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. . . and I can apply that here. </span><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">New
programs shouldn’t try to fool GrammySandy!)
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.156860%, 14.117650%, 17.647060%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Another problem that I had is that because of moving photos here and there, I
managed to get several blank pages. At the moment of my writing this, they’re still there. I
just can’t discover how to get rid of them! So . . . Grammy’s not happy with this section, and
you know when Grammy ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. it is what it is! I love these photos!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 60"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Social Media<br />
A Love-Hate Relationship
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Sometime in November 2008, Frank and I were sitting in the Sunport in
Albuquerque, waiting for our plane to Seattle. Frank’s cousin Joyce had been begging me to
join Facebook for several months. I had refused because I thought it was a social gathering
place for kids, and I wanted none of it. Just a silly place for kids to stay in touch with each
other.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As I sat there bored waiting for our plane to be called, I thought </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Joyce has never
steered me wrong before. Maybe I’ll try that Facebook thing. If I don’t like it, I can always get
Wendy to show me how to get out of it. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And so began some of the best times of my life.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I fell in love with Facebook immediately because as soon as I pushed the GO button
or whatever it was that I did to join, I saw a picture of two people whom I had been
searching for for years. This isn’t the photo that I saw, but Mary didn’t have it posted in her
Facebook friends’ photos. This one is beautiful, but it was taken just a few years ago. Mary
was so lovely in college, but she’s even more so now, sixty-two years later! Meet Mary and
Charles Simpson, two of my favorite folks in the whole world!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I visited with Mary and Charles in their home in Clinton twice in recent years.
Perfect hosts! I’m sorry to say that Charles died earlier in 2019, spending his last years, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">trapped by Alzheimer’s. Mary was the perfect caregiver the whole time. She and Charles
were loving sweethearts to the very end. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone more
devoted to each other than Mary and Charles. I could write a whole chapter about them, so
can you understand why I was so happy with Facebook immediately? I wish all of you had
known them.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 64"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">There’s a whole period in my life that you know practically nothing about . . . my
college years, in some ways the best years of my life before I married my sweetheart and
started your family. If I think of Mississippi College today, “my heart leaps up,” to quote
William Wordsworth. I’m so happy that the Lord gave us, when he created our magni;icent
brains, the ability to close our eyes and to actually see places and events. I do this with MC
many times. I really may write a book about my college years if I can call up those precious
memories from so long ago. I know that this paragraph seems as though it doesn’t even
belong in this chapter, but Mississippi College is where I met Mary and Charles, and
everything concerning them is part of my precious MC memories.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I was teaching at both Pascagoula High School and Woodham High School, I
remember being sad at graduation time because I would probably never see my students
again. I wouldn’t know what happened to them after their days in my class. I’d completely
lose track of them. Facebook to the rescue!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I now have three Facebook friends from Pascagoula High School. I don’t really
remember anything about them, but I accepted them as friends just because they went to
PHS. I believe that all of them still live in the Pascagoula area. Those folks are from my life in
1964 - 66. That’s a long time ago!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I believe I have close to 100 friends from Woodham, maybe more. I love keeping up
with these “kids,” many of whom are in their sixties and have grandchildren. I love reading
about what they, their children, and their grandchildren are doing these days. Have you ever
noticed the grammar posts on my Facebook wall? (You probably haven’t noticed many
because you don’t check my page often.) Most of those posts are from former students.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Former students also send me questions that their children and grandchildren have
about grammar and/or literature, or they might just want to let me know that their children
are reading the same literature that they did in my class . . . as this photo shows.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes I see prayer requests on Facebook,
many times from former students. I read recently that
for prayer requests such as this, we should stop
immediately to pray, so that’s what I do instead of
feeling bad because I forget to pray later.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 65"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I learn about marriages, babies, and grandbabies,
but I also learn sad things, like the death of Candy
Carter’s husband. I remember years ago
communicating with her on the phone and on
Facebook about her upcoming trip to Europe. And we
talked/wrote about our grandchildren. Her
granddaughter is just about the same age as Jackson, so </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">we had lots to chat about. I didn’t know her husband,
Arthur, but I cried for Candy when I heard her news. I’ve known her for many years. She </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">married before she graduated from Woodham, and I remember that all of us teachers
worried that the marriage wouldn’t last. Hah! They were married for more than thirty
years. She reminded me recently that she still has the fancy pie plate that I gave her when
she and Arthur married. I didn’t remember.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">More sad news came to me through you, Wendy. You’ll remember that you saw the
news about Pete Ruckman before I did. When you called, you made sure that I was sitting
down when you told me that Pete had shot his two precious sons and then killed himself.
My heart was broken (it still is) because Pete was one of my favorite students of all time
(you can read all about this tragedy in </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Married to My Hero — The Pensacola Years</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">). I
immediately broke in to tears and stayed in that state for several days every time I thought
about Pete and his senseless actions. In the days following the killing, I kept up with Pete’s
friends on Facebook, both on pages and in messages. Shawn Hale arranged for a lunch
meeting in memory of Pete while Pop and I were in Pensacola for my 60th PHS Class
Reunion. Shawn would have had it earlier (Pete died in February), but he waited speci;ically
for me because of the loving relationship that Pete and I had. We had a “mutual admiration
society”! Here’s a photo of Pete’s brother Mike, and his best friend Chris Tredway, both of
whom were also my students. I’ll never understand Pete’s </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">thinking or lack thereof that night in February. At the
lunch, we told only funny stories about Pete, and believe
me, there were a lot of them!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 66"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I took an online course on using social media
years ago. During three weeks, our teacher addressed
LinkedIn, Twitter, and Facebook. I am a member of all
three. I occasionally read LinkedIn messages that come
to me, but I seldom reply. I have the membership
because at one time I thought I’d like to do editing and
proofreading. I’m not a good editor, and proofreading is
much too much like grading papers, so I really don’t
enjoy that activity either. So LinkedIn isn’t for me as far
as using it. I do like to see what friends are doing in
their accounts.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As far as Twitter is concerned, I have a user name and
password, but I haven’t a clue as to how to use it. I have instructions in my notebook from </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the course, but I never have wanted to join the world of tweets. The real reason that I took
the course was to learn more about Facebook.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I neglected to say that the course that I took was specifically for how writers can use
social media. I already knew how to use Facebook for personal communication, but I
wanted to ;ind out how I might advertise a little business on Facebook and earn some
money. So . . . I developed a page called Sandy Young, Writer and Editor. Why I mentioned
editing instead of proofreading, I’ll never know. After I sent messages about my page to
people that I thought might want to know what I was doing, I had lots of visits to my page;
however, I didn’t get even one nibble for work.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Everything so far has been about my love of Facebook; now for the “hate” . . .
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Guess what! I wrote six paragraphs about what I hate about Facebook, all of them
being problems that I have with what you write. I agonized for months about whether or
not I should include them. I thought about it; I prayed about it. I ;inally came to the
conclusion that your pages on Facebook are yours, just as mine are mine. You can say
anything you want, and I have no right to complain about your opinions. I’ve deleted the f</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">irst five paragraphs, but my next paragraph here is my last one in my original paragraphs. I
still like it!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 67"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">That’s enough about my love-hate relationship with social media. I love all of
you so very much. We all love each other, and I know that. Most of you have no trouble
in expressing even negative feelings, but I do. I could never tell you these things in
person. Writing is my medium. I just wish y’all would read what I write. By the time
that you read the books that I gave you for Christmas 2019 and this book, I’ll
probably be with Jesus, Jay, Mema, Papa, Grandma, Grandpa, and a host of others that
I love. I hope all of you will join us someday!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Retirement<br />
(Both the pros and the cons)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I was about ;ifty, I began longing for retirement. I thought that special day
when I would no longer have to get up and go to work would never arrive. In fact, I used to
daydream about having ;inished my thirty years in the classroom, having reached the time
that I could retire, and calling the school secretary to announce that I wouldn’t be going in
that day or any day after that. Just kidding! I loved teaching, but after Jay died, I began to
weary of it.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">So, even though I knew that my true calling from God was to teach, I wanted
something new before “they” put me out to pasture. Who “they” were depended on where I
was at retirement age.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My friend Wendy Bennett, when she was leaving the of;ice of Language Arts
Supervisor for Escambia County, asked if I’d like to have her job. I applied but didn’t get the
job . . . thank goodness. I wasn’t meant for the job of helping English teachers; I was made
for teaching.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I almost always attended the Florida Council of Teachers of English Fall Conference,
and a couple of times, Frank went with me. He and I would stroll through the hall where
publishers had their wares set up and chat about my working for a textbook company
someday. The job of a sales representative must be a lot of fun because all a rep had to do
was go to conference meetings, talk about beautiful textbooks, and take teachers out to
dinner. WRONG! But I didn’t know that when I was still a classroom teacher. We thought we
could travel together, enjoying the beauty of Florida and having fun with teachers. I wonder
how I thought all those heavy books got into the displays.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 69"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">To make a long story (which I have written in “Afterthoughts” in the book </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Married to
My Hero: the Pensacola Years</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">) short, I worked for McDougal Littell Publishing Company for
seven years in Florida and another thirteen years in New Mexico, ;inally retiring for good in
May 2017.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And so, to do a little math, I worked in education either as a classroom teacher or as
a sales rep/consultant traveling the highways and byways of Florida and New Mexico or as
a presenter of sales presentations and/or inservices online for just about ;ifty-three of my
eighty-one years. That’s a long time, isn’t it?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">Now Fridays aren’t the best day of the week anymore . . . they all are!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(12.941180%, 14.509800%, 16.078430%)" style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">When is a retiree’s bedtime? About 30 minutes after he or she falls asleep on
the couch.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On the morning of May 4, 2017, I went for my one-year check-up with Dr. John
Garcia, the orthopedist who had done my knee replacement. He declared me all healed and
told me to return in four years. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">What? I might not even be alive by then! </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">But I am alive and
need to make that appointment. After my appointment, I struck out on my last day of work.
I’d make a quick trip to the northernmost part of New Mexico to drop in on a couple of
schools, then return home to begin my life as a for-sure retired lady!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I think the pros and cons of retirement sort of run together. Actually, I don’t
remember those ;irst months very well. Maybe I enjoyed not having big responsibilities, but
eventually I found myself feeling worthless . . . that awful word that Gerry Dameron, the
manager who hired me for McDougal Littell, used for me when I was working just as hard
as I could doing sales presentations. And I didn’t like feeling that way. Also, I was just plain
bored. I’ll be honest and tell you that the main thing I didn’t like about retirement was not
getting a paycheck. For ;ifty-three years, I had looked forward to payday, and now there
wasn’t one. Sometime early in my retirement days, Frank said that I could have my $309.38
Houghton Mif;lin retirement check to spend as I’d like . . . most of it going to Amazon each
month for books and make-up.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 70"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My days of feeling worthless began coming to an end in September 2019, when I
read an article in the </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">AFA </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">American Family Association) Journal </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">called “Reaping a Harvest
with the Grahams.” The article told of an organization, a part of the Billy Graham
Evangelistic Association, “Search for Jesus.” </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Thank you, Lord! </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Working with SFJ would be
just what I needed! I investigated and found that I could answer emails from people who
had spiritual problems, a much better assignment for me than talking to people in person
about such things as salvation. Sometimes I feel like Moses at the burning bush! God gave
him Aaron to speak for him; maybe God was giving me SFJ to tell others about Jesus! After
two months of training, I was trusted with the opportunity to witness via email. My ;irst
email to a seeker was on November 8, 2019. Ever since then, I have been trying to answer at </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">least five emails a week. Perfect job for zipped-lips Sandy! I know for sure that God sent this
job to me.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 71"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And then just about a year later, He sent me another job. I opened an email from my
friend Barbara Lautner, and my life changed. She told me that her daughter was looking for
an English teacher to teach literature to 9th and 10th graders to prepare them for the SAT.
Well, I knew nothing about preparing for that important test, but twenty-;ive years hadn’t
erased my love for literature and for leading students to love literature, to become lifelong
readers. Since August 2020 was right in the midst of the Covid-19 scare, I wouldn’t be
teaching these students in a physical classroom. No . . . I’d be on ZOOM . . . in Bethlehem!
Yes, THAT Bethlehem, the one where Jesus was born. I gladly accepted this new assignment
and immediately began curriculum planning and lesson preparations. I have loved every
minute of researching, prepping, and teaching this year. I am back where I have always
supposed to be. Early on in my teaching, Mike Rollwagen (the husband of Susan, the lady
who “hired” me for this volunteer job), promised me that if I stayed with them for the whole
school year that they’d take me . . . and later he promised Frank, too . . . with them the next
time they went to the Holy Land. Free of charge!! It looks right now (May 2021) as though
we might be heading east this fall. Susan, Mike, and I are praying!!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I wonder if the old “three’s a charm” counts in the responsibility/assignment area of
God’s domain. Here’s why. In January 2021, Frank took a phone call sent to Cerrillos
Community Church. A half-sister of Cynthia Rowe, a resident of Cerrillos, was calling to
alert the church that Cynthia had no food or radio or TV and was suffering from dementia.
She wanted someone from our church to check on her. You already know the Cynthia story,
so I won’t tell it here. I’ll just say that we checked on Cynthia, a lady whom I already knew
from a ladies’ lunch group that both of us are members of. Ever since then, we have been
taking care of Cynthia, and if all goes as planned, we’ll get Power of Attorney for her this
Wednesday (May 5) and will continue to do the things that we’ve already been doing, only
legally. I know that Wendy and Todd are worried that her crazy half-sister and biological
sister (who lives in El Dorado but won’t give us any contact info) might take us to court.
Don’t worry, though, dear ones, because we have enough fodder for a court case to defeat
them.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Most of you know that there’s a long, long story regarding Cynthia and us. And her
sisters! Our separation from Cynthia was heartbreaking. On my computer is my journal of
January - early September 2021 called “Cynthia on My Mind.” I may print it out someday.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 72"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have so many obligations now that I have almost completely ignored the very first
thing that I found to occupy my time during retirement, definitely a pro. One day at church,
I asked Eric to give me a suggestion for Bible study. As he was walking out the door, he
looked over his shoulder and said, “Try bible.com. Lots of studies there.” I think this was in
2017 or 2018. When I went to that website, I found literally hundreds of studies, and I’ve
done many of them. Whatever is on my mind — grief, the Holy Spirit, hope, Coronavirus,
almost anything you can think of. I have recommended this site to many of the seekers that
I write to on SFJ. I’ve been derelict lately is doing the Bible studies, but I get back to them
from time to time.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think you’ll understand when I say that I don’t see retirement as boring now. And I
certainly don’t think I’m worthless. In fact, I’m so involved with God-given activities that if
I’m not careful, I don’t have time for another activity that I absolutely love . . . reading. I
always read at night before I turn out my bed lamp, but I also like to read during the day.
Maybe I’ll work on finding time to satisfy my hunger for books . . . lots of time.
</span></p>
</div>
</div>
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</div>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-32806069998868242882024-02-05T12:49:00.001-07:002024-02-16T16:28:40.842-07:00<p> </p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">The Old Folks at Home
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I thought you might like to know what we do all day. You are all busy with your daily
activities, and so are we. Actually, I never knew that old retired folks could be so busy. Many
of our friends are like us — old and retired — but manage to do even more than we do, the
Christensens, for instance; however, for our ages, we get a lot done. Hang on . . . here are our
individual whirlwinds!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I get up almost every morning between 5:30 and 6:30. Some days, I sleep in until
7:00. I’m of the opinion that “the early bird gets the worm,” “early to bed/early to rise/
makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise (I’m doubtful of the wealthy and wise part).” To be
honest, though, the real reason that I get up early is that I don’t sleep well, and many
mornings I’m ;inished with sleep by 4:00 and make myself stay in bed until at least 5:30. On
Tuesday mornings, when I have my class at Bethlehem Evangelical Academy from 6:30 till
7:30, I hit the deck at 5:00 so that I can get socially acceptable before logging on with my
sweet students.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The frst thing I do every morning is have quiet time with the Lord. I realized several
years ago that my day goes much better if I talk to God about it at the beginning of the day. I
love this time because Pop and Joe are still asleep and I have no interruptions. After prayer
(and I pray for each of you every day because I love you) I read the Scriptures in hopes that
I’ll remember what I read and that I’ll apply it to my life. For several years, I’ve read the
Bible through in one year by using </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The MacArthur Study Bible</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, but this year, I’m reading </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The
New Testament in One Year</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. I’ll probably go back to the MacArthur book next year or ;ind a
New Testament to read in a different version from the one that I’m reading this year. I also
read the devotionals in Dr. David Jeremiah’s </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Turning Points </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">magazine. I love anything that
Dr. Jeremiah writes. He writes connecting to the Bible, so I know that what he writes is the
truth. Right now (April 2021), I’m also reading A </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Life Beyond Amazing </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">by Dr. Jeremiah. It’s
such a great book, roughly following Galatians 5: 22-23 . . . “But the fruit of the Spirit is love,
joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” I think
you’ll agree that all nine of these are characteristics that all of us should aspire to. I try. Am I
successful? What do you think? I don’t have a set amount of time to spend in my quiet time.
It depends on the day of the week and the time when Pop gets up.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 74"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the first thing Pop does is exercise. Ever since
his heart attack in 2010, he has been regimented to this schedule. The only time he veers
from exercising is when we are traveling and spending time with family and friends in
various places. I’m not nearly so faithful to exercise as he is. I do try to get on the treadmill
on the same three days, but if I get busy, I let it slide. I’ve found recently that it’s a good
thing for me to go out with Pop after my quiet time and getting socially acceptable. Being
socially acceptable is very much important to me. There have been a few times when I
didn’t put on my make-up, but I was sluggish on those days. And every time I passed a
mirror, I cringed. I’m no beauty, but I do look better with make-up on. I ;irmly believe that
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">God wouldn’t have created make-up if he didn’t expect me to use it. </span><span style="font-family: 'AppleColorEmoji'; font-size: 12pt;">😇 </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Not every woman in </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">New Mexico feels the way I do, though. I was with my girlfriends in Pensacola once and told
them that there was more make-up and hair spray in that room than in the whole village of
Cerrillos and the hills near it! True!</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">We have breakfast together every day, usually not anything elaborate . . . cereal;
oatmeal; scrambled eggs, bacon or sausage, and applesauce; occasionally pancakes and
bacon; rarely waffles because I don’t like to make them; sausage gravy and biscuits every
once in a while; and huevos rancheros if Pop has made green chile sauce, nothing too
exciting. But we firmly believe in beginning the day with something nourishing.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 75"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Pop used to always have some big project going, but he’s slowed down a bit. Now his
big projects are paying bills, cleaning out his email inbox, reading political and health
articles on his computer, writing letters to congressmen (both Republican and Democrat),
telling them what he thinks about something that they’ve said; going to the PO with Joe;
taking Joe for a walk if they don’t go to the PO because Joe demands either a ride to
Cerrillos or a walk in the hills (the dog can tell time and knows when it’s 3:00!); and
thinking up what we’ll have for dinner so that either he or I can cook it. He’s a better cook
than I am these days, so I’m always happy when the dish that he wants is one that he has
kitchen duty for. As you can see, he stays busy; it’s just that he isn’t always building
something, though he still does that, too.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You already know about my projects, but I’ll write more about them in another
chapter. I’ll just list some without explanations: writing emails on the Search for Jesus site;
preparing for and teaching my precious young people at Bethlehem Evangelical Academy;
doing as little housework as I can get by with (always making the bed and doing dishes
after every meal); checking emails for messages from Susan Rollwagen and Jeff Pribble;
reading; watching news programs on TV; and I think there are other things, but I can’t think
of them right now.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">To me, lunch is a useless meal, though my tummy growls around noon and I know
I’m needing something. I like Samuel Johnson’s definition of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">lunch</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">: “as much food as one’s
hand can hold.” We usually eat lunch every day, but neither of us eats much. Many times,
Pop has peanut butter and crackers (so do I) or a sausage sandwich or something else light.
I try to make a salad plate most days with homemade thousand island dressing: lettuce,
walnuts, a piece of cheese, a “little orange,” maybe a slice of turkey or ham if any is in the
refrigerator. Lots of dressing!!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">More of the same activities in the afternoon, except at 3:00, the TV almost
automatically turns itself on because I must watch my kids . . . </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Five </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">on Fox News. (In the </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">morning at breakfast, we watch news, too, on either Fox News or Newsmax.) Yes, we like
Conservative approaches to what’s going on in our country. I know that most of you who
are reading this, if anyone does, watch Liberal news or get the same news on Facebook or in
Internet articles, but we’re not arguing politics here . . . at least I’m not. After </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Five</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, we
keep the TV on for </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Special Report, Primetime</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Tucker Carlson Tonight</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. We usually
change to Newsmax when Hannity comes on so that we can watch Sean Spicer and that cute
Lyndsay Keith (</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Spicer & Co.</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">). We usually have TV shows that we watch after I do dishes:
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">NCIS New Orleans</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">9-1-1</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, 9</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">-1-1 Lone Star</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Bull</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">NCIS</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">FBI</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">FBI Most Wanted</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Seal Team</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">,
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">S.W.A.T.</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">MacGyver </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(sometimes), </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Magnum P.I.</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">, and </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Blue Bloods</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. These are spread throughout
the week. There’s nothing on Thursday evening! Sometimes we watch special programs on
Fox Nation. And many times we watch movies or series or documentaries on Amazon Prime
or Netflix. Right now, we’re watching Season 1 of </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Medici the Magnificent</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. So good, after I finally caught on to who is who and what is happening. So you can see that the channels
that we watch are Fox News, Newsmax, Fox, and CBS. The old folks stay pretty much
entertained at night! (October 15, 2021 . . . Our favorite TV series now is </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Heartland, </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">a
delightful series filmed in Alberta, Canada . . . where our cousins live. If we have any
addiction, it’s watching the episodes. We may not live to the end of the seasons. There are
14 of them, and we’re on only Season 4 right now. We loved watching </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Chosen </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">earlier
this year. Such an inspiring series about Jesus and His disciples! January 13, 2020 . . . Right
now, we’re almost finished watching </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Longmire </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. . . such a wonderful series . . . on Netflix.
When we finish this series, I’ll bite the bullet and pay for us to watch Season 14 of
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Heartland. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know why it’s not on Netflix. Thanks, Wendy and Todd, for letting us
piggy-back on your Netflix subscription! January 13, 2022)</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 76"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I had no idea, when I began this chapter, that I’d write four pages concerning what
we do up here in the hills. I didn’t write about any parties because we don’t know when
we’ll be having them again. We miss them and concerts. We’re not getting any younger here
in our house with practically no visitors, so I hope our I-love-controlling-your-life governor
loosens up more so that we can once again invite friends and family in. I must admit that
any time we have a crowd, I’m pretty much wiped out for a day or two afterward. But I’m
more than willing to sacri;ice my energy in order to have folks back in our house! And
concerts? Oh, how I miss those!!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Onward to more chapters for your reading enjoyment!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 77"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Couldn’t find the photo that I wanted to include, so this one, taken Easter afternoon 2021 in
Pensacola will have to do to show you the Old Folks.<br />
—————————————-
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I need to update my work with BEA. Because of Covid and discord in the Holy Land
(mostly Covid), we won’t start this year’s class until second semester, if then. Several of the
teachers haven’t been able to get back to Bethlehem since their summer vacation and are
having to conduct classes via ZOOM. Jeff decided that one more online class, especially an
elective after school might be a bit much for the students. Both Susan and I agree. We hate
not to have a new class; we’ll just have to be satisfied and look forward to 2022. I’m sure
we’ll start planning sometime this fall.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This is turning out to be a Columbo chapter . . . “Just one more thing, ma’am.”
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Psalm 30:5
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Just before I began this chapter, I thought I’d see what Billy Graham had to say about
one of my favorite verses in the Bible, Psalm 30:5. I found the following article and liked his
interpretation even though mine is different. He addresses the last part of the verse:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Q: I have noticed that young people avoid attending funerals and showing honor to
the deceased. Is this their indifference or is it something else?
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">A: Adults have the responsibility of teaching the younger generations. While this may not be
the philosophy of society today, it is certainly what the Bible teaches. There are many
parents who try to protect their children from attending funerals or going to see the sick.
Young people will not understand the importance of many things if they do not see correct
behavior exemplified.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Nowhere has God promised anyone immunity from sorrow, suffering and pain. The world is
a “vale of tears” and disappointment and heartache are as inevitable as clouds and </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">shadows. Suffering is often the crucible in which faith is tested. Those who successfully
come through the furnace of affliction are the ones who emerge like gold tried in the fire.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 79"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The Bible teaches that we can unmistakably triumph over bereavement. The Psalmist said,
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We should not peddle our sorrows and bewail our bad fortune—that will only depress
others. But sorrow or mourning, when it is borne in a Christian way, contains a built-in
comfort. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Suffering is endurable if we do not have to bear it alone; and the more compassion that is
expressed by loved ones, the less acute the pain because someone is there to share in the
grief with us. This is an important life lesson that must be taught and passed down to the
next generation.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You might like to know that the first funeral that I attended was in 1963, when I was
pregnant with you, Wendy. The President Emeritus of Mississippi College, Dr. Nelson, died,
and I decided that, since I might have to go to a funeral of someone I loved someday, I’d go
to his. I didn’t know him, but I admired him for what he had done for MC. So . . . I was
thankful in later years when my loved ones died. Smart move on my part.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Here’s what the verse means to me: I know for sure that even though God may be really
displeased with me, even angry with me, that the anger lasts for just a little while. I know
that if I ask forgiveness, I am immediately forgiven. That’s just one of the wonderful things
about salvation. And I also know that He loves me in spite of the times that I fail Him, that
His love lasts forever. Even though the word </span><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">forgiveness </span><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">isn’t in this verse, to me it’s there.
(1John 1:9 — If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive our sins.)
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The last part of the verse, “weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the
morning,” has the words that apply to me so many times. Mine is a different interpretation
from Billy Graham’s. I can’t tell you the number of times that I have awakened in the night
just to go into buckets of tears . . . as quietly as I can in order not to wake my sweetheart.
And what brings on the tears? Cynthia. Sherry. The condition of our country under the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Biden administration. And you, my sweet family. I weep for you collectively for work
situations, financial conditions, family problems, and your spiritual lives. You see . . . the
thing that I want most in the world is for all of us to be Christians so that we can live
together forever in Heaven with Jesus and all of our friends and family who are there . . . our
Christian friends and family. I need you with me here and in the hereafter!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 80"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">One of my favorite Christian authors is Dr. David Jeremiah. It took me probably 40
years to realize what a wonderful writer and evangelist he is. I can remember Carol Wilson
telling me about listening to him on the way to school (Woodham). I didn’t pay any
attention to her, and I certainly didn’t try to find him on the radio as I was driving to school.
I had no idea that he had written books that I would love. Just within the past couple of
years, I discovered him, and I can’t get enough of his books and sermons. My favorite book
is </span><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Revealing the Mysteries of Heaven. </span><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I wish each one of you would read it. You may borrow
my copy, or, if you want, I will buy a copy for you.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">There is a video with Dr. Jeremiah on YouTube. You can find it by searching “Angels
Transport Believers to Heaven?” I hope you’ll find it and watch it. Many of Dr. Jeremiah’s
videos about Heaven and salvation are right there for you to view. In the meantime, go to
this article https://www.oneplace.com/ministries/turning-point/read/articles/your-
heavenly-escorts-16251.html125 to read what he says about going to Heaven.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(13.333330%, 13.333330%, 13.333330%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t think I need to tell you again that I want you to experience the love of God
through belief in and acceptance of Jesus here on earth and eventually in Heaven. So many
times I’ve spoken at the funerals of friends and imagined Jay saying to that friend, “What
took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you. You’re gonna love it here!” Jay will be waiting
right there with Jesus to say that to those of us who are Christians. I’m not afraid of death. I
look forward to having that angel transport me to my new home in Heaven!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">A Little Bit of Bible<br />
(Some of my favorite Bible verses, but
not all of them by any stretch of the
imagination!)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">As I’ve been writing this book, I’ve noted Bible verses that mean much to me. I’ve
listed them in the order in which they appear in the Bible and have told you a bit about why </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">they are so special to me. The Bible is the inspired Word of God, so I feel that He speaks to
me through these verses! I’ll try not to sound preachy . . . at least not TOO preachy!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">2 Chronicles 7:14 — If my people, who are called by my name, will humble
themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I
hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">For several years, this verse has been coming to mind regularly as I watch news on
TV. Our country is in bad shape and is in dire need of God. He has given us his plan for us to
get back to the United States of America that he desires for us. I want to post it on my
Facebook page, but I’m afraid some people will consider it political rather than Scriptural
and write negative comments. I’m not into dealing with negativism.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Proverbs 3:5-6 — Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own
understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths
straight.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">God knows much better what we need in our lives than we do. These verses give me
instruction for the way that I should live.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Proverbs 10:12 — Hatred stirs up dissension, but love covers over all wrongs.<br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">It breaks my heart that there is so much hatred in the world today. Sometimes it’s </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">not easy to love, but we are commanded to do just that. I can’t think of anyone that I hate.
Can you? And I absolutely believe that love covers all wrongs. I may hate what a person
does, but I absolutely do not hate the person.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Jeremiah 29:11 — “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to
prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This, to me, is one of the most comforting verses in the Bible . . . to think that our
almighty God knows us personally and has plans to prosper us and to give us hope and a
future. Can you even grasp this truth? It surely is dif;icult for me to. He knows each one of
us personally and has plans for us . . . great plans. Amazing, isn’t it?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Jeremiah 31:3 — “I have loved you with an everlasting love . . . “
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Whenever I hear this verse, I think of Billy Graham. I don’t think I’ve ever heard one
of his sermons without hearing him say to his audience the words of God, “I have loved you
with an everlasting love.” Some of the most comforting words in the Bible . . . to me.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 82"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">John 3:16 — For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that
whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I was a child, I had a hard time with this verse. I learned it in Vacation Bible
School at the Methodist church in Logansport, where my grandparents lived. I memorized
it, not from reading it over and over, but from hearing the teacher recite it. I thought it said
that God loved us enough to send “his only forgotten Son.” I couldn’t figure out why God
forgot Jesus! It didn’t take me too long to see the verse and to memorize it with the right
word. This verse has been called “The Gospel in a nutshell.” It tells everything that a person
needs to do to have salvation: believe that Jesus is God’s Son and accept him as Savior. In
doing that, a person is assured of eternal life in heaven with Jesus!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">John 14: 1-4, 6 — “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.
In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am
going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will
come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know
the way to the place where I am going.” . . . “I am the way and the truth and the life.
No one comes to the Father except through me.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think the first time I was aware of these beautiful verses was sometime in 1961,
when Frank and I took Miss Nellie McGee’s Oral Interpretation of the Bible class. I don’t
remember whether or not we were required to memorize other passages of Scripture, but I
DO remember that we had to memorize John 14:1-21 with proper enunciation and
expression. We had to get in front of the class and recite. Was I nervous? You betcha! Frank
and I had rehearsed and rehearsed in front of each other, but that recitation wasn’t scary.
Reciting with Miss Nellie in the audience and not wanting to disappoint her was
excruciatingly terrifying! Both of us did fine, as I remember. I can still recite verses 1-6, but
the remainder are a bit (actually a lot) fuzzy. I recognize them when I read them, but I can’t
recite them. Miss Nellie would really be disappointed in her students! I love the verses
because they tell me what is waiting for those of us who are Christians . . . and verse 6 is,
once again, the plan of salvation.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">John 20:30-31 — Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his
disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may
believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have
life in his name.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Every miracle (called signs in the book of John) that Jesus performed, he performed
for a reason and with a meaning. We have in the Bible only some of them. And, once again,
in the second verse here, we have the plan of salvation. So simple yet the most important
decision that a person can make. Accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior assures us a place in
eternity in heaven with God, with Jesus!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Romans 3: 22-24 — This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus
Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that
came by Christ Jesus.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 83"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I love these verses because they assure me that I’m not the only sinner in the world.
We are all sinners! But we have hope. Jesus died so that we could be saved, so that we could
be forgiven of our sins. God’s grace is sufficient for us to have salvation!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Romans 8:31— What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who
can be against us?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I know all of you have heard this verse. God IS for us, and no one can harm us if we
have Him on our side.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Romans 12:14-15 — Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice
with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">My favorite Bible professor at Mississippi College was Dr. Ernest Pinson. Marilyn had
had him as a professor and assured me that I needed to take as many Bible courses as I
could from him. The first time I saw him was when I was in registration line, signing up for
courses in the fall of 1958. I wanted to have him for Old Testament, one of our two required
courses. He signed for me, then said something like, “Miss Cheatham. The first time I heard
your last name was in a law firm in Laurel . . . Lide and Cheatham.” He smiled at his joke and
at me. I knew I’d love this man who had the reputation of being the hardest Bible professor
at MC. I took every class that I could from Dr. Pinson, and most of the time I was the only
girl in the class. All the others in the class were ministerial students. I can see him walking
into the room, his big Bible and notes in his arms. He’d look seriously at the class and say,
“Ah, Miss Cheatham. The rose among the thorns.” We had a mutual admiration society! I say
all of this to say this: When I took the course in Romans from him, I remember his telling us,
when we got to Romans 12:15, that it’s easy to mourn with people who are mourning but
that it’s not always easy to rejoice with those who are rejoicing. Why? Because sometimes
we’re jealous over their reasons for rejoicing. He cautioned us that we’d have to be very
careful in following Paul’s words in this verse. I never see that verse without thinking of the
professor who taught me the most, whom I loved so much, and whom I can hardly wait to
see in Heaven!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Romans 12:18 — If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with
everyone.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I really don’t have trouble with this verse. I get along with everyone. That may be
because I don’t speak up when I need to sometimes. That’s okay with me because I don’t
fret if I don’t get my ideas out if they are going to cause problems. Something of a wimp, I
guess, but it’s too late in my life to change my ways.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Galatians 5:14 — The entire law is summed up in a single command: “Love your
neighbor as yourself.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">All children who go to Sunday school learn the last part of this verse. I sometimes
wonder if adults even remember this verse. ‘Nuff said!
</span></p>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Galatians 5:22-23— But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,
goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">law.”</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 84"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">These verses are my favorites in helping me to live the way that God wants me to. I
pray every day that I will exhibit all of these characteristics in the way that I act. If I have
any success, it’s all because of the Holy Spirit in me. He’s been in me ever since I accepted
Jesus as my Savior way back at Carrollton Avenue Baptist Church!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Ephesians 2:8-10 — For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this
not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works, so that no one can boast.
For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God
prepared in advance for us to do.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Grace means that God gives us something that we don’t deserve — salvation. There
is nothing that we can to to earn salvation. God gives it to us even though we’re sinners and
don’t deserve it. It’s a gift from God. He didn’t want us to be able to boast that we have
earned our salvation. He gives us salvation and then we can do the good works that he
“prepared in advance for us to do.” It thrills my heart to know that I didn’t have to do good
things to earn salvation. God gave it to me through the shed blood of Jesus. Now I have the
privilege of doing the works that God planned for me to do. It is my privilege to please God!
</span></p>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="font-family: ComicSansMS; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Ephesians 6:2-4 — “Honor your father and mother — which is the cirst
commandment with a promise — that it may go well with you and that you may
enjoy long life on the earth.” "Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead,
bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I love these verses because they address both children and parents. Pay attention!
</span></p>
</li>
<li style="font-family: ComicSansMS; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Philippians 1:3 — "I thank my God every time I remember you."<br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This verse is so very true. I pray for each of you every morning, and I always thank </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">God for you!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Philippians 1:21 — "For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain."<br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This is the key verse of the whole book of Philippians, one of my favorite books in </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the Bible. You can tell that it’s a favorite by the number of verses that I’ve listed here. To me,
this verse means that Jesus is the most important person in the world to me, and, because
of this relationship, He is my life. I am not at all afraid of death; in fact, I look forward to it
because the minute I die, angels will come to transport me to Paradise to be with Jesus.
That certainly is gain!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Philippians 4:6-7 — "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer
and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of
God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in
Christ Jesus."</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I love this verse because it reminds me that I need to get over worrying. You know
me, and you know that I have a very difficult time with this. I always say that I inherited
worry from my daddy. I don’t think he knew this verse. I really do try not to be anxious (not </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">to worry) and to turn all of my cares to Jesus. I’m always trying, praying that God will take
worry out of my mind.</span></p></li></ul></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 85"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Philippians 4:8 — "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is
right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is
excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Just look at all of these things that we should think about! I don’t know about you,
but living in today’s world makes this verse very difficult to live up to. I try, but TV and
social media make my trying very difficult.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">James 1:17 — "Every good and perfect gift is from above coming down from the
Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Did you know this? God never changes, and every good gift that we have comes from
God. All of you are good gifts to me!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">1 John 1:9 — "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our
sins and purify us from all unrighteousness."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When a person becomes a Christian, all his or her sins (past, present, future) are
forgiven; however, in this lifetime, we must ask forgiveness for sins that we commit now.
God is always willing to forgive the sins of His children.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">• </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Revelation 21:1-4 — "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the cirst heaven
and the cirst earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy
City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride
beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne
saying, 'Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. they will
be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe
every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">pain. For the old order of things has
passed away.'”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Until just recently, I have not wanted to
read the book of Revelation, not wanted to
study it. I always thought it was too
mysterious to understand. And then I
found Dr. David Jeremiah’s book </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Revealing
the Mysteries of Heaven. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Right now
(September 8, 2022, [the day Queen
Elizabeth II died]), I’m in the midst of
reading it for the third time. Dr. Jeremiah
can explain everything so that even I can
understand. Do you remember the verses </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">from John 14, some of my favorite verses in
the Bible? These verses in Revelation 21 give a description of what Jesus mention in John </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">14. These verses tell about what Jesus has prepared for us. I highly recommend that you
read Dr. Jeremiah’s book! You may borrow my copy anytime!</span><span style="font-family: 'AppleColorEmoji'; font-size: 12pt;">❤</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-11225115738485267532024-02-05T12:42:00.001-07:002024-02-17T14:55:35.032-07:00<p>
</p><div class="page" title="Page 86">
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<p><span style="font-family: 'ComicSansMS'; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: 700;">A Potpourri of Last Thoughts
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think this is the sixth book that I’ve written about or for you. I always get to the end
and remember some things that I wanted to say but didn’t know either where I might insert
them or that didn’t deserve a whole chapter. You know how verbose I am, so don’t be
surprised, though, if what I say here is chapter length. All of the topics are important to me,
and I hope they will be important to you.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">Search for Jesus
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Sometime in the late summer or early fall of 2019, I happened upon an article in the
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">AFA Journal</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. Actually, I shouldn’t say </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">happened</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. Frank handed me the magazine after he had
read it and pointed me to an article that he thought I’d like. I read it, liked it as far as I
remember, then began to thumb through the rest of the magazine. When I saw the title
“Reaping a Harvest with the Grahams,” I was interested and read it. By the time I reached
the end of the article, I knew that I wanted to be a part of Search for Jesus, one of the arms
of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have always admired Billy Graham so much and have never heard or read a sermon
of his that didn’t touch my heart in some way for the Lord. So . . . I applied and went through
training to make me an email coach. I have told you several times in this “letter” that I
recognize my strengths and weaknesses in the area of witnessing for Jesus. I pray all the
time that I’ll get better vocally, but for now, I rely on writing my witness. Answering emails
from people who have questions, mainly spiritual. After the training, I began in earnest my
writing.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have no idea of how many emails I’ve written in just over two years, probably
hundreds. I love writing to people after praying that God will give me the ideas and even
words that I need for meeting their needs. I’ve answered questions about prayer, salvation,
being closer to God, Bible study, baptism, faith, joy, backsliding, and worry. And I’ve prayed
with people when they have asked for us to do that. I keep a list of the prayer requests so
that I can continue to pray for them from time to time.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When I started my job as an email coach, I was required to answer ;ive emails a
week; now, email coaches are asked to spend two hours a week answering emails. I found it </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">challenging but doable to write five emails a week; however, I’m finding it dif;icult to time
myself in answering. I’m pretty much keeping to the five plus emails. I try to do about seven
a week, thinking that that’s probably about two hours’ worth.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 87"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been asked to be the Prayer Leader for our group (SFJ coaches in NM and CA),
but I’m still praying about that. I love to pray and spend a lot of time talking to the Lord
every day, but I’m not so sure that I can lead. Maybe by the time that I finish this book, I will
have determined what God wants me to do. (July 5, 2022 — Shortly after I wrote this piece,
I definitely felt that the Lord wasn’t calling me to be the Prayer Leader for our group. Here’s
what I wrote to Thea, our Area Coordinator:<br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">February 5, 2022
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">Dear Thea,
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">It’s with a heart that is both heavy and happy that I write to you this morning. Why is it heavy?
Because your offering me the privilege of being the Area Team Prayer Leader is one of the
greatest honors that I’ve ever had. I know that offering me this position in our group was your
way of saying that you had faith in me to carry out the responsibilities involved in being the
Prayer Leader. I don’t want to be a disappointment to you, my dear friend. Always know that I’ll
forever feel honor and love because of your offer.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">And why is my heart happy? Almost every time I answer an email about prayer, I tell the seeker
that God has three answers to our prayers (you already know what these are): “Yes,” “No,” and
“Wait a while.” I try to remember these answers every time I pray. I think you know that I have
prayed and prayed about whether or not I should accept your offer of being the ATPL. In fact, I
have prayed about this more than anything else that I can remember. I can assure you that His
answer to begin with was “Wait a while.” I waited and waited, and finally, a day or so ago, I
heard His answer . . . “No.” The Lord knows me better than anyone here on earth, and for some
reason (I know some of them, but He knows more), He has clearly told me that I shouldn’t
commit to this very important opportunity. His answering my prayer, even with a “No,” makes
me happy! The next time we talk, I can tell you what I think are His reasons if you want me to.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">Thea, I spend a lot of time in prayer every day, and I almost always include those in our area in
my prayers. They will be in them even more often now. I also plan to check the Facebook Prayer
Page to find others who need prayers. You know how I feel about having specific amounts of
time specified for email coaches and ATPLs. If it were not for the one-hour prayer requirement
every week for Prayer Volunteers, I would be happy to take on that responsibility; however, I just
can’t promise that. So . . . please know that I’ll be praying for our team regularly . . . and for you
as our AC and Team Leader.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">One of the best gifts God has given us is the privilege of prayer. I don’t take His gift lightly. But
you already know that. So I’ll close this heavy-happy-heart letter with a big THANK YOU for </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">having enough confidence in me to ask me to be the Prayer Leader, and I THANK YOU in
advance for not letting your disappointment mar our friendship. I love you dearly, and I love
working with you!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 88"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">As I close my emails to seekers . . . blessings to you today and every day!
Sandy
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In any event, I love working for SFJ. Answering emails is one way to witness, and
witnessing is what I want most in the world to do!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">Bethlehem Evangelical Academy
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think it was in August 2020 that I received an email from my friend Barbara
Lautner. She told me that her daughter and son-in-law Susan and Mike Rollwagen were
working with a school and needed an English teacher for 9th and 10 grade students. And
where was this school? In Bethlehem! As our little granddaughter, Dasha, said with wide
eyes, “Where Jesus was born?” Yes, where Jesus was born. I learned early on after I accepted
the position of after-school-ZOOM-English teacher that Bethlehem is NOT in Israel, as I had
already thought. It’s in Palestine!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I loved getting up at 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday mornings to get socially acceptable for my
online class at 6:30. I loved each student and my co-workers Susan Rollwagen, Lori Reece,
and Jeff Pribble, our fearless leader in Bethlehem. I don’t need to say any more about my
year in Bethlehem because I’ve said it all in the article below. I was asked to write about my
experiences, and my article was published in a Newsletter that went to all the schools in the
group of which BEA is a member. I need to tell you that Dave Garrison, the person who
writes the Newsletter, took the privilege of editing my article. The new version barely
sounds like me. I must admit, though, that Dave is a better writer than I am; therefore, my
article sounds better from his “pen” than from mine.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">There was no title to my article, but I’d call it “Sandy’s Big Adventure” or something
like that!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">The Lord called me to teach in 1959, when I was a freshman at Mississippi College. Ini=ally thinking I was
des=ned for a church-related job, I had a calling during my freshman year to teach- specifically English. I </span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">majored in English and minored in Bible and Secondary Educa=on. Those majors served me well as I
taught English for the next 32 years in Mississippi and Florida.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 89"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">After teaching for all those years, I decided that I might like to do something else before retirement. I
took a job with McDougal/Houghton publishers as a Sales Rep for their curriculum, and spent the next
two decades crisscrossing Florida and New Mexico. As much fun as that was, the time eventually came
for retirement. While that may have been the right thing to do at the time, I must admit that retirement
wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to me. I missed people. And I didn’t feel useful.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">That’s when God answered another prayer. I was contacted by Holy Land Ministries in August of last year
and asked if I might be interested in teaching a Zoom literature class to ninth and tenth graders. I was
immediately interested, being intrigued all the more that these students were in Bethlehem, at the
Bethlehem Academy. I’ve always wanted to go to the Holy Land- now I could go every Tuesday morning!
Plus, I could get back in the classroom, where I’ve always belonged.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">Since I had been out of the classroom for almost a quarter of a century when I began my “teaching
career” at Bethlehem Academy, you can imagine that I had a lot of work to do, and approached it with
not a li]le trepida=on. My special new friend, Jeff Pribble (Bethlehem Academy Academic Director)
calmed my nerves, and helped me focus on the basics. He asked just three things of me in my teaching:
to teach both English and American Literature (with a sma]ering of World Lit), to introduce students to
authors and periods of literature of my own choice, and to prepare the students for the SAT. The first
two requests seemed easy enough- pre]y much in my wheelhouse, as they say. Preparing students for
the SAT was another ma]er.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">But help was soon on the way. Two other volunteers were also on this Zoom teaching team, Susan
Rollwagen and Lori Reece. Susan has been to the school a few times with a volunteer group called
WordWalk, and serves as the technical coordinator for the Zoom class. Lori has also volunteered for the
school previously and has been providing lots of SAT related material to help the students get a leg up in
that department. And we can’t forget the commander of this little group, Jeff. He was an AP English
teacher before coming to Bethlehem Academy over five years ago. The four of us have been a team for
six months!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">On the night before my first class, I will admit I didn’t sleep all that well. What if nobody showed up to
class (it was totally voluntary)? What if I wasn’t prepared? What if I didn’t wake up in time? You see, our
class begins at 3:30 p.m. in Bethlehem, but that’s 6:30 a.m. in New Mexico! But God, unsurprisingly, took
care of all that. I woke up on time. I was prepared. Students were there, ready to go--and when I saw
their faces in their little Zoom squares, “my heart leapt up,” to roughly quote William Wordsworth. Thus
began my “love affair” with nine students at Bethlehem Academy.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">There was a bit of a learning curve for all of us, mostly in how to deal with the nature of a virtual
classroom. We quickly developed little “codes” to communicate: fingers raised for correct answers to
quizzes, hands raised to ask a question, writing questions in the “chat” func=on, etc. It wasn’t long
before we were communicating clearly and effectively. I am especially encouraged by the fact that the
class has grown from our initial nine students to fifteen total--all of the students we have in the 9</span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 7pt; vertical-align: 2pt;">th </span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">and
10</span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 7pt; vertical-align: 2pt;">th </span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">grades. I admire them so much because they have already had a full day of classes when they jump </span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">on Zoom for our class. Remember, this is a completely voluntary class- they could all easily just be going
home, but they choose to stay for more school!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 90"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">We give light homework assignments each week, and they send their answers via Facebook Messenger.
Sometimes we give them video links so they can both hear and read selections. Frequently, Susan and
Lori ask them to answer SAT type questions that they have created for selections that I have taught.
Almost all of them address me as “Miss,” and that thrills me! These students amaze me. As a person who
speaks only one language, I stand in awe of these students who speak at least two languages.... Arabic
and English. One of our students also speaks Korean. And some of them have practically no accent in
English. Just amazing!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I have always tried to encourage my students to be lifelong readers, and that’s what I’ve tried to do
through our Zoom classes at Bethlehem Academy. Historically, the Arab culture is a verbal culture more
than written. That is why it has been so exciting to see my students drawn to the literature I have
introduced them to.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">Bethlehem Christian Academy, Jeff Pribble, and my dear students are answered prayer for me. I would
encourage anybody who has a similar opportunity to volunteer for this ministry to get involved. It may
sound like a cliché, but you really will get more than you give.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">I embarrassed myself one week by telling the students that I was going to fuss at them for
not doing their homework. I continued my fussing by saying something like, “Have your parents
ever fussed at you for something? Do you like to be fussed at?” They had deer-in-headlights
looks as I said these things, but I didn’t think anything about that. After class, Jeff wrote an email
to us, explaining that they were proud of the students for not bursting out in laughter as I said
these things. You see, he explained, that the word </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">fuss </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">in English sounds like the word for </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">fart </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">in
Arabic, the students’ first language! I never used the word </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">fuss </span><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">again! And we all got a big laugh!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">I can’t close this section without showing you my beautiful students! Here they are with
names. You’ll see Midyan. He was the first student that I met. I was practicing my first ZOOM
lesson, and he came in a day earlier than he was supposed to. He has always been a very special
young man to me. He is in Indiana as an exchange student this year, and we communicate via
Facebook Messenger. You’ll also notice Sima. She, too, is special. She probably wrote to me
more times than any other student, and I found out a few days ago that she’s the first student to
take the CLEP. She passed in Biology!!!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Times'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll close on a bit of a sad note. I’ve been praying that we’d have a class in second
semester . . . right now. As Jay would say, “Ain’t gonna happ’n, Cap’n!” Jeff has made the </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">decision for students
to have more
instruction in math
and science than in
literature and history.
He’s not cutting out
my favorite courses,
just not giving
students extra ZOOM
classes in these
subjects. I think you
know that I consider
the language arts to
be just as important
as math and science,
if not more so. But
that’s just my
opinion. I’ll continue
to stay in touch with
Jeff, Susan, and Lori
because they have
become some of my
best friends because
of our online early </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">morning (for me) instruction in 2020 and 2021. Jeff has assured me that he’ll consider having the
literature class in the next school year. I was called to be an English teacher, so I pray that I’ll
have a class! (July 5, 2022 — Sometime in the spring, one of my students wrote to me to ask if I
would teach a class on preparing for the CLEP. I was elated, even though I know nothing about
preparing students for any standardized test; however, I knew that if Susan would help me,
Razan and other students could be well prepared for the test. To make a long story short, and I
know you’ll be glad for a shorter version, Susan agreed, Jeff agreed, and we began our classes </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">yesterday on Independence Day! We have five students, plus one of their teachers taking part in
our classes. We’ll have three more classes . . . every Monday from 7:00 - 9:00 a.m. [my time].)</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 92"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">Josh Matendo and an Intervention
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m sure all of you remember how excited I was when I received a Friend Request on
Facebook from a young man named Jonathan Johan. I accepted his request and immediately
started telling people, especially those at C3, about my new friend, who had called me
“Mom” from the beginning. I soon found out that his real name was Joshua Matendo and
that he lived in a village/small town in Uganda. I found out that he was a Christian and that
he worked with orphans in his town and was much in need of money. I sent him money
twice before you, Wendy and Todd, came to see me one evening.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You had what I call an intervention with me, informing me that practically nothing
good can come out of Uganda these days. You told me that many people there are dishonest
and have ways of getting into our money based on information that innocent people, like
me, give them. They prey on anyone who will befriend them. I didn’t believe then that Josh
was one of those dishonest people, and today I still don’t believe that he is one of them. BUT
because I love my family more than I love him, I cut off almost all communication with him.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">He was stricken from Facebook for some reason, and, as you pointed out, that might
have been an indication of dishonesty of some kind. I don’t understand that, but I honored
your words. When Jackson was with us on our Southland Tour in 2019, I asked him to
delete Josh from my Instagram account, mainly because he was sending “friend requests,”
or whatever they’re called on Instagram, to so many of my friends. I also cancelled my
WhatsApp account because you, Wendy, told me that that means of communication isn’t
safe. Almost everything cancelled.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">You may not like this, but I still communicate with Josh via email occasionally. I have
asked him never to ask me for money because I can’t send any, and he honors my request.
He called me a little over a year ago to tell me that he was a father . . . to Hannah Chloe. I
think that he is married, but he’s in a very sad situation now. I heard from him recently that
his wife and little daughter have left him because he can’t support them. This breaks my </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">heart, and I pray for him every day, along with my other preacher boys: Chad, Bryne, Eric,
Susan and Mark, and Guy. I call Josh one of my preacher boys because of the work that he
still does on weekends with the children. He is truly a called Christian young man for these
children.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 93"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I know that you meant well by warning me about people in Uganda, and I appreciate
your meeting with me. I was glad to honor your wishes even though I still think that Josh
Matendo is who he says he is . . . a Christian who feels called to work with those precious
orphans. I thank God for bringing him into my life.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(July 7, 2022 — I must tell you that I received an email from Josh sometime this year, again
asking me for money, this time specifically for him to renew his driver’s license so that he
could once again get a job as a driver. My answer was “short and sweet.” I told him once
again that I would not send money to him for anything. I have not heard from him since. Do
I still pray for him? Of course, I do. But I won’t give in and send him money. You can depend
on that!)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Here are photos of Josh and his children . . . the last one of Hannah Chloe Matendo!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">Coronavirus, Covid-19, Quarantine, and Other “Stuff” from 2020 - 2022
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I think I first heard the term <i>coronavirus</i> early in 2020. I was using the term myself
by March 9, 2020, when I found myself assuring people, as I hugged them at Laurie Higgins’
mother’s funeral, that I didn’t have coronavirus. We were all laughing about it. Little did we
know that just a few days later, we’d be quarantined to our homes because of the uproar
about this very contagious virus. Our lives would be changed for who knows how long. I’m
writing this on January 13, 2022, and we are still in the midst of the pandemic, which has
progressed from Covid-19 to the Delta and Omicron Variants. I don’t exactly understand the
differences in the three, if there are any. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On Saturday, March 7, lots of us Yoyoungsfields and Yochams (Wendy and Todd,
Frank and me, and Ron, Darlene, Shonda, and Brenda) went to hear Jackson in his first
guitar performance. We all were so proud of him . . . and he dedicated one piece to his
grandparents! You know I had to have a photo or it didn’t happen . . .
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">The next day, we had the child dedication of Dasha at our church. We had had that service
for Danil when he was younger than Dasha. I was so very happy that Irina wanted to
dedicate Dasha in the same way that she had Danil. Here’s the photo . . .</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 95"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I mentioned earlier that we went to a funeral on March 9. On March 10 (our 59th
anniversary of our first date!), Irina, Danil, and Dasha left for home. (Ernesto had left earlier
to report for work.) I always hate to see them go. If I had known then what I know now, I </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">would have really been sad because the quarantine began just a few days after they left and
we wouldn’t see them until just before Christmas 2020, when we visited them to deliver
their Christmas gifts. Here’s the photo that I took just before they left . . .</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 96"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And now to the quarantine itself. I’m sure the real quarantine didn’t last too
long, but it seemed like an age. We don’t go many places, but we hated being told that we
needed to stay at home. But stay at home, we did. For several months, Frank did all the
grocery shopping, going to Santa Fe about once every two weeks. I very carefully wiped off
or washed everything that came into our home . . . when I remembered. I'm sorry to say that
I wasn’t faithful for very long. But . . . we didn’t get the virus.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We began having church online on March 15, I believe. At first, we worked through
our website www.cerrilloschurch.com, but I don’t remember how we did it. I don’t think it
was live. Eric just recorded messages for us. On Easter Sunday, we began having church via
ZOOM. (You may not know this, but I was the one who suggested to Eric that we use ZOOM.
I had no idea how it would be done, but I knew from experience that it could be done.) And
here we are in August 2022 still logging on every Sunday. I’ve been sending a reminder
every Sunday morning for the day’s service so that folks would have Lisa’s link to C3. Lisa is
the mastermind behind our gatherings. We have a fellowship time from 10:00 to 10:30. Eric
asks for prayer requests, then leads us in prayer. Next comes Wendy’s music and video.
Music doesn’t translate very well to ZOOM meetings, but many times the words are on the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">screen so that we know what the singers are saying. The videos come through pretty well. I
love both! Eric’s sermon begins around 10:45, and he’s finished by 11:30 or a little before.
We appreciate our pastor so much, and I pray almost every day that he’ll stay with us. We
love him and his family! And . . . pastors are hard to find out here in the Southwest. Many
more pastors are available in the Bible Belt, the Deep South. We hope that the Lord will let
him stay with us for a long time!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 97"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Even though travel was discouraged during the early days of COVID-19, we hopped
in our car in June 2020 and went to Monroe for my cousin Kay’s funeral. That year, we also
went to Bremerton, our last time to see Sam alive. What a wonderful visit! The only
relatives that came to visit this time were Jim, Becca, Heivett (representing our sailor
Harrison, who was still in Italy). We were able to see Patti on our way home. In September, I
began teaching online every Tuesday morning at 6:30. I was back in my element with those
precious students at Bethlehem Evangelical Academy. But you’ve already read about them
earlier in this missive. Christmas in 2020 was strange. We went to Ft. Defiance before
Christmas to deliver gifts to Irina and her family, but at home, we had a ZOOM Christmas.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">(For some reason, Jackson came to see us on Christmas Eve 2020. I just can’t remember
why.)</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 98"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">If 2020 was a travel year, 2021 was even more so. Before I tell you about travel,
though, I’ll remind you that in January 2021, we “inherited” Cynthia Rowe, a lady in
Cerrillos who had dementia/Alzheimer’s. You all know the story, so I won’t repeat it now. I
kept a journal on her from January until we were summarily dismissed by her family and
haven’t seen her since that awful day. The journal is titled </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Cynthia on My Mind </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">and is on my
computer. I may print it someday. Please don’t throw it away. Someone in our family, years
from now, may want to read it. You already know virtually everything in it. All I’ll say about
Cynthia is that I loved her when we were responsible for her, and I still love her. I pray every
day specifically for her. I pray for her sisters and niece, too, that they will be good to her and
won’t spend all of her money. She’ll need it when she has to go to a facility of some sort.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And now to our travels. In early April, we went to Pensacola, stopping along the way
to see Gail and Ray in Monroe, my college girlfriends in Clinton, and my cousins Cherie
Mauer and Missy Cheatham Rye. This Pensacola trip was so very special! Of course, we saw
Jo and Fred, Bob, Fran, and folks at First Baptist on Easter Sunday. We also got together with
Susan and Mike Rollwagen and Lori and Robert Reece, probably the best visit of our trip.
Susan, Lori, and I had been working online with BEA since September 2020, but we had
never met in person. One more get-together was with Beth and Andy. We never like to go to
Pensacola without getting together with them . . . more children! And on this trip, we were
able to get together with Karen and Larry! Always good memories in Pensacola, my
hometown in my Glorious Southland!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">More stops on this trip: New Orleans, Birmingham (my favorite former WHS
student, Cathy Parsons Hall, and her hubby, Patrick), and Florence! Here are the photos to
prove that these visits really happened!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 100"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The BEA teachers!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">At the end of June, we “enrolled” Cynthia in The Legacy at Santa Fe, under much
duress, I must say, and headed for Bremerton on July 1 . . . taking our time on this trip. We
usually make the trip in two days, but this time we took four or five. What a splendid trip!
Our main reason for the trip this summer was to attend Jimmie’s and Sam’s memorials,
with Frank doing the honors for Jimmie.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 101"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">But before those events, we had other adventures. Before we went to Bremerton, we
stayed for a few days in North Bend at the home of one of Susie’s friends, the same place
that we parked our trailer in 2020; however, we parked this time right outside the barn, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">where Charley the horse lived. During the time that we were there, he and Frank became
best friends, with Frank feeding him morning and night. He liked me, but he loved Frank!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 102"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">While we were in North Bend, we had dinner with Susie and Patty and did our annual trip to
Snoqualmie Falls. Our dinner meeting was fun, fun, fun, and the Falls were spectacular!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Another thing that we did before we went to Bremerton was visit our friends
Claudia and Ivan Robbins in Port Ludlow, WA. Lost of fun and no dead air!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 103"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">On to Bremerton! You may remember that our real reason for going to Bremerton
exactly when we did was so that we could attend the memorials for Sam and Jimmie. Maybe
you read all of the journals that I posted on Facebook for the time that we were there; I
hope you did. So . . . I’ll just say that we did lots of reminiscing about both of our boys who
have departed, ate out a lot, ate at Tim’s house a lot (big gatherings), and memorialized Sam
and Jimmie. Aside from family gatherings, we met one morning with Sabrina and Rich
Huddy, our good friends in Bremerton. (They visited us in the fall during their trip to the
Southwest. We love them!) All in all, our trip to Bremerton in 2021 was just as delightful as
it was in prior years, even though Sam and Jimmie weren’t with us. I’m attaching a few
photos that picture the highlights of the trip to me! Of course, I had to include Cooper, the
cutest doggie in the world!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">A couple of days before Sam’s memorial, Bob and Harrison arrived, making our
Young family complete. Since I’m writing this a year after the gatherings, my old memory
won’t click in for details of what we did; however, the photos tell stories . . .</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 105"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Early on the day after Jimmie’s memorial, Frank
and I left for home . . . Tim, of course, getting up
way too early to see us off. We had a wonderful
time with our Washington family; however, we
were ready to get back to our homestead, our
NM family, and Joe. I took a few photos, as you
will see, as we got to our beautiful Southwest.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 106"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">We’re already planning our trip in the summer of 2022 . . . maybe up the Paci;ic
CoasthighwayfromCaliforniatoWashington.Ican’twait!</span><span style="font-family: 'AppleColorEmoji'; font-size: 12pt;">❤ </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">(August3,2022...no
Washington trip this year. Gas prices too high!)
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Just two more things . . .
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m not sure that any of you know how important it is for me to witness for Jesus. It’s
the thing that I want most to do in my life, but I have a very difficult time talking to any of
you about our Savior. I can write about my belief in Him, but I have trouble approaching
anyone, especially my family, in person. I hope I’ve lived my life so that you know how
important Jesus is to me. But I don’t know for sure that you know. I know that during
election years lately I have fallen out of grace with some of you. I felt from 2016 to 2020
that my support of President Trump made me practically an enemy. Maybe not . . . but that’s
the way I felt.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Because having all of you in Heaven with us is the most important thing in my life
and because I have such difficulty talking to you about salvation, I’m copying words from
the “Afterword” in one of David Jeremiah’s books. I hope you’ll read this quoted part and
that it will be exactly what you need to understand how to become a Christian and what
you can expect after accepting Jesus as your personal Savior.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700;">What About after Earth?
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">What on earth should we do to live confidently in these chaotic days? In this book we’ve
answered that question. We must be about our Father’s business. As the day approaches, that
business is more urgent than ever.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">But let me propose another question; this one is personal. Actually, it’s the same
question I asked the listeners of our radio program Turning Point the day Chaplain Brad
Borders heard it. Have you made any plans for life after your life on earth is done? God has
certainly made plans for you, and He has sent you an engraved invitation. That invitation
came in human form, as His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. I hope and pray that you’ve
accepted the invitation, that you’ve made Christ your Savior for eternity and your master for
right now. But I want you to be certain about this issue.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">You see, one of the symptoms of our troubled times is a tangled mess of confusion and
misinformation on the things that really matter. People have a lot of ideas about heaven and
salvation, and many of these ideas don’t come from God’s inspired Word. Therefore, let’s take a </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">careful look at what’s involved in identifying with Christ and having the assurance of
salvation.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 108"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">The Bible tells us that every one of us is a sinner. What that means is that all of us “miss
the mark” of the perfection that God requires. Every day, in many ways, we fail to live up to
God’s standard. Since He is holy and perfect, there can be no sin in His presence. Therefore,
when it comes to being in heaven—the spiritual domain of His presence—we have a big
problem. Our sin would make us ineligible to go there. Not only that, but we would have
earned the penalty of death, which sin assures.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Our sin creates a barrier between God and His children. It would be insurmountable if
God hadn’t acted out of His love and compassion for our predicament. He sent His perfect Son
Jesus Christ, to this world. Jesus lived a life that showed us exactly how we should be living.
Then, though He was completely without sin, He died on the cross, taking the punishment we
had earned. You see, as He suffered and died, He voluntarily took all of our sin on Himself. A
perfect man took the punishment that sinful people had earned so that those people could be
declared sinless and worthy to stand in God’s presence someday.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">That forgiveness begins immediately, on the sole condition that you accept His gift
through faith. There is nothing you can do to earn that salvation only accept it and identify
with Christ. Then there is nothing you can do to lose it. The second you say yes to Christ, your
sins are fully forgiven. The Holy Spirit enters your life, and from that moment on, He serves as
your counselor and encourager. He will help to mold you to be more like Christ.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">What, then, must you do to be saved? Simply pray to God and ask Him to forgive you of
all your sins. Ask Christ to become your Lord and master, and then make a commitment to
serve Him for the rest of your life. When you pray, you can use your own words—God knows
your heart and simply asks you to be sincere. But you might say something like this: </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700;">“Lord, I
am a sinner. I own up to the fact that I can never please You through my own efforts.
Every day of my life I miss the mark. But I know that Your Son, Jesus Christ, died for me,
in all His perfection, to pay the price of my sins. I accept His gift. I acknowledge His
sacriGice on my behalf. And from this moment on, I identify with Him and will follow
Him wholeheartedly, Ginding and doing His will for my life.”
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">What will it feel like? Perhaps not much at all—not at first. This isn’t about emotions
but about an act of your will. Though the moment may be very quiet, heaven will be rejoicing, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">and God will see you clothed in the perfection of Christ. You will be His child. Then, as you
begin to read your Bible every day (the Gospel of John is a great place to start), you will grow
as a believer. Spend daily time in prayer, and aind a church where the gospel is preached, the
Bible is believed, and the people are kind and caring.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 109"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">We also want to be certain that you get off to the best possible start in following your
Lord and Savior. If you need guidance or have questions, let us know at Turning Point
Ministries:
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">P.O. Box 3838<br />
San Diego, CA 92163
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">If you prayed to accept Christ, welcome to the family! You have begun a joyful life that
will culminate in the wonderful reunion we’ve been describing, when Christ comes to take His
children home. What a day of rejoicing that will be.<br />
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">_____________________________________
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Pop/Dad/Frank and I would love to talk to you about all that Dr. Jeremiah has said.
We want you to be sure to understand everything about becoming a Christian! Maybe by
the time that I finish this book for you I will have approached you in person about salvation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">______________________________________</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I started to make the following a part of the “Potpourri of Last Thoughts,” but I
decided that it needed to go here. Part of the section consists of my words and part of it
words from David Jeremiah.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">The Ten Most Important Words . . . to Me
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Before I tell you the ten most important words to me, I’ll paste a relatively short
article by Dr. David Jeremiah. As I’ve told you in many places in this book, I very much want
everyone reading it to know what it means to be a Christian and how to become one. Your
salvation is the most important thing in the world to me. This article by Dr. Jeremiah tells
mainly what will happen to a Christian when he or she dies. This is what will happen to me;
I want it to happen to you.
</span></p>
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<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 15pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: 700;">Your Heavenly Escorts
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic;">For every Christian, the time is coming when we will move into our heavenly
homes, assisted by the Lord’s real estate agents— called angels. After carefully
studying this subject in the Bible, I believe that angels take believers home to
heaven when we die and help us move into our new houses. This is tremendously
comforting, and it takes much of the intimidation out of the move. The primary
Scripture teaching on this comes from the lips of Christ Himself. In describing the
beggar Lazarus in Luke 16, Jesus said, “So it was that the beggar died, and was
carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom,” referring to heaven. Notice that
Lazarus wasn’t merely escorted to heaven. The angels carried him there.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Death is our most universal and dreaded experience, and even Christians can be apprehensive.
But in the Bible, death is never defined as the cessation of life, but as separation. Physical
death is the separation of the soul from the body. Spiritual death is being separated from God.
Eternal death is being separated from heaven. For the Christian, the separation of soul and
body is temporary; and at the resurrection, our eternal souls will be reunited with our
glorified bodies.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">I don’t suppose the apostle Paul was looking forward to having his neck forced against a block
of wood with an ax hurtling toward it, but he was clearly anticipating being with the Lord. He
told the Philippians, “I am hard-pressed between the two (living and dying), having a desire to
depart and be with Christ, which is far better” (Philippians 1:23). And to the Corinthians he
wrote, “to be absent from the body (is to be) present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8).
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Let me offer a surprising suggestion. Just as we look forward to our eternal destination,
perhaps we should also learn to anticipate the trip. Why dread that moment of death? The
journey to heaven will not be dark, fearful, or lonesome. God will dispatch His angels at just
the right time, and they’ll meet us just within the veil and carry us to the heights of His glory.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">When the godless rich man died in Luke 16, Jesus simply said he was buried; and in hell, he
lifted up his eyes, being in torment. But when the unloved beggar named Lazarus died, who </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">was covered in sores that the dogs came and licked, the angels were honored to convey him </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">to
</span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">heaven. He was regarded poorly in this life, but that didn’t disqualify him from having an
angelic escort through eternity’s doorway.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 111"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">There are other hints about this in Scripture. In Jude 9, Moses’ body was the special concern of
the archangel Michael in his dispute with Satan. When Jesus comes again, according to 1
Thessalonians 4, the angels will be there to attend to those making their transports to heaven.
They are heaven’s ushers.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Why would angels provide this service at the time of our deaths? Well, the angels are
commissioned by God to care for His children. Though we don’t often see them, our lives are
surrounded by angels; and they have more to do with our daily progress and protection than
we realize. “Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit
salvation?” (Hebrews 1:14, NIV)
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Death may sound fearsome, but not when we’re looking to Jesus. He alone conquered death
having purchased eternal life for His children. There’s no denying that Christians have a
different way of dying than non-Christians. I’ve been by the bedsides of dying saints where I
felt I could almost hear the aluttering of angelic wings.
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">But it’s the Bible that gives us the truth—not our speculations or experiences. And on the
authority of the Word of God, I can assure you, angels are real. They are God’s real estate
agents, ready to show us our heavenly homes and move us into the mansions Jesus has
prepared for us. We don’t have to worry any more about dying. In fact, it almost makes me
eager for moving day!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">And now for my ten most important words. I know that when I die I’ll be escorted to
Heaven by angels. That fact causes me to be excited, not at all fearful, about the end of my
life.. I want most for you to have the same experience!
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Those of us who are Christians will one day stand before Jesus at the Judgment Seat
of Christ to receive our rewards for the good that we did for Him on Earth. The ten most </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">important words for me will be the ones that I want Jesus to speak speci;ically to me: </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">“Well
done, Sandy. You were a good and faithful servant.” </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I know I won’t receive as many
rewards as some people will . . . like Billy Graham, David Jeremiah, Max Lucado, Jimf</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Pleitz . . . but I look forward to receiving something from my Lord and personal Savior,
Jesus!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 112"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m listing here some links that I hope you’ll go to, links that will tell you more about
judgments in Heaven. Everyone needs to know about these:
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">• https://www.gotquestions.org/great-white-throne-judgment.html
• https://www.gotquestions.org/;inal-judgment.html<br />
• https://www.gotquestions.org/judgment-seat-Christ.html<br />
• https://www.gotquestions.org/judgment-seat-Christ.html
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">• https://www.returntotheword.com/The-Judgment-Seat-Of-Christ-Article-RttW
</span></p>
<p><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I have no idea about when any of you will read my </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Love Letter to My Family </span><span color="rgb(18.039000%, 23.922000%, 30.196000%)" style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. . . or if
you’ll read it at all. I’m planning to ask you to read this one even if you never read the other
books that I’ve written for and given to you. This book is the most important one to me
because I’ve talked to you about your eternal life. I love living here with you, and I want to
live with you in eternity.
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 22pt; font-weight: 700;">Afterthoughts
</span><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: 700;">(November 25, 2022)
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">In almost all of the other books that I’ve given to you, whether they were written TO
you or not, I have included a last-minute, catch-all chapter titled either </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Afterword </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">or
</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Afterthooughts</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">. The chapters are always a conglomeration of ideas, incidents, and things
I’ve either forgotten to say or didn’t know where to include. You may see shades of these
earlier inclusions, but you’ll see different ones, too.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">All of you know that we just returned from a trip to Palestine and Israel. This was a
dream-come-true, prayers-are-always-answered trip. Ever since I taught students in
Bethlehem in 2020-21, I’ve wanted to meet them in person. Mike Rollwagen had promised
Frank and me that if I taught the students for the whole year we could go with them to
Bethlehem the next time that they went. Well, it took longer than we thought it would
because of COVID-19 and unexpected school closings by the Palestinian government.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">The trip to the Land was tiring. Our group of ten left Pensacola on the morning of
November 5 and spent eight hours in the Miami Airport, waiting for the American Airlines
plane that would take us to Tel Aviv . . . landing twelve hours later. We had all dreaded going
through Customs in Israel because we had heard “horror” stories of the questioning that we
would receive. Susan and Mike Rollwagen had experienced the “grilling” in the past and had
warned us to answer questions briefly, not adding in any friendly comments, and certainly
not telling them that we were going to Bethlehem . . . in Palestine. Israelis and Palestinians
are not exactly on friendly terms, as you know.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">When we arrived at Customs, the ten of us stood together, waiting our turn to “check</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">in.” A lady came to us and </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">asked if we were a group. We</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">confirmed that we were. She </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">said, “Follow me” and took us out</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">of the airport to our waiting</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;"> tour bus. </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">What?! Whoever ever </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">heard of such? </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Definitely the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">Lord’s work in the Land where </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Jesus walked! We went </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">directly to our hotel in Beit Sahour </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">to rest a while and have </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">dinner. No one slept very well that </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">night because of fatigue. If you’ve traveled long distances the way we had, I’m sure you
understand.</span></p></div></div>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">November 7, 2022</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 114"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This was the day I had been waiting for since 2020 . . . the day I would meet my
precious students and get lots of hugs. I was not disappointed! The photos below were
taken at the hotel before we left for Bethlehem Evangelical Academy. From left to right, the
ladies are Lori Reece, Allison Hunnicutt, Susan Rollwagen, and yours truly. Martha Phillips
must have still been in her room. The other photo is of Pop and me, along with the owner of
Grace Tours, our tour company, Elias Ghareeb. He didn’t get to be our official guide, but I
think all of the wonderful things that Susan and Mike know about the Land, they learned
from him. Later in the week, we ate dinner at his house and met his family. What a neat
surprise!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I had seen photos of BEA before, but seeing it in person was surprising. It was much larger
than I had thought. A really beautiful building!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Every minute at BEA was exciting, but the very best minute there was when I walked
toward Shurouq’s room and could see a sea of familiar faces . . . ones belonging to people
that I had met only online. I recognized all of them, but they were so sweet and told me
their names as we hugged and I shed tears of joy for being with them. I think that the first
person that I hugged was Shurouq! We have become such good friends because of the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">CLEP class that she, Susan, and I taught in July. Truly a thrilling, fulfilling moment for me! I
had taken cookies (baked at JoAnn’s house in Pensacola) for them, and when I put the bags
down, they almost ran to them and began to devour. My students are now juniors and
seniors, and all of them had gathered before school to meet us. If I remember correctly,
Susan, Frank, and Jeff were all with me. I guess they wanted to see the grand meeting. I was
aware of only Shurouq and my precious students. Soon the juniors left for their first-period
classes, and I taught the seniors the short story “American History.” I don’t think they
learned much (I’m a bit rusty), but I had a wonderful time being “on stage” with real live
students. The last time I had that pleasure was in 1996! Here I am performing! The Lord
called me to be a teacher back in 1958 or 1959, and here I am still before a class in 2022!</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 115"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Next stop . . . lunch with our Class of 2020 in the Pre-School Kitchen. We had pizza
and my cookies. I hope someone took the bags of cookies and crumbs home. Never saw
them again!</span></p></div></div>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I told Ghada that I wanted a photo of everyone, so after lunch we went outside for
the photo shoot.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">After lunch, I observed Shurouq’s class, and then we had a free period. Those free
periods with her were so wonderful. We talked about personal things, even about the
situation between Israel and Palestine. Here in the US, we get a bit of a skewed picture of
the relationship. Our news media is definitely prejudiced toward Israel, and I have always
thought I was getting the real picture. I wasn’t. Granted, there are terrorists in Palestine;
however, most of the real people are beautiful inside and out . . . and I love them.
Shurouq recommended the Kairos Document to me, and I hope you’ll read it sometime to
get an idea of what’s really happening in the Land: https://www.kairospalestine.ps/
index.php/about-kairos/kairos-palestine-document.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">At 2:10, we left BEA (we were there for only half a day on Monday, Tuesday, and
Wednesday), bound for Herodian, one of Herod the Great’s castles. Google Herodian for lots
of information</span></p></div></div>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">November 8, 2022
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This was my day to teach whatever I wanted. I took advantage of this freedom and
introduced the juniors to some of the really good writing projects that I did with my
students back in the day. Actually, I had Shurouq in mind when I did my “performance” in
her classroom in hopes that she would adapt some of them to use in her classes. We left at
noon, headed to Jerusalem, stopping to have lunch on the way.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I also visited Mr. Michael’s seventh-grade class. Those kids have so much energy, but
Michael knew just how to keep them sort of focused on their group work. One of the girls
informed me that the boy that I was sitting next to was her twin. Of course, I snapped a
photo . . . with Adam bombed in it. Adam is the little brother of one of my seniors. The first
thing Adam did was ask me how old I was. Later, he told me that I was really pretty for 82. I
won’t forget him!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m not giving details about the places that we visited each day, but if you’re
interested, just Google! I must confess that this part of </span><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Afterthoughts </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">is for me so that I will </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">remember what we did each day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">
After lunch, we visited the Mount of Olives, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Church of </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">St. Ann, and the Pool of Bethesda.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">
We had a nice surprise on this evening . . . dinner at the Grotto Restaurant, where we </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">were entertained by Palestinian dancers. Elias made sure that Frank had a meal without
garlic. Everyone was so solicitous of him with his garlic intolerance! Lovely evening!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">November 9, 2022</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">Another morning at BEA, but no responsibilities. Once again, Shurouq and I had time
to visit. I gave her the gifts that I had brought for her . . . earrings and a Christmas ornament
that Corey made. She loved them! She gave me a beautiful hand cross-stitched purse. So
lovely! She had one for Susan, too.</span></p></div></div>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">After school that day, we went to Bethlehem for lunch and shopping. Our sites
included Shepherd’s Field and the Nativity Church. That evening, we had dinner at Elias
Ghreeb’s house. He has a lovely family! His wife, Lina, and I are already friends on Facebook.
His older daughter, Sarah, happily showed us how good she is with Rubik’s Cubes. Her fingers flew as she solved one after one. I didn’t realize that there were several kinds of
Rubik’s Cubes, but she had several different ones. She also entertained us by playing the
violin, and her brother, George, displayed his talent on a stringed instrument, the name of
which I don’t know. The little girl, Cici, managed not to do much of anything except act shy.
Beautiful child, but not very social yet. All in all, a wonderful evening in a REAL Palestinian
home! BTW, we had barbecue, but it wasn’t anything like our BBQs. It was more like a shish
kebab. Very good, though!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">November 10, 2022
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 12pt;">This was a very interesting, beautiful day, but exhausting! We were gone from 7:00
in the morning until after dark in the evening. Our destinations were Caesarea Maritime,
Mount Carmel, and Capernaum . . . all places that I had read about and studied from the
Bible. We made a great group photo at Caesarea. I wish I could remember details about all
of the places, but, alas, my rememberer isn’t so good as it used to be! Here are some photos:
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700;">November 11, 2022</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 119"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">We went to Jerusalem Old City on this day, our first destination being the Wailing Wall.
This visit was very special to me, not because of the Wall (which I didn’t go to), but because I
was to meet Lud Mila there. Mila was one of Irina’s teachers way back in Irina’s school days.
She actually visited Irina in Pensacola, and we met her then. Neither Frank not I remember
much about the meeting; however, Mila and I have been friends on Facebook for a long time. I
had my doubts about her being able to find us at the Wall, but as I stood there watching Jews
and Gentiles alike visiting the Wall, I heard behind me, “Hi, Sandy!” I asked how she had found
me in all of the tourists. “Your hair!” she replied. I had a great time visiting with her and her
husband, Sasha (nickname for Alexander, as I knew from reading Russian novels). We had only
a few minutes, but you know we had to have photos!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Mila tried to get tickets for her and Sasha for touring the Western Wall Tunnels, but
there were none to be bought. The Tunnels were interesting but exhausting for me because of
steps, so I wish I had stayed outside and visited with Mila and Sasha while everyone else
toured. They had traveled so far to see us, and we had only a very few minutes with them.
Meeting with them was one of the high points of the trip for me!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">In the afternoon, we visited the Via Dolorosa (packed with tourists, with fruit and other
things for sale on either side of the walkway) and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Then it was
on to the Garden Tomb, where we had a lovely lady from British Columbia as our “teacher.” I
loved this visit! We had time to shop in Jerusalem. We didn’t purchase many souvenirs from the
Land. We have enough “souvenirs” in our home and need to get rid of some of them; however,
the things that we bought are true treasures.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 120"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Our destination for the evening was the home of Ghada and Je</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Pribble and their two
sons, Stephen and Sebastian. What a lovely evening, once again with a REAL Palestinian meal!
Actually, all of our meals were REAL Palestinian ones, but some were more special than<br />
others . . . like the ones at the Ghreebs’ and Pribbles’ homes! Once again, the hosts had
thought of Frank and his intolerance for garlic and had several dishes without it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700;">November 12, 2022
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Our destinations on this day were many: Ein Gedi, Qumran, Masada, Jericho, and the
Temptation of Christ site. So much that I hardly have memories of them . . . but I have photos.
That evening after dinner at our hotel in Beit Sahour, we met with Johnny and Fadi, two young
men who minister to Muslim seekers in Gaza. It broke my heart to hear their stories about how
these Muslims are su</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ering! Check this website to see some of the work being done there:
https://www.jeoministry.org/. Pray for All Arabs and Jews!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700;">November 13, 2022 — our last day in the Land
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">We arrived at Immanuel Evangelical Church shortly before 10:00 a.m. I had to get a
photo of the beautiful sign identifying the church!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">I sat next to a Palestinian lady who had gone to college in the US. She spoke beautiful English,
and we had a lovely conversation before the service began. Of course, the service was in
Arabic, but the songs that were projected had the English translation at the bottom of the
screen. A pastor from the US had a group there, and he had been asked to have the sermon
for the day. He would say a couple of sentences, and the pastor of Immanuel would translate </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">to Arabic. His sermon was a bit long, I’m afraid, because members began to leave before he
was finished. I guess Mama had dinner in the oven or they had reservations at a restaurant.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 121"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">After church, we met the Pribbles, the Ghreebs, the Doolittle’s (founders of BEA), and
the librarian at BEA at a restaurant in Bethlehem. I enjoyed this Palestinian lunch so much,
maybe because it would be our last. Once again, Elias made sure that Frank had a garlic-free
lunch.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Next stop . . . The Walled O</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Hotel. I read about this hotel earlier in the year and could
hardly wait to visit it. I certainly wasn’t disappointed. I have a new appreciation for the
Palestinian people since reading a few books and visiting BEA. The Palestinian people have
been terribly mistreated by the Israelis, but we don’t hear about that in the US. Here’s a bit of
description of the hotel from the Internet: “Banksy’s Walled O</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Hotel is both a nod to the
Waldorf luxury hotel chain and the Israeli West Bank Wall, located just metres away from the
hotel. Each room in Banksy’s hotel looks out on to the illegal concrete barrier, which separates
Israel from the Palestinian territories. Banksy boasts it is ‘the worst view of any hotel in the
world.’” It broke my heart to tour the hotel and see some of the memorabilia collected about
the Israelis’ treatment of the Palestinians. I know that there are always two sides to a story, but
hearing and reading about the precious Palestinians and what the Israelis have done to them
has changed my mind about these precious people. Here’s the link to the Walled O</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Hotel, and
I hope you’ll go there: https://www.myartbroker.com/artist-banksy/guides/10-things-to-know-
about-banksys-walled-o</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">-hotel-in-bethlehem.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Here’s an article that I’d like for you to read. It sheds new light on what we know here in
the States about the Palestinians: https://www.kairospalestine.ps/index.php/about-kairos/
kairos-palestine-document?
fbclid=IwAR0uVQYpvMoE9ZCHEROiwOeNnKmFkNqxF9KTyjbBl3DUMAd6ncU0xR4x1Cg.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">After a couple of hours at the Saraha Hotel in Beit Sahour, resting and last-minute
packing, we were o</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">to the airport. We sat around or strolled a bit for about three hours, then
boarded the plane for our twelve-hour flight to Miami. We were all so tired, and Frank was
already showing signs of an illness, which turned out to be COVID-19. I tried to watch three
movies: </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">Because of Winn Dixie</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">You’ve Got Mail</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">, and </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">The Bucket List</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">, but I fell asleep about
half way through each of them. I had already seen each one, but I was too tired to pick out new
movies. I’m always afraid of nasty language, and I didn’t want to hear any on this flight. Frank
slept the whole time, except for one trip to the bathroom. I think I made three trips.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Our trip through Customs in Miami certainly wasn’t like our one in Tel Aviv. It was a
nightmare! There were probably at least a dozen stations where Customs folks could have
checked us in, but only two were open. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were 400 or 500 of us
winding through the passages to the desks, everyone exhausted. I’m sure we moved ever so </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">slowly for about 45 minutes, each minute clicking o</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">closer to our departure to Pensacola time.
Eventually, a man noticed the predicament of all of us and opened up more stations. We made
it to our gate with only minutes to spare.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 122"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">I think I was asleep before the plane took o</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">. The first thing I remember was flight
attendants stopping near me with co</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ff</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ee and cookies. It was di</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">ffi</span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">cult leaving our traveling
buddies at the Pensacola Airport, but we were all eager to get to our homes. Frank and I
stopped at the Shrimp Basket on our way to our trailer for what would be our last seafood meal
before heading to NM.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">By the time that we got to Jo and Fred’s and our home away from home, Frank was
really feeling the COVID. He was sick all of Tuesday and was beginning to feel better on
Wednesday. The bug hit me during the night on Tuesday and was with me full force all day
Wednesday and Thursday. I can’t remember feeling that bad even when I had the flu several
years ago. So much for shots and boosters, huh? We finally felt like traveling on Friday and left
Pensacola around 8:00 that morning. We hadn’t been able to tell Jo and Fred about our trip,
but that was okay. We certainly didn’t want to infect them!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Uneventful travel (thank you, Jesus!) until we got to the Texas/New Mexico border and
stopped at the Welcome Center in NM to eat lunch. I’m sure that the Lord gave us the
suggestion of stopping then because Frank discovered that a spring had broken on the trailer.
It was lop-sided! As of this minute, the trailer is right where we left it, the part having been
ordered last week. Just praying that it will come in soon. Todd, our generous son-in-law, is
prepared to go over on a Saturday to help Frank repair the trailer.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">When we opened the door to our house, after traveling about 200 miles in the truck with
no trailer, we felt as though we were entering a freezer. Frank discovered immediately that the
central heating wasn’t working. We made it until 7:00, then bundled up in all sorts of bed
clothes and hunkered down under both the comforter and the quilt on our bed. That’s the only
night that we had to do that because Frank fired up the pellet stove and two electric heaters
during the day, and we have managed to keep relatively warm. A heater repairman came
eventually, and Frank has ordered the part that he said we needed.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">I hated to leave Bethlehem, but I’m happy to be home now. We still have a way to go in
repairs, but we’ll make it. God is always good, and He’ll give us the stamina to get everything
done!
</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">And now to the real reason for this chapter . . . bringing this letter/epistle to a close. I
have tried to structure this chapter during the day, in the middle of the night, while driving to </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">Santa Fe, during church (shame on me, huh!), at so many times, but I haven’t been very much
successful. So I’ll just ramble a bit more with some things that didn’t fit in anywhere else.</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 123"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">A love letter should be just that — a love letter, so I won’t mention any criticisms of
you, but I will criticize myself and give you some suggestions for making this old lady happy in
her last years. Yes . . . last years. Don’t feel bad that I’ve said that because I’m truly looking
forward to the days when I’m with Jesus. Don’t get me wrong. I love being here with all of you,
but I’ll love even more being in Heaven! Just think . . . I’ll see and visit with Jay, Mama, Papa,
Grandma, Grandpa, Bob Crumpton, the Apostles Paul and Peter, Billy Graham . . . and a host
of others. The most important person, though, is Jesus! As the old gospel song goes "</span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">Just to be there and/ To look on His face/ Will through the ages/ Be glory for me."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">I want all of you to be there with me! I have tried in this book to tell you, as best I can, how to
become a Christian and to assure yourself that you WILL be in Heaven! The alternative to
Heaven is Hell, and I don’t want you . . . or anyone . . . to be there. I wish you would read Dr.
David Jeremiah’s </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">Revealing the Mysteries of Heaven </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">for descriptions of both places! It’s one of
the most inspirational books I have ever read. And I’ve read it about three times, getting new
blessings every time.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">You may or may not know this: I am my own worst critic. So many times, I see others
doing things better than I do, and I begin to criticize myself. I’ve always done this, so I probably
won’t change. Others write better than I do, cook better than I do, know more about the Bible
than I do, read more books than I do, are better housekeepers than I am . . . the list goes on
and on. But the self criticism that has plagued me the most lately is my feeling of not being a
good mother to Wendy and Jay. I may not be a good grandmother either these days, but I can
always do something about that. I can’t do anything about not being a good mother because
the mother time has passed.
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">I can’t ask Jay to forgive me, but I can ask you, Wendy, to. Many times, I’m afraid, I put
teaching ahead of doing things with you. I didn’t really help the two of you with homework
because I was too busy cooking and cleaning the kitchen and grading papers or making lesson
plans. I didn’t really instill in you housekeeping necessities because it was easier to do chores
myself. I let Sunday school teachers be the ones to talk to you about salvation instead of
leading you to Jesus myself. (I am thankful for those Godly women who taught you!) I tried at </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">one time to lead our family in evening devotionals, but since no one seemed interested except
me, I gave up soon after I started. I didn’t teach you and Jay to cook; however, both of you
learned on your own. Jay knew how to cook a few things, but you, my darlin’ daughter, have
surpassed me on your own! I could go on and on in self criticism, and I’m sure you can add to
my list. I’d be happy to hear your criticisms, but I’d also love to hear if I did anything right. I
know that you didn’t like to wear the clothes that I made for you, but we really didn’t have
money for me to shop in stores that you might have liked to have clothes from. But I </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">digress . . .</span></p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" title="Page 124"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column"><p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">
I’m not sure what I could have done to keep Jay from doing some of the things that he </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">did. I’ve asked the Lord to forgive me for the mistakes that I made with both of you, and that’s
all I can do now. The past is the past. It can’t be undone.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">Grandma had an expression that I think is true: “If wishes were horses, then beggars
could ride.” I’m going to tell you a wish that I have, and I’m not telling you to make you feel
bad. I wish that my text messages would be answered right away. I don’t write messages just
to chat. Some of you are so good about answering, but some of you are not. I know you’re
busy, but I’m such a people person that I get upset when I don’t get answers. And this is even
more important to me: I’d love to get a phone call every once in a while when you just want to
tell me what you’re doing or to listen to me tell you what’s going on in our lives. Please
understand that I’m not asking for a JoAnn/Angela relationship in which you’d call me every
day and sometimes more than once a day. I’m not a nosey person. I just like to know what’s
happening in the lives of those I love. I must say here that Irina is very good at this. Thank
you!
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">That’s it. I’ve finished. I hope you know from what I’ve written in </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">A Love Letter to My
Family </span><span style="font-family: 'HelveticaNeue'; font-size: 11pt;">that I love each one of you with all my heart, that I want the very best for you in your </span><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 11pt;">lives, and that the most important thing for me is to see each one of you in Heaven . . . for you
to ask Jesus to be your Lord and personal Savior.</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: 'BradleyHandITCTT'; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: 700;"> Merry Christmas!
</span></p>
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<p><br /></p></div></div></div></div><br /><p></p>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-51853254190919797842019-09-27T09:18:00.002-06:002019-09-27T09:18:31.535-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu74x0DvFYUUaNV8eS69Qhk0Q4LfIupmJtNMhrNdXnnRRIoQmTNUfUgYrkE-F7paUL_xKG7Z1vr3BuBSF6hW_VMF87uP4QY-T4GPh5ViM4dMtRWQpL5O6i1PUt0Dky14a2UxO4/s1600/Front+cover-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1164" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu74x0DvFYUUaNV8eS69Qhk0Q4LfIupmJtNMhrNdXnnRRIoQmTNUfUgYrkE-F7paUL_xKG7Z1vr3BuBSF6hW_VMF87uP4QY-T4GPh5ViM4dMtRWQpL5O6i1PUt0Dky14a2UxO4/s320/Front+cover-1.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-74274377869968291662019-09-19T09:05:00.004-06:002019-09-25T11:06:04.268-06:00My Mom's Always Hot! by Sandy Young<!--[if !mso]>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 24.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 26.0pt;">My
Mom’s Always Hot!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 18.0pt;">A Mother’s Memories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Sandy Young<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt;">There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a
mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is
neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by
worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to
his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will
glory in his fame and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him,
he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his
name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him
off, she will be all the world to him. </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt;">—Washington
Irving<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Jay Young<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">February 10, 1968 – July 2, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-70642214469328185442019-09-19T09:00:00.002-06:002019-09-19T19:34:37.797-06:00Dedication<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "chalkboard"; font-size: 18.0pt;">For Frank
and Wendy, who have their own memories<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "chalkboard"; font-size: 18.0pt;">and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "chalkboard"; font-size: 18.0pt;">Corey,
who remembers through our memories<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "chalkboard"; font-size: 18.0pt;">and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "chalkboard"; font-size: 18.0pt;">Melonheads
the world over, who may remember what Frank, Wendy, and I don’t even know about<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8lb90mxftlFmDoiC9wlN-qpkp7d3iYuTvNP7bFFAzQ5Cl1WwSztkCQzovPKugyEWWwNQno8l8gI6I9nm-EVrrmVgYAop5uORwm3wkHtEXbZoUiRHmt5_so83M30tYfx-v5eg/s1600/Jay+and+guitar.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8lb90mxftlFmDoiC9wlN-qpkp7d3iYuTvNP7bFFAzQ5Cl1WwSztkCQzovPKugyEWWwNQno8l8gI6I9nm-EVrrmVgYAop5uORwm3wkHtEXbZoUiRHmt5_so83M30tYfx-v5eg/s320/Jay+and+guitar.jpg" width="228" /></a>Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-89789357957276205212019-09-19T08:59:00.000-06:002019-09-19T17:55:58.477-06:00Contents<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 24.0pt;">CONTENTS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>________________________<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Introduction<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chapter 1<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here’s
Jay!<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chapter 2<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Last Week<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chapter 3<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Days After<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chapter 4<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
Mother’s Memories<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chapter 5<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Afterthoughts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Suggested
Reading and Viewing<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">With gratitude
to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-16822088666864192342019-09-19T08:57:00.003-06:002019-09-19T09:10:21.564-06:00Introduction<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Don’t let the subtitle of this book throw
you off: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Mother’s Memories</i>. It
sounds a bit maudlin, I know, but this won’t be a book in which I’ll endeavor
to make you sad. You might shed some tears, though, because of the loss of a
talented young man at such an early age. Or your tears may come from funny
incidents in his life, some of which, if you knew Jay, you might have lived
through with him. And if you lived through the adventures personally, you
probably know more than I do! I hope you smile as you read because he’d want
you to do just that—smile and laugh and relish the adventures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This will be a book of memories, mainly
mine, but also some memories of others who loved Jay. When children die, the
only thing parents have is memories, and all are precious, whether good or bad.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bereaved parents don’t want to
forget anything. That’s why some of us write books about our children. Granted,
some families throw away everything that belonged to their children. Some move
to new houses, even to different cities. Some divorce. But those parents seldom
write books. Those of us who want to remember every little detail are the
authors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay died on July 2, 1992, a quarter of a
century ago. Soon after he died, I began to read books by parents whose
children had passed away. My friend Martha Dickson, who worked in the library
at First Baptist Church in Pensacola, Florida, gathered all the books <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she could find addressing the grief of
parents whose children had died. She had a stack a mile high waiting for me
when we returned to church a couple of weeks after Jay died. They had no return
date on them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I also went to the Family Book Store at
Cordova Mall every time I could find a few minutes, scouring their shelves for
a new book by grieving parents. I devoured <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andrew, You Died Too
Soon</i> by Corinne Chilstrom, who lamented the fact that she had waited eight years
to write about her son. At the time I thought waiting that long was a shame. Do
you see where I’m going with this? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My</i>
shame is that I’ve waited much longer than she did, a quarter of a century. I
hasten to say, however, that I began writing about Jay almost immediately after
he died. Writing was a catharsis. It forced me to examine my feelings and to
get them on paper. What I’ve waited so long for is collecting my journals and
other writings into book form so that Jay’s friends would have a complete story
about him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This book is an assembling of many pieces
that I’ve written about Jay and about my grief during these years. These are
writings from my heart, from the heart of a mother who, after all these years,
still cries when she writes about her boy and when she looks at certain
pictures of him; who still cries when she views one more time the videos that
Jack Canavan made at Seville Quarter, some of which are posted on YouTube; who
even cries when she hears songs by Billy Joel, The Police, Crowded House, INXS,
David Bowie—songs that Velvet Melon, Jay’s band, played. I’m not sure a parent
ever quits grieving. After all these years, I still remember something Paul
Newman said in an interview sometime after his son died. The person
interviewing him asked him when the grief got better. Newman said it never got
better; it just got different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Though I’ve mentioned that I want to assemble
the writing that I’ve done during the years since Jay died, I have another more
deep-seated and just as important a reason for gathering together my feelings,
emotions, and memories: If bereaved parents happen to read this book, I want
this collection to be an encouragement to them. I want them to know that,
indeed, there is life for them after that death. Will it be easy? Absolutely
not! For my survival, I relied on God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Sometime during the days immediately
after Jay’s death, God gave me some words that I’ve used over and over again. I
first used them at the funeral home at the viewing. I don’t know how many
friends hugged me and asked, “How will you ever get over this?”—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> referring to Jay’s death. My reply
came straight from the Lord: “I’m calling it a lesson in prepositions. (Good
thing for an English teacher!) I’ll never get <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">over</b> it; but I will get <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">through</b>
it with the help of God, friends, and family.” And that’s exactly what has happened.
God, friends, and family continue to help me today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Each bereaved parent heals differently.
The important thing is to find the way. As you read this collection of
memories, I hope you can see my mother’s heart and my healing that is still in
progress. I never want to “get over” Jay. That would mean that I’ve forgotten
him. I want my memories to keep him alive forever!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-37971897747101791652019-09-19T08:56:00.000-06:002019-09-20T16:23:34.437-06:00Chapter 1 -- Here's Jay!<!--[if !mso]>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">As I mentioned in the Introduction, memories are all
parents have after their children die. I’m trying to keep those precious
memories alive for as long as I can. The memories I’m including are not
necessarily the most important ones or ones that others will remember, but they
are ones that keep coming back to me. Even though my recollections are long,
they won’t be exhaustive. My intention is to give you a little flavor of Jay
and his mom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I believe Jay and I had a special bond even before he
was born. On Thursday, February 8, 1968, at my weekly checkup, my obstetrician,
Dr. Girard, told me three things: (1) that Jay wouldn’t arrive for two weeks,
(2) that he would be out of town when the baby was due, and (3) that the other
doctor—the one with the big hands—would deliver our baby. I wasn’t pleased with
not having my regular doctor in the delivery room, so I told him <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the baby needed to arrive sometime
before he left town. “There is no way that this baby will be finished ‘cooking’
by the time that I leave,” he told me. And I said to myself, “We’ll see.” I
honestly believe that Jay was determined to arrive when I wanted him to,
evidence of the bond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">At 4:30 in the morning two days later, Jay made it known
that he’d arrive that day, a great day for me because it was my dad’s birthday.
Since our daughter, Wendy, was my daddy’s heart, my boy would need something
special to tie him to his Papa. Two things gave Jay that special tie: (1) he
was a boy (we have very few boys in our family), and (2) he was born on Papa’s
birthday. Don’t get me wrong . . . he didn’t edge Wendy out—he was just
welcomed with open arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Throughout his life, Jay was determined, and I think
that determination reared its head before he appeared on the scene. He knew
that he needed to enter the world on February 10, 1968, so that his mom didn’t
have to face the “other” doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Jay loved me right from the start. You see, I was his
only source of nourishment. He came into this world fascinated with a certain
part of my anatomy. I wonder if that was a foreshadowing of his later interests.
Anyway, he just about wore me out. He’d nurse on and off all day long, with
short periods in between feedings, and then just when I’d be certain that I’d
get a long nap around midnight, he’d be yelling for me again. We developed
quite a relationship right then. We talked a lot during the night. He’d look at
me as though I were the only important person in the world. He always had a
special look for me. I remember that I worried a lot because he wouldn’t eat
“real” food, but the doctor assured me that if he</span><span style="color: #37291b; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">continued to gain weight at the rate he was going, he would
weigh fifty pounds when he was a year old. I quit worrying. Eventually, he ate,
but he never “lived to eat,” as some of us do. I sometimes thought he was part
camel, storing up food so that he wouldn’t have to waste his time on such
mundane matters as eating. He had much more important things to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I suppose Jay’s life really began when we moved to
Pensacola because he had no memories before that time. The only house he could
ever remember living in was the one at 2720 Wilde Lake Blvd., in Pensacola,
Florida. This was truly home to Jay. I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>remember him running from room to room when he returned after
being gone for seven months to New York, ostensibly to make his fortune, shouting,
“My house! My house!” It was always his house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Jay did not like for me to leave him when I went to work
each morning. Can you imagine how I felt each day when I left him squalling and
clinging to me either with a maid at home or at the baby-sitter’s house? We
mentioned to Frank’s mother that Jay was a miserable little boy. Her reply was
that she’d ask her sister, Aunt Bill to us, to help us. Aunt Bill headed to
Florida from Maine right after Christmas. He had no reason to cry with Aunt
Bill as his “sitter” because they spent days reading stories and playing games
and going to the beach. If he woke up during the night, they got up, read more
stories, ate cookies, and went back to bed eventually. What a life for both of
them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">After Aunt Bill left, we began to leave him at
Children’s World daycare center. He really liked it there although he didn’t
like taking a nap with the other children: the teacher would put him in a room
by himself. Independent little kid! Actually, some of the children misbehaved
during naptime, and it scared him to hear the teachers yelling at them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When he was a little older, I almost enrolled him in one
of the Pensacola Christian day care centers so that he could get some teaching,
not just babysitting; however, when I investigated, I learned that if he talked
on the bus, he wouldn’t get any dessert at lunch. I changed my mind. That
probably wouldn’t have been too much punishment for him, though, since he never
did care much for sweets. If you knew Jay, can you imagine anyone’s trying to
squelch Jay’s talking? We used to tell him to play the quiet game during meals
at home. Otherwise, he’d still be sitting there talking when Wendy and Frank
and I had finished eating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">A man named Dale Godbold used to work in our store. His
brother died, and Jay heard us talking about someone named Godbold having
passed away. You can imagine Jay’s surprise when Dale walked into the store a
couple of days later when we were there. Jay turned to him in complete
consternation and said, “Why, Mr. Godbold! I thought you died!” Whatever came
into his head came out of his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">One of my favorite memories of Jay took place in our car
one afternoon. He must have been about five years old, and evidently he and his
dad had had words about Jay’s climbing on Frank’s truck. We were riding toward Frank’s
store in Brownsville when he announced that he was going to be a fireman when
he grew up. He said he was going to be married and he and his wife would have
at least twelve children. He’d take his fire truck home at night, and he’d let
his children climb all over it. I said that that was nice and asked him if he
knew that those children would be my grandchildren. How did Jay answer? “Of
course, I know that.” Then came the important question. “And will you bring
your children to see me?” He looked at me, astonishment written all over his
little face. “Oh, Ma, you plolly be dead by then!” Out of the mouths of babes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">In the summer of 1973, we began preparing for Jay’s kindergarten
year at Beulah School. Days at the old Beulah School were wonderful years for
both Wendy and Jay. They loved the school, and they loved their teachers, who
gave them elementary teaching that carried them through all of their public
school years. I loved it out there. Everything was so much more peaceful than
it was at the big schools in the city. Both Wendy and Jay had Eugene Winters
for their principal at Beulah, Wendy the whole time and Jay until third or
fourth grade. I have some very specific memories of his years out in the
country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Jay, like Wendy, loved going to school. Once, Mrs. Gunn,
his first grade teacher, had jury duty for a whole week. Jay cried every day
before he went to school because she wouldn’t be there and he didn’t like the
substitute. I went by one day to surreptitiously get a look at her myself, and
she was pretty scary, both in looks and in action. I could hear her screaming
at the kids, and you remember, I’m sure, that he didn’t like hollering
teachers. There really was nothing I could do except encourage my little boy to
be patient, that Mrs. Gunn would be back in a few days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">By the time he was in second grade, we had so many kids
at Beulah that Mr. Winters, the principal, had to form a second section of
second graders after school started. Jay really didn’t like the teacher whose
class he was originally in, and neither did we. She insisted on calling him “Frank”
because that was his real name. Jay cried about that, too, so one day I wrote a
note asking her to call him Jay. I also dressed him in his shirt that had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Here Comes Trouble!</i> written on the front
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jay</i> on the back. Shortly after,
he was moved to the newly formed class. I have always thought Mrs. Gunn had
something to do with that. Even if she didn’t, I’ve always thanked her in my
heart for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Third grade was Mrs. Vickery for both Wendy and Jay.
What a lady! All he ever mentioned in later years was boobs and breath when her
name came up. I’m forever grateful to her for making both of our children learn
their times tables before they could be promoted to fourth grade. She was a
rather old-fashioned teacher. I like old-fashioned!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Also, when he was in the third grade, Jay began two
activities that he continued throughout his life—kissing girls and playing the
piano. I didn’t actually see the kissing activity, but I heard about it. I
believe it started at the Beulah Fall Festival that year when he and his best
friend, Walter Glenn, talked girls into going behind the portable buildings
with them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I was right there for the piano playing, though. From
the beginning, he was good. I can see him at the piano, sitting there with his
legs dangling from the bench, playing songs that really were too hard for such
a little boy. But he was gifted. Always gifted. Frank and I recognized his
gift, and later in life, he did, too. His piano teacher recognized talent and
entered him in many contests. One that I remember so well might have been a
catastrophe except for Jay’s positive attitude. Jim Hussong, his piano teacher,
realized about three days before a contest in Tallahassee that he had given Jay
the wrong piece to learn. Jay’s reaction? “No sweat, Mr. Hussong. I can learn
the new one.” And he did. Jim was more than pleased with both Jay’s attitude
and performance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I made sure that he was placed in Mrs. Gainey’s room in
fourth grade because we had loved her for Wendy. Mrs. Gainey allowed him to be
creative, just as she had Wendy. Jay was happy in her class. Unfortunately, the
new principal, Lynwood Kent, was very much unhappy with me because I told all
the mothers in the neighborhood to call the school and request Mrs. Gainey for
their fourth graders. Lynwood stopped by our house one afternoon after school
to tell me that when he needed a curriculum director, he’d hire me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Can a person inherit headaches? I think so. My dad
passed them on to me, and I shared them with Jay. Mrs. Gunn mentioned Jay's to
me. These were agonizing times in my little boy’s life. One of these memories
actually covers many instances. Every time he had a headache, he and I would
sit in the rocker in the living room and rock in the dark. That’s the only way
he got relief. Those were special times to me. Rocking my boy was one motherly
thing I could do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When we took Jay to the doctor to find out what caused
the headaches, we were told that he had classic migraines. While we were
sitting in the examination room with him, the doctor noticed some little red
places on his arms and legs. When asked what they were, Jay looked innocently
up at the physician and said, “Child abuse.” You can imagine our chagrin. The
doctor, however, was smarter than Jay thought and said he didn’t believe that
(Whew!); he had had a sister, and the doctor recognized the signs of
sister/brother horseplay when he saw it. That kid! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Another headache memory comes with thoughts of Jay’s one
and only attempt at football. All the other kids, Walter Glenn and Joe Jacobi probably,
were playing, so Jay wanted to play, too. We outfitted him and began going to
practice. His football “career” lasted about two weeks. He had a couple of
headaches during that time, and the coach accused him of trying to get out of
practice and made him go out on the field even though his head was splitting.
Jay never liked to be accused of lying if he wasn’t, so he said that he’d had
enough. I admitted readily that I had, too, and we both threw in the towel . .
. excuse me . . . uniform. The closest he ever came to football again was
playing xylophone in the high school band. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Even though Jay had taken piano for several years during
his elementary school days, his real love of music probably began in middle
school, for it was at this time that he joined the Bellview Middle School band.
He “blew the sax.” I know that’s a strange way to put it, but it was such an
awful sound at first. However, the screech didn’t last long. Soon he was
playing really well, so we didn’t have to put him out in the barn to practice,
as I thought we might have to. I don’t remember any specific instances of Jay
in band in middle school, except for going to concerts at Christmas time and at
the end of the year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He also was tremendously interested in running during
this time. Soccer was a love, too. Jay never wanted to be anything but a star,
and during these years, he aspired to be another Pele. I took him to countless
soccer practices and games. I remember one particular game when I was sitting
in the stands cross-stitching and watching. (Yes, I could do both at the same
time.) I looked up just in time to see Jay butt the ball for a goal. I yelled,
“That’s using your head, son,” and was immediately relieved to know that he
hadn’t heard me because he would have been really embarrassed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He was so little in middle school. One of his teachers
called him “Too-Tall Young,” after some famous athlete; he even had “Too Tall”
written on the back of one of his jerseys. Jay didn’t mind being short; in
fact, I always felt that he took pride in being the smallest but often the
“tallest” in accomplishments. He never longed (pun intended) to be tall. I
recall once his telling me that he had no desire to be a big person. But he was
big in many ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I think it was probably during his middle school years
when he rushed into the house crying about something that had happened in the neighborhood.
After he was about eight or so, he never cried much, so I was really surprised.
It seems that one of his friends had thrown Jay’s new Nikes into Walter’s pool.
Jay was so angry. I can’t even describe it. Thank goodness I don’t think I ever
saw him that angry again. The only time after this one that I recall him crying
was when he was much older. He and Suzy, his girlfriend, had had a horrible
falling out on the phone on Christmas Eve. The only solution that I could offer
was for him to call her to apologize and then to come home to spend the night
with us. He did both. We all felt better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I told you earlier that Jay loved school. Don’t get me
wrong: He was not a wonderful student. I’d never try to convince myself that he
was. However, he loved people and fun, and that’s where both were—at school. He
also loved his teachers, like Mrs. Gunn, Mrs. Gainey, Mrs. Jackson, Mr.
Whitten, Mr. Ewing, Mr. Buck, Mr. “Longwoit,” Mrs. Crumpton, Mrs. Thompson,
Mrs. Livingston, and lots of others. But there was one teacher in middle school
that he did not like at all because she embarrassed him. I think she taught
math and science. Once when he made an F on a test, she told the whole class.
He just couldn’t stand it. His grades plummeted in her class, so we went for a
conference. She was not a delightful person, and we understood why the kids
would misbehave. They wanted to be put into the “hole,” a solitary place behind
bookshelves, for punishment to get away from her. Jay spent a lot of time there.
After the conference, we never complained about his grade. We just continued to
demand the best that he could do, realizing that he was working under very much
adverse circumstances with that teacher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Just before he left Bellview Middle School to go to Pine
Forest High School, Jay announced that he wouldn’t be in band in high school.
Instead, he’d run cross-country. He didn’t think it would be “cool” to march
and play his sax because he might damage his teeth. Don’t ask me where he got
that idea. But if he got an idea in his head, it was there to stay. Well, Wendy
would have none of that. I remember that she took him outside at home and
talked to him for a while. When they came in, she announced that Mr. Buck had
an opening for a xylophone player and that Jay was going to fill the spot. Had
Jay ever played mallets before? No. Did that discourage him? No. He brought the
xylophone home and taught himself to play. I don’t think he ever missed a
Friday night “gig” in the Pine Forest band during his four years there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Most of my memorable moments with Jay in high school
involved band. The PFHS band was not new to us. We had been through four years
with Wendy, so we were very much familiar with meetings and duty at the
concession stand and contests and last-minute ironings of uniforms . . . and on
and on and on. We loved John Buck, the band director, and his band. I must
admit that it was difficult for me to be a teacher at Woodham and a parent at
Pine Forest. I had to work really hard not to mix the two. When he and Jimmy
Mills were in Suncoast Sound Drum and Bugle Corps the summer of 1984, Jay
learned to play drums. That completed his percussion education. He wrote the
cadence for drums his senior year, and my heart beat right along with the drums
as the band marched into the stadium. Pride!! The night that he played his trap
set on the field was almost too much for this mother’s heart. The time that my
heart thrilled the most, though, was at Honors Night when John Buck gave him
the Band Award, saying simply that he had never known a student with so much
talent. In 1992 Jay still held that place in John’s heart. He told me so when
Jay died. Again, John brought joy to a mother’s heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Of course, I remember the night in January of 1985, when
Joey Allred called Jay. I was doing dishes, and I heard Jay say something about
a band. That’s when Velvet Melon was born. The name of the band didn't come that
night, though. It was months later when Jay's girlfriend at the time, Gina
Forsberg, told him that she had seen something strange carved on a desk at Tate
High School: Velvet Melon. "That's it, Gina. Our band is Velvet
Melon!" And he announced it to the guys that evening . . . immediate
acceptance.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqFGBR5U3iaCHpkM4r9wR-YYD9_WZY67N_AZwIF1K-11Ha37dSpSqk4lex6fnHg-fKIf3f6KSiqolRutr4DqJco95ASK0Lm-KJ09dDwILl7xYXnOoL59oodEMqYCdaTZgLQtQ/s1600/VM+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqFGBR5U3iaCHpkM4r9wR-YYD9_WZY67N_AZwIF1K-11Ha37dSpSqk4lex6fnHg-fKIf3f6KSiqolRutr4DqJco95ASK0Lm-KJ09dDwILl7xYXnOoL59oodEMqYCdaTZgLQtQ/s200/VM+Logo.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Jay and
Joey had a dream, a dream to have the best rock ‘n’ roll band in Pensacola. The
dream began to develop every Saturday morning around 10:00 and went on for
about four hours, letting up only for the guys to consume dozens of hot dogs.
That was all I could afford to buy that bunch of boys who all looked and
sounded alike to me. Even though Joey and Jay together formed Velvet Melon, Jay
was always in the lead. I could hear him giving orders as I set out the food.
It’s so funny that a month before the band came into existence, Frank was
preaching about the ills of rock music, and I was shouting “Amen” to what he said.
According to Frank, that rock beat would mess up your heart. I wonder. Somehow,
though, when our boy began to play and sing the “stuff,” it wasn’t quite so
bad.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in
love with all that Jay did. Frank, Wendy, and I were Jay’s #1 fans, and Steve, Wendy’s
first husband, was right up there with us. Naturally, certain gigs stand out
more than others. We went to all of them, except for the private parties,
which, by the way, were usually broken up by the police, who were responding to
the complaints of neighbors. It’s probably a good thing that we weren’t invited
to those gala events anyway because we might have seen some things that our
tender eyes didn’t need to see yet. We did see some things that we shouldn’t
have; however, we thought it best to ignore them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The gigs that I enjoyed most were those at Pine Forest
(sock hops, talent shows, even concerts). I can’t remember when Velvet Melon
started to play in clubs, but it was probably after Jay was out of high school.
But the clubs that I enjoyed most in the early days were Longnecker’s and
Fennegal’s. I never did care much for The Rex, an old theater where I went to
movies when I was a teenager. None of these are in existence now.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5NjoPPycZ5Jk-u4C1DK-0dlQSfPhHRMGUsXkLxewW88kKFu91qPrwZ7xIa40vjr735J4vUcM9ASjHCwuK1smPMzDXqvFxhW76I6f8wH0KYCAgRZe19iDd8uIeoXeC-v1-Mu7/s1600/VM+PFHS+Homecoming+Dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="437" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5NjoPPycZ5Jk-u4C1DK-0dlQSfPhHRMGUsXkLxewW88kKFu91qPrwZ7xIa40vjr735J4vUcM9ASjHCwuK1smPMzDXqvFxhW76I6f8wH0KYCAgRZe19iDd8uIeoXeC-v1-Mu7/s320/VM+PFHS+Homecoming+Dance.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Homecoming at PFHS -- He had on the whole tux when he escorted a friend at halftime.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Before I begin to tell you about Jay’s years after high
school and in Velvet Melon, the best years of our lives with our boy, I need to
mention some disclaimers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When a parent writes about his or her child after the
child has died, it’s very easy to make the child out to be an “angel.” I assure
you that Jay wasn’t an angel, that he did things that later he wasn’t
necessarily proud of and that I certainly wasn’t proud of. I didn’t know about much
of the trouble that he got into during his young adult years because he and
Wendy and his friends kept me in the dark. They protected the mother who
worries much too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Because I wasn’t involved in most of the trouble that
Jay got himself into, my memories don’t involve the scrapes with the law and
the underage drinking. I found out in later years that we didn’t escape some of
these “events”; we just didn’t know what was going on. Even though we
discovered later some of the things Jay did, things we didn’t approve of, we
were happy to know for sure that he was not involved in drugs. It really is a
miracle in the twentieth century and especially in the rock music scene for a
person not to be involved in this aspect of the lives of young people. I never
feared that Jay would have anything to do with drugs; in fact, I can remember
telling him that he might get in trouble because of his outspoken abhorrence of
them. I feared that someone might slip something into a drink just to prove to
him that he, too, would do drugs. That never happened. Thank you, Lord! One
line that he wrote in an original song has always comforted me: “I don’t mix drugs
with rock ‘n’ roll/I’ve got Jesus in my heart to save my soul.” Isn’t that a
wonderful line? Another precious memory for this mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">In 1989, Jay moved his band to New York to make their
fortunes playing in clubs in the Village and on the Jersey Shore. They all
needed steady jobs to support themselves while playing music in clubs so that
they could be discovered. The job that Jay thought would earn him the most
money was that of a messenger. He had seen the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quicksilver</i>, about a young man who made good money and had an
exciting, dangerous life delivering messages. Jay was sure that he could do the
same, especially in the area of money. Wrong! He got the job. Actually, anyone
who showed up for work could have a job. The problem was that when he reported
for work, most of the time there wasn’t anything for him to do; therefore, he
wasn’t a messenger for long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Andy Waltrip, one of Jay’s best friends, was already in
New York City when the guys arrived and had a job at The Beanstalk Restaurant
in Rockefeller Center. Andy told the manager about these starving Southern musicians,
and the manager agreed to interview them. Each went individually to talk to the
manager. Each was hired. I don’t know how the other guys touted themselves, but
Jay laid it on thick about all the experience he had had. His little job during
high school, washing pots and pans at Adrian’s Barbecue just down the street
from our house, turned into a fantastic job in an upscale restaurant in his
hometown. Jay could always stretch a story!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">All the guys liked working at The Beanstalk Restaurant
and for good reason: they had at least one meal a day. If they were blessed
enough to get a double shift, they ate twice. Obviously, part of their reward
for working a shift was being able to order what they wanted to eat, taking time
during a break to devour a real meal. In addition to getting their earned
meals, they watched carefully when a family with small children were eating.
They eyeballed the kids to see whether or not they touched their food much and
took dibs on their plates. Not being afraid of germs or disease, if Jay, for
instance, said, “Dibs on that kid’s plate,” it meant that he could eat whatever
he wanted of what the kid left. As far as I know, none of the Velvet Melon
waiters ever got sick from cleaning the plates of kids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The only day they didn’t like being waiters was
Thursday, the day they dubbed “Blue Hair Day.” The Blue Hairs were little old
ladies who met for lunch on Thursday. You may not remember when older ladies
went to the beauty parlor to have their gray hair colored . . . blue. I
remember, but I never understood why my mother did this. And so did elderly
ladies in New York City. I’m sure that the guys were very polite to them, even
treated them the way they’d treat their grandmothers; however, they dreaded it
when these ladies sat at their tables. And why would they dread these sweet
little old ladies? Because they sat at the guys’ tables for hours (or so my
story-stretching son said) and were the stingiest tippers ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiters have always depended on tips
because they seldom get paid much by their employers. I can remember answering
the phone at home from time to time and hearing a very excited Jay saying,
“Guess what, Mom! I tipped out today at a hundred!,” meaning that he made a
hundred dollars in tips. Never on Thursday, though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Since the main reason for Jay and the guys moving to New
York was to play music in hopes that an agent would hear/see them. (Another
main reason for Jay’s going was to be with his girlfriend Suzy. She and Andy
kept the guys afloat lots of times not only with money lent—and probably never
repaid—but also with encouragement.) <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbm-PrqU_50Ib7rK85ycLcSAYR2H1i-O56oybO6bh39xw9nYHumWwqPeV4ovzFaaL2CenF7br1e1l06wLcMRMsYB8ycAnejeNfy2FgxN-WgSryyiF8w3TYseh-K9F1__4vs6q/s1600/Suz+and+Jay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbm-PrqU_50Ib7rK85ycLcSAYR2H1i-O56oybO6bh39xw9nYHumWwqPeV4ovzFaaL2CenF7br1e1l06wLcMRMsYB8ycAnejeNfy2FgxN-WgSryyiF8w3TYseh-K9F1__4vs6q/s320/Suz+and+Jay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Jay and Suz</div>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"> Getting a gig in Greenwich Village in 1989 wasn’t easy.
In order to play at The Bitter End, for instance, the guys had to walk the
streets of the Village, giving out tickets advertising the band, and they had
to make the tickets themselves. If—and that’s a big IF—the people showed up for
the gig and presented the tickets along with the cover charge, the guys
received a dollar for every ticket collected. Wendy, Frank, and I were at one
of those gigs, a gig where there were about ten or fifteen people in
attendance. Ten or fifteen dollars for five guys to divide hardly foreshadows
fortunes. They also played at Kenny’s Castaways in the Village, but I don’t
remember the process for playing there or at a club on the Jersey Shore. What I
do know is that these young musicians gathered fans, but I also know that they
couldn’t make enough money to pay bills; therefore, in August 1989, they headed
home, where they knew they could stay booked as much as they wanted. I can
assure you that Pensacola welcomed the hometown boys back with open arms.
Frank, Wendy, and I were overjoyed to have Jay and Velvet Melon back where they
belonged, at least for a while.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Not too long before Jay moved to New York with Velvet
Melon, he told me that he wished I’d think of something besides roast beef and fixings
for lunch on Sunday. So when he moved home after eight months in the North, I
asked him what he wanted for lunch on Sunday, certainly not planning to prepare
roast beef. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Roast beef, of course</i> was
his answer! He was ready for Mama’s Southern cooking, and he got it. Here’s another
funny thing about his return to Pensacola. When he walked into our house as
soon as the long trip was over, he walked from room to room shouting, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My house! My house! </i>My boy was overjoyed
to be back in his Southland, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">overjoyed
</i>is an understatement for what his mom felt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I believe it was the Christmas after the guys returned
from New York when we had a wonderful surprise. For many years on Christmas
night, the guys had gigs, and Jay usually left for the gig around 7:00. On this
particular Christmas, Jay got up from the lunch table and announced that he had
to leave. We assumed that he was going to a practice before that evening’s gig.
Not so, though. About two hours after he left, we heard Christmas carols
outside. Upon checking, we found the guys playing the carols for us. What a
sweet Christmas surprise for the families of all the guys. They were going from
home to home to give this special “giff” to families.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvyjM_be0n8Hgm0KC2eeadZPUCFc4ym25X-3pPKH8jCalou9HwFX6fOUf13xZDqkgvnS2J6H9SCK-rqMuOu_9AZ0NafQVwpK5qMVc9yxnjmCiEmRJROPlw1tSazWeAR_vF2ki/s1600/Jay+--+Christmas+carols+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="604" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvyjM_be0n8Hgm0KC2eeadZPUCFc4ym25X-3pPKH8jCalou9HwFX6fOUf13xZDqkgvnS2J6H9SCK-rqMuOu_9AZ0NafQVwpK5qMVc9yxnjmCiEmRJROPlw1tSazWeAR_vF2ki/s320/Jay+--+Christmas+carols+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I have a few more memories that I must share with you
because they show so well the kind of young man Jay was. Gigs were so important
in Jay’s life, and they were in ours, too. We went to all the gigs in
Pensacola, especially the ones at Coconut Bay on Sunday evenings. If I hadn’t
finished getting ready for the week ahead in my classroom, I sat and made
lesson plans on cocktail napkins while Velvet Melon entertained the raucous
crowd. Jay didn’t mind that I worked while he played, but he told me not to
grade papers. I wouldn’t have dared since my students would have questioned
where I’d graded them because of the lingering smoke and alcohol smells that
would have permeated the pages. Specific gigs are indelible in my memory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I dreaded one of the nights at Coconut Bay because I
knew what would happen that evening: He was going to let one of the band
members go. During the first break, I kept looking around for Jay, but he was
nowhere to be seen. Finally, I spotted him, do-rag on his head, huddled in
fetal position off in a corner, obviously praying for help with his task. How
my heart hurt for him. He knew what was best for his band, but that guy was his
friend, and he couldn’t stand to hurt him. So many times he said to me, “Please
pray, Mom. I’ve got to have help.” And I prayed. And he did, too. I wonder how
many people know that about my boy. A few do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">This gig is different. I call it a No-Gig Gig. One
Thursday, not too long before Jay died, a friend called him to ask a favor . .
. a favor with $100 attached to it. The friend had been asked to be in a video
on Saturday at Seaside with the Bellamy Brothers. The track had already been
laid down, and the Brothers were making the video to go with the music. All Jay
had to do was to pretend to be playing the saxophone. For $100? Of course, he
could do that! But to satisfy himself and the musician in him, he had to do
something first. He went out and bought the tape of “I Could Be Persuaded,” the
song that he would be “playing,” listened to it who knows how many times,
memorized it on the way to Seaside (about an hour away from Pensacola),
practiced it after he arrived, and fingered the song correctly on the video. He
couldn’t bear the thought of a sax player watching the video and seeing that
Jay wasn’t really playing the song. One of the production guys from the Bellamy
Brothers told Jay, after hearing him practice, that he’d like to talk to him
soon about doing some work with his musicians. That didn’t happen, maybe
because the guy forgot or didn’t really mean it or Jay died too soon.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI6edZBR7QFdkArv9uUg_sWhYBgL8phP1ZAgg5yfTpuG57B00gKJIUjDqd0PfVJKNtie0MD1r_FR1Lr5M53_kuLv32Wknvu0xPW55FUv63FHIHMrIW1wn-hAHCMLWcFSRLfal/s1600/IMG_4749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI6edZBR7QFdkArv9uUg_sWhYBgL8phP1ZAgg5yfTpuG57B00gKJIUjDqd0PfVJKNtie0MD1r_FR1Lr5M53_kuLv32Wknvu0xPW55FUv63FHIHMrIW1wn-hAHCMLWcFSRLfal/s320/IMG_4749.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">One Monday morning in the spring before he died, Jay
called me at school to register a complaint. It seems that he had had it with
us! We would go to his gigs, sit through one set, and then leave without
telling him good-bye. What greater compliment could a twenty-four-year-old son
give his parents? None, as far as I’m concerned. Then there was another time
when he called me at school. Becky McPheron answered the phone in the teachers’
work area. He wanted to speak to me, but before she went to look for me, she
told him that we were all burning up because the air conditioning wasn’t
working properly. She said, “Your mom’s really hot today.” His reply: </span><b style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“My mom’s always hot!”</b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"> Now, that’s a
compliment, too, and a good title for a book about my boy.</span></div>
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And then there was the
night of October 31, 1987, when Velvet Melon played “Rebel Yell” for Wendy and
“My Girl” for Corey. Corey had just entered the world about four hours before
the gig. The guys were dressed in their costumes: Jay was the Punk Monk that
year, wearing the outfit that one of my students wore when we were studying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Canterbury Tales</i>, and he had to
recite the Monk’s Prologue. Everyone was so excited about their new little
mascot. When she was older, Corey was right up there with the #1 fans! So many
times Jay played songs for her while she was at gigs, dancing away on the dance
floor of a bar. She was a light in his life. He loved her even though he didn’t
always know exactly what to do with her.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gig that will always be most memorable to me, though, is
the one on the night of June 27, 1992, Jay’s last gig. I wouldn’t take anything
for that evening. We were at Yesterdays in Chattanooga, TN, heard every lick,
saw every wink, loved every minute of it. He came and sat with us during one of
the breaks—as he always did—and said, “You’ll never know the feeling, the
feeling of having them right in the palm of your hand!” He loved performing—leading
the audience in whatever direction he wanted them to go. One of his best
friends, Andy Waltrip, was right. Jay had charisma . . . and he still has it. If
you’re my friend on Facebook, maybe you’re one of the couple of dozen folks who
write beautiful comments about my boy even after a quarter of a century. You’ll
never know the thrill that you give Frank and me.<span style="color: #37291b;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_AuejqAXVAA3vZ292ycX_OVumw58VqplAQzL5zErr8fe3f7LTeVtD7tpmwqi1sQ4xl-Sd_IRRoGLwm3BjlUtaeh9DqsmXErP_hyphenhyphenBiBaiYGQb_4UilS7-94HROql7ygMhcdrH/s1600/IMG_4649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_AuejqAXVAA3vZ292ycX_OVumw58VqplAQzL5zErr8fe3f7LTeVtD7tpmwqi1sQ4xl-Sd_IRRoGLwm3BjlUtaeh9DqsmXErP_hyphenhyphenBiBaiYGQb_4UilS7-94HROql7ygMhcdrH/s320/IMG_4649.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Jay with the audience in the palm of his hand. Cinco de Mayo in Pensacola.<br />
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.25in;">For three days after that last gig, we were with Jay and
the guys in their new home near Nashville.</span><span style="color: #37291b; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span><span style="color: #1f242d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.25in;">The guys composed and recorded; I read; we (Jay, Frank, and I)
shopped for a washer and dryer. Jay and I acted silly while Frank had to be
serious with the saleslady, whom we invited to gigs in the Nashville area
(she’ll never know what she missed). My heart soared as I listened to Jay
negotiate with Bill Puryear, an agent ready to sign Velvet Melon. We ate out; Jay
cooked breakfast for us; he ate my leftovers from the Chinese restaurant that
he never had a chance to go to. I was “smitten” with vertigo (thank goodness). I
watched him leave for the last time, dressed in the outfit that we buried him
in. I thought as he left, “I can see why the girls love him. He is SO cute!”</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">And now, I hope you know my boy, Jay Young. As Jay
always said, as he left home, “I’m outta here!” And so I, too, am outta here,
ready to tell you about the last days in the life of a gifted musician, my boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b> <span style="font-size: large;"> Jay in Photos</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJd8nT78cSmYopqtj2lVAVBVBnIf-s5jU_J1DRB5wGOnMfJuDzmwysg6-B_nRzF1pp3IBsiP6caTGDtSw18lXFGSzEqeUMsDqwYaFgg3n833km_sexW6qYTRS8KHfT1NJsyyW/s1600/Jay+and+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="360" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJd8nT78cSmYopqtj2lVAVBVBnIf-s5jU_J1DRB5wGOnMfJuDzmwysg6-B_nRzF1pp3IBsiP6caTGDtSw18lXFGSzEqeUMsDqwYaFgg3n833km_sexW6qYTRS8KHfT1NJsyyW/s320/Jay+and+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhmdWr75FD8ypwrUqjEC2KxzeOq_e1OaIRjVM4pCz6EXp0qLU18BfFY8lb2Bv9ztQmMD7oRgGIq0IRSbJwAfkzaGhzxFrIhbHdfmIP-OEXCqhNVyG4V6GbjgOn-s7MY6WJJ1U/s1600/Jay+the+Arab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="688" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhmdWr75FD8ypwrUqjEC2KxzeOq_e1OaIRjVM4pCz6EXp0qLU18BfFY8lb2Bv9ztQmMD7oRgGIq0IRSbJwAfkzaGhzxFrIhbHdfmIP-OEXCqhNVyG4V6GbjgOn-s7MY6WJJ1U/s320/Jay+the+Arab.jpg" width="305" /></a></div>
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Earliest family photo</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span> Arab Jay -- dressed by Wendy</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJIEzbRFlJricZZddpkfvuyU0bsPq5tABOudS5R66k2rH8QSTgraocUXcClYF0zbghujuwmR2pwoTJaiJg4BsJPd5cZ83vHr2hNN9tL6uken4Hjqbg6w9wJABmBVIE6KQNdXz_/s1600/Jay+and+Santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJIEzbRFlJricZZddpkfvuyU0bsPq5tABOudS5R66k2rH8QSTgraocUXcClYF0zbghujuwmR2pwoTJaiJg4BsJPd5cZ83vHr2hNN9tL6uken4Hjqbg6w9wJABmBVIE6KQNdXz_/s320/Jay+and+Santa.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Jay and Santa 1971 (?)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGEpYNj9g6SJtdHK8FVvTP5uOJaoavT-xf_PBuSxTS6cgEKJzc4kz1wvKhyAzhTy4yY6_TBjtxNVbbo5HNH9ZNVPparSEa-B_90nTB7siqm-CanLUuL7Nr_-7SV7EYJHSMk3v/s1600/HS+Jay.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1392" data-original-width="998" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGEpYNj9g6SJtdHK8FVvTP5uOJaoavT-xf_PBuSxTS6cgEKJzc4kz1wvKhyAzhTy4yY6_TBjtxNVbbo5HNH9ZNVPparSEa-B_90nTB7siqm-CanLUuL7Nr_-7SV7EYJHSMk3v/s320/HS+Jay.tif" width="229" /></a></div>
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PFHS school photo 1984</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsDvlaalpeUENK5ZUirCh-yBntQKOq-e25fxAWOLzsrwi3DGI003cJd7YXdoAVN13_sOKdDtiMnyMxskvzybhjKknm1uh_PDRUPSEybob3W_6Cn_kmWA77w8AlOu4dri4H0op/s1600/Jay+and+his+gang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="422" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsDvlaalpeUENK5ZUirCh-yBntQKOq-e25fxAWOLzsrwi3DGI003cJd7YXdoAVN13_sOKdDtiMnyMxskvzybhjKknm1uh_PDRUPSEybob3W_6Cn_kmWA77w8AlOu4dri4H0op/s320/Jay+and+his+gang.jpg" width="320" /><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span></a></div>
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Jay and his gang -- PFHS cafeteria<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzA0FWu_WiPdqydBb7gYSHxbO-hK_PAx2td8q9_Y8Uac9LF08tgwZ3E7YlRqNAoupYTvpSgch9Xj4WL_3n2-PSncZNk1M0vIZTq2illgfNgrroaDgegK656M2tTXDMFyvxrjPt/s1600/Graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="604" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzA0FWu_WiPdqydBb7gYSHxbO-hK_PAx2td8q9_Y8Uac9LF08tgwZ3E7YlRqNAoupYTvpSgch9Xj4WL_3n2-PSncZNk1M0vIZTq2illgfNgrroaDgegK656M2tTXDMFyvxrjPt/s320/Graduation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
1986 PFHS Graduation with Casey and David<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> Family Photos</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNoNVEyYp45iZPxfatQFbgzp0RY6m4qDXdUXoqdZ72aZh0_HuUaMd4MaE63Rp6VgY3Wl3WdPmtXwkR15GqSAODpI9zPUyQ4AuY-A0nEoo8FnvBYk3Q3xmQaG4J6FJxVSl2SGH/s1600/IMG_4666.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNoNVEyYp45iZPxfatQFbgzp0RY6m4qDXdUXoqdZ72aZh0_HuUaMd4MaE63Rp6VgY3Wl3WdPmtXwkR15GqSAODpI9zPUyQ4AuY-A0nEoo8FnvBYk3Q3xmQaG4J6FJxVSl2SGH/s320/IMG_4666.jpg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lj3eBDNpfOHIxouI3n0PXQpMoWTPgLT6r7MzsTCnq2MYhMJie0eRsyn8IQbRD-ws4t11vpfgFU-Q0twT8ncmAgzxtWKJFrNfTXneZzsoGxjVvV4TNYicprBOyt72LKhM7peB/s1600/IMG_4667.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lj3eBDNpfOHIxouI3n0PXQpMoWTPgLT6r7MzsTCnq2MYhMJie0eRsyn8IQbRD-ws4t11vpfgFU-Q0twT8ncmAgzxtWKJFrNfTXneZzsoGxjVvV4TNYicprBOyt72LKhM7peB/s320/IMG_4667.jpg" width="243" /></a></span></b><br />
Wendy and Jay -- camping trip <b> </b> Wendy and Jay -- He's trying to lick her! <b> </b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Tl7J0Sn17rVpLyk7QvrYHTH2qgbwBkTy7YG3YsRVrrou3MTjxTb8yv-PbzwLcZpMRxCVAEt-J4SSPjrNLpB89mE2yL0X8YkAiHoRGoF7OA1B4Iz3CvXwyEHGL3G4EUYNZbIa/s1600/IMG_4663.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Tl7J0Sn17rVpLyk7QvrYHTH2qgbwBkTy7YG3YsRVrrou3MTjxTb8yv-PbzwLcZpMRxCVAEt-J4SSPjrNLpB89mE2yL0X8YkAiHoRGoF7OA1B4Iz3CvXwyEHGL3G4EUYNZbIa/s320/IMG_4663.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7qqlYg_uQ4ADBGJBkN7Vj2jsnFsYJbVLCrMB7CIvt5YFwwjaOOZDfWhteaUKPV27LzyMpabLPKwxtJnHHCN39OY86R42j_M-05etGmHpinj2V_5bXqokDxAxVjE9vwGJqBzk/s1600/IMG_4670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: bold;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7qqlYg_uQ4ADBGJBkN7Vj2jsnFsYJbVLCrMB7CIvt5YFwwjaOOZDfWhteaUKPV27LzyMpabLPKwxtJnHHCN39OY86R42j_M-05etGmHpinj2V_5bXqokDxAxVjE9vwGJqBzk/s320/IMG_4670.jpg" width="320" /></a> Corey and Jay -- Can you see the love?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aRkDWFziCQCoF06ja6kkbCwZbwTB2lb8oLwArRIBLmFnfK3owQxNuSdpq0QdULgZtENx-3yb_QRgG3gcOxCBUVWxZcuVRsIDYci4ZfJKoZFdUvMSxmj8WJbn0OcnhIYEGrzb/s1600/IMG_4671.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aRkDWFziCQCoF06ja6kkbCwZbwTB2lb8oLwArRIBLmFnfK3owQxNuSdpq0QdULgZtENx-3yb_QRgG3gcOxCBUVWxZcuVRsIDYci4ZfJKoZFdUvMSxmj8WJbn0OcnhIYEGrzb/s320/IMG_4671.jpg" width="233" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgvuhhtijM_wDZmCwHRQkhE32CFs6Y-4L0qKJFmi7huv-EZou0tkICE8n3rfpqnE3e0UgIY-pKm6qib8zWheYXcAnerZhA743QDmUW4JY4G_QVPFutuKRzJD6pQHhhrjVw7xk/s1600/IMG_4662.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgvuhhtijM_wDZmCwHRQkhE32CFs6Y-4L0qKJFmi7huv-EZou0tkICE8n3rfpqnE3e0UgIY-pKm6qib8zWheYXcAnerZhA743QDmUW4JY4G_QVPFutuKRzJD6pQHhhrjVw7xk/s320/IMG_4662.jpg" width="281" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwlXDZpcgxJh2wCozrHIwg8mHuqSDg_dms4sjcMcE4zASy9onlmRXH6lCC3Ma7Gif4sCRBqnzMkAAGnjC8m6hVedkF0pjG08hGABUtKfjZ7MtuJJsiDtT9cv00jPivpqk3OCN/s1600/The+siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwlXDZpcgxJh2wCozrHIwg8mHuqSDg_dms4sjcMcE4zASy9onlmRXH6lCC3Ma7Gif4sCRBqnzMkAAGnjC8m6hVedkF0pjG08hGABUtKfjZ7MtuJJsiDtT9cv00jPivpqk3OCN/s320/The+siblings.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapldqqa5QKhXKqatztbDk8cGBT3qdA_-GCR1XsuWFK70fA8Lx9p-aKkx0jPzdYwNOgGgdtYGfxBtOc8J3KhiFUtyuAHwLHvoMy0y7gQrubgy5iIl8FCmKQTolq675wgFeeXTB/s1600/IMG_4665.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapldqqa5QKhXKqatztbDk8cGBT3qdA_-GCR1XsuWFK70fA8Lx9p-aKkx0jPzdYwNOgGgdtYGfxBtOc8J3KhiFUtyuAHwLHvoMy0y7gQrubgy5iIl8FCmKQTolq675wgFeeXTB/s320/IMG_4665.jpg" width="297" /></a><br />
ZZZZZZ -- Pooped after Christmas<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjS45AcdMRwynJxllAgQXq47enCOgDB0A0usi1ETxW1Y3rBg3fTa0tMHD658NPLZtwre-mdynLc9X6p-CpNmULrzsPtGvyrc9D3yUJMe-ITp30dFTY30w7mTaIpY4IrF2hfzFP/s1600/Jay+and+his+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjS45AcdMRwynJxllAgQXq47enCOgDB0A0usi1ETxW1Y3rBg3fTa0tMHD658NPLZtwre-mdynLc9X6p-CpNmULrzsPtGvyrc9D3yUJMe-ITp30dFTY30w7mTaIpY4IrF2hfzFP/s400/Jay+and+his+dad.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before church . . . Frank getting ready, Jay just getting home from a gig!<br />My favorite photo of these two.<br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: small;">Girlfriends -- Jay had lots of girlfriends, some we didn't even know, I imagine. I'm sorry to say that I don't have a photo of Jay and Gina, the girlfriend who named the band. Her mother, Charlene Forsberg, and I cried when they broke up! All are beauties, aren't they?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wkWs5aoHXAhBy92rMHrWFguXwGfmS2gKa5t8oIgF9nHEH3VW-7-Y0zJvi9KiqGfBPA1y2laMtMfrlZkJWT_64Ho4aGKKpZUZNUGyHSAT3n9uLIjOvlQd4F597Zrhmh6Tf79m/s1600/IMG_4654.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wkWs5aoHXAhBy92rMHrWFguXwGfmS2gKa5t8oIgF9nHEH3VW-7-Y0zJvi9KiqGfBPA1y2laMtMfrlZkJWT_64Ho4aGKKpZUZNUGyHSAT3n9uLIjOvlQd4F597Zrhmh6Tf79m/s320/IMG_4654.jpg" width="226" /></a> Jackie Andress<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeuvR7yyaW1GHLqZE9ErD88ZlGLDAMH6_zPNqi_VONarMQ0sQuuEaIbxaL8tKDtiXETAH5GGSaPrsiN62YFUNRvUWKbka2C6fiEoYPCJ6Fp3CHlgrsa0ZKh1Gqe4x6Tqlkj0H/s1600/IMG_4681.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeuvR7yyaW1GHLqZE9ErD88ZlGLDAMH6_zPNqi_VONarMQ0sQuuEaIbxaL8tKDtiXETAH5GGSaPrsiN62YFUNRvUWKbka2C6fiEoYPCJ6Fp3CHlgrsa0ZKh1Gqe4x6Tqlkj0H/s320/IMG_4681.jpg" width="212" /></a> Suzy Ward<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeer4Xi-KjoJgyzL4LcVSmDiqOtL4Zk9BkzHWeaohYUzwurTL8knbuXofLOfqaR1rVdcEZGi3_p133h6cKLvzfZV6CMJkbATtXwRcGo1voML-uYcZAneUcIC-lyzy-1oUn16_/s1600/IMG_4657.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeer4Xi-KjoJgyzL4LcVSmDiqOtL4Zk9BkzHWeaohYUzwurTL8knbuXofLOfqaR1rVdcEZGi3_p133h6cKLvzfZV6CMJkbATtXwRcGo1voML-uYcZAneUcIC-lyzy-1oUn16_/s320/IMG_4657.jpg" width="297" /></a> Dana Tyson<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT3kujC8k2ZQqAUnqP60kTacfoddcZtL04dUEq3r-RftSSk7YUZv5y49SfpT3Cqdh7P-r8_BbT70sggQ0J0iVaxyQUTvp4-qrrv0fqeEMtziSh5cV4uDyykaqYHNOiUIinWNqi/s1600/IMG_4659.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT3kujC8k2ZQqAUnqP60kTacfoddcZtL04dUEq3r-RftSSk7YUZv5y49SfpT3Cqdh7P-r8_BbT70sggQ0J0iVaxyQUTvp4-qrrv0fqeEMtziSh5cV4uDyykaqYHNOiUIinWNqi/s320/IMG_4659.jpg" width="314" /></a> Tara Merritt<br /><br /><br />Four Favorite Photos<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmX_j_nDFSgAGUe92ykf-nlJa4qvRjEZGjLo1KIcfW13FKZwc4_FM0U_1FDBbKjroV9DODIWELwrVtgSTgi3CcCrHTVX2QrrjJ4CIhIDV5GyhDjFG1GiQ26XXjw6GBwmulIY0/s1600/IMG_4672.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmX_j_nDFSgAGUe92ykf-nlJa4qvRjEZGjLo1KIcfW13FKZwc4_FM0U_1FDBbKjroV9DODIWELwrVtgSTgi3CcCrHTVX2QrrjJ4CIhIDV5GyhDjFG1GiQ26XXjw6GBwmulIY0/s320/IMG_4672.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Our crazy, crazy children!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWG4Gq3wXK69Ri1cVx0Xb2RUW1tRUTNMknsgOdZL_Mx1Hp_G3gMlf8YH1ICwLuHyl6u2BqmC_9fU3jGA7t7nTVnAYWw4S3s_imVEI6QLis3sWVxm1KeMaE6SAowMNONI5k1OW/s1600/Jay+and+parents.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWG4Gq3wXK69Ri1cVx0Xb2RUW1tRUTNMknsgOdZL_Mx1Hp_G3gMlf8YH1ICwLuHyl6u2BqmC_9fU3jGA7t7nTVnAYWw4S3s_imVEI6QLis3sWVxm1KeMaE6SAowMNONI5k1OW/s320/Jay+and+parents.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />One of the few photos of the parents and their boy<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviOCpl5bsJYtrSwits2OS5SeoUcQgTqswMN6NAvWuKrRmqFA9R3LLGi2dw6DMXtTGPhiOQehyEBXTCw-o4DCF8rOdW1M1KeJA9eNtVTB7qqtWWeF0MJ7Me_U7ZQ0Ytsr53Ca7/s1600/IMG_4653.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviOCpl5bsJYtrSwits2OS5SeoUcQgTqswMN6NAvWuKrRmqFA9R3LLGi2dw6DMXtTGPhiOQehyEBXTCw-o4DCF8rOdW1M1KeJA9eNtVTB7qqtWWeF0MJ7Me_U7ZQ0Ytsr53Ca7/s320/IMG_4653.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Shame on you, Jay!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouQ5fIwCBwpJmCsqGLirlOS1D79LJx_46Dc70LaIB7TsdTsey7A4t7xmoj2d7ybTfSQ6UDxDsbq4l0P-zwaC-iMJLedzULrmz9xXKhA4WqrKjdCCEIijYGzRsuJry4WaGCDyz/s1600/IMG_4680.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouQ5fIwCBwpJmCsqGLirlOS1D79LJx_46Dc70LaIB7TsdTsey7A4t7xmoj2d7ybTfSQ6UDxDsbq4l0P-zwaC-iMJLedzULrmz9xXKhA4WqrKjdCCEIijYGzRsuJry4WaGCDyz/s320/IMG_4680.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Nashville, TN, Tuesday, June 30, 1992 -- The last photo of Jay . . . trying to look fat.<br /></span></b></td></tr>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-23525825750380825482019-09-19T08:47:00.001-06:002019-09-20T16:25:00.408-06:00Chapter 2 -- The Last Week<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I am so thankful for a loving Heavenly Father who
doesn’t let his children know the future. We may think we wish we knew what was
going to happen to us in certain situations, but we really should be satisfied
to let God be completely in control. I didn’t really understand that until
sometime after July 2, 1992, when Jay died. I can’t even imagine how I would
have survived if I had known what would happen on Thursday of the week
beginning on June 27, 1992.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I don’t have a very good memory about lots of things;
however, everything that happened in my life from June 27 through July 6, 1992,
is imprinted in my mind even today, a quarter of a century later. In 1993,
because I was afraid at that time that I might forget, I wrote what I called
“One Year Journal—A Piece of My Heart.” In it, I wrote down everything that I
could remember of each day leading up to Jay’s death and of the days following.
Since my journal was originally meant just for me, you may have trouble
identifying some of the people; therefore, I have identified them within
parentheses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Saturday, June
27, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Frank and I left home early so that we could arrive in Chattanooga
before Velvet Melon’s gig began. I remember feeling the usual thrill of pride
as Jay strode into the club, flipping his hair, and looking around, claiming
his territory. If only I had the words to describe exactly how he looked as he
walked into those clubs. All who knew him know exactly what I mean. Usually the
first sound that we'd hear after he walked in was either a "Hey, man! How
ya doin'?" or that laugh of his that started in his toes and traveled up
to that Jay smile . . . the same one he had had since he was a baby. There's
not another one like it. Sometimes in the strangest places I hear that laugh,
and I laugh through my tears. I know that somewhere on all the videos that
laugh is recorded. Someday I'll listen, but not yet . . . not yet. When will it
not be too soon? Someday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">That June 27 gig was just like all the others that we
attended at Yesterday's . . . young people wall to wall, too much drinking,
lots of noise, so many people that it was almost impossible to get to the
restroom, great rock 'n' roll music, love flowing from the stage to the
audience, especially from Jay. I recall that there was one guy who kept
throwing money at Jay; someone told us that he was absolutely captivated by my
boy. Not anything weird . . . that's not what I mean. He just enjoyed watching
Jay perform. He was one of the first to buy one of the new t-shirts that had
the guys in the band on the front and Jimmy (the sound man) on the sleeve.
Frank and I were wearing them, too. Actually, mine is different; it has only
the VM logo on the front. I don't know why I didn't want the other kind. Maybe
a premonition . . . I don't know. I don't really enjoy wearing the shirts with
Jay's picture on them. To tell you the truth, I don't like the one I was
wearing that night either. Crazy lady, I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The audience was wild that night . . . absolutely wild.
I remember that Jay came to sit with us during the second break. I can never
understand parents and children who don't have the relationship that we had
with our children. Jay was always proud to have us in his audience, and whenever
we were there, he found time to sit with us for a few minutes. As he sat with
us that evening, sweat dripping from him and his hands combing through his hair
in the usual manner, he said something that I will never forget. Neither will
Frank. We've told so many people those words. He was sitting there with the
chair turned backwards, between his mom and dad, and he said, 'You'll never
know the feeling I get when I have those guys on the floor right in my hands!
Whatever I tell them to do, they do . . . clap, jump up and down, yell . . .
whatever! How can a job be so much fun?” With that, he pushed away and was off
to table hop, making everyone feel special. That was just his way. He called it
“working the crowd,” making everyone feel welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Some of our friends thought we were crazy for supporting
Jay in his chosen vocation. They didn’t understand how we, faithful First
Baptist members, could approve of his making his living in bars. But, as Frank
told many of them, if Jay had chosen to be a doctor, we’d have supported him.
He just happened to choose music, and most professional musicians start out by
playing in bars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Toward the end of the gig, someone requested that the
guys sing “Let It Be.” None of them knew all the words, but Jay, ever the
entertainer, told the person who made the request to write the words, and he’d
sing it. And he did. He went to the keyboard, never having played the song
before but knowing the tune, and played and sang The Beatles’ “Let It Be,”
making someone in the audience very happy. Someone besides his mother, who was
filled with pride in her musician son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">After the gig was over, we stayed to watch the guys
break down and pack up. As always, when we were present, Frank helped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sunday, June 28, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Frank and I got up, had a leisurely breakfast and headed for Nashville
to spend several days enjoying Jay and his new home. I always refer to the
house in Nashville as Jay's home. To me, that's just what it was—his home; the
others just lived with him in it. We stopped at a little winery on the way to
Nashville, and I gloried in the gift shop while Frank tasted the wine. I bought
Jay some special hot sauce, not plain old Tabasco.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When we arrived at the house, Jay was like a little kid with a new toy
as he showed us around. I had seen videos, but the real thing was ever so much
better! He was especially proud of his room and his waterbed. I must admit that
his room was the most special to me. On the walls were some pictures that have
always been favorites: the one of the lady of the evening in New Orleans very
obviously being paid for her services, the Boardwalk picture with him leaping
in the air, the cute picture of Tara<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(his girlfriend) looking at the camera over her shades, and the lovely
photograph of the four of us— Frank in his brown suit, me in my pink dress and
pouffy hair (wig!), Wendy in her brown dress with the leopard collar, and Jay
in his red plaid jacket. That waterbed would play an important role during the
next two days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The main goal of the guys for the time we would be
in Nashville was to write and record. I could hardly wait to listen. In fact,
they were just taking a break when we arrived. We listened for a while; then we
decided to go out to eat and to take in a movie, a rare treat for us. We ate at
Chili's and then went to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Patriot
Games,</i> an excellent thriller. Afterward, it was home to bed—the waterbed.
Jay's was very much different from ours. Ours was wave<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">less</span>, but his was “wave<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">full</span>.”
I have never been on anything so wavy in my life! So ended our first day in
Jay's home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Monday, June 29, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">We just lazed around reading and listening to the guys. I always loved
to hear them write and record, especially write. Since I have virtually no
musical ability, I have the utmost admiration for those who do. It never ceased
to give me a thrill to listen to those talented musicians compile their
abilities and come out with a beautiful song. So much of it was trial and
error, give and take, play and record. Then re-record because the first one
didn't sound just right. Someone didn't come in exactly when he should. Someone
missed a beat. Someone hit a wrong note. Always perfecting. Sometimes shouting.
Always laughing. Always laughing. That laugh that I can't forget. I love it.
Does Jesus love it just as much as I do? Oh, how I hope so. I'm so selfish
since Jay died. When my friend Ellen Lett died yesterday, June 28, 1993, I’m
ashamed to say that I didn’t immediately mourn. All I could think of was that
she would see Jay, maybe that he’d be the first friend to greet her.. I doubt
that he was because she has so many closer loved ones there, and I know they
were scrambling over each other to get to her. He had to wait in line. But I
know he gave her one of those great Jay hugs as soon as he reached her. I just
know that's what happened! But back to 1992.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime during the
morning, Frank looked at me and said, 'These kids need a washer and a dryer in
this house. It's not right for Terri to have to carry clothes out to the laundromat
in her condition.' (Terri was Jerry's wife. He was the guitar player in Velvet
Melon. And Terri was very much pregnant, as if she could be a little bit pregnant.)
Thus, the washer/dryer idea was born. Jay concurred, and we approached the
guys. They agreed to make the payments each month if we would put the
appliances on our Sears credit card. We also suggested getting a mower since
their rental agreement stipulated that they must keep the lawn up. To this they
agreed, also. So later that afternoon we ran errands with Jay, including going
to Sears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I might mention here that I thoroughly enjoyed myself by reading to my
heart's content during the days when we were with Jay. The two books I
definitely remember relishing were <i>Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man</i>, by
Fannie Flagg, and <i>The Outer Banks</i>, by Anne Rivers Siddons. I laughed all
the way through <i>Daisy Fay</i>, and I worried all the way through <i>Outer
Banks</i>. I firmly believe that both books were intended for me at that very
time. I needed to laugh—the greatest tragedy in my life was just around the
corner. I needed the Siddons book because of the ideas presented, namely
dealing with the death of a child. Isn't it strange how you can pick up a book
and not know the treasure that awaits you? That book is about a woman's dealing
with the death of a young child, not exactly what I would deal with very soon;
however, her negative reactions came to me frequently in the immediate days as
I tried to cope positively with Jay's death. I didn't copy the heroine in her
attitude; rather, I tried to avoid her feelings. I know for sure that the Lord
sent both to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Before heading to Sears, we went with Jay to see Bill Puryear from
Crescent Moon Talent Agency. Bill very much wanted Jay to sign with him
exclusively. We sat for about two hours in his office, listening to Jay and him
talk business. I remember sitting in the background, saying nothing, just
listening to my boy in his adult role. He was a peer with this thirty-something
man. Proud is a mild adjective to use for what I felt. I was puffed up! Why was
this very successful businessman pursuing my boy? He's just a boy. Just my
little boy. Just my son. Wrong! He, too, was a man. He, too, was a businessman.
He was important. He had something that Bill Puryear wanted—talent. And he
would have gotten that talent exclusively had Jay lived. Probably within a
couple of weeks. But it was not meant to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Later, we went to Sears and made our purchases, with the promise that
they would be delivered on Thursday, July 2. Jay and I acted silly while Frank
did the business of the day. We invited the saleslady to be on the lookout for
Velvet Melon in the Nashville area and to attend a gig. I wonder if she ever
thought of that again. I feel sorry for her because she never got to see Jay in
action. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">We went to eat at a local restaurant afterwards. It was so wonderful to
be alone with Jay. I always got a real charge out of watching him eat. He would
eat for a while and then rest for a while. When resting, he'd put his arm over
the back of the chair and just sit there as if he were waiting for the food to
digest before continuing. All the time, he'd be talking, entertaining,
laughing. And he'd tell stories . . . just little scraps of things that had
happened during the past days, little things that people had said to him, but they
would become great things, exciting tales. Nothing was ever ordinary with Jay.
Nothing. (He certainly “gathered rosebuds,” evidently realizing that “old time
is still a-flying.” I surely am literary tonight. It's difficult to read literature
for as long as I have and not have some lines to slip in every once in a
while.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I know that what we did together that afternoon probably sounds ho-hum
to many, but even as it happened, I felt that it was a gloriously important
day. I felt fulfilled as a mother. It's been a long time since that afternoon
and evening. Monday, June 29, 1992, was the last time we would be alone with
our son. Does the “glory” of that day need further explanation? I doubt it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tuesday, June 30, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">We awoke, after a wavy night, to the scent of bacon frying. Jay was
cooking breakfast for us! It was delicious, mainly because of the cook. I'm
afraid he hadn't yet developed much of a sense of the proper way to put a meal
on the table, but it tasted great. Bacon, eggs, toast, juice—just what he liked
every once in a while when he saw the world in the morning. Since all they were
doing that week was writing and recording, he had no late, late nights: He
could get up at a reasonable time in the morning, say 8:30 or so. Therefore—breakfast!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">That day was probably the laziest, most unproductive day for us. We just
lay around all morning and into the afternoon, reading and listening. I
remember getting antsy some time in mid-afternoon because my old body just has
to be up and doing occasionally. I really didn't feel comfortable tackling
housekeeping chores in someone else's house, but I'm sure that Jay wouldn't have
minded. Actually, they hadn't been there long enough for things to get too
dirty. And let's face it—I was on vacation and really had no desire for hard
labor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">About four o'clock, we decided to get out of the house for a little while.
I think we went to some bookstores just browsing. We had dinner at a really
neat Oriental restaurant near Jay's house. I've never seen so much food! I took
about half of mine home to Jay, who promptly devoured it. He asked where the
restaurant was so that he could go there himself sometime. The time never came.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">That night was our third one on the perilous waterbed.
Around three o'clock in the morning, I awoke with my world spinning around me.
I could barely lift my head from the bed. After spending a long time in the
bathroom, trying to throw up my stomach, I finally relegated myself to the
floor in hopes that the room would settle down. What a night! It was probably
my most miserable night ever; however, I would look upon it later as sent from
God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wednesday, July 1, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I lay on the floor most of the morning. I remember Jay coming to check on
me occasionally and Frank wracking his brain about what to do for/with me. We
remembered that Bill Puryear mentioned his ear doctor in the office on Monday,
so we called him to get the doctor's name. I was so happy when Frank discovered
that the doctor could see me around three that afternoon. Diagnosis—vertigo. He
prescribed something—I forget what—but I don't remember taking very many doses
of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Eventually, I began to feel better. After
showering, I felt much better. Frank and I had decided to accompany Jimmy (the
sound man for Velvet Melon) and a girl (Mimi, I think) from Chattanooga to a
neat restaurant that night because Jay and Todd (Velvet Melon’s drummer) were
leaving around six to go back to Chattanooga to hear Steve Ebe from Human Radio
play drums with the band Head of Phineas Gage at Yesterday's. As Jay left, I
remember looking at him and thinking I understood exactly why the girls loved
him so much. He never looked cuter—denim shirt, jeans tight rolled, and
multi-colored belt—and those shoes, the ones he said people in the audience always
commented on at gigs, the mustard colored ones, the ones that the other guys
liked so much they bought their own. Todd and Jay were in such a hurry that I
barely told him good-bye. I've always been sorry about that. I don't think I
even got a hug. That means he didn't either.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thursday, July 2, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Most of you reading this don't know the people whom I mention in this
entry. All you really need to know is that they are all either relatives or
very dear friends and that we couldn't have gotten through our ordeal without
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Frank and I got up early and started for home. I have a few impressions
of the day but nothing really specific until later that evening. Breakfast at
The Cracker Barrel on the way out of Nashville, many naps because of the
medication I was still on for vertigo, a quick ice cream just before leaving
I-65 (the last “meal” we would have for almost twenty-four hours), still more
dozing, the “maintenance required” light going on in the van just after we turned
on to Wilde Lake Blvd. Could that light have been prophetic?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">We arrived at home around 5:20 PM, just about ten minutes after Jay and
Todd came in. As I was walking up the stairs with my suitcase, I asked Todd
where Jay was. He told me Jay was asleep, but I didn't think anything strange
about that; many times he went straight to bed after getting home from a road
gig. How he did love to sleep! Not at the times that I would choose, but he
lived on a different clock from mine. I went into our bathroom and did
something that I rarely do: I unpacked my suitcase immediately and set it on
the ledge just outside my bathtub. I wish I hadn't been so industrious. My
laziness might have saved my boy's life, but I doubt it. Then I went downstairs
to read mail. Frank had gone outside immediately after we got home, and when he
came in, I asked him if he'd be satisfied with Pizza Hut pizza for dinner. Of
course. I still wasn't feeling well, and he was concerned about me. Shortly
after he came in, Frank heard a thud in our bathroom, went to check (fearing
that I had fallen from my dizziness), saw my suitcase on the ledge, and assumed
that he had heard me drop it after unpacking. These actions don't really
coincide, but we were both tired and not thinking very clearly. I don't think
I've written things exactly as Frank tells them, but that's not important.
Frank then lay down on the couch upstairs to watch the news. We had been out of
touch with the world for a few days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I called Pizza Hut with our order so that it would be ready when I went
to pick it up; then I went upstairs to brush my teeth, forgetting that my
overnight bag was still downstairs. Oh, well . . . I thought I'd just go to the
bathroom while I was there, and that's when I discovered Jay. We don't really
know how long he had been there. Was it he that Frank heard fall when he
thought it was my suitcase? We'll never really know, but it wouldn't have made
any difference anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When I cried out Jay's name, Frank ran in and told me to dial 911 and to
ask Todd what Jay had had to eat that day. Todd was coming up the stairs at the
time. When I asked him, he told us that Jay had had nothing to eat that day but
that he had had an awful lot to drink the night before and had been sick all
day. He’d been drinking Cokes and water to settle his stomach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">As I was giving directions to the 911 operator, Todd began
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Jay, to no avail, of course, because he was
already dead. Poor Todd. He tried so hard to revive his buddy, all the time
crying and begging Jay to respond. An eternity passed, so it seemed, before the
paramedics arrived. They hooked up all sorts of mechanical and computerized
things to my boy, but he never responded. He was breathing, but only with
machinery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Frank wouldn't let me go back into the bathroom, but every once in a
while, I would walk around just to see for myself what they were doing to my
child. I was numb. Actually, the operator stayed on the phone with me for a
long time, until the paramedics arrived. It really wasn't very long . . .
probably only five minutes or so from the time that I called until the first
crew came. To a mother, it seemed like forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I sat in my recliner most of the time, praying. My immediate prayer was,
"Oh, Lord, please don't let him die!" Then I thought about what I had
said, and I added, "But please don't let him be a vegetable." Death
would be far better for Jay Young than life if he could not live it the way he
wanted to. He would not have been a gracious paraplegic. Who knows how long his
brain had been without oxygen? But then, who knows what the Lord could have
done in the way of miracles? I certainly don't.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I distinctly remember another prayer during the time that the paramedics
were working on Jay. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord, I don’t think
I can bear living without Jay</i>. And then a voice said to me, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You can if you’ll let Me help you.</i> There
was no question in my mind, even at the minute when<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know whether Jay would live or die—I knew that God
was with me and that He had spoken those words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The medics had done all they could do. I could hear the flap-flap of the
helicopter blades. What a shame that Jay couldn't enjoy the ride! I remember
thinking that, realizing even then that he was dead. Frank didn't know I knew,
but I did. He knew, but he was trying to protect me. This is so strange, but as
I followed the stretcher down the stairs, I saw mud on the carpet and thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe I should get out the vacuum and get
this up before it leaves a terrible stain.</i> What weird things the
subconscious does! The stain is there to this day. It will not come up. But do
I wish I had stopped? No. It's just one more reminder of my boy. I don't worry
about it. Frank claims it's a different stain, but I know better. To me, it's a
reminder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Another strange thing . . . As they were taking Jay across the front
lawn to the preacher's yard, where the helicopter was parked, two neighbors
came up to see if something was wrong with Frank. They discovered that it was
Jay, disappeared, and never came back. How strange. I don't know. Maybe they
couldn't face the death of one so young. I've seen one of them in the grocery
store several times during the past year, but he has never mentioned Jay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I remember calling to the last of the paramedics to ask him if Jay was
breathing. His reply was, “Not on his own.” I knew what his answer would be. I
remember walking over to the mailboxes and watching the helicopter take off
with my boy in it. What an empty feeling. And I hadn't even hugged him as he
left the house the night before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Before we left to go to the hospital, I tried to get in touch with
Wendy. No answer. A brief message on the machine telling her and Steve that we
had gone to the hospital because of Jay. Got through to Jimmy, though, and he
beat us to the hospital. Todd rode with us. Silence. As we parked, Frank turned
to me and said, “Don't get your hopes up.” I wouldn't. I already knew. But
every time that the nurse came into the little waiting room where Frank, Jimmy,
Todd, and I sat, my “mother hopes” rose, thinking that I might hear her say
something like, “We were mistaken. He's fine. He sat up, looked around, and
said, ‘What's happenin'?’ You may take him home now.” Instead, each time she
entered, she said something to the effect of “The doctors are trying everything
. . . They're doing their best . . . .” Then, “They did everything that they
could. I'm so sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Would we like to see him? Of course. The room was so cold; no wonder he
was blue. No, the blue was death on him. Death on my precious little boy. I
hope I don't sound maudlin; I don't mean to be. I just remember the awful
color, his cold, hard skin, no life. No life here, that is. I knew immediately
that my boy wasn't in that cold, blue, hard body. My boy was with Jesus. Jay
said, “I don't mix drugs with rock and roll/I've got Jesus in my heart to save
my soul” . . . said it right in “I'm Not Crazy”. . . right out where everyone
could hear him. He was not ashamed of his God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The ride home was quiet. Before we left the hospital, I remember
clinging to Frank and begging him not to leave me. I really don't know why I
did that. Guess I've read one too many stories and articles about families
falling apart after the death of a child. On the way home, I recall saying that
I didn't want to put the pictures away. Again, too much reading. Frank probably
thought I was crazy. He had already assured me that he wouldn’t leave me, and,
as he drove, he promised that we didn’t have to put the pictures away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When we arrived at home, I called my sister-cousin JoAnn. Naturally, she
was devastated. She agreed to call the relatives for me. We had so many calls
to make. I think we called Fran and Bob Crumpton next, but they weren't at
home. Maybe we left a message on the answering machine . . . anyway, they
returned our call soon, and Frank told them what had happened. Almost
immediately our phone started ringing. Frank called Wendy Bennett, who called
Sophia, who called Melrose . . . etc., etc., etc. Anyway, our friends were with
us immediately. Frank had called Bob, his brother, right after he called the Crumptons,
and he and Deb were here for us just as soon as they could get themselves
together. Others who came immediately were Tim Key, the youth director at
church; Bill and Louise Santo; and Jim Wilson. I had called for Carol, but she
was at her mother's house in Alabama. Jim came just as soon as he could. What a
relief!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I remember sitting at the dining room table with Bill Santo, discussing
arrangements. We had decided on Harper-Morris Funeral Home, with the funeral
itself being held there, as well as the visitation. The Fourth of July weekend
would pose a problem for us. Even though Jay died on Thursday, we couldn't have
the funeral until Monday because of the holiday on Saturday and because no
funerals are held on Sunday in Pensacola. Bill and I talked briefly about how
it would be all right to have the funeral there instead of at the church
because numbers would not be a problem. Wrong! My mother had instilled in me the
idea that it's not good to have a funeral at church because you'd always think
of it during the services each Sunday. I concur; however, it might have been a
good idea to make an exception in this case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">During the evening, I tried to get myself together enough to call
someone in the Singles department at our church; however, I never could muster
up whatever it was I needed. Around ten or eleven o'clock, I looked around to
see several of them walk in. What relief! My best friends in the whole world
were here! They have come to our rescue after a death many times. Maybe that's
why God put us together so many years ago. They have seen us through Grandpa,
Mother, and now Jay. I always get the feeling that I've never done anything for
them when they come to our rescue. Truly, the only thing we've ever done is to
open up our hearts and our home to them. Maybe that was enough for them; it
doesn't seem like much to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I vaguely remember calling Mike in Nashville. I didn't handle it well.
The words '”Mike, Jay died” just tumbled out . . . no warning . . . just the
fact. Just as we feared, they started for home immediately. Terri was pregnant,
and the night travel worried me. Sure enough, when they arrived, she didn't
look well; she hadn't slept at all. Jay was dead. Who <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">could</span> sleep?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">One of the Singles vacuumed up the paramedic mess for me. I was
thankful. That mud really bothered me. Wendy and Rob Bennett went out for
survival equipment -- breakfast food, paper goods, and BC Powders. What would
we have done without them? I don't even want to think about it. The Hinkleys
arrived with “guardian angel” pins in hand. I wore mine gratefully. The
Hinkleys, the Bennetts, and Bob and Deb would be our salvation during the
weekend. There was hardly a time when at least one of the families wasn't here.
Angela handled all calls. Superwoman!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The biggest problem after we came home from the hospital was finding
Wendy. Frank called Patti Kilgore and told her what had happened. She didn't
know where Wendy was either, but she called Joy Waters (Wendy's co-worker in
pre-school) to see if she had heard Wendy say anything about where she was
going after work. She hadn't. I've always been thankful that Patti made that
call because Joy and Bill are the ones who let the Singles know about Jay. We
were so worried that Wendy would hear about her brother from someone besides us
because word was spreading rapidly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Finally, around nine o'clock, Wendy and Corey came in, just dropping by
to visit for a few minutes and then wondering what kind of party we were having
because of all the cars around the house. I can't even remember how we told
her. I'm afraid, though, that I just blurted it out the same way I had done to
Mike. What can I say about Wendy's reaction? It was what any normal sister's
reaction would be, a sister who loved her brother unconditionally. She was
devastated. Four-year-old Corey just didn't know what to think. She wanted to
know where Jay died, and I told her; however, I said, “Grammy just can't go
back up there right now, though.” She wanted to go alone, and she did. When she
came back downstairs, she said, “Look what I found, Grammy.” Opening her hand,
she revealed Jay's cross . . . the one that matched Tara's. She wanted to keep
it, but I told her I needed it. No problem. Todd had already attached himself
to Jay's watch and bracelets. That was fine. The nurse at the hospital had
given me Jay's earring, the one made from Tara's ring. I wanted her to have
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Speaking of Tara, Jay’s girlfriend, Frank made the call to her. I could
tell it wasn't going well. Her dad had died just a year ago, and she was still
grieving for him. This wasn't fair to her. Once again, life had been jerked
from her grasp. Not fair. I can't remember if her mother, Cheryl, brought her
over on Friday or Saturday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I posted all of this on Facebook a few years ago, and so many of Jay’s
and our friends wrote comments about our boy, comments that lifted our hearts
and also dissolved us in to tears . . . good tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">That same year, Frank, Jackson (our grandson), and I were in Santa Fe on
Jay’s death day. As we were eating lunch, Frank said, "It's so nice that
Jackson's with us today." I heartily agreed and replied, "Little did
we know at this time on July 2, 1992, what was in store for us later that day;
and little did we know how much God would bless us thirteen years later by
giving all of us Jackson." He's named for Frank and Jay, you know, and
reminds me so much of my boy from time to time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-17734987233385069982019-09-19T08:45:00.004-06:002019-09-20T16:39:58.447-06:00Chapter 3 -- The Days After<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Friday, July 3, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I slept fitfully from three to six or so;
Frank didn’t sleep at all. Our world had fallen apart; our son was gone. The
emptiness I felt when I awoke that morning with only one child is indescribable.
What was the reason for getting out of bed? I couldn’t think of a good one, but
I knew that I had to. For one thing, I needed to check on the kids who had
started out for Pensacola in the middle of the night. I dressed with no energy
and went downstairs to meet them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">How different from most meetings that I
had had with them in the past: tears instead of smiles, half-hearted attempts
at hugs, futile attempts at conversation, tear-streaked make-up. Why had I even
bothered to make myself presentable? Everyone would understand if I hadn’t even
tried. But I couldn’t do that to Jay or to myself. I had to attempt to look
good for my boy. I wouldn’t want him to be ashamed of me. I feel sure that
someone was there even at that early hour, the Hinkleys or the Bennetts or the
Youngs. I just don’t remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Around<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ten o’cloc Frank and I left alone to go to the funeral home
to make arrangements. How could this be happening? Just twenty-four hours ago,
we had been sitting at Cracker Barrel ordering a nutritious, delicious meal; it
would have tasted like sawdust now. I had felt so bad that Thursday morning
that I really didn’t want much to eat; however, the Lord works in our lives
even when we don’t know we need Him. For some reason, I ate heartily. What a
physical blessing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As we turned in to Harper-Morris Funeral
Home, Frank commented, “This is backward. We shouldn’t be burying our son; he
should bury us.” We would say this over and over during the next year. Many
friends said the same thing to us during that weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">That evening, Bob and Deb took us to
Parisian because I wanted to buy Jay one last outfit. How I loved shopping for
him at that store! It was the favorite place for both of us. His special
saleslady waited on us, helped us pick out the clothes, and sent us the
sweetest card the next week. We found something suitable—shirt, pants, belt.
The outfit looked like something Jay would have picked out for dress clothes. I
was satisfied. It felt so strange to be out in the world without Jay in it,
though. Wendy went with us, too, and we all felt weird. People were going about
their lives as though nothing had happened. How could they do this? Jay was
dead; the world would never be the same again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">While we were shopping for clothes, we
sent Bob and Deb to buy earrings for Jay. He had to have new earrings to wear
for his final resting place. Bob, retired Army, was mortified, but he did his
shopping anyway. I remember crying in 1984 because he had one pierce in his
ear; now I was making sure that he had three earrings for his piercings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Saturday, July 4, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This morning, I couldn’t sleep past five
o’clock. I went downstairs, sat in the recliner, and wept until I thought I
would surely die of unhappiness. I didn’t see how I could live without Jay.
Sometimes I still think that. I decided that writing might help me at that
moment, so I went to the computer and wrote letters. To Jil, to Olga. That
first writing was therapeutic. I knew I would write many times during the
coming years, mainly about Jay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This was the day of the first of many
articles about Jay. Someone from the News-Journal had called me on Friday to
get information for the article, and he did a good job with writing it. The
obituary was also in the paper. I think Angela wrote it for us. I sat, read,
wept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Throughout the day, friends came, called,
sent flowers and plants. I have no definite recollections of the day except a
visit from Linda Rankin and a group from the Methodist church next door. To say
that we were grateful is an understatement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">One definite thing I remember is Bob’s
reminding me periodically that he needed to take the clothes to the funeral
home so that the undertaker could get Jay ready for Sunday. Probably
subconsciously, I didn’t want to send them because the preparation itself was
too final. Eventually, though, I went upstairs to iron the pants and shirt, turning
sweet Deb down about four times. She wanted to help me, but I wanted to iron
Jay’s clothes just one more time. I have no idea how many times in the past few
years that I heard a certain toned “Hey, Mom . . .” knowing instinctively that
Jay was going to ask me to iron something for him. I never minded; I loved to
do that one motherly thing for my boy. I wanted to do it just once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I was standing there in a daze,
mindlessly pressing the pants that didn’t really need any attention, Tara came
up to talk to me. She rather offhandedly remarked, “You know, when my dad died
last year, we buried him in his cut-offs, t-shirt, and deck shoes and put a rag
in his hand because he was always cleaning something.” I immediately knew what
she was trying valiantly to communicate to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“This isn’t right, is it?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Hesitantly, I asked, “What do you think
he should wear?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">No hesitation on her part, “His denim
shirt, `jeans tight rolled, and Reeboks. Oh, and his Mexican belt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“That’s just what he had on the night
that he left for Chattanooga. I remember thinking how cute he looked, and
that’s exactly what he’ll wear for tomorrow.” What a relief! Several times
during the day I had thought about that outfit but had decided it was inappropriate.
When will I ever learn to do what I want to do and not to worry about what
other people will think? I asked her to check with Frank and the guys. She
brought word from them that they liked that outfit even better and that Todd
also added one of the new Velvet Melon t-shirts under the denim shirt. Now my
boy would be dressed right!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Frank wanted to take the guys to the gig
they were supposed to play that night just to get them away from the crowds for
a while. They would have none of it. Jay had planned to set off fireworks on the
Fourth of July, and that’s what they wanted to do. I guess they went over to
Alabama to make their purchase. Anyway, they had a big fireworks display right
in our backyard . . . for their friend Jay. One of the guys, maybe Mike, came
to me during the evening, put his arm around me, and announced that they would
do this for Jay each Fourth of July. They would call it the Jay Young Memorial
Blowout, and it would be sparkly and loud, just the way Jay would want it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sunday, July 5, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Some things are fuzzy. I have vague recollections of trying
to watch the First Baptist Church service on TV, of losing consciousness and
Frank’s catching me before I hit the floor (remember that I was still having
twinges of the vertigo that had sent me home instead of to the mountains for a
camping trip), and of Jennifer Mann and Tom Jensen’s bringing me a cake. What a
special gift from former students!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon after
noon, I went upstairs to get ready to go to the funeral home. Channel 3 was
sending a reporter and cameraman out to interview us. I had never heard of
anyone else in Pensacola having this great honor. Jay was a very special young
man whose personality and heart touched hundreds of people in Pensacola,
including many who worked at the television station. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I can’t remember whether they came at two or three, but they
came. All of us were interviewed – Frank, Wendy, the guys in the band, me. I
believe they even interviewed Angela; however, that part was cut during the
editing. I was sorry about that because she deserved to be heard if anyone did.
I floated through, answering questions and making comments that I could never
have done without God’s help. Frank spoke, too. And so did Wendy. We all
sounded coherent, calm, composed. I’ll never fully understand how we did it,
but I’m grateful for the prayers of friends and the uplifting of the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The hours at the funeral home are indescribable. Years
before, Dana had bought Jay a saxophone. She had asked if she could place it
next to the casket. We had already decided that we would put several of his
instruments in that place because music was Jay. We certainly thought Dana’s
request reasonable; however, even though we had asked for that particular
instrument to be left outside the room so that she could do what she wanted to,
someone had already placed it with the other instruments. We quickly removed it
before Dana arrived. Just in time, I might add. Tara didn’t go to the funeral
home with us, so we avoided any unpleasantness that might have resulted if both
friends had arrived at the same time. Bless Dana’s heart . . . she still
considered herself the “girlfriend,” I fear, even though Jay was very much in
love with Tara at the time of his death. Dana put inside the casket a carnation
with a picture of her and Jay attached. Old fuddy duddy mama didn’t care for
the picture, though, because in it Jay had a beer in his hand. I didn’t want my
church friends to remember Jay that way. I casually slipped the picture into
Jay’s pocket, but I told Dana what I had done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I remember walking around to see who had sent all the lovely
flowers. We had requested for donations to go to a Pensacola Junior College
scholarship in Jay’s memory, but many, many people had sent flowers. I was
glad; flowers just help the bereaved . . . or at least <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> bereaved. They were absolutely gorgeous. If only I had the
words to describe them! The blanket of flowers that I had ordered for the
casket (almost too late, I might add) were the prettiest I’d ever seen. For my
boy. They were bright and cheerful, and if he had been one to be impressed by
flowers, he would have loved them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We had asked Oliver, one of Jay’s and our D.J. friends, to
bring a small stereo system to play music . . . Kenny G . . . in the background
softly. Jay would have probably preferred something loud and rocking, but we
really felt that soft sax music would be more appropriate. And besides, Jay
loved Kenny G. Suzy had told us a while back that once while the guys were
living in New York, Jay had spied Kenny G. walking on the other side of the
street. What did that crazy kid do? He hollered, “Hey, Kenny! Love ya, man!”
And Kenny’s response? “Love ya, too!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For the next three hours or so, we greeted, hugged, laughed
with, cried with over five hundred friends. I’m sure that not only was this the
largest number of people ever assembled at Harper-Morris Funeral Home, but that
it was also the most eclectic group. Jay’s friends ran the gamut of people from
Pensacola to parts unknown. Since he had the innate ability to associate with
and to become real friends with folks from every age group and every walk of
life, our comforters were a “motley crew.” Most of his friends are also our
friends, but in addition, we had people there who were our friends aside from
his: co-workers, former students, church friends. And then there were Wendy and
Steve’s friends. I wish I had pictures of all of those people. Of course, I
have the guest book, and I can go back to that to get my mental picture, but
it’s not the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I neglected to mention earlier that Wendy’s catharsis during
the weekend had been the assembling of two beautiful collages of Jay’s life:
one from the beginning to the end, with lots of family pictures; the other of
the life of Jay and Velvet Melon, that one, too, with family because all of us
were involved in that aspect of Jay’s life. Actually, Melonheads from all over
had worked on the project, rummaging through years’ worth of pictures all day
Friday and Saturday. They chose the ones they felt should be included. During
the whole process, I had listened to laughter and tears as they talked about
their good friend. The activity was part of the healing they needed. They
fondly referred to our home as the “healing house,” and indeed it was . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>. In the final analysis, Wendy, herself,
chose the pictures to be included because it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> project, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> healing.
She stayed up all Saturday night working on it and didn’t get any sleep until
we got up on Sunday morning. Let’s face it, though. Part of the reason that she
didn’t go to bed was not because of the collages—she couldn’t find a bed! When
we got up, she crawled, exhausted, into our bed and slept for a couple of
hours. I’m afraid no one slept for very long at a time during that weekend. How
could we? Jay was dead. We were devastated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Back to the funeral home. We took the collages with us so
that people could see them. I love the new custom of taking things of the
deceased to the funeral home. It helps us remember them alive, and that’s just
what we should do. Jay is, indeed, alive; in fact, as someone pointed out to us
immediately, he is more alive today than he ever was on earth. But that’s
another journal entirely. Someday I’ll get to that one. Probably I’ll need more
healing myself before I can attempt it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That afternoon, we found roles reversed. I honestly believe
that we did more comforting than anyone else did. People just didn’t know what
to say, what to do. All we needed were hugs and reassurance. They gave that to
us. But we gave them something else, as our friends have told us since that
day. We weren’t aware of it at the time; it certainly wasn’t a conscious act on
our part. It’s just that we had experienced so much spiritually in the past two
days that we had something to share with our friends. We could honestly tell
them that God has a plan and that we don’t understand all of it. I kept telling
people that Frank and I had joined an exclusive club and that we didn’t want
them to be members—the club of parents of deceased children. No loss is so
devastating as the loss of a child. Of that, we are sure. Frank admonished them
to enjoy, appreciate, support, and love their children. We have always had the
comfort of knowing we did just that with Jay, and for that we have no sorrow.
The sorrow comes in part from knowing we can no longer fulfill these actions
with Jay. Wendy now receives all of them, not that she ever lacked them. She
welcomes them; however, she would tell you in a heartbeat that it was much
better to share them with Jay. The word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wendy</i>
means “wanderer”; the name absolutely fits now that she no longer has her
brother-buddy. When a sibling dies, the other sibling has no way of replacing
him or her. Antigone understood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">At the visitation that evening, the line was all the way out
the door and around the block. My cousin Marilyn kept trying to keep me with my
family, but I couldn’t resist walking back in the line to greet those who loved
us and our boy so much that they would give up their Sunday afternoon to stand
in line just to hug us, tell us how much they loved us and Jay, and to try to
comfort us. We tried to be brave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I haven’t mentioned how Jay looked. I don’t think I can
describe it. He was recognizable, but he certainly wasn’t my boy. All the life
was gone; only the shell was left. When Danny Hamilton came through the line,
he asked if he could take a picture of Jay. We told him it would be fine, but
in my heart, I said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I never want to see
it</i>. I much prefer the hundreds of pictures<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we have, pictures showing that beautiful personality that
continues to develop in the presence of the Lord. I firmly believe that he is
still growing – in talent, in personality, in love of God and with God. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What I started out to say is that his friends took care of
the way he looked. As they passed by the casket, they reached in and rearranged
his hair, the most important part of that physical existence of Jay. The hair
was his pride; they knew that. And even though the funeral directors had tried,
they had not arranged it right. With no life left in it, they had an impossible
job, but those kids knew what to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Other things happened, too. Todd took charge of his shirt.
Before I knew it, the denim shirt was opened, the t-shirt in full view; so much
“stuff” added that it reminded me of an old Anglo-Saxon burial in which the
retainers attempted to make their king as comfortable as they could in the
afterlife . . . not that I believe that necessary. Andy had put the lei that
Jay had requested from Hawaii (actually, what Jay told Andy was that he wanted
a good lei . . . take that how you will!) in the casket with his friend; Tara
laid a flower with her boyfriend; someone had made a clover bracelet and put it
on Jay’s wrist. (Mike added, on Monday, Jay’s trusty NY baseball cap that he
wore to cover his hair when he hadn’t had time to shower.) Jay looked much more
like himself and comfortable by the time that we left. Once more, his friends
had come through for him. And for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That evening, we all eagerly awaited the ten o’clock news to
see what the media had done with our story. It was beautiful. Just beautiful.
Very tastefully done and a wonderful tribute to our boy. He was the star. How I
hope he knew what was going on that evening!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I believe that thirteen people besides us slept at our house
that night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Monday, July 6, 1992<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The thirteen young people were scattered
all over our house, and Marilyn was in the downstairs guest room. Kids from
Pensacola, Biloxi, and Chattanooga had found a little space last night. I doubt
that they had slept long, wherever they had lain down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
funeral was at 10:00 a.m, but anyone arriving after 9:15 didn’t get a seat.
Many people stood in the back, around the walls, and in the foyer to the
funeral home. We heard that about eighty people were outside the building. Andy
counted 129 cars in the procession to the cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some
people might object to a funeral that could easily be called a celebration, but
that’s exactly what Jay’s was. We wanted to celebrate the life of our boy, who
had touched so many lives and who would be missed tremendously for a long time.
Just to prove that Jay’s service was different and celebratory, here’s what one
of Wendy’s best friends said, “I’ve never attended a funeral before, so I don’t
have anything to compare with; but I think funerals after this one will be
quite a let-down.” My answer to her would be that any others certainly will not
be like Jay’s. Since Jay was not an ordinary young man, his funeral was not
ordinary. It was truly a celebration of his life!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
asked several people to take part in the service. Roy Chewning, my cousin’s
ex-husband and a local pastor, was the first speaker. Since he was Jay’s
“uncle,” he had known Jay the longest. He spoke a little about Jay’s early
life, read and commented on Scripture, and had prayer. The thing I remember
most about Roy’s words was something<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>he began his comments with, “I didn’t really know Jay after he was
grown, but I heard one of his friends say before we came in that Jay had lived
more in 24 years than most people live in 75!” How true!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
Rick Gill, one of Jay’s Sunday School teachers, spoke. One funny incident that
he recollected was the time that he (Rick) spent two nights in Jay’s room
during a youth retreat at our house. He entered a new world—one with very
special posters. You can imagine the ones that were in that rocker’s room! He
also recalled for us that Jay was the third “Mr. Leprechaun” in his Sunday
School department—strictly a popularity honor on St. Patrick’s Day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Next
came two of Jay’s best friends—#1 Melonheads Angela Hinkley and Andy Waltrip.
Andy had just landed a job at a hotel in Hawai’i when Jay died. As soon as he
heard about Jay, he headed back to Pensacola because, as he told us, “I didn’t
have a support group there. I needed to be with friends and family.” The
following is what Andy said at our boy’s funeral:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I was fortunate enough to call Jay Young
my friend, the same as all of you. You see, Jay knew everybody. Even if he
didn’t know you, he acted like he knew. Jay had a unique way of making people
feel comfortable around him. If you look up the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">charisma</i> in the dictionary, there will be a picture of Jay Young
right there next to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">He had such a diverse group of people
that liked him. When we would be out on the road, he could, and would, talk to
a mechanic, a janitor, or a teacher. If we were in a restaurant, he instantly
became best friends with the waitress and sometimes the manager. When we were
in a bar, he could just as easily talk to an accountant, a drunk, and certainly
any pretty girl within ten feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay was where the fun was. He could make
the most mundane situation hilarious, and usually did. He loved life, and his
love was infectious! Everybody wanted to be around him. If you were a Melonhead
and knew Jay, you were “IN.” It was cool to say, “Yeah, I know Jay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I have this picture of getting to the
pearly gates, coming before St. Peter and saying, “I know Jay Young!” and him
saying, “Oh, well, then you’re cool. Come on in!” And Jay would be just inside
the gate to welcome me. I look forward to seeing him again up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you, Mom and Pop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Angela
talked about what it meant to be a Melonhead. Melonheads were a special group
of friends who tried to be at every gig. There were, and still are, Melonheads
all over the Southeast and even as far away as California. The requirement for
being a Melonhead? Just love the band, love their music (both the covers and
the originals), show up for gigs whenever possible, and love to dance to their
music. Pretty easy, huh? Neither Angela not I have any idea about the number of
these followers, but dozens appeared every time Velvet Melon performed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">All of the guys in the band then spoke, a
very emotional time for all of us, including them. During all of the tributes
to Jay, we were either doubling over with laughter or weeping. The whole service
was a catharsis for all. After the guys spoke, they sang. The first song they
sang was “Lights,” one of Jay’s originals; the second was “Let It Be.” Both
were so beautiful. I just wish I had the words to describe the guys’
performance. There was not a dry eye in the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
next speaker was Tim Weekley, a young minister who was one of Jay’s best
friends. He was the official Velvet Melon chaplain. He is a man of God, and his
contribution was a masterpiece. Every person in attendance heard a message
straight from the Lord. We wanted the sermon to be one that young people would
remember, and we believe Tim succeeded in delivering it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
the pall bearers, all of them either current or former guys from Velvet Melon,
carried Jay’s casket out, we heard “When I Get Home,” by 4Him (</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTBaisNU7S8"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTBaisNU7S8</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">). What a beautiful, meaningful song! It
is about a young person’s leaving this world too soon but with the comfort that
he and his friends will be together again when they all go Home. I’m forever
indebted to Steve Mansfield for suggesting this song to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
the cemetery, our friend Jim Wilson spoke. His message was wonderful. I hope it
was something that he had used before and just modified for Jay. You see, all
of us had forgotten that we needed some thoughts graveside. I had called Jim
early the morning of the funeral to ask him to do the “honors.” God told me to
ask him, so he was the one meant to do it. His message was just what all of us
needed to hear. We even sang “Amazing Grace” right there at the graveside. It
was so moving to hear those young people singing a church hymn. Actually, I
doubt that I sang at all. I just absorbed the song, something to “ponder in my
heart.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
before all of us left the cemetery, one of the guys in the band (I think it was
Todd Laws) slapped a Velvet Melon sticker on Jay’s casket. This mother’s heart
sang with that gesture!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
last thing about the funeral and the visitation on Saturday, where more than
500 people signed the guest book. I always asked Jay how the gig the night
before went, and his standard reply after a good night was, “It was a good
crowd, Mom.” We were so glad that Jay had another “good crowd.” I feel certain
in my heart that Jay was watching those days and that he was truly happy with
the celebration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
were so touched by the generosity of all our friends and family. The flowers
and plants were absolutely beautiful. Our home looked like a florist’s shop.
They lasted a long time because Frank took such good care of them in his
greenhouse. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Canterbury Tales</i>,
Chaucer said that the Franklin’s house “snowed of meat and drink.” That was
true of ours as well. People began bringing food to us on Friday, and they
didn’t stop delivering for a week. Since we had hordes of hungry young people
here, we were very much grateful. Jubilee, a beach restaurant where Velvet
Melon played each Sunday night during the summer of 1991, sent a huge box of
fried chicken and enormous bowls of green salad and potato salad. The young
people devoured the food!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
rest of the day was full of people. Some stayed into the night. Jim and Carol
Woods and their children had come in from south Florida on Saturday. Before
they left for home on Monday evening, Jim asked if he could talk to the young
people who were still there. Such a sweet talk . . . straight from his heart
about living life here and in the hereafter. Those “kids,” whom we saw mainly
in bars, sat there enthralled by Jim and his testimony. What joy! A revival
right in our family room with some of the people that we love best in the
world. Only Jay was missing . . . and I have a feeling that he knew exactly
what was going on and was saying to the Lord Jesus, “Cool! That’s so cool!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Later
that evening, we—Frank and I—met in our bedroom for privacy with some special
people—Wendy, Todd, Gus, and Roz. We wanted Todd and Roz<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to tell us exactly what happened in our
boy’s life during his last twenty-four hours. As best we could tell, when Jay
and Todd left Nashville, they went immediately to Chattanooga, stopping along
the way to purchase beer, which I think they drank on the way, and Ephedrine,
an over-the-counter “stay awake” drug. Jay took some of the Ephedrine, as he
sometimes did when he was tired and sleepy but wanted to stay awake for
something important, like a gig. I had asked him many times not to take those
pills; however, he always assured me that he didn’t take them often and that
they wouldn’t hurt him. (Later, too late, I discovered that people with heart
problems should never take them. The warning is right there on the label. But
we didn’t know then that Jay had a heart problem.) Evidently, he didn’t eat
anything that night, but he did drink quite heavily at Yesterday’s, so much that
he threw up several times after leaving the club and then on the way home the
next day. Gus, after asking many questions of Todd and Roz, tentatively
concluded that Jay was probably dehydrated and that that condition aggravated
the heart problem considerably, to the extent that it killed him. Gus didn’t
know for sure at that time that Jay had a heart problem; rather he assumed that
something was wrong with his heart because of the suddenness of his death.
Would he have lived had he not been drinking, had he not been dehydrated? We’ll
never know. From the conclusions reached in the second autopsy, he had an
enlarged heart and a degenerated mitral valve. He might have had it from birth.
It might have been something that had developed through the years. It could
have killed him at any time. What we gather is that Jay had the same kind of
diseased heart that athletes who drop dead for apparently no reason have. “And
we’ll understand it better by and by.” That’s the comfort we have.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(I do need to introduce you to one of the
young people gathered in our bedroom on July 6. Gus Krucke was Wendy’s best
friend in high school and one of our favorite friends. We watched him grow up,
loving him all the time. In 1992, he was a doctor specializing in determining
the cause of death. He came to Pensacola to be with us [especially with Wendy]
in our time of need as soon as he heard about Jay. We valued his determination,
sent him the autopsy report when it came, and had him check to see if his
determination had been right. It had. Gus is another person to whom we are
forever indebted.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(One more thing about July 6. Frank’s
mother’s birthday is July 6, and in order to give her something pleasant on the
day that her grandson would be buried, my precious brother-in-law Jim took Grandma
to a nice restaurant for lunch. She could celebrate her birthday, but she could
also ease the pain of losing her grandson. I’m sure they talked about Jay, and
I’ll bet both of them had memories that they shared. Grandma probably told Jim
about the wild ride that Jay took her on his go-cart. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jay Book</i>, she said of the experience, “He went like the devil.
I had a good ride.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Jim
probably told about the time that he convinced Jay that jalapenos were sweet
peppers, and Jay popped a whole one from a jar in his mouth. Poor Jay . . . we
thought he’s never get his mouth cooled or his eyes to quit dripping! Or maybe
he told about the time that we all went to New Orleans while Jim was visiting
us in Pensacola. Jay needed a nap. We needed for Jay to have a nap! Jim told
him that if he closed his eyes, he could check his eyelids for holes. Jay
closed his eyes, looking for holes, but instead he took a nap. All good
memories, and I hope Grandma and Jim shared them on July 6.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The Healing Heart<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(Written in 2017)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The days after the funeral were a jumble.
They were a jumble at the time, and now, twenty-five years later, they are even
more so. I’ll try my best to get some semblance of order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jay’s
funeral had been on Monday, and on Tuesday afternoon, we began the trip to
Biloxi, MS, to take Tara home. This was the first time that we had ever been
with Tara alone, except for my ten minutes with her while I was ironing Jay’s
burial clothes. All three of us needed our time together. We stopped in Mobile
for dinner at Wentzel’s and chatted away the whole time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we returned home that evening, we found the Healing House still occupied by
lots of Jay’s friends. All of them got great comfort in being together,
swapping “war stories” about Jay. Lots of laughter and lots of tears, I’m sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
remember that Jay’s friends were with us for several days; Frank remembers that
they were there for weeks. Somewhere in between is probably correct. In any
event, we loved having them with us, and believe me, we had enough food to feed
the proverbial army, so I wasn’t spending hours and hours in the kitchen.
Neither did I have to feed them only hot dogs the way I had done in the early
days of Velvet Melon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
can’t recall much during those days, but I do remember going to Cordova Mall to
a store where Jay had put some clothes on lay-a-way. I went to tell them to put
the items back on the shelves and explained briefly why Jay wouldn’t be in
again. The clerk wanted to know if I wanted Jay’s money back. No, I didn’t.
When I left, I went across the mall to a store where a friend worked. I just
needed to talk. When I told her about my visit to the clothing store, she said,
“Sandy, you must get over this.” I couldn’t believe my ears. She had two
children alive and well. How could she say this to me when Jay hadn’t been dead
more than a couple of weeks? But she didn’t understand. I had to try to make
myself believe this and to forgive her. I did both eventually. Many people
during this time hugged me and said, “I just don’t know what to say.” Actually,
all I needed was the hug. What we all need to learn from my friend’s words is
that if we haven’t traveled the grieving person’s road, it’s probably best not
to say anything. Just give a hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
learned in the days after Jay died that one of the main things I needed from
friends was permission to talk about him. Most of them obliged, but even today
some aren’t comfortable when I talk about him. Frank had a friend who would
literally change the subject if he mentioned Jay. He’d change the subject to
what his son was doing. People react to death, especially the death of a child,
in different ways. Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents, so the
discussion of the children brings thoughts of “What if my child died?” and
adults have difficulty with the topic. Anyway, that’s the conclusion I’ve come
to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
person who would always talk to me was my sister-cousin JoAnn Gaines. I
remember one day thinking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I just want to
crawl back in bed and die. </i>I knew I couldn’t do that because I had Wendy
and Frank and Corey and needed to at least attempt to stay strong for them. I
called Jo that morning because I knew she’d make me laugh, and that’s just what
she did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Every
afternoon for at least three weeks, Wendy, Frank, and I gathered at our dining
room table. We were there to open the mail. Every day, we received cards and
letters, all of them telling us how much they loved Jay. I’m sure you can
imagine the laughter and tears present during those times. Somewhere there’s a
box with all of them in it. Someday I’ll find it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll
tell you about one envelope that arrived. The return address was Danny
Hamilton’s. You may remember that Danny was Jay’s friend who took a photo of
Jay in the casket and that I said I never wanted to see it. Well, the three of
us were afraid that Danny had sent the photo to us. Here’s how the
“conversation” went that afternoon:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
open it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
you open it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not
me. You open it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
went on for several minutes. Someone opened it. In the envelope was a sweet
note from Danny and a photo of Jay outside the Melon Mobile, exhibiting Danny’s
art work. We all laughed and breathed a sigh of relief! Here’s the photo that
we found inside:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW76R4YwKkabJ3l7wbhUSKzmU9zVoIDeP4GKyzwC8BvouDW1DIZ1wl7-dbJAZXbooYoGeX6r7eV4W9y8XdU3wjIf_P48dfIgqPUYHZNVakW7ogJstkXBuJoTv-vu-fykvH8tWF/s1600/Jay+and+Melonmobile.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW76R4YwKkabJ3l7wbhUSKzmU9zVoIDeP4GKyzwC8BvouDW1DIZ1wl7-dbJAZXbooYoGeX6r7eV4W9y8XdU3wjIf_P48dfIgqPUYHZNVakW7ogJstkXBuJoTv-vu-fykvH8tWF/s320/Jay+and+Melonmobile.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(Fast
forward to August 15, 2016, when we met with Danny for a few minutes between
trains in Los Angeles, where he lives. We had a wonderful time reminiscing
about his and Jay’s high school days. I just had to take the opportunity to ask
him about the casket photo and the people who had seen it. He enlightened us.
He<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>never showed it to anyone;
however, before he could put it away where no one would ever see it, a friend
happened upon it lying on Danny’s desk. He asked Jay’s friend about it, and I
think Danny gave a short answer, all the while taking it away from the person.
After the explanation, the friend said something like, “That’s sick, Dan!”
Danny hid the photo, and no one, not even he, has seen it since. I like that
story!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
little more than a month after the funeral, school started. I would be going back
to my home away from home, Woodham High School, where I had taught English for
more than twenty years, where I knew virtually every faculty member, where I
knew that I’d be welcomed with open, loving arms. The first day back was
difficult, mainly because of all the hugs and kind words. I loved them, but
they brought tears. How did I handle this? I retreated from time to time to my
office, where I could weep and talk to God. He got me through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was overjoyed to see 150 seventeen-year-olds that first day. I was back in my
element, and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my grief. I had teaching to
do. Since most of my students had heard about Jay, they were on their best
behavior. I had taught some of their brothers and sisters and maybe even a
parent or two. My classroom had been my comfort zone for twenty-four years, and
it would continue to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
do remember two specific times when I had a hard time, though. One time was in
the classroom, but I don’t remember specifics. A student said something that touched
a grief nerve, and I immediately left the room, tears already beginning to
come. As I left, I heard a dear student, Whitney Voeltz, say to the other
student something like, “How can you say that? Don’t you know that her son just
died?” I don’t remember the student who hurt my feelings, but I have never
forgotten Whitney!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
time that I remember tears starting was during my duty period not long after
school started. For some reason, we had a band playing out on the campus during
lunch. My duty station was just inside the back doors. They began playing a
song that Velvet Melon played, and the tears came. One of my students walked by
me just as I started to cry. She stopped immediately and gave me a great big
hug. Later that day, she slipped a note in my hand when she passed my room,
where I was standing during class change. Such a sweet note telling me how
sorry she was about Jay and how much she loved me. If only I had a good memory
and could tell you her name! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
morning, I went in to tell Frank good-bye, leaned down to kiss him and heard
him say, “I wish I could get in my truck and drive off a cliff.” I realized
that he was at the bottom of his grief and that I couldn’t leave him. I hadn’t
heard him sound so despondent since Jay’s death. I immediately called Mrs. Love
at school and told her I needed a substitute and whoever could come would just
have to find something for my students to do. I didn’t have time to think about
being a teacher at that moment: I had to be a wife and comforter. Everyone in
my department came to my rescue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
talked Frank into getting dressed, and we left the house. What I can recall of
the day is that we roamed around the mall, went to a furniture store and wished
for money to make purchases, and ate lunch at Pizza Hut. We both needed a day
away from memories, just doing nothing in particular. If I recall, it was
Friday, and we had the weekend to get ourselves together to face yet another
week without Jay. Never an easy thing to do, but every time we had to face a new
day, we could feel the presence of Jesus going right along with us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
now, let me tell you about the next part of my book. For several years, I have
been writing about Jay. Almost everything I’ve written, I’ve posted on either
Facebook or my blog (</span><a href="http://www.foreveryoung279.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">http://www.foreveryoung279.blogspot.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">) or sometimes both. As I mentioned
earlier, all parents have are memories, and I have wanted through the years to
preserve as many as I can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
so . . . the next part of this book will consist of pieces that I’ve written
and posted. I can’t imagine how I could have worked through my grief without
writing. I’m not a professional; I’m just a mother who uses her words to
preserve her son’s memory, the writing helping to heal her heart.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-82091261889305407892019-09-19T08:43:00.002-06:002019-09-23T15:14:43.913-06:00Chapter 4 -- A Mother's Memories<!--[if !mso]>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b><b style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="IMG_0671.JPG" border="0" height="182" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image008.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_10" width="220" /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="IMG_0670.JPG" border="0" height="137" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image010.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_0" width="246" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Prepared but Not Ready<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We celebrated Jay’s twenty-fourth birthday
on February 10, 1992, not knowing we’d never celebrate another. He and his
girlfriend, Dana, had just broken up, but she had planned a surprise party for
him and wanted to carry it out. I told her I would help. She didn’t know that
Jay had found out about the surprise but would show up and act just as
surprised as she wanted him to be. That’s the kind of man he was. He never
disliked a girl after breaking up and wouldn’t have thought of hurting Dana by
spoiling her party. Of course, Frank and I were there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The reason this was his last birthday is
that he died suddenly on July 2, 1992. I’m not writing tonight about his death
or the senseless activities that led to it. No, tonight I want to take another
approach. I want you to know that God prepared me for losing my boy, not that I
realized the preparation at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the best things the Lord does for us is not to let us know what’s
ahead. Can you imagine our knowing ahead of time that Jay would die on the day
that he did? Even parents whose children suffer through health problems don’t
know the exact day when they’ll lose their precious offspring. What a blessing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ll begin with Christmas 1991. Usually
on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, Jay would spend a part of each day with us,
but in 1991 he was with us until late in the evening on Christmas Eve. He even
went with us to our service at church. We all gathered at Wendy and Steve’s
house afterwards and had such a good time with just our little family. He was
with us all day on Christmas, and I have beautiful photos of the day to prove
his presence. Some people might not call this preparation, but after the fact,
I viewed it that way. It was God’s way of giving us more time with Jay, more
very special time that we needed, though we didn’t know it at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Just after the holidays, we went to see
Velvet Melon, Jay’s band, perform in Mobile at Trinity’s. At this particular
place, the stage was elevated over the bar. No bad seats in the house! I was
standing next to the bar and glanced up at Jay. I heard a voice say, “Enjoy
him. You won’t have him long.” I don’t share this with everyone because some
people would think I was just imagining the voice. I know that I heard it, and
I know that the Lord spoke the words. I thought of them again on July 2.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Sometime in March, my students were
working on their Anthologies. This was an assignment in which they had to
choose their own literature and react to it. One of my favorite students came
to me with a poem. She wanted to know if she could use it in her assignment. I
read it, and we both cried. How could a parent live after losing a child?
Neither of us could understand. Here’s the poem. I’ve found credit given to
both Edgar A. Guest and Marjorie Holmes, so I really don’t know who wrote it.
I’ve taken a few liberties with punctuation and combining the versions I’ve
read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Lent for a While</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 12.25pt; margin-right: 12.25pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"I'll lend you for a little time a child
of Mine," He said.<br />
"For you to love the while he lives and mourn for when he's dead.<br />
It may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or three,<br />
But will you, till I call him back, take care of him for me?<br />
He'll bring his charms to gladden you, and should his stay be brief,<br />
You'll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 12.25pt; margin-right: 12.25pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 12.25pt; margin-right: 12.25pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"I cannot promise he will stay; since all
from earth return,<br />
But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn.<br />
I've looked the wide world over in My search for teachers true<br />
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes I have selected you.<br />
Now will you give him all your love, not think the labor vain,<br />
Nor hate Me when I come to call to take him back again?"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 12.25pt; margin-right: 12.25pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 12.25pt; margin-right: 12.25pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I fancied that I heard them say, "Dear
Lord, Thy will be done!<br />
For all the joy Thy child shall bring, the risk of grief we run.<br />
We'll shelter him with tenderness, we'll love him while we may,<br />
And for the happiness we've known, forever grateful stay;<br />
But should the angels call for him much sooner than we've planned,<br />
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes and try to understand!"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #10131a; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">In July, I thought back to this
poem and knew God gave that poem to Jennifer and that she shared it with me for
a purpose. God did, indeed, lend Jay to us for a while. And we have tried to
understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #10131a; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Something else that I read and
that I’ve always believed God gave to me was an article in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reader’s Digest</i>. I have no recollection of the title, but it was
about parents whose little girl had died. The only way the family could deal
with this tragedy was to get rid of all of the child’s belongings and to move
to another house. After a period of time, because the parents couldn’t stop
blaming each other for their daughter’s death, the couple divorced. Their
solution to their grief horrified me. I couldn’t believe that people would
really do something like this, but at the time, I didn’t know personally about
the death of a child, and I thought maybe most families reacted in this manner.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #10131a; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">God gave us Jay at Easter that
year, too. Just another instance of His caring for us and proving to us later
that He knew all along that Jay would be with Him soon. He was just sharing our
boy more and more with us because in the not too distant future, he’d be where
he always knew he’d go someday. I remember mentioning to Jay at some point
during these preparatory months that he needed to get more rest. His reply to
his worry- wart mother: “I can rest when I get to Heaven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #10131a; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes when a child dies, the
parents feel bereft of God. Not so with me. When Jay died, I immediately felt
the strong arms of Jesus around me. I heard that same voice that spoke to me at
Trinity’s say this time, “I’ll get you through this. Just let me take care of
you.” And He did. And He still does.<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #10131a; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #140025; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">An Unforgettable, but Forgivable, Letter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In 2009, I posted on my blog, and maybe also on
Facebook, my writing about the last days of Jay’s life. I had<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>many messages from his friends and ours
telling us how grateful they were to finally know exactly what happened to Jay.
We were overjoyed that they let us know how they felt. One of our friends
doesn’t have a computer. Since I really wanted her to hear details, I asked another
friend to let her read my post. I thought my words would be a comfort to her.
They weren’t. The following is the letter she wrote to me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Dear
Sandy,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">This letter is in response to your blog post about Jay.
I hope I don't say anything that will upset you or hurt your feelings. I guess
my motives in writing this are to be helpful to you and also to satisfy my
curiosity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Years ago I read a book, <i>Necessary Losses</i>, by
Judith Viorst. (You could probably get it from the public library.) She lists
the stages of grief in the order most people experience them: shock and denial,
intense sorrow, anger, guilt, idealization, acceptance, adaptation.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It doesn't seem possible that you could have been stuck
in idealization for 17 years, but that is how your blogging came across to me.
I would love to be re-assured that you have reached the full acceptance stage
and have adapted to that loss</span></b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My immediate response to the letter was hurt and, I'm
afraid, anger. I couldn't believe my words would be so misinterpreted. After
Wendy and Frank talked to me, though, I understood that she just didn't
understand. All of her children were still alive, and she had no idea of the
way different people handle their grief. So I wrote a letter in response to her
letter, trying my best not to make her feel bad, just to let her know my heart.
Here's what I wrote . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Let me assure you of a couple of things right away—you
neither upset me nor hurt my feelings by what you wrote. (Yes, usually honest
Sandy lied!) Mostly you confused me by your doubt as to my dealing with Jay’s
death. Let me assure you this minute that both Frank and I have come through
all of the stages of grief and have accepted our son’s going to live with the
Lord. I feel, though, that I need to explain some things about losing a child
and what happens to that person’s very being. The death of any loved one,
whether it be parent, brother, sister, cousin, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew . . .
or child, is heartbreaking; however, the death of a child is very much
different from any of the others. Children aren’t supposed to die before their
parents. It’s just not natural. Children are supposed to bury their parents.
But who are we to question God’s decisions. Right? I certainly don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Almost every writer who writes about grief lists
different stages. The writer whom I read (Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, an author
considered an expert in the field of grief) lists the following: denial, anger,
bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Judith Viorst’s listing isn’t too much
different from Kubler-Ross’s, and I rather like Viorst’s list. It’s a bit more
inclusive and certainly not wrong. I never quite understood Kubler-Ross’s
“bargaining” designation, to tell you the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As far as going through all the stages, I can assure
that both of us have found ourselves in each one. The one that you’re concerned
about, idealization, is certainly a valid one but one that I don’t consider
myself stuck in. I’m not really sure what you see of idealization in my blog,
so I’d welcome some specifics. If writing about Jay, the things that he did and
that I remember so well, his charisma, his talent, his ability to make friends,
the love that he had for others and that others had for him make you think that
I’m idealizing him, you’re really wrong. These are facts mingled with the love
that a mother had and still has for her son. I hope I’m not sounding harsh to
you: I just want you to understand and not to worry.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Right after Jay died, the way that I got through those
days was by feeling the strong arms of God around me, knowing that my friends
and family loved me and were praying for me, and reading. I read every grief
book that I could put my hands on. I devoured books written by parents whose
children had died because only a parent who has lost a child truly understands
that death, no matter how much a person thinks he or she does. The hole left in
a parent’s heart never heals, no matter how many times he goes through the
stages. Yes, the parent goes through those stages many times . . . back and
forth and back and forth, until finally he gets to the last one, either
acceptance or adaptation, and pretty much stays there. A person must adapt; he
has only one other choice, and taking his life certainly isn’t in God’s plan.
So we accept and adapt.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But what do we do to get through? Some parents shrivel
up inside and won’t let others help them; some remove all remembrances of the
child, almost pretending that he hadn’t ever been there; some don’t ever
mention the child within the family or to others outside the family. I don’t
understand any one of these methods. Frank, Wendy, and I chose to talk about
Jay as much as we could; we wept and we laughed hilariously as we remembered so
many funny things that Jay said and did. We talked to others about Jay, and we
were very much open in our grief and about our grief. Our friends and family
knew that we were grieving, that we were going through those stages, but they
knew also that we were getting through them with God’s help. And get through
them we did, each in our own way.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One of my ways was to write about Jay. I read early on
that one of the fears that parents have when a child dies is that they’ll
forget their children. I must admit that I had that fear deep within. So what
did I do? I wrote about my boy. What you read is what I wrote the year after
Jay died so that I’d remember the details of those days surrounding his death.
I had to remember everything, both for me and for others. I put them on my blog
this year so that Jay’s friends and ours could read about those days. Several
of his friends wrote to me to let me know that finally they could come to
closure. They never really knew all that happened during those days, and they
wanted to know because they loved Jay. His death left holes in their hearts,
too, just as it had in ours. You didn’t know Jay, but he was the kind of person
who attracted friends of all ages, and they loved him just as he loved them. I
can’t tell you how many young people came through the line at the funeral home
the day before the funeral and told us that they were Jay’s best friends. Yes .
. . he had lots of best friends. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I could write forever about my boy because I loved him
so much (and still do) and want to preserve his memory and my “mother’s love”
for everyone who’d like to read about him. That’s why I wanted you to read what
I’d written . . . so that you could get a little insight into him and could
know and understand that “mother’s love” . . . the same kind of love that you
have for your children and that you’d want others to know about. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And so I’ll close for tonight, hoping you know that you
don’t need to be concerned about my being stuck in any of the stages of grief,
that I still miss my boy and always will (I don’t ever want to get to the point
that I don’t miss him, that I don’t cry when I hear certain songs, even rock
music), that I write because through words I can preserve his memory both for
me and for others who loved him. I also want you to know that I treasure you
and your prayers and that I hope you never quit praying for me and for my
family.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thanks for writing to me. And for asking about my grief.
You might have gone for the rest of your life worrying about something that you
didn’t need to worry about. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="http://foreveryoung279.blogspot.com/2013/01/hair.html"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u style="text-underline: #140025;"><span style="color: #140025; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%; text-decoration: none;">Hair today . . .</span></u></b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #140025; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">There has never been any love lost between me and my
hair. I can't ever remember having long hair, even when I was a child. It was
always fairly short then, and now, it's really short, never below my ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Not so with our son, Jay. He was a true child of the 80s
and had long hair, at least in the back. You may remember the mullet cut, short
on the sides and long in the back. That was Jay! I loved it, and every time he
went to the barber to get it trimmed, I'd say as he left the house, "Don't
let him cut it too short!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"Don't worry, Mom. I won't."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He really had a "nice head of hair," as we say
in the South. Some mothers probably wouldn't have liked it, but I did. However,
as beautiful as it was on the outside, there was something very different underneath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">If he lifted up his long hair to show you what was
strange, you'd see that the hair under his long locks was just as kinky as it
could be. For a long time, I attributed this to the fact that at one time he
had had a perm. I didn't like that, but he just came home one day with his hair
curled. So I kept saying the curls were left over from the perm. But how long can
one perm last? Finally, I had to admit his curls were natural, but where did
they come from?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">My husband had the answer: Somewhere back in my history,
there were blacks. I didn't believe him, but that's what he told me. He said a
certain photo of my great-grandmother proved his claim. He swore she was black.
Not so, according to family stories. She was an Indian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Fast forward to 1994. I had my students write their
autobiographies, and I wrote mine right along with them. All of us had great
family photos in our books. Of course, Grandma Wiggins, my Indian grandmother,
was right there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The day came when we all had our autobiographies ready, and
everyone was reading everyone else's, really just looking at photos. A sweet
little black girl on the front row was reading mine. She called me over to her
and pointed to Grandma's picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"Who 'dis, Miz Young?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"That's my great-grandmother," I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"She black?" my student asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">"No, she's an Indian."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">My dear little student looked me, rolled her beautiful
brown eyes, and responded, "Unh hunh," being interpreted, "Who
are you trying to fool?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Out of the mouths of babes. Who knows? Maybe somewhere down
the line we'll have a beautiful dark-skinned, brown-eyed, curly haired child
instead of the fair-complexioned, blue-eyed, straight brown-haired folks that
populate our family now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">But how about Jay's hair? Did I continue to love it? Of
course, I did. It was on my boy, and he always looked handsome to me, right up
to the day he died at age twenty-four. He still had that mullet cut, and
everyone loved it. As his friends passed by his casket on July 5, 1992, almost
to a person, they reached in and touched his hair in an effort to get it just
right, just the way Jay would have wanted it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242d; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">In my mind's eye, Jay is still
twenty-four, with a beautiful head of hair, curls underneath and all.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #120924; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So Young<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">On February 8, 1968, I informed my doctor that the baby
HAD to arrive on February 10. Dr. Girard laughed at me and said the little one
wasn’t finished cooking and it would be at least two more weeks before he or
she arrived (Back then, we had no way of knowing the sex of a baby ahead of
time. We just knew that if a mother carried the baby low, it might be a boy—or
maybe it might be a girl. I forget. Pretty much speculation back in those
days.). I begged my doctor to induce labor so that Cassie or Jay would be born
on the second weekend in February, the last weekend he would be on duty in
February. I didn’t want the doctor with the big fat hands to deliver our little
baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Finished cooking or not, Jay needed to be born on
Saturday, February 10, 1968. Those who knew Jay well in his adult years seldom
heard him say he wanted something: he always needed it. And why did he need to
be born then? Because he knew his papa was having a hard time even thinking of
having another grandchild. Wendy was my dad’s heart, and Jay needed an advantage
in order to really be accepted. He got just that! Two things immediately made
him special: the fact that he was a boy and the fact that he was born on his
papa’s birthday. Pretty neat, huh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">By 1968 the Lord had given us two beautiful children. We
brought up both Wendy and Jay thinking they would be alive throughout our lives
and would live to keep our memories alive for their children and grandchildren.
I attached in an earlier piece the poem “Lent for a While.” I have another
favorite poem, this one for sure by Marjorie Holmes. The title will tell you
why I love it even before you read it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">HE WAS SO YOUNG<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He was so young, God.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">So young and strong and filled with promise. So vital, so
radiant, giving so much joy wherever he went.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He was so brilliant. On this one boy you lavished so many
talents that could have enriched your world. He had already received so many
honors, and there were so many honors to come.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Why, then? In our agony we ask. Why him?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Why not someone less gifted? Someone less good? Some hop-head,
rioter, thief, brute, hood?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Yet we know, even as we demand what seems to us a rational
answer, that we are only intensifying our grief. Plunging deeper into the blind
and witless place where all hope is gone. A dark lost place where our own gifts
will be blunted and ruin replace the goodness he brought and wished for us.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Instead, let us thank you for the marvel that this boy was. That
we can say good-by to him without shame or regret, rejoicing in the blessed
years he was given to us. Knowing that his bright young life, his many gifts,
have not truly been stilled or wasted, only lifted to a higher level where the
rest of us can’t follow yet.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Separation? Yes. Loss? Never.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">For his spirit will be with us always. And when we meet him
again, we will be even more proud.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Thank you for this answer, God.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I may love this piece even more than “Lent for a While.”
Both brought great comfort to me in the early days after Jay died, and they
continue to do so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">So today I’m wondering what my boy would have been like
had he lived. Would music still be his life? Would he still love the crowds and
the joy of having them in his hands? Would he still eagerly anticipate the
breaks between sets when he could “work the crowds,” as he called that time?
Would he still want his dad and me at gigs? Would he and Wendy still crack me up
as no one else has ever been able to do? Would his hair still be long? Would he
still say, “My mom’s always hot!”? Would he still have a charisma that drew
people to him like a magnet? So many things to wonder about. Such a reunion to
look forward to in heaven! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">If you’re a conservative talk show listener, as I am, you
may be familiar with Rush Limbaugh’s conceited comment about him and God. I
just roll my eyes every time he says it. I’ll borrow from him, though, and say
that Jay truly was “on loan from God.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Lord, we are forever grateful for that loan. You know I
wish full payment hadn’t come due as soon as it did, but I firmly believe that
You don’t make mistakes about anything. Thank you for trusting us with Jay. To
say that having him with us was a pleasure is surely an understatement. It was
a glorious adventure!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAluT9Cxb1ow-cIrA4CfDtsfTUCkG_GYi6IikDfosPAdOb6gRjjPpiJesvzes3yj3gqwb0hle3kB_sHCQuLPnxyfSP6-5CGdrnw8MOFY2antz99SlipTW3LI5slBvNBtZCBi7/s1600-h/Jay.jpg"><span style="color: #1f242c; text-decoration: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Music Memories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">A couple of weeks before July 2, 2010,
when I would write about Jay and post my piece on Facebook, I came across a
notebook that looked old and worn and interesting. When I opened it, I
immediately recognized Jay’s scratch. Evidently, it was a notebook in which he
intended to write lots of songs. Each page has a letter of the alphabet at the
top—he intended to write a song for each letter. Well, as with many of Jay’s
plans, the very detailed notebook didn’t really materialize; however, at the
beginning of his notes is one song, a song which eventually became a hit with all
of us Melonheads, all of us who followed Velvet Melon. Here’s the background
for that song. I hope you remember it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">One Saturday, I came home after doing the
weekly shopping to find Frank in an absolute stew in the yard. He was so angry
with his son that I really feared Jay might get the first whipping he’d had in
about ten years. I tried to calm my sweetheart by telling him <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d take care of the problem. All I knew
was that Jay was inside writing music when Frank needed him in the yard on the
mower. I found Jay sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, long skinny legs
stretched out under the coffee table, elbows sprawled, and fingers going ninety
to nothing writing words to music that was obviously racing through his head.
He was holding his mouth just right, tongue sticking out the left side of his
mouth, and I knew the creative juices were flowing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Taking my life in my hands, I approached
him. “Jay, your dad is so angry with you that I really don’t know what he’s
going to do. You need to get outside right away and get that grass mowed.” I
was always such a scary mom, don’t you think?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Mom, I can’t stop. I’ve got this great
song going, and if I don’t write it down right now, I won’t remember it. Dad
will understand . . . eventually!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I can’t say that I really remember what
happened that afternoon after the “genius” finished his inside job and got to
his dad’s outside job. I do know there was no beating of the child, as if there
ever had been. But I do know Frank was plenty mad (yes, mad . . . as in crazily
angry . . . and not just plain angry). But he got over it, especially when he
heard the song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The song is about a special young lady,
who begins her life as a “very strange girl” and winds up being what the guys
in Velvet Melon would call a “swank.” Maybe you’ve known someone like Leola.
Here’s her story in Jay’s words. I’ve taken the leave to help him with his
spelling a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">LEOLA<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
was a very strange girl, a very strange girl.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
lived in her own world.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">If
she stayed in her room one more day,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Her
life would be wrecked.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When
I saw her, I was so confused.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I
didn’t quite know what to do.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
was a very weird girl,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">But
with a name like Leola (Hey) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">What
can you expect?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
loved to eat glue.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
liked to make things out of doo doo;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Row
Your Boat” was her favorite song.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
wore horn-rimmed glasses,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Used
a straw to drink molasses.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Where
did she go wrong?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chorus:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
Leola Leola Leola Leola Leola la Leola,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
Leola Leola Leola Leola Leola la Leola.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
went to school one day,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The
kids did not know what to say.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
brought her dead pet squirrel.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
threw up on her desk,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
had a cardiac arrest.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
was a very weird girl.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
did the hula dance for show and tell, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Called
the teacher “Orson Welles.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Then
she got in trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The
teacher told her to be quiet,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">But
Leola didn’t like it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">So
she went home on the double.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(Chorus)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Leola
said, “It’s time to change,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Take
my life and rearrange,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Listen
to some rock ‘n’ roll.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Gonna
turn around, twist and shout,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Show
‘em what I’m all about,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Fill
my body with some soul!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
changed her clothes,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Blew
her nose, made herself look like a rose.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Then
she mosied down the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
called up the boys,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">She
said, “Let’s go and make some noise.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Everybody
seemed to stare.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Now
she wears cool clothes<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Like
satin and bows<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">And
contacts so she can see.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">All
the guys like to hang around<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">‘Cause
she’s as fine as she can be (wolf whistle!).<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">(Chorus)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I know that the words and rhythm don’t
really sound like a hit song, but believe me, “Leola” was a hit among
Melonheads. And you Melonheads need to remember that I’m working from the first
copy of the song. I know that there were a few changes in it when the guys in
the band got hold of it. They just made it even better. From the first time
Velvet Melon played it at practice in the game room at our house, it was one of
my favorites. I just wish I could attach the music for you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The second song I want on this music
memory page is one I think he wrote while Velvet Melon was in New York. Maybe
some of the guys will read this and help me get the time right. Anyway, it’s a
beautiful song with a haunting melody. Once again, I wish I could put the music
here. To me, the chorus is prophetic: we have only one chance in this life, so
we need to get it right. Here are Jay’s words:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">LIGHTS<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Some
people’s lights go off at night,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But their lights stay on all day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Some
people lead a sheltered life;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people see no other way.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Collect
the check and close the door.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">What’s
the use of working anymore?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s this life worth living
for?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can’t sit and beg for more.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I
see better when lights are on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Won’t
be long before we’re gone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Won’t
you please leave on your light?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Got
one chance to get it right.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Please
just turn it on tonight . . .<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Tonight
. . . tonight . . .<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We
paid our price—lost our pride;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">So
now sit back, enjoy the ride.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">If
we can’t change our attitude,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">There’s
just no way to see it through.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I
see better when lights are on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Won’t
be long before we’re gone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Won’t
you please leave your light on?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Won’t
you please leave on your light?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Got
one change to get it right.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Please
just turn it on tonight . . .<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Tonight
. . . tonight . . .<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ve tried for years to understand
everything in this song, but I never can come up with exactly what Jay was
saying. I just loved how the words joined to the tune, and I loved watching him
sing it. Again, the chorus has special meaning to me. You’ve probably heard the
saying “Life allows us one great performance; it is not a dress rehearsal” or
something along that line. I believe that, and Jay believed it, too. Maybe
that’s exactly what he meant in the chorus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay’s life was a performance . . . every
day of it. Someone said at his funeral that he lived more in twenty-four years
than most men do in seventy. He relished life—he turned on his light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he touched so many of us with that
light. For the touching, I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I am also grateful for two lines that he
included in one of his songs, “I’m Not Crazy.” It doesn’t really matter where
they appeared; the important thing to me is that they were there and that they
were a testimony from Jay. To my “mother’s heart,” they are precious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I
don’t mix drugs with rock ‘n’ roll;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ve
got Jesus in my heart to save my soul.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’d know this even without the words, but
with the words, I have assurance that one day Jay and I will be together again.
He’ll meet me at the gate, arms wide open, saying . . . no, yelling as only Jay
could yell . . . “Mom! What took you so long? You think those songs were great;
just wait till you hear the new ones!” Music was Jay’s life, and I know he’s
been sitting at God’s big coffee table, legs stretched out, fingers flying,
knowing Jesus will understand if he’s late mowing those heavenly lawns. Of
this, I’m sure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Memories in Photos<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
most of you know, I post something on Facebook about Jay on both his birthday
and his deathday. After several years of posting, I was having the hardest time
thinking of something to write. As I was walking through the Jay Hall at our house,
I thought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why not write about some of
these photos?</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There’s a story behind
each one</i>. So . . . here are some of my memories in photos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Two
Hoboes<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzteb8ccWr5EX_keH2meKZar3qFNOu144ckLND9IDYnX5ZnkAn0z3hhDLVGcwvPC87asr8mJu-1Sx9o4ugRLy02dMOak-7maP7DtWkbMqG5shBidYkX1LSxDr8QdqYhM9IbAgR/s1600/IMG_0352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="811" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzteb8ccWr5EX_keH2meKZar3qFNOu144ckLND9IDYnX5ZnkAn0z3hhDLVGcwvPC87asr8mJu-1Sx9o4ugRLy02dMOak-7maP7DtWkbMqG5shBidYkX1LSxDr8QdqYhM9IbAgR/s320/IMG_0352.jpg" width="162" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">One of Wendy’s favorite activities with
her little brother was to dress him up, especially if we had company. At one
time, we were very active in Amway and had meetings at our house regularly,
usually at least once a week. We knew we could look for Jay to parade in while
someone was “drawing the circles” (showing the business) to prospects. He’d be
dressed in some outlandish garb, and Wendy would be hiding behind the door,
snickering because he had interrupted us and because he looked so funny. We’d
just shoo him out and carry on with our meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">This photo, however, isn’t of Jay
entertaining our company. It’s of Jay and Wendy all decked out for the Fall
Festival at Beulah School, where Wendy was in first grade. I’m sure that Wendy
helped us get everything together for their costumes. Big sister knew exactly
what she and little brother needed to look the part of two hoboes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Mama with the Big Hair</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE_EIWjS6dgodofSg7xtnSt1DkZ_O896uAwmIosWdSJN01OyLNlBQ58Uw7WDJxU8LmZDDIjsrWsLlTGjKNelt6OMVnznVrCxEsXON-AzeUCgPebS7MYvRSORTPt4YnCPPb4J1/s1600/IMG_0356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE_EIWjS6dgodofSg7xtnSt1DkZ_O896uAwmIosWdSJN01OyLNlBQ58Uw7WDJxU8LmZDDIjsrWsLlTGjKNelt6OMVnznVrCxEsXON-AzeUCgPebS7MYvRSORTPt4YnCPPb4J1/s320/IMG_0356.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; font-family: "times new roman"; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-indent: 0.5in;">This photo was taken at about the same
time as the hobo one, but it was a formal family portrait. It was taken either at
a place like Olan Mills or at church. Be sure to notice Frank’s sideburns (very
stylish), Wendy’s dress with the leopard collar and her long hair (also very
stylish), Jay’s cute little suit (sort of par for the course for little boys at
the time), and my lovely hair, which was actually a wig (very, very stylish).
What a lovely family!</a><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When Jay moved out of our home and into
homes of his own, always with guys in Velvet Melon, whether it was in my
mother’s old house in Myrtle Grove or on Pensacola Beach or in New Jersey or in
the Nashville area, he always had a framed 8 X 10 of that photo. Once, not long
before he died, I said to him, “Jay, why do you always have that awful picture
sitting out where everyone can see it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“What do you mean by awful?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“It’s my hair that’s so awful. Everyone
laughs at it now because it looks so funny for today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Oh,” said my boy, “I never noticed your
hair. I just have it out because I’m so cute!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Always so sure of himself. That was Jay!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">One of Jay’s Heroes . . .
Bruce Lee</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVbLGx1vycaqcxK32yRdRFswQAlVGYlYTTNhI-zI99o8PHwTkMBNgpuRB1jVjuLInbX1HquTxlxAFZIwVx36VE_AkInw7J-0BIDa3v9Ej6cbtsR_T6CqUsYTWXUZNSVCtbBT7/s1600/IMG_0355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVbLGx1vycaqcxK32yRdRFswQAlVGYlYTTNhI-zI99o8PHwTkMBNgpuRB1jVjuLInbX1HquTxlxAFZIwVx36VE_AkInw7J-0BIDa3v9Ej6cbtsR_T6CqUsYTWXUZNSVCtbBT7/s320/IMG_0355.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When Frank’s older brother, Sam, retired
from the Navy, there were two things <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he wanted to do—work in a store and go to college. Frank had
a store, so if Sam moved his family to Pensacola, he’d have a place to work;
and we had an excellent college (Pensacola Junior College), so he’d be able to
begin his college career. Sam packed up Masako and Tim and headed for Florida.
We helped them find a house in the Bellview Middle School district so that Tim
and Jay could attend the same school. Jay was in seventh, and Tim was in eighth
grade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The boys saw each other every day at
school and planned exciting things to do on the weekend, taking turns spending
the night with each other. One of the things they did was watch Bruce Lee
movies. Their favorite was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Enter the
Dragon</i>, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Way of the Dragon </i>(Chuck
Norris) being a close second. They really got into the action of Bruce Lee and
beat each other up regularly trying to imitate their hero’s style. Nothing
would do but the next time we went to Seattle to visit his cousin and his
family Jay had to go pay tribute to his hero.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay and Tim were best friends the year
that Sam and his family lived in Pensacola. Through the years, they remained
best friends (though each had other best friends) even though they lived 2800
miles apart. I know in my heart of hearts they’d still be long-distance best
friends had Jay lived. And that makes me feel very good!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-indent: 0.5in;">There’s another story buried in this
picture. Did you notice Jay’s sweat shirt? On this same trip, we took the kids
to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs on our way to Washington. Our
reason? We thought it would be really good for Jay to apply to the Academy. OK
. . . stop laughing. I know it’s a real stretch to imagine our Jay at anybody’s
academy, but we thought we’d try. So much for good intentions on the parts of
parents.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">European Adventures<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwv65hbCyTVROTbAT4hJHgdSquOITRddovKCiiM-wpkEeNCHZsfaNXlZa4Bt1NP_xq_W39BT-b9dwtzv6gAB7RvoQFa1e86GYj3kdGZNkLGVIS05pB-qwSx24g9x-tsUnkGkZ/s1600/IMG_0354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwv65hbCyTVROTbAT4hJHgdSquOITRddovKCiiM-wpkEeNCHZsfaNXlZa4Bt1NP_xq_W39BT-b9dwtzv6gAB7RvoQFa1e86GYj3kdGZNkLGVIS05pB-qwSx24g9x-tsUnkGkZ/s320/IMG_0354.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Frank and I used to travel with students
in Europe every summer. In 1984, we signed up enough students for the trip to
allow us to take Jay for free. He really didn’t want to go because Velvet Melon
was in its infancy, and he wanted to stay at home to play rock ‘n’ roll and to
develop his business. We insisted, however, that he go with us because it was
probably the chance of a lifetime, and he needed to take advantage of it. So he
went with us, drumming on the backs of the seats in the bus, on tables, on
anything . . . probably on his friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Students were allowed to go exploring in
the foreign cities in the afternoon if they were in groups of at least three.
So The Four Musketeers in the photo disappeared one afternoon in Rome, only to
arrive back at the hotel with their ears pierced. I was devastated! Ear
piercing on boys was just becoming popular, and I thought it was terrible.
After all, only girls should have their ears pierced . . . or so my
conservative little mind led me to believe. And if you think I had conservative
beliefs, you can imagine Frank’s! I hated to think of what his dad was going to
say and do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When I saw my boy with a pierced ear, I
cried. Yes, I cried. I guess I just felt that Jay had let me down. We had talked,
at home, about his having his ear pierced, and he knew we didn’t approve. Even
worse than our feelings, though, was my fear of what the other boys’ parents
would say. But unhappy as I was, I still had to have a photo. You can tell by
the smiles that the guys weren’t unhappy. Everyone who knew Jay knew that he
and I had a “mutual admiration society,” and because of the love we shared, I
never saw the earring again while we were on the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Sometime later in his life, Jay convinced
his dad and me that an earring wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and by the
time that he died, he had three pierces. We buried him with three new earrings.
We wouldn’t want him to be at his funeral in old ones, would we? Of course we
wouldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Before I close this story, I must tell
you that having their ears pierced was the least of the trouble that these kids
got into while we were in Europe. That afternoon’s activity didn’t even hold a
candle to their getting in the car with a stranger in Madrid and going to his
mansion, with their rappelling down the walls of a hotel in Florence to roam
the streets in the middle of the night, and with their rolling the Tower Bridge
in London the night before we left for home. Jay confessed all of these
activities one evening in Pensacola. We wouldn’t have laughed if we had
discovered their antics while we were still in London, but after the fact, we
did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay, His Friends, and King
Tut<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br />Almost every year, when we went to
Europe, we took the kids to Switzerland. And almost every year, we encouraged
them to have a talent show. They had plenty of time to plan and to practice.
The year that Jay went with us was no exception, and you can imagine who was
the most excited about performing. That’s right . . . the one in the front,
Jay. Years later, when Velvet Melon was in its heyday and Jay was playing sax
and bass, I asked him if he ever wanted to be the drummer again. After all,
drummers are usually the musicians that the girls are the most ga-ga over.
“What?” he replied. “And not be on the front of the stage? Oh, no . . . I’ll
keep on playing sax and bass!” This photo proves that his answer wasn’t
something he just made up on the spur of the moment. He wanted to be the star .
. . and in the front!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">And so Jay and his friends performed
Steve Martin’s “King Tut” routine. They were hilarious! They were the hit of
the talent show! Four boys who had the same sense of humor as those “wild and
crazy guys” on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saturday Night Live</i> stole
the show. Frank and I were so proud of them, and my best friends, Fran Crumpton
and Annice Webb, and I have laughed so many times just remembering how funny
they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">They made their own costumes, borrowing
towels from the hotel and a big spoon and foil from the kitchen for Jay’s
headdress. I wish we had had video cameras or iPhones back then, but we didn’t.
If we had had them, you could see my boy and his back-up for yourselves on
YouTube.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">As all of you know, I'll never forget Jay. I hope you don't think me too
weird for continuing to write about him at various times during each year but
especially on his birthday and on Jay Day, July 2. This is just a mother's way
of celebrating her boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; letter-spacing: 1.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Reminders
of Jay</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #120924; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Give me a topic, and I can usually
write about it. My approach and details may not be what others would write, but
I can come up with something. Tell me to think of a topic, and many times I sit
here with my nose against a brick wall—all I see is either a wall with nothing
written on it or so many scribbles of ideas that I can’t make out anything
because of the position of my nose on that wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I find myself in the latter fix
today. I want to write about Jay because it’s his birthday week, and I always
write about him on his birthday. But how do I narrow my topic so that I don’t
just roam around in his 43 years, never really alighting on anything? Won’t
someone help me? Let me sit here for a while to see if I hear anything.
(Picture about two hours going by with Sandy just sitting before the woodstove
on a beautiful New Mexico Saturday afternoon, waiting for some kind of
inspiration.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="IMG_0670.JPG" border="0" height="137" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image010.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_0" width="246" /></a><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Eureka! I heard you! It’s the
voices of former students groaning and complaining about yet another quotation
that I want them to write about, to identify with. “Mizhung (that’s Southern
for </span><i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Mrs. Young</span></i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">, you know), you ought to do what
you had us do . . . react to quotations. Find other people’s words that remind
you of Jay and write to your heart’s content.” Good idea, my dear former
students. Once more, you’ve come to my rescue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">So, as my mother-in-law used to
say, “There you have it.” I’ll find quotations that remind me of Jay and put
the long, skinny fingers to the computer keypad and write away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Son, you
outgrew my lap, but never my heart.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-indent: 48px;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman";">I have a picture in my mind right now. It’s of Jay and me sitting in the rocking chair in the living room in Pensacola, his long legs dangling at age six and his head splitting from a migraine. He and I spent many an afternoon in this position, lights off, and not a sound in the room except an occasional squeak from the rocker. We’d sit there for an hour or so, just mother and son. We both might snooze a bit, and soon his headache would abate, and he’d be off and running, probably out to play with his friend, Walter Glenn. Later, after he discovered that music was in his soul and after he had outgrown his rocking place, he’d still have headaches, but can you guess what he substituted for my lap? Rock ‘n’ roll. That’s right. Loud music. Don’t ask me to explain. That was just my boy. Out of my lap but not out of my heart . . . ever.</span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">—Author Unknown</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">He who can
be a good son will be a good father</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">—Author Unknown<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">This quotation is a daydream. Jay didn’t live long
enough to be a father, though back in the early days after he died, I often
wished that a young woman would show up at our door to tell us the little child
with her was Jay’s. I’d have welcomed that young woman and that child with open
arms; however, that visit never materialized. I still wonder sometimes what it
would have been like for Jay to be married and to have children, children we’d
love so very much, just the way we love our grandchildren, Corey and Jackson. I
like to think that he would have been a good father, putting his wife and
children above everything else, even above his music. In my heart of hearts, I
think he would still be a musician, but maybe by this time, he might not be on
the road all the time. After all, rock stars (you know that’s just about all he
ever wanted to be, and I believe he would have achieved his dreams) can choose
how often they want to travel. Perhaps his wife and children would have
traveled with him, his children being home schooled. But maybe not. I know he
would have been a good provider and that he’d spend quality time with his
family. He and his wife would have set examples for their children as far as
their relationship to God is concerned. Those who read this may remember a line
from one of Jay’s songs “I don’t mix drugs with rock and roll./ I’ve got Jesus
in my heart to save my soul.” He’d want his children to have Jesus in their
hearts, too. Also, Jay loved traveling with Wendy, Frank, and me when he was a
little boy, and he’d want his children to have the same kinds of experiences
that he and Wendy had. Family was important to Jay, and he’d want family to be
important to his children. Jay was a good son; he’d have been a good father. Of
this I’m sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">My mother
had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">—Mark Twain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">After a child dies, it’s difficult for the parents not
to remember him or her as perfect. Most mothers and dads don’t want to dwell on
trouble the kid got into, near misses he had with the law . . . unless those
parents are Sandy and Frank Young, whose son could “fess up” after the fact and
bring tears of laughter to their eyes or whose son’s escapades even at the
moment that they happened were just hilarious. I must confess on our parts that
we laughed about a lot of things in our family that other families would
consider just terrible and would probably mete out punishments the kids would
never forget. In retrospect, I don’t think we were very good disciplinarians.
Anyway . . . on with a few of the incidents I remember:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "symbol"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">When Jay and
Walter were in seventh or eighth grade, there was a rash of fights at Bellview
Middle School. Those two little bad boys decided to stage a fight before school
in the hall right outside their first period class. They were really going at
it with fake punches and lots of “Oohs!” and “Ouches” and such, with their
teacher looking on, enjoying every minute of the “fight” and laughing with the
kids. Out of nowhere came Pete Payton, the assistant principal, who had just
about had it with fighting middle schoolers. “You two boys . . . come with me!”
I wish I were an artist. I’d draw a picture of his mouth, turned down at both
corners . . . and you’d see Jay’s impersonation of him. I imagine those two
little boys were pretty much worried as they followed Mr. Payton to his office.
I don’t remember who went in first, and I don’t remember Walter’s story, but I
know that when Jay went in, Pete said, “Do you want ten licks or ten days’
suspension?” (That evening when Jay related the story hilariously to us at
dinner, he said he was tempted to say, “Please, Mr. Payton, may I have both?”
but he didn’t want to push his luck.) Needless to say, he took the licks;
however, just before he bent over, he remembered that he had a Visine bottle in
his back pocket and that he’d really get what for if Mr. Payton found that. You
see, the administration had put the word out that kids having “squirt” bottles
would be suspended, and that’s exactly what that Visine bottle was. Jay managed
to remove it before he bent over, probably by giving a Jay twirl as he bent. I
know. I know. Back in my day, kids were more afraid of what their parents would
do to them when they got home, the parents having been notified by the school
authorities of their precious children’s bad behavior. In Jay’s day, there were
lots of parents who would have paddled their children even harder after finding
out about the punishment at school. My true confession is that Wendy, Frank,
and I just doubled over as Jay told his story. If you knew Jay, you know he
could embellish a story and entertain as no one else could. Enough said about
this adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "symbol"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">We took Jay
to Europe with us the summer of 1985. It’s a bit of an exaggeration to say that
he went kicking and screaming, but it’s not far off. He’d much rather have
stayed at home playing music, Velvet Melon being in its infant stages at that
time and Jay wanting to spend every waking hour with the guys in the band. As
it turned out, he had a great time, but you can believe he and his closest
friends managed to get in some amount of trouble while we were there. The only thing
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we found out about while we were
traveling was the piercing of his ear, something we had laid down the law about
at home. He would NOT have his ear pierced. We had some really strange beliefs
about ear piercing back in those days, and when he and three friends came back
to the hotel with earrings, I cried. Yes, I cried. I was so embarrassed.
Through the years, I changed my mind about my boy and his ears, though, and
when Jay died, he had three “holes in his head,” and I sent my very much macho
brother-in-law to buy new jewelry for my boy so that he’d be all dressed up for
his funeral. What we found out when we got home from Europe, though, was really
scary. He confessed: The afternoon that we arrived in Madrid, he and two other
boys got in a car with a stranger and went to his home. Can you imagine what
might have happened to those inexperienced teenagers? Nothing did. Somewhere
I’ve read a quotation something to the effect of “God takes care of fools and
babies,” but I can’t find it. Even so, I think it applies here. He also told us
that one of his friends took rappelling equipment with him. One night, three
Florida boys went out the window of their room and out on the town in Rome,
Italy. Remember my quotation about babies and fools? Applies here, too. The
third confession was that on the night before we left London, headed home, he
and these same rapscallions “rolled” the Tower Bridge. You heard me right. They
took rolls of toilet paper from the Tower Hotel and rolled the bridge in the
dark of night. After all the shenanigans were over and we were safely home when
the confession poured out, what could we do but laugh and say, “Thank you,
Lord” that those children . . . yes, children . . . didn’t wind up in jail.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "symbol"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I’m not going
to give lots of details on this trouble, but here’s the gist of it. Just before
Jay turned 21, he and the guys in Velvet Melon went to New York City to make
their fortune. I could write a book about their nine months there and how,
instead of making a fortune, they almost starved, but the NYC adventure is not
the topic of this remembrance. The guys planned to be back in Pensacola for
Jay’s birthday to play some gigs on the Gulf Coast so that they’d have a little
money. On the evening of February 10, after they had set up at Coconut Bay for
their gig, Frank and I took Jay out to eat at Darryl’s. We had just placed our
order, when Jay leaned back in his chair and announced to us, “Well, folks, now
that I’m 21 and legal, I probably should tell you about some things that have
happened in the past.” Then he entertained us for the whole meal about things
he and Jimmy Mills had done that almost got them in trouble with the law. Jay
could have gone to jail! I don’t know that I could ever reconstruct those
stories, but I might try some time. Just know that one of them involved going
before a judge.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "symbol"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">The last
trouble I’ll talk about for now happened at least once a week at our house.
Mark Twain said that his mother enjoyed the trouble he caused, and I loved this
particular trouble Jay brought into my life. Periodically, Jay would come into
the kitchen, where I was preparing dinner, come up really close to me, and
sometimes plant a kiss on my cheek; then he’d say, “It’s time, Mom!” I’d say,
“Please, Jay . . . not right now!” At that time, he’d laugh as only Jay could
laugh, enjoying himself completely. He’d put his arms around me and lift me off
the floor, delightedly announcing, “Yep, Mom, it’s time to put your head in the
fan.” I’d laugh and squeal, just what he wanted me to do, as he walked toward
the ceiling fan. Then he’d raise me up to about two inches below the fan,
having the time of his life. I don’t know how putting his mom’s head in the fan
originated, but it was so funny to both of us and to anyone else who happened to
be in the room at the time, especially if he or she was witnessing the event
for the first time. It’s a memory I wouldn’t take anything for!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Here’s my favorite quotation. I hope you like it as much
as I do, and, if you knew Jay, I hope it reminds you of him and me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">There is an
endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other
affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor
daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude.
She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every
pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame and exult in his
prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by
misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and
cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the
world to him. </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">—Washington Irving<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">Shortly after Jay died, I
discovered this quotation in a little book that meant so much to me at the time—</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">My Dream of Heaven (Intramuros)</span></i><span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;"> by Rebecca
Ruter-Springer. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it, but I know I’ll read
it again and again now because I’ve just purchased it for my NOOK e-reader. It
brought comfort to me when my heart was broken, but the part of the book that
meant the most to me was the quotation by Washington Irving. Every part of it
applies to Jay and me, every single part. Recently, a friend told me that she
was offended by the quotation because it sounded as though I love Jay more than
I love Wendy. This is not true. I love both of our children with the same
amount of mother love. I could change “son” to “daughter” and make the
masculine pronouns feminine and have this quotation be about Wendy. But this
piece is about Jay. I love this quotation!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; line-height: 150%;">I still miss Jay every day, but I
love thinking back over the exciting times we had with him. God gave him to us
for a short while, but all of us who knew and loved him were richly blessed by
his enthusiasm for life. To all of you who continue to remember him and who let
Frank, Wendy, and me know that you are thinking about him . . . thank you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: #1f242c; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Music and a Mom<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Frank and I had
been looking forward to it for a couple of weeks. Every night, as we watched
our favorite shows—<i>CSI, NCIS, The Mentalist, Eleventh Hour</i>, and other
such gory, yet interesting and entertaining, programs—we’d seen the promo and
determined that we’d watch. So the closer it got to 7:00 last night, the more
excited we became, and at 6:55 we changed the channel from CMT, where we were
watching<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>O, Brother, Where Art
Thou?</i>, to CBS so that we could settle in for an evening of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Country
Music Awards.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">If a person has to
be a redneck to like country music, then just call me a redneck. Reba McEntire
was the host. She’s such a cute little country girl who’s made it big. I
haven’t really followed her career closely because I’m not a person who follows
the careers of entertainers; however, I remember how my heart hurt for her when,
in the spring of 1991, seven of her band members and her manager were killed in
a plane crash. I wondered how she would ever recover from such a tragedy and
whether or not she’d get on with her career. I don’t know that she recovered,
but she managed to get through, and she certainly has gotten on with her
career. At the time of the crash, our son was still alive and playing with his
band, Velvet Melon. I remember that he suggested that he and the guys in the
band apply for the jobs of Reba’s “Crazy Eight,” as she referred to her band.
Jay was only half kidding: he was a very confident, charismatic young man who
never saw his dreams as impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Anyway, we loved
watching George Strait, Carrie Underwood, Rascal Flats, Taylor Swift, Brad
Paisley, and lots of others perform. The female stars were especially stunning
in their sparkly dresses—some long, some short, some exceptionally revealing,
but all beautiful. Brad Paisley opted not to be in Las Vegas in person because
his wife, Kimberly, was practically to the giving-birth stage with their second
child. What a great husband!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Both Frank and I
teared up as we watched star after star accept awards and give credit for their
success to friends, family, and God. The whole evening was very emotional but
lots of fun. Probably one of the main reasons it was emotional for me was that
I could picture Jay winning awards someday had he lived, not in country music
but in rock music. He would have been a star. As I watched Carrie Underwood’s
mother hug her every time she won an award, my heart soared for her mom because
I could see Frank and me sitting next to Jay at some celebration, hugging him
every time his name was called. I know I’m a dreamer, but moms are supposed to
dream, especially about the success of their boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The Jay Book<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Not a day goes by
every year when I don’t think of my boy. Just walking down the hall from the
family room to the laundry room brings a rush of memories because the Jay walls
are there. Every individual photo, whether a part of the collages that some of Jay’s
friends helped Wendy construct right after Jay died or lone photos of him
playing at Trinity’s or at Cinco de Mayo, brings back a memory. So many good
memories!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
wonderful as the photos are, something even more wonderful arrived five months
after Jay died. Little did I know that Angela Hinkley and Wendy were planning a
big surprise for Frank and me and that it would be delivered during our Velvet
Melon Christmas Party. I was in the kitchen trying to get a head start on
cleaning up. Wendy came in and told me I had to take off my apron and go to the
family room, that Frank was already there. Rather than just handing our
surprise to us, Angela read the Introduction:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Since I met Jay through
my writing, it seemed really appropriate to summarize my relationship with him
in writing also. As I began writing, I recalled so many memories of Jay. It
made me think of how many other people must carry within themselves an almanac
of “Jay” memories. If only I could unleash them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I started the idea
for this book by wanting each individual in Jay’s life to write down their own
favorite memories. It became apparent, almost immediately, that this was going
to be an impossible task. If I excluded those who were not in this area, I
would probably have created quite a simple publication. I realized that the
phone would be a helpful tool in compiling all the information necessary. I
knew that people would need a little help and a little prodding to begin their
personal thoughts about Jay with me. I hope I succeeded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For the past month,
I have totally immersed myself in the life of Jay Young. I have laughed with,
cried with, listened to, comforted, and assured these people who would be so
kind as to share private times of their lives with me. I’ve never before been
so involved in the investigation of a human life, other than my own. During
this time, I haven’t even been able to converse with Frank and Sandy for fear
of “spilling the beans”! I’ve learned so much I wanted to share with them. I’ve
had to hold everything in, except for sharing with Wendy, who I know has
probably heard every account in this book five times each!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I really thought I
knew a lot about Jay. I probably did, but there was so much more to learn and
to appreciate about this profound human being. The people he touched through
his life and music were far beyond anything I’d imagined, even after witnessing
the lines at the funeral home. People genuinely love him. I’m so pleased to
have been able to compile these recollections. I want Jay’s memory to live on,
not in mourning but in the wonderful celebration of a life—his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Angela
Hinkley, Christmas 1992<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What a beautiful
“giff” (to use Jay’s pronunciation) Angela gave to Frank and me! Wendy helped
her by designing the cover of what we have titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jay Book</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It is one of our most prized
possessions, and I can assure you that if we ever had to evacuate, it would be
one of the treasures I’d take with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Choosing which memories
to include was a task that almost wiped me out, I’m afraid. Why? Just the
choosing itself was very difficult because I wanted to quote each person who
contributed. The main wiping out came, though, in the reading. Such beautiful
memories! But my “rememberer” is attached to my tear ducts, I’m afraid, so the
mama shed lots of tears during the choosing. But that’s okay. They were happy
tears. The ones I’ve chosen will give everyone a glimpse of my boy. All of the
contributors were friends of Jay with the exception of Wendy, his sister. But
she was also his friend, one of his best friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Suzy Ward</b>: Jay had a wonderful love-hate relationship with New
York. He worked so hard to make a go of it there. In spite of his irritation at
life in the City, financial problems, Winnebago problems, his eyes lit up
whenever he saw the night lights or walked down Bleeker Street. He loved the
music scene. He loved the weirdness. Jay always loved the crowds. He gave money
to homeless sax players, turned cartwheels in the subway, drove through Harlem
at 2:00 a.m. so Wendy could shoot photos, and spoke to every celebrity and
pseudo-celebrity he would recognize on the street. Living in New York is a
thoroughly exhausting endeavor. Jay made it energizing for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Patrick O’Donovan</b>: The night I decided to leave Velvet Melon was
perhaps the most difficult decision of my life. I was so afraid of what
everyone, but especially Jay, was going to think of me. We had rehearsed and
then I told Jay I needed to talk to him. We went for a drive. I was so scared
to tell Jay I was leaving. I was afraid he would be upset with me. Most of all,
I was afraid of Jay being disappointed in me. Jay had grown to become my
brother. His opinion and views affected and meant so much to me, both professionally
and personally. I slowly told Jay the news, carefully outlining all the reasons
I needed to leave Velvet Melon. Expecting disappointment, anger, and even
despair from Jay, I was so surprised to hear what he had to say. He told me he
understood. He said he was disappointed I was leaving the band, but he was
proud of my desire to return to school. He told me I had to follow my dreams.
I’d been with Jay Young every day for the previous many months. However, I’d
never felt closer to him in my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jimmy Mills</b>: My memory starts with picking on Jay in middle school,
through the good times in high school, where we both developed our skills as
musicians and best friends. Later, in 1984, we bonded even more on our trips
every other weekend to Tampa to further develop our skills in Suncoast Sound
Drum and Bugle Corps. We never quit looking for ways to be better as musicians.
All my memories of Jay seem to always center around music, but there are a few
occasions where we were just buddies having fun. I’m pretty sure we all know
which nights those were! (When I woke up on the floor of Sandy’s bathroom one
morning in my underwear! Ha! Ha!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Nathan Tracy</b>: My best memory of Jay . . . so many. Jay did a
perfect imitation of Pete Payton. He would talk and gesture just like him. It
was so funny! Jay used to say there was nothing like going to Mariner Mall and
licking the telephone receivers. He was so crazy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When we played
soccer together, we always ragged Jay because he would leave early for piano
lessons. We called him a “girlie” and just gave him a general hard time. Jay
always took the heat. He turned out to be the best musician any one of us ever
knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John Buck</b>: To remember Jay is to know how spontaneous a person he
was. He was so tremendously talented and such a positive person. I think Jay
may have been the most talented kid I ever taught in all my 22 years of
teaching. There is not enough I could say about him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Lisa “Farmer” Hall</b>: In 1989, Velvet Melon was playing at Apple
Annie’s in Seville Quarter. Jay and I had had a disagreement, and Jay really
hurt my feelings. I knew, however, that all my friends were going to be there
listening to Velvet Melon. I decided to go to Seville anyhow and worry later
about the deal with Jay. I arrived and the guys had already started playing. I
went over to the bar for a drink. About halfway there, I heard Jay announce,
“This next song is for Lisa Farmer. I did something really stupid and hurt her
feelings. I’m really sorry.” The next song the band played was for me. I
couldn’t believe Jay had humbled himself to me in front of hundreds of people .
. . and on stage. It showed me just what kind of person he really was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tim Weekley:</b> The first time Jay came to Bible Study was so
memorable. We had been holding Bible Study for a few weeks. Jay showed up and
listened intently. I didn’t know Jay spiritually at all at that time. I knew he
was raised a Christian. However, not knowing exactly where Jay stood, I did not
want to direct any questions of comments directly to him. During Bible Study,
we would always ask people to read a passage from Scripture to exemplify our
discussion for the evening. I asked who would like to read this rather obscure
Old Testament passage. To my surprise, Jay immediately volunteered, located the
passage without hesitation, and began to read. I was amazed. After that first
Bible Study, Jay expressed a great appreciation for the group. He came as often
as possible and we enjoyed his presence and participation so much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Right
before Velvet Melon left for New York, they were scheduled to play at Trader
Jon’s. Jay asked me to come down after the gig and pray with the band before
they left for New York. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. and went to Trader’s to pray
with them. I really appreciated that opportunity. Once the guys moved to New
York, I would call regularly on Monday nights to get their prayer requests for
the week. I’d always remind everyone at Bible Study to pray for the band and
their success.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Kevin Totoian (Tall Stories band):</b> Jay was such a profound and
outgoing person. He was really positive and sincere and that came out in his
music. In New York, there is a great competitiveness between bands which is
almost vicious. There was never any of that with Jay and Velvet Melon. There
was a real professional respect and friendship present there. Jay was so
extremely talented. He stood out to us all as such a brilliant musician.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Lisa Lassiter</b>: Before I knew Jay, I was at Trinity’s one night when
Velvet Melon was playing a gig. We all noticed this kind of unattractive girl
who was just really taken with Jay. She was staring at him the entire first set.
After that set, at least six girls came at Jay, most of whom were really
attractive. However, Jay excused himself and went over to this girl, sat down,
and began talking with her. Everyone could see that this girl was just beside
herself. Jay was making her day! There were several beautiful girls around, but
Jay chose to notice someone who probably wouldn’t be noticed by anyone else. I
was so amazed at what a down to earth person he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Andi Olsen</b>: Velvet Melon played at my beach house in the summer of
1987. While the guys were playing, the balcony attached to the house collapsed.
When the police came to investigate, their report states that the vibrations
from the band’s music made the balcony fall off the house. From then on, we
knew Jay and Velvet Melon as the “Band That Rocked the House Down”!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Gary Powell (d. May 29, 2009)</b> Back at the time of my accident, all
my friends kind of dumped me. (Gary was paralyzed after his accident.) My
sister’s friends kind of picked me up. Jay was one of those friends. Jay
always, no matter where he was or how busy he was, would take the time to sit
down and talk with me. Not everybody did that. Even if Jay was running late and
supposed to be someplace else, he would make time for me. It was enough to know
that he cared that much for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One time in high
school, Jay was late for band practice. I was in the commons and Jay sat down
to talk. We were discussing running before my accident. I was telling Jay that
although I could not run any longer, I would often push my wheelchair on the
driving range for exercise. I would go fast, then pop the brake to spin around.
I told Jay I couldn’t really go very fast, though. Jay got up and told me to
get ready because I was going to come as close to flying as I would ever get!
Jay took off, driving my chair at top speed through the hallways. We flew so
fast I thought we were going to crash! I was so scared I almost lost my water.
My heart was in my britches!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I really
appreciated that no matter how large the crowd around him was, Jay always made
time for me. He wanted to get personal with people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Phyllis Anderson</b>: My fondest memories of Jay were when we played at
Seville. He would come and sit in with us. Just when I thought I couldn’t go on
another song, Jay would fly through those swinging doors and totally light up
the room. He would blow that horn and remind me of why I do what I do. Jay
would play that saxophone and the entire room filled with his energy, his
power.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jay and I talked
many times about the Lord. In our business, it is so difficult to express and
share your feelings about much without the use of music. I knew Jay was a
Christian, and he was so refreshing! It was like Jay knew I needed to converse
and share my words and feelings about the Lord. We talked one night until 3
a.m. about being able to feel close to God and carry on a personal relationship
with Him, despite our occupation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jay Young was a
refreshing, wonderful human and a tremendous musician. I know that the Lord is
caring for Jay and that Jay is with Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Todd Vannoy</b>: Jay was always an individual. He went to church with
long hair and an earring. I’m sure a lot of people stereotyped him for that reason.
Jay showed everyone that you could love God and be a Christian just as you are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Doug Stiers</b>: My most memorable time with Jay was the moment I met
him — until the day he died. (Doug, too, was a musician who died too young. We
lost him on January 10, 2010.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Scott Miller</b>: Jay and I were in ninth grade and we were entered in
the school talent contest. We dressed up in Long Johns and sang “Satisfaction”
with some guys from jazz band. This was before we had ever thought of bands or
singing or Velvet Melon. We were just a couple of crazy freshmen with enough
nerve to get up in front of the entire student body and sing our hearts out.
There we stood in our pj’s doing our Mick Jagger imitation. It was the most
exhilarating experience of my life. And we won the contest!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When I entered
public school in third grade, Jay was the first person to walk up to me and
say, “Hi! My name’s Jay.” The rest is history. It is a history of which I am so
proud to be a part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Andy Waltrip</b>: Jay was a true friend to me and he made me laugh so
much. I enjoyed our friendship immensely and still do, when I look back on
those times. One of the things about him was that he always made me feel like I
was supposed to be there, that he always had time for me. Jay made everyone
feel that way. Out of all the people I’ve ever met, I have never met anyone
else who had such a magnetic, energetic, charismatic personality. I, just like
so many other people, miss having that personality around to make the day more
enjoyable. I looked up the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">charisma</i>
in Webster’s Dictionary. It’s incorrect. It should have a picture of Jay next
to the word. Jay Young defines charisma. I can’t wait to see him again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ted Berquist</b>: Frank and Jay came into Zoellner Music to buy Jay a
drum set. It seems that Jay was going to learn to play drums. I sold them the
set and they were on their way. A short time later, Jay came in to buy a
keyboard. This kind of confused me, but, hey, a sale’s a sale. Even later on,
Jay returned again to buy a bass guitar. Jay told me he was learning to play
bass for his band, Velvet Melon. He invited me out to hear him play. When I
finally went out to hear the band, I looked to see Jay playing not one of the
three instruments he’d bought. The guy was playing a saxophone!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Wendy Young</b>: Let’s see, a memory of Jay . . . <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">a</b> memory of Jay . . . a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">memory</b>
of Jay. Well, I guess my first was the night Mom went to the hospital to give
birth to my new baby. I hoped and hoped it would be a boy. I remember receiving
the phone call at the neighbor’s house where I was staying. Nothing could have
made me happier. This new entity in the house brought me great comfort. If I
got scared in the night, which I was often, I could go to his room and sleep on
the bed next to his crib and be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As he grew, I took
great delight in dressing him up in totally outrageous costumes and parading
him in front of company. Maybe that’s why he had absolutely no inhibitions in front
of a crowd. We also used to stand on our toy box and lip-synch to Mom’s old
45’s from the fifties, like Elvis’s “My Baby Left Me” and Tennessee Ernie
Ford’s “Sixteen Tons.” Jay’s favorite was “Mostly Martha” by some group I can’t
remember and “Ape Call” by Nervous Norvus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Music was a big
part of our childhood, so it came as no surprise that he became an accomplished
musician. I can remember him sitting at the piano practicing. His back was
always so straight and his fingers always in perfect position. Being his older
sister, I could not resist coming up behind him and grabbing him by the shoulders,
and giving him a good big sister shaking. He never missed a beat and never told
me to stop. I think he enjoyed the challenge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It seems funny to
me that I don’t remember any of the arguments or fights we had. There weren’t
very many. All I remember when I think of Jay is fun. Whether we were eating
supper, hiking in canyons, or listening to Led Zeppelin albums backwards to hear
Satanic messages, we had a blast!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">• <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Angela Hinkley</b>: Jay was such a clown. Clowns enjoy life, seeking
only to bring happiness to others through the life they lead. Jay was like
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I remember that in
October 1987 I traveled to Gainesville to sing at a frat party with the guys.
We arrived and located our accommodations. Of course, the guys were staying in
the dorms. I remember how funny the frat social chairman looked at Jay when Jay
asked him where I was going to sleep. It was obvious that they had not planned
for me. Jay told the guy I was his little sister and that we were orphans. He
explained that I was still a minor and that he had to take me every place he
played. Jay went on and on about how we were only in the music business to save
enough money to get our granny the operation she needed. Mike and Wes were
straining to keep straight faces, while Darin had to turn and walk away. I
couldn’t stand it another second and broke out in laughter. As I was doubled
over, Jay, who never cracked a smile, told the guy I was manic-depressive as
well! Sometime much later, Jay let the poor guy off the hook. However, I can
only imagine what stories went around about that band and its manic-depressive,
orphaned, granny-saving sister!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wendy asked me, as
I was writing this piece, if I had decided to copy the whole book here.
Sometimes it seemed that I was; however, I assure you there are lots more
memories in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jay Book</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">All of you know how
much I love my boy and how much I want to preserve his memory. I think all of
us — you included — are doing a good job of memory saving. Some of you have
joined me this Jay week in posting photos of Jay, Scott Miller (Mullah) in
particular, and I’m grateful. Even more of you have written notes to Frank and
me today, telling us you’re thinking of us, and we love all of the messages.
Thank you so much. As I copied what some of you said in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jay Book</i>, I noticed that some of the dominant themes were that
Jay was happy, smiling, funny, caring, exuberant, charismatic. Thanks for
impressing these traits indelibly for all to read and remember. These are the
things about Jay I want to remember and ones I want others to remember. Because
of you and of the memories that you’ve written about my boy, today is a day of
celebration . . . celebration of a life that will always be remembered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;">On Jay’s Forty-ninth Birthday<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt;">(Or I Envisioned a Divorce!)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Today would have been Jay’s forty-ninth
birthday. That’s hard for me to believe, but it’s true. I often wonder what he
would have been like had he lived. I don’t know anything for sure, but I do
think that he’d still be a musician and might have been famous. I’ll tell you a
secret. I was so sure that he’d make it big in the music world back when he was
about twenty years old that I saved little things I might put on display
someday, like his worn out toothbrush and his stack of bubble gum wrappers. I
guess I thought there’d be a Jay Young Museum like Anne Murray’s in Canada.
Pretty funny, huh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As you know, I always write about Jay on
his birthday. Today I want to tell you about something that happened on a
vacation. I doubt that many of you have heard this story. I know I’ve never
written it before, but I’ve told it lots of times. Please bear with me and
maybe learn something new about Jay. I apologize for the length, but the
background is necessary to understand about Jay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">At one time, we owned an OTASCO (Oklahoma
Tire and Supply Company) store, and every summer we went to Tulsa to order
merchandise for the fall and Christmas. We left after the Fall Show (I believe
it was in 1975), bound for Snoqualmie, WA. We have always been campers, and at
this time, a 17-foot Lark travel trailer was our mode of camping. We stopped
for the night not too far from Tulsa since we were all tired after the show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The next morning, for some reason, I
started out driving. Not too far along, one of the wheels on the trailer flew
off and crashed through the bathroom. Frank tells this story with lots of
details about bolts and such. My version is much simpler. The four of us began
walking along the highway, looking for parts; Frank had already found the wheel
across a fence and out in a pasture. Jay and I had one little adventure as we
were looking. The driver of an eighteen-wheeler stopped to see why we were
searching and gave us a ride back to our car. We loved that part of the day, maybe
the only part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Frank
managed to get the wheel back on, and we limped a little way down the highway
to a junkyard, where he found some parts he could use to repair us so that we
could travel on to Snoqualmie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ll tell you secret: Back in those days,
we had very little money for travel. In fact, my mother said many times that we
wasted what little we had on travel. Frank’s response was that travel money
took the place of cigarette and booze dollars. Since she was a smoker, she got
the point. We always camped, and I always got dinner ready after we set up
camp. This particular day had been rough on all of us, so Frank announced that
we’d stop for hamburgers that evening. We were elated! Once again, I was
driving, this time to give Frank a little rest from the agony of the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">He spotted a burger joint on the right
side of the road, and I pulled over. Frank gave the instructions: everyone was
to stay in the car while he went to buy our supper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay, in his seven-year-old enthusiasm to
help his dad, was the first to disobey. He was out of the car and almost to his
dad before I could stop him. Oh, well. I was next. I went to the trailer to go
to the bathroom. What could be wrong with that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Just as I was leaving the trailer, I saw
Wendy getting out of the car. I yelled, “Wendy, don’t leave the car. My purse
is in there!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Don’t worry! I locked it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Oh,
no! I left the keys in the ignition! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I really didn’t want to do it, but I knew
I had to go tell Frank what had happened. He was going to be furious, but he’d
give me his extra key, and everything would be fine. As I walked in to the
burger joint, he was standing there, arms folded, staring at the car with a
sickly smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Wendy locked the keys . . . ,” I began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“You do have an extra key, don’t you?” I
asked quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“No.” That was it. Just “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Then he said, “You and Jay stay here and
get our food.” And he walked slowly toward the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">It seemed like an eternity before our
number was called. I just stood there watching<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frank walk around the car, obviously trying to decide what
to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I knew that his tools were in the car, so
he couldn’t even get to a screwdriver to try to pry the window open so that he
could unlock the car. As I was walking back, I saw a man sitting in his car,
eating his burger. I walked over and asked if he had a screwdriver we could
borrow for a few minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">He slowly wiped his mouth and with what
looked like a sneer, said, “Locked your keys in the car, huh?” I think he
chuckled a bit, reached for the door handle and started to get out of his car.
“I’ll go help him,” he condescended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">My reply? “Sir, if I were you, I wouldn’t
go near that car.” And I turned and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">A minute later, the man caught up with
me, handed me a screwdriver, and went back to his vehicle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I arrived at the car, I could see and
hear him. Frank is not a swearing man, but he had his head down on the top of
the car, beating it with his fist and shouting, “Damn locks! Damn, damn, damn
locks!” This was the first and only time I seriously thought Frank might leave
me. I could picture him just turning and walking away, leaving me with a locked
car and two children. But he didn’t. Instead, my hero somehow managed to open
the car. The window leaked every time it rained for the rest of the time that
we owned the car, always reminding us of this day. I returned the screwdriver
to the man, thanked him, and took my seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Here’s the scenario. Twelve-year-old
Wendy, who had been feeling puny all day and was devastated because she had
locked the car, was slumped down in her corner of the back seat, snubbing. I
was sitting in the front passenger seat, openly crying. Frank was sitting
stiffly at the wheel, eyes straight ahead, not saying a word. The burgers,
fries, and drinks were between him and me on the front seat, getting cold and
watery. No one had an appetite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">And what about your little friend Jay? He
had been told that he was going to get the spanking of his life when we got to
the campground. And why was Jay going to be punished for something we all had
done? All of us had gotten out of the car. But to Frank, Jay was the guiltiest
because he was the first one to disobey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jay was sitting in his corner of the
backseat, probably dreading his punishment, but after a few minutes, he moved
to the middle, leaned forward, and put his arms on the back of the front seat,
with his chin resting on his folded hands. We rode along the Colorado highway
in silence for about thirty minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Then Jay said softly, “Aren’t the
mountains beautiful?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We all muttered some kind of affirmative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Then out of the blue, a few minutes
later, he said a little louder, “You know what? If I could choose the parents
that I want in the whole world, I’d choose you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Where did THAT come from? But leave it to
Jay! The ice was broken. We all laughed uproariously . . . and finally ate our
cold supper. This is one of our favorite family stories because it shows early
on what Jay would be like in later years. Can’t you just picture him doing
this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">By the way, he still had the spanking to
look forward to. But . . . after Frank set up camp, he turned to his son and
told him, “We’ll forego (yes, his exact word!) the spanking this time, but
you’d better not disobey me like that again!” Jay was relieved. Wendy and I
laughed! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Music in His Bones<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I sat in the cushy seats in the
Pensacola Junior College auditorium that spring morning, I could hear the
children behind the curtains taking turns practicing. One played haltingly; one
completely forgot the song; and one played flawlessly. The last one was Jay.
They all played the same song, a piece with just enough “show off” in it to
impress the judges. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">The curtains parted, and the first two
children each walked to the piano nervously, their eyes averted from those of
us watching. Each one played hesitantly, making many mistakes. When the second
one finished, it was Jay’s turn. My boy—very small for his age—walked
confidently to the grand piano in the middle of the stage, nodded to the
audience, gave them a crooked eight-year-old smile, adjusted the bench so that
it was just right, and lifted himself up, his feet not quite flat on the floor.
Not one mistake in his performance. The children weren’t in competition with
each other; they were just performing in hopes of getting a Superlative rating.
I don’t know what the other little boys earned, but Jay got the ranking that he
wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As we walked out of the auditorium, he
turned to me and, with a serious look, said, “Mom, I couldn’t believe it. Those
other boys were so nervous and afraid to play. I told ‘em I couldn’t wait to
get on the stage!” He had completely psyched those other children out. He was
just telling the truth . . . he loved to perform.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jim Hussong, Jay’s piano teacher, entered
him in every contest available because Jay always excelled. Whether it was a
local competition or one for state, he won. He memorized easily. In fact, once
Jim gave him the wrong music to prepare for a contest, discovering his mistake
only a few days before Jay was to perform. When the teacher confessed his
mistake, Jay said, “That’s OK, Mr. Hussong. Just give me the piece, and I’ll
have it ready.” Amazing. When he was about twelve years old, he announced that
he didn’t want to take piano lessons any more. He had several reasons: Some of
his friends were making fun of him for having to go home to practice piano (it
was sissy to play the piano); he wanted to play soccer because he was going to
be the next Pele; he was just plain tired of playing the piano. We gave in and
let him quit in hopes that he’d want to go back to the piano someday. After all,
he was still involved in music—he was playing saxophone in the Bellevue Middle
School band, and he had finally gotten to the point that he sounded sort of
good. It was a struggle at first with all the squeaking and squawking that went
on while he was learning to play. We wanted to relegate him to the barn when he
practiced, and you can be sure that he wanted to practice. Going to the barn
probably wouldn’t have been a punishment for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">He was still in middle school when Wendy
went away to college at Southern Miss. I think he really missed her, and every
evening he’d go to his room, ostensibly to do his homework, which I guess he
did at some point. As I’d be doing dishes, he’d come down, sit at the piano,
and play a few bars of something that sounded a bit familiar; however, with my tone
deaf ear, it didn’t sound like much. After several evenings of this routine, he
came downstairs, sat down and played from start to finish Scott Joplin’s “The
Entertainer.” He had a tape of the song and was memorizing it by listening. I
think that was the moment when we realized that he truly was gifted. I don’t
think he read another piece of music after that. He just listened to a
recording, memorized, and played it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">At the end of his eighth grade year, he
announced that he wasn’t going to be in the marching band at Pine Forest High
School. It was stupid to march with an instrument in your mouth——you could
knock your teeth out. Wendy happened to be at home when he made his
announcement, and she promptly took him out to the backyard to talk to him. We
never got a real report of what she said to him, but when they came back
inside, he had decided to learn how to play mallets . . . xylophone. And play
that instrument, he did. He taught himself how to play, and he was all over
those keys! And when he and Jimmy Mills auditioned for and were accepted into
Suncoast Sound Drum and Bugle Corps, he hung out with the drummers and learned
drums. During his senior year in high school, he was still playing xylophone,
but he wrote the cadence for the drummers to march in to, and he led the way.
Oh, but my boy was talented!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">During his senior year, he lacked only
English and maybe one or two other subjects for graduation. So he took a brass
class. I never heard him play trumpet, but he said that he learned to “blow”
it, and I believed him. Then he announced to Wendy that he was going to learn
French horn. Wrong!! His big sister put her foot down. French horn was HER
instrument (and she was very good!), and he couldn’t touch it. She knew <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he’d love playing horn and that he’d be
good, to say the least. She absolutely refused to be in competition with her
little brother musically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br />Sometime during his junior year, Jay and
a fellow musician, Joey Allred, decided to form a band. Boys began invading our
home on Saturday mornings, eating us out of house and home, and playing what we
vaguely recognized as rock music, not hard rock, you understand, but music that
had a tune to it. I bought packages of hot dogs and buns on Friday afternoons
in preparation for the onslaught. Cookies and chips were devoured by the
package, too. I think there must have been about eleven of these budding
musicians, but gradually the number dwindled, and when Velvet Melon finally
emerged as a band, there were four or five musicians and Jimmy, the sound man.
By the way, Velvet Melon doesn’t mean anything in particular. The guys were
practicing one evening early on and as usual were throwing around prospective
names for their band. The phone rang, I answered, it was for Jay. Gina
Forsberg, Jay’s current girlfriend, was calling to chat and to tell him
something funny that she had seen carved on a desk at Tate High School—VELVET
MELON. “Thanks, Gina! You just named our band!” There was never a question
about the name. Everyone loved it! Here is a very early Velvet Melon photo:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=":::Final Photos for Book:Very young VM.jpg" border="0" height="289" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image012.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_1" width="434" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAfCxI6KCBwVonoNJai17pfeEKEIvSnpbEanj2cmTlv6g0knB1pqXyYPKsiHyOEIJyajOy5BLttGzGq9unudcydKStWLxtEqcacZKmLCziZKgqW_rz_dLpZpotW-ifxCIjrQy/s1600/Very+young+VM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="716" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAfCxI6KCBwVonoNJai17pfeEKEIvSnpbEanj2cmTlv6g0knB1pqXyYPKsiHyOEIJyajOy5BLttGzGq9unudcydKStWLxtEqcacZKmLCziZKgqW_rz_dLpZpotW-ifxCIjrQy/s320/Very+young+VM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Velvet Melon became THE band in
Pensacola, attracting young and old to their gigs, whether they were at Chucky
Cheese or Longneckers or Coconut Bay or Chan’s Bayside or the Shell at
Pensacola Beach. Melonheads thronged to their gigs, giving them all the support
that a young band needed as they grew to be one of the most popular bands in
the Southeast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">During the years when Velvet Melon was in
existence, I never had even the slightest thought that on July 2 every year I’d
be reminiscing about my boy and almost every year writing about him, hoping what
I’d write would be a little remembrance for those who knew him and an
introduction to him for those who didn’t. But a mother isn’t supposed to think
about things like that, and I’m glad the Lord doesn’t let us know ahead of time
what’s going to happen. What I knew about Jay Young throughout his twenty-four years
was that God had given him a gift, and he assured me many times that he knew where
his talent came from. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Not only did Jay play drums, keyboards,
guitar, bass guitar, and saxophone, he also sang and wrote music. Sometimes his
originals were a little bit crazy (like “Leola”), but one song, “I’m Not Crazy,”
has always been special to me. Somewhere in the middle of it is the line “I
don’t mix drugs with rock ‘n’ roll—I’ve got Jesus in my heart to save my soul.”
Those of you who know me well know that that’s my favorite line in all of his
songs!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">All of us have gifts. Jay’s was music. Yes,
my boy was music through and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=":::Final Photos for Book:Very young VM.jpg" border="0" height="289" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image012.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_1" width="434" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">through.
He truly had music in his bones!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-51807151904919685142019-09-19T08:41:00.003-06:002019-09-23T15:16:16.500-06:00Chapter 5 -- Afterthoughts<!--[if !mso]>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wonder if you<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>remember the old
television show <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Columbo</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of my favorites. The part
that I recall best was after he presumably had finished talking to a lady. He
would walk out, but then turn around and say, “Just one more thing, ma’am.”
Well, this is my “just one more thing” part to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Mom’s Always Hot! </i>Actually, there’s more than “one more thing”
that I need to talk about before closing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You’ve
been reading about Melonheads throughout this book. I said a little bit about
this fantastic, devoted group of young people earlier, just mentioning briefly
the gist of what one of the #1 Melonheads, Angela Hinkley, had to say at Jay’s
funeral. While I was writing this book, I asked her to try to remember some
specifics of her words on July 6, 1992, for me to include here. Here’s what she
wrote to me recently:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
Twenty-five years
ago when “Mama” Young asked me to reflect on what it meant to be a Melonhead, I
was honored and also a little worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would I be able to accurately and justly express what an amazing and
wonderful part of my life this was? Could I ever completely explain the
phenomenon that was Velvet Melon? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
On July 6, 1992, I
recall standing in front of one of the largest crowds I’d ever seen. This was
Jay’s crowd, Velvet Melon’s crowd. I remember thinking, “Jay would know what to
say to all these people.” He always knew what to say, sing, or play. He would
entertain them, make them all smile. I distinctly recall looking over my
shoulder into the casket where my friend lay, and at that moment I felt the
most amazing peace come over me. Jay was there, once again handling his crowd.
My words then seemed to flow honestly, naturally, and completely. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
I was able to
express that being a Melonhead was more than being a band groupie. It was more
than being friends who gathered to hear music. Being a Melonhead meant you were
part of a family of believers. We believed in Velvet Melon . . . we believed in
their incredible talent . . . and we believed that our friendship and community
made a real difference. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
We each lived our
own lives, but as Melonheads we relished that special time to dance, laugh,
sing, and share together. As our lives evolved and grew, Velvet Melon was there
marking each milestone with music and friendship. Even when VM moved away (NYC
and Nashville) to pursue their dream, new Melonheads emerged from every corner
of the country. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
Whether someone
had been a Melonhead for ten minutes or ten years, there was always an
immediate sense of understanding, love, and acceptance. Acceptance . . . we all
accepted one another just as we were. There was no test to pass, no obstacle
course to complete. The only requirement was joining in and enjoying the music!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
There were senior
Melonheads, junior Melonheads, and even Baby Corey Melonhead! Sweet Gary Powell
was a quadriplegic Melonhead. Tim Weekley was a minister Melonhead. Melonheads
were teachers, lawyers, physicians, photographers, and just about any other
walk of life imaginable. We were all so different . . . and yet so much the
same.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
I don’t recall how
I met any one fellow Melonhead. We just gathered together and let the music of
Velvet Melon weave the beautiful tapestry of friendship.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You
noticed that Angela mentioned senior Melonheads. That’s what Frank and I were,
and we were at every gig that we could work in. I did lots of “chair dancing,”
that is just moving to the music in my chair, enjoying every minute, drinking
coffee to keep me awake. Occasionally, one of the young Melonheads would grab
me and take me to the floor to dance. It was always fun to be taking part with
all those youngsters, but I was more comfortable when Frank and I decided to
dance to a slow song, one that allowed cuddling. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
I remember only
one specific dance with a Melonhead. Soon after Jay died, when we were still
trying to go to the gigs, a new guy playing bass. Andy, one of two Melonheads
who have been like sons to us (the other one being Jim Mills), took my hand so
that I could dance with him to “New York Minute.” I remember crying on his
shoulder the whole time, and I’ll bet he was shedding tears, too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Even
after twenty-five years, I sometimes yearn for a Sunday-evening gig at Coconut
Bay in Pensacola. That’s where we felt the most at home, the place where a waitress
would meet me at the door and say, “I’m making a fresh pot of coffee,” knowing
that I’d welcome that first cup. We were Melonheads! We were always welcomed
with open arms, while Jay was alive and also after he died. These young people—who
are now in their forties, fifties, and even sixties— will always have a special
place in our hearts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
next “one more thing” that I want to discuss concerns my handling of grief.
I’ll tell you ahead of time that I’ve already mentioned much of my working
through grief; however, I have planned all along to gather my thoughts together
here in one place—“Afterthoughts.” I hope that this chapter will help other
bereaved parents as they’re working their way through grief if they happen upon
my book.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
a reader. I’ve always been a reader, seldom leaving home even for a little
while without a book; I read before I go to sleep; I read while we’re
traveling. So it was not unusual for me to go almost immediately to books for
help with my grieving. I wanted to read what other parents did when their
children died. When I called my friend Martha Dickson, who worked in our church
library, to ask for help, she assured me that she’d find books for me. And
that’s just what she did. She had them stacked on a counter in the library at
First Baptist Church, and I took them home, immediately beginning to devour
them. Some of them I read more than once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
listing a few books that I read early on and even later so that if you are a
bereaved parent, you might read them; or if you know someone who needs help
with grief, you can suggest them. They were so meaningful to me:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andrew,
You Died Too Soon</i>, by Corinne Chilstrom</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lament for
a Son</i>, by Nicholas Wolterstorff</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cries from
the Heart</i>, by Margaret B. Spiess</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Streams in
the Desert</i>, by Lettie B. Cowman</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
I read many more books, but through
the years, I’ve lost either the books or the titles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even now, I collect
books about grief. One that I discovered recently is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss</i>, by Gerald L. Sittser.
So many people who write about grief suggest this book for anyone grieving. I
have read parts of it and don’t hesitate to mention it to those who need it
even though I haven’t read it from cover to cover. Another recent discovery, a
book that a friend whose son was murdered and who was given this book as a sympathy
gift, is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tear Soup: A Recipe for Healing
after Loss</i>, by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck DeKlyen, illustrated by Taylor
Bills. It looks like a children’s book, but it’s excellent for anyone who has
suffered loss. I’ve read it several times; in fact, I just took about fifteen
minutes to reread it this afternoon. I wish I had discovered it when I was in
the throes of grief. This book really speaks to my heart now, and it certainly
would have spoken to my heart in 1992.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 31.5pt;">
As you already
know, I have used writing to get me through my grief. I began by writing
letters to friends to tell them about Jay’s death . . . friends here in the
United States and also in Europe. Since all mail was “snail” in 1992, hearing
back from my friends took a while; however, when their letters came, all of us
were so happy to hear from them. More tears, but that was fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 31.5pt;">
For the first
ten years or so after Jay died, I didn’t do a lot of writing about him. I was
too busy teaching school and then traveling in my job with a textbook company
after I retired from teaching. After we moved to New Mexico, though, I found
various outlets for writing about my boy, the main one being Facebook. Many of
you who are reading this book have followed me as I write on Jay’s birthday,
February 10, and on his death day, July 2. You are so faithful to read my
posts, most of which are in Chapter 4 of this book, and to write your memories
about Jay in the comment section of my posts. You’ll never know how much your
“likes,” “loves,” and comments mean to Frank and me. I stay in tears on both of
those days, but they’re good tears. Thank you for remembering.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 31.5pt;">
At the end of
August 1992, I read in our weekly church bulletin that a “Grief Group” would
begin on Sunday nights in October. The leader would be Vick Vickery, a
gentleman in our church who knew about grief: his son, one of my former
students, had committed suicide many years ago. Vick led a group of about
fifteen of us through the grief process, letting us talk about the ones whom we
had lost. We listened attentively to each other, many times crying
uncontrollably, with no one telling us that it would be all right, that we
needed to get over the death, that we shouldn’t cry. We all understood. Frank
went with me although he didn’t feel that he needed the group. We all handle
grief in different ways.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=":::Final Photos for Book:Very young VM.jpg" border="0" height="289" src="file://localhost/Users/sandyyoung/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image012.png" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_1" width="434" /></a>When our class
was over in December, Vick announced that we’d have another “Grief Group,”
beginning in January. We all wanted to know who would lead it because he had
already announced that he wouldn’t be our leader. He said with a little smile,
“Sandy’s going to teach it.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What? Me
lead a group about grief? How could I do that? I was still grieving.</i> But I
did it, and leading that group was one of the best activities to help me work
through my grief. A person always gets more out of something if he or she is in
charge. I had to study! I had to be prepared. I am forever indebted to our
church for offering this course, to Vick for leading us, and to him for
designating me the next leader. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 31.5pt;">
We moved to Cerrillos,
New Mexico, in 2003, and in the fall, I read an article by Ann Landers that
would forever change our lives. In 2007 I wrote a piece about the activity that
I found out about, posted it on my blog (<a href="http://www.foreveryoung279.com/">http://www.foreveryoung279.com</a>), and
mentioned it to a writing friend in Colorado. I’ll never know exactly how she
found about The Compassionate Friends’ publication <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We Need Not Walk Alone—For Bereaved Families and the People Who Care
About Them, Following the Death of a Child.</i> But soon after I called her
attention to my piece, she wrote to see if it could be published in the
magazine. I was elated and honored: I was a published author . . . for the
second time. My piece appeared in the Autumn 2008 edition:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "charme"; font-size: 32.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Keeping Jay’s </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "charme"; font-size: 32.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Light Shining </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<i><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "timesnewromanps"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 150%;">~By Sandy Young <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "charme"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">W</span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">hen our son, Jay, died on July 2, 1992, our lives changed
forever. The Lord and our “compassionate friends” brought us through our
immediate grief, so when people began to mention the international group called
The Compassionate Friends, we didn’t feel we had a need to go to their
meetings, though we knew that such groups brought relief to parents whose
children had died. At that time, I had no idea that TCF would eventually touch
my life in a very meaningful way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A few
years later, after we had moved to Cerrillos, New Mexico, I happened upon an
article that would begin a love affair with TCF, even though we would never be
official members. The article told of an event sponsored by The Compassionate
Friends, an event that would become a joyous part of our holidays. Since I’ve
never heard anyone else mention this activity, I’m not sure just how many
people who should know about it—parents who have experienced their worst
nightmare, the death of a child—are aware of something that could give them
great pleasure during the holidays, which have the possibility of causing much
sadness because they miss their children so much more at these special moments.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On the
evening of the second Sunday in December, at 7:00 local time, bereaved parents around
the globe light a candle to remember their children so that “their light may
always shine.” People gather in stadiums (Albuquerque), in event centers (Hobbs),
or at the homes of those involved in The Compassionate Friends (Los Alamos).
These celebrations for departed children are large gatherings where parents and
grandparents bring pictures of their loved ones and light a candle in their
memory. Music and readings are usually a part of the program, which lasts for
an hour. What a wonderful way to remember our children in an understanding
atmosphere! Just imagine the wave of candlelight around the world! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Our
“celebration” is a bit different because it’s held in our home with friends and
family gathered to introduce Jay to those who never knew him and in remembrance
for those of us who knew him well. This year on December 9, we will invite
neighbors in for our fourth celebration of Jay. Here’s what will happen: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Our home
will be decorated for Christmas, and as our friends arrive— some having come in
other years, some coming for the first time—they’ll feel the festive holiday
atmosphere. Since Jay was an uproariously funny, life-loving rock musician, be
assured that we’ll be having a good time. Our daughter, Wendy, my husband,
Frank, and I will tell funny stories about Jay, some of which most parents
wouldn’t find amusing. We might tell about the time that he had almost 500 fans
of Velvet Melon (his band) in and out of our house one night while Frank and I
were in Europe taking care of other people’s kids. He had proof of the numbers
because he charged a dollar a head, as he called it. For years afterward, young
people around the town told us of how our house rocked that night. Our
insurance agent paced in front of his house all night, just knowing that the
next minute would bring a call telling him of someone having drowned in our
pool. No call came. Or Wendy might tell about the time she and Jay hiked down to
the floor of the Grand Canyon. Only she can make us feel the agony that she
felt as she hiked up slowly behind Jay, who had run most of the way out of the
canyon carrying the only water that they had between them. He was in big
trouble by the time his big sister made it back up to civilization! I usually
try to read a poem or a section from a book of his friends’ remembrances of
him; however, the old mom has a little difficulty even after so long, so Wendy finishes
for me. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wendy is a
photographer, and her favorite subject was Jay; therefore, we always have
photos and/or videos. We can count on whatever she comes up with to be
entertaining, funny, and sometimes poignant. At our celebration, we make sure
there’s lots of laughter because that’s what Jay would want. Telling stories
about Jay and poring over pictures and videos of him have been our way of
getting through our grief. Stories and pictures have also been the vehicle for
introducing our friends here in New Mexico to our boy. No one out here knew him
except Wendy, Frank, Wendy’s daughter Corey (who remembers him, too, only
through stories and pictures), and me. And we certainly don’t want to deprive
our friends of knowing a young man (he was 24 when he died) whom they surely
would have loved! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The celebration
lasts no more than an hour, usually less, so as soon as we finish, we head for
the table. Guests never come to our house without being fed, and the second
Sunday in December is no exception. We don’t have an elaborate dinner, just
sandwiches and Christmas cookies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The Young
Family will be indebted forever to The Compassionate Friends for introducing us
to this wonderful way of keeping Jay’s light shining and of ushering in the
Christmas season, truly the most joyous season of the year.</span><span style="font-family: "wingdings"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">v <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<i><span style="color: #111111; font-family: "timesnewromanps"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sandy, a retired English teacher and sales rep/consultant for a
publishing company, lives with her husband, Frank, in Cerrillos, New Mexico,
very near her daughter and her family. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">For
ten years, this celebration has been instrumental in getting us through our
grief. It has also helped other parents who have lost children or
grandchildren: Connie and Stuart Rosenberg (daughter Shana), Mary McFadin
(daughter Sherry), and Gay Block (grandson Owen). None of us knew each other’s
children and grandchildren before the Candle Lighting, but we do now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">You may
be wondering how long grief lasts. It’s different for everyone. I know of a
lady who didn’t leave her home until at least a year after her daughter died,
grieving the whole time. And there are others who bounce back quickly. I had to
go back to work a little over a month after Jay died, and, as you probably
remember from my earlier writing, I did all right most of the time; however,
attending Velvet Melon gigs without Jay on the stage was almost impossible. After
three or four of the evenings with those young people who loved Jay so much, I
had to quit going. Being there was just too much for me. For several years
after Jay died, I couldn’t watch those beautiful videos that Jack Canavan
masterminded. I can watch them now, but I usually shed some tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A
few days after Jay died, I went to the door to find my sweet hairdresser, Cindy
Waldrop, standing there. She didn’t come in; she just handed me a little
publication from her church and left. I almost didn’t read it because I didn’t
usually read the leaflets from her denomination. But since Cindy gave it to me,
I read it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m
forever grateful to her and happy that I read it. I wish I still had the
booklet so that I could tell you the name of the article in which I found a
line that affected me so deeply in working my way through my grief. Here’s the
gist of the line: On the day that you awaken and don’t think of your deceased
loved one before you have another thought, you’re on your way to healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never forgot the line, and it popped
into my mind in full force one day in early December. Sometime during second
period that day, I realized that I hadn’t thought of Jay yet that morning. Did
that mean that my grief was gone? Absolutely not. It just meant, to me, that I
would survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And
I have survived. I’ll remind you of what I said to friends at the funeral home
on July 5, 1992, when they said that they didn’t know how I would get through this
, meaning Jay’s death. My reply then, and I believe it today, was, </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m calling it a lesson in prepositions. I’ll never get <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">over</b> it; but I will get <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">through</b> it with the help of God,
friends, and family.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">All three have helped me
through these twenty-five years, the main one being God. He made sure that I
found every book that I needed; He led me in my writing; He let me find the
Worldwide Candle Lighting; He always had his strong arms around me. And He
still does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-86211102951863243262019-09-19T08:38:00.003-06:002019-09-19T09:12:23.794-06:00Suggested Reading and Viewing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Books<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Chilstrom,
Corinne. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andrew, You Died Too Soon: A
Family Experience of Grieving<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and Living Again</i>. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1993.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Duncan, Kathleen
B. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Journey through Grief into Grace</i>.
Wichita Falls, TX: R & K Publishing, 2015.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Holmes,
Marjorie. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who Am I, God?</i> New York:
Doubleday, 1998.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Schweibert, Pat,
and Chuck DeKlyen. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tear Soup: A Recipe
for Healing After Loss</i>. Portland, OR: Grief Watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Sittser, Gerald
L. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows
Through Loss</i>. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 1995.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Spiess, Margaret
B. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cries from the Heart: Prayers for
Bereaved Parents</i>. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1991.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Wolterstorff,
Nicholas. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lament for a Son</i>. Grand
Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1987.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Viewing<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2klerPHgHa0"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2klerPHgHa0</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- A History of Velvet Melon by Brian
Taylor </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkvLGV-PMbG8Vd0ugXxd3OQ"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman"; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-decoration: none;">Taylor Arts Productions</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">, <span class="datestyle-scopeytd-video-secondary-info-renderer"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">published
on 7/12/12.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">A documentary
film to commemorate and memorialize the 20-year anniversary of Jay's death and
the band that "could have been" had Jay not left us so soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM7aa4FKCec"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM7aa4FKCec</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- “Don’t Change,” </span><span style="background: #f1f0f0; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">INXS . Performed by Velvet Melon. Videographers
Tom Leobold and Joe Byers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mixed
by Jack Canavan at WEAR TV, Pensacola, FL, 4/18/90.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0UWem0Bh0c"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0UWem0Bh0c</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- “I’m Not Your Man,” Tommy Conwell,
The Young Rumblers. Performed by Velvet Melon. </span><span style="background: #f1f0f0; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Videographers Tom Leobold and Joe Byers. Mixed by Jack
Canavan at WEAR TV, Pensacola, FL, 4/18/90.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aUGTiZIfIw"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aUGTiZIfIw</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- “Modern Love,” David Bowie. </span><span style="background: #f1f0f0; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Videographers Tom Leobold and Joe
Byers. Mixed by Jack Canavan at WEAR TV, Pensacola, FL, 4/18/90.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTBaisNU7S8"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTBaisNU7S8</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- “When I Get Home” – 4Him<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xioodawa4jo"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xioodawa4jo</span></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> -- “I Could Be Persuaded” – The Bellamy
Brothers – Filmed at Seaside, FL, in 1992. Jay is the sax “player.” He’s just
fingering the song since the track had already been laid down when the video
was made. Notice his long, skinny fingers – the only thing he inherited from
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-31248812744586614132019-09-19T08:36:00.003-06:002019-09-19T09:12:40.585-06:00With gratitude to . . . <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
For many years,
I’ve written books to give to people to express my appreciation for what
they’ve done for me. For instance, I’ve written thank-you books for my students
at Woodham High School; for students who traveled with us in Europe; for my
co-workers in Florida, when I retired from McDougal Littell Publishing Company;
for my manager, Kathy Trapp, in New Mexico when she retired; for our friends
Boyd and Susan Christensen, who invited us to go to Cancun with them; for my
cousins so that I might spur memories that they’ll write about; and for my
sweetheart on our 50<sup>th</sup> Anniversary. Lots of books, most of which
were printed on my home printer and bound either at home or at Kinko’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were very much informal and meant
to be read mainly by the person for whom each was written.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My Mom’s Always Hot!: A Mother’s Memories</i>
was different. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wrote it for anyone
who wanted to read it: my family, parents whose children have died, Melonheads
the world over. I wanted to be sure that everything made sense, that there’d be
no misunderstandings. And I wanted someone to catch my careless errors in
grammar, punctuation, and usage. Of course, I wanted someone to catch any typos
that might have crept in while I was typing ever so quickly. And I found two
ladies to be my “second eyes,” two ladies who I knew could be trusted with my
manuscript about my boy, two ladies who, though they didn’t know Jay, knew my
writing style and my heart. They wouldn’t try to change my voice from that of a
mother’s personal memories to some kind of formal biography, certainly not what
my book was intended to be. These ladies understand me, and that’s why I wanted
them for my “second eyes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Carol Purkins is a
friend here in Cerrillos and a member of our church. She was a teacher and is
just as persnickety as I am about grammar and usage. She may even be more
persnickety than I am because she found lots of things that this old English
teacher needed to correct. Her main contribution was of a proofreading nature,
though she gave me lots of editorial pointers. To say that I’m grateful is an
understatement!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Melanie Faith is
also a friend whom I’ve met since we’ve been in New Mexico. She’s one of my
best friends, but I’ve never met her in person. I talked to her on the phone
once, though, because she and I decided that we’d like to hear each other’s
voices – hers definitely northern (Pennsylvania), mine definitely southern
(Deep South). We met through WOW—Women on Writing, a website for women who
write. I have taken about five or six online courses from Melanie; she is the
only writing teacher that I’ve ever had. So . . . when I needed an editor, I naturally
thought of her. She has edited many pieces that I’ve written for classes, so I
knew that she’d be perfect for being “second eyes” to my book. She gave me many
pointers about changes that I might want to make, and I took virtually all of
her suggestions. Again, to say that I’m grateful is an understatement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Another person to
whom I’m indebted is our daughter, Wendy Young. Wendy is a photographer, and it
is she who took many, maybe even most, of the photos of Jay that I’ve included.
Her brother was her favorite subject for photos while he was alive, and she has
carefully guarded all of them. She contributed some photos that I didn’t have
and made suggestions about which photos should be included. Every mother needs
a daughter like my Wendy!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
And finally, my
husband of almost 56 years, Frank, gave suggestions and encouragement
throughout the time that I was writing. Every lady writer needs a husband who
will take over chores that she usually does, like preparing dinner, every once
in a while, while his sweetheart is buried in words. Toward the end of my
composing, he gave me some words that he wanted me to include, but I never
could find a place for them. Since I love them, let me give them to you here: “<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">And so these are the ways that I’ve
handled my grief. They might work for you, too.” What a compliment for him to
think that the way that I handled my grief might work for someone else! Frank
and I are alike in many ways, but the ways that we handled our grief were very
much different. Both of us have relied on friends, family, and God, the only
way that we could survive.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-25902629441847340832019-09-18T11:01:00.000-06:002019-09-25T11:05:10.975-06:00More Pictures -- Velvet Melon and Others<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURN2FNLQAAO7lrDqEVXBfrt-vJSOULuIEwPoUdBSoAeyWbVnRPRuHN-BSDpJa8iuZWeusVeGCddv7WMCNJ4m4yN18D5EGGlOPv7XYaBj9HEkeFVMkA4tdRXIsIsp-JJvtXb05/s1600/Jay+--+leather+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="427" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURN2FNLQAAO7lrDqEVXBfrt-vJSOULuIEwPoUdBSoAeyWbVnRPRuHN-BSDpJa8iuZWeusVeGCddv7WMCNJ4m4yN18D5EGGlOPv7XYaBj9HEkeFVMkA4tdRXIsIsp-JJvtXb05/s200/Jay+--+leather+jacket.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdg1jwrBZVR2QvLumajH05FpAEwbgbNHjnb9PM4-85-gBVXu3AkDzaPiWHyZJsPwXCppJk5K1OcONzaJYq5m6Wb8loBKZbgrkw2ylMHej5_Gqn_2eS2zfhlU4XFbUUQucFcqK/s1600/Jay+and+fancy+guitar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="432" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdg1jwrBZVR2QvLumajH05FpAEwbgbNHjnb9PM4-85-gBVXu3AkDzaPiWHyZJsPwXCppJk5K1OcONzaJYq5m6Wb8loBKZbgrkw2ylMHej5_Gqn_2eS2zfhlU4XFbUUQucFcqK/s200/Jay+and+fancy+guitar.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpXhsU88W1aaCdqBcWvekdSGTaZu5HN-C2nw6J-YqUHfiWjToNKmSIwKEpEq3wTY3Z78D_pVrmh7LIR92ROUslj7DLG1eGpIkxJ8ky1BD5G2QN9BxwbxFJomv05eOKwKYslHZ/s1600/Jay+and+Jimmy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="581" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpXhsU88W1aaCdqBcWvekdSGTaZu5HN-C2nw6J-YqUHfiWjToNKmSIwKEpEq3wTY3Z78D_pVrmh7LIR92ROUslj7DLG1eGpIkxJ8ky1BD5G2QN9BxwbxFJomv05eOKwKYslHZ/s320/Jay+and+Jimmy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG10ejR74nCGVqG3Gj8IYWksKu5L-3YNh82xmBxG8SHDIS2NaH0xIESnmEAxZVfNz6zAmclm0Q6LvBLw66nORb5X0za-cGEo2XxdZoDkpkltJG3fEQ0Ts-oZjBQL57fR5BBS4B/s1600/Jay+and+Mullah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1324" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG10ejR74nCGVqG3Gj8IYWksKu5L-3YNh82xmBxG8SHDIS2NaH0xIESnmEAxZVfNz6zAmclm0Q6LvBLw66nORb5X0za-cGEo2XxdZoDkpkltJG3fEQ0Ts-oZjBQL57fR5BBS4B/s200/Jay+and+Mullah.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkyRvIsBWYBFT6lAvbOzh-gmtsYexDdnYSIQEwa4hLnUdRA28NsXvnU68zXx4HsPZW7qy_LalcJOyYSEnfK5bqmQqalaug5dmwmZy2RVuHLXXrMbub2eg86CadIEp8C0kdU8f/s1600/Jay+and+sax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="427" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkyRvIsBWYBFT6lAvbOzh-gmtsYexDdnYSIQEwa4hLnUdRA28NsXvnU68zXx4HsPZW7qy_LalcJOyYSEnfK5bqmQqalaug5dmwmZy2RVuHLXXrMbub2eg86CadIEp8C0kdU8f/s200/Jay+and+sax.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
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<br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-19030558491460007872019-05-15T16:09:00.000-06:002019-05-16T08:21:52.439-06:00C is for Cakes<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">C
is for Cakes<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b>I’m a
baker. No, I’m not bragging because I don’t do anything fancy, but I do bake
good cakes. I bake good pies and cookies, too; however, this little piece is
about cakes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
don’t remember baking much at all before Frank and I married. My mother did the
baking. The cakes that I remember from her kitchen are a brown sugar pound cake
(I just found a recipe online recently), the lemon pound cake that everyone was
baking back in the ‘50s (made from a cake mix with pudding and lemon added, I
think), and angel food cake with cherry icing. All were delicious, but I don’t
think they took much time. Mother was a busy working lady! I make the angel
food cake, too, but I buy a cake from Sam’s and just make the icing. Just as
good. I remember that Mother asked for suggestions from Frank for dinner the
first time he went home with me from college. He ordered ham, potato salad not
mashed up, and a cake not out of the box. I’ll bet Mother had to really think
on the dessert order!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Frank and I married, I didn’t know much at all about cooking, though I had been
in charge of making dinner at home for at least a couple of years before going
to college. (I learned to cook over the phone. Mother would tell me what she
wanted me to prepare for dinner, and I’d call her at work several times during
the process every evening to ask questions. She’d say, “What does it look
like?” or “What does it taste like? Does it need salt?” And then she’d give me
suggestions. No one ever complained, so I guess I did OK.) Frank, however, knew
lots about cooking since he had taken over the kitchen at the age of fifteen or
sixteen, when his mother was pregnant with Bob, Frank’s youngest brother. And
then, he had been a bachelor for several years after getting out of the Air
Force, always cooking for himself. So he taught me lots of things after we
married.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
he didn’t teach me how to bake. I taught myself. Every Saturday, I would bake a
cake, usually a chocolate cake with seven-minute icing. There wouldn’t be a
crumb left by the next Saturday, when I’d take to the kitchen for baking again.
Needless to say, back then, neither of us had to worry about calories. Then I
found that he really liked German’s Chocolate Cake. (I just remembered that
Mother used to bake this, too, so that’s probably what she prepared for Frank’s
first meal) So I bought a block of German’s Chocolate and set about learning to
bake one of Frank’s favorites. It’s still the one that he asks for first when I
ask him for a suggestion. Here’s the same recipe that I’ve used for more than
fifty-seven years:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">German’s Sweet Chocolate
Cake – adjusted for high altitude<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ingredients<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 pkg. German’s Sweet Chocolate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
½ cup water</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 eggs, separated</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 cups flour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¾ tsp. baking soda</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¼ tsp. salt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 cup butter, softened</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 cups minus 4 T sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 tsp. vanilla</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 cup plus 3 T buttermilk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Directions<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Heat</b> oven to 350<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">°<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Cover</span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"> 3 9” round
pans on bottom with wax paper. Grease and flour pans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Microwave</span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"> chocolate
and water</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Beat</b> egg whites;
set aside. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mix </b>flour, baking
soda, and salt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Beat</b> butter and
sugar until light and fluffy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Add</b> egg yolks one
at a time. Beat well after each.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Blend </b>in melted
chocolate and vanilla.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Add </b>flour mixture
alternately with buttermilk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Add</b> egg whites.
Fold or stir gently.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Divide</b> evenly
among pans.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bake </b>30 minutes.
Check with toothpick. Run spatula around cake. Cool 15 minutes. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Turn out</b> on wire racks and cool
completely before icing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coconut-Pecan Frosting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 egg yolks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 can (12 oz.) evaporated milk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 ½ tsp. vanilla</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 ½ cups sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 ½ sticks butter</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 2/3 cups coconut</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 ½ cups chopped pecans</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Beat</b> egg yolks,
milk, and vanilla in large pan with whisk. Add sugar and butter; cook on medium
heat for 12 minutes or until thickened and golden brown, stirring constantly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Add </b>coconut</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we moved to Pascagoula, MS, in 1964, after we had
graduated from Mississippi College, we became members of First Baptist Church.
Sometime during our years there (1964 – 1968), the Women’s Missionary Union
published a cookbook. I can assure you that it has a gazillion great recipes in
it, but the one that I’ve used the most is a cake recipe. Frank’s not crazy
about it, and I’ve made it so many times and eaten so much of it that I’m tired
of it. But I bake it every once in a while if I need dessert for lots of folks.
Here it is, along with some explanation because I included it in a recipe book
that I made for Wendy, Corey, and Irina one Christmas several years ago:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h1>
Chocolate Sheet Cake</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
If you were to look at this recipe in the Pascagoula
Cookbook, you’d see it called Chocolate Sheath Cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like a dress, I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This recipe is very similar to one that my cousin Jo Ann has
from her Aunt Avis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my
cookbook, Elsie Jane McMurray, our preacher’s wife, submitted it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so good and has fed many a hungry
child and adult!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 cups sugar<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1/2
cup buttermilk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 cups sifted all-purpose flour<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2
eggs, beaten</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 sticks butter<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1
tsp. baking soda</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 tablespoons cocoa<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1
tsp. cinnamon</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 cup water<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1
tsp. vanilla</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sift together sugar and flour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mix in saucepan the butter, cocoa, and water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bring to boil; pour over sugar and
flour and mix well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add remaining
ingredients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mix well and pour in
well-greased 11 x 16 inch pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bake at 350º for 20 minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Icing:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mix and
bring to a boil:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 stick butter<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>6
tablespoons buttermilk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 tablespoons cocoa<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dash
of salt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remove from heat and add 1 box of sifted Confectioner’s
Sugar, 1 teaspoonful vanilla, 1 cup chopped pecans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beat until smooth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Poke holes with toothpick in hot cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pour hot icing over cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cool and cut into squares.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there’s one more cake that I make frequently. I think
it’s the one that the most people like . . . and Frank does, too. What’s not to
like about carrot cake, huh? Especially with a big dollop of vanilla ice cream
alongside the piece. I must tell you something funny, something that I didn’t
include in my comments before the recipe (this recipe, too, was in the cookbook
that I made for my girls). Every time I took this cake to school for my teacher
friends, Mary DeCosta, our drama teacher, would tell her eating buddies that
she needed to hurry back to our work area to get her piece of carrot cake. She
swore that it gave her an orgasm! But that was just dramatic Mary, I imagine.
Here ‘tis:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h1>
Carrot Cake</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
Martha Smith, one of my teacher friends at Woodham (she
taught Latin, Russian, English, and occasionally one of the social studies
classes . . . Wow!), used to make this cake and bring it to us at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, she got two cakes from the
recipe by baking four layers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
usually make just one big cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 cups sugar<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2
teaspoons baking soda<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 eggs<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1
teaspoon salt<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 1/2 cups salad oil<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2
tablespoons vanilla<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3 teaspoons cinnamon<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2
cups sifted all-purpose flour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>3
cups grated carrots</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mix together sugar, eggs, oil, and vanilla.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sift together cinnamon, soda, salt, and
flour, and add to sugar mixture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mix well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add grated carrots.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bake in 3 layers for 30 minutes at 325°. (You can use either
8” or 9” pans, but I like 8” better.) The best way to bake in round cake pans
is to grease and flour the bottom and sides; then cut a piece of wax paper the
size of the bottom of the pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Place waxed paper in pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Makes it so much easier to get cake out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let layers cool on racks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Icing:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 stick butter, softened<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1
box sifted Confectioners’ Sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 8 oz. cream cheese, softened<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1/2
cup chopped pecans</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mix together, and spread on cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s a hint about putting icing on a cake. Cut four strips
of waxed paper, and make a big outer square on the cake plate. Place the first
layer on the cake plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put some
icing on the top, spread, and spread down sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Repeat for the second layer, still spreading down the
sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finish the same way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pull out the strips of waxed paper, and
you have no icing all over the plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hope this makes sense.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Recently, I used a different recipe. It had crushed
pineapple, dried cranberries, and toasted pecans in the batter, with a few
cranberries and toasted pecans on the top. I really liked it, but Frank said
that my old recipe was better. I’m glad because it’s much easier to make!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that’s my cake history. I have other recipes that I made
occasionally, but these three are the ones that go over better with everyone.
All of them need that scoop or two of vanilla ice cream!</div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-40148312735421144832019-05-15T16:06:00.002-06:002019-05-16T08:22:21.925-06:00B is for Books<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">B
is for Books<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
not addicted to alcohol or drugs or chocolate, but I am addicted to reading.
And since I have that addiction, I have far too many books. I must confess that
I hardly ever hesitate to buy an interesting book that a friend recommends or
that I see on Goodreads or that pops up in my email, causing my credit card to
almost always never get below $700. Don’t get me wrong. Not all of that debt is
because of my carelessly purchasing books. Much of it is for Christmas “giffs”
for family. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
almost always have three or four books going at the same time: one for reading
in bed, one for reading when the TV is on, and a couple of more that are
started but read only occasionally. Needless to say, it takes me longer to read
these than the others.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
belong to an online book club – the Modern Mrs Darcy Book Club – and Anne
Bogel, the creator of the book club, suggests a gazillion books every week,
with one book, plus the “flight” books (books that are related to the theme of
the month’s selection), “assigned” every month. At the end of the month, we
have a webinar on the month’s selection, sometimes with the author joining in
on the webinar. Usually the webinar lasts for an hour, but sometimes our chatty
leader goes over. I have no idea how I found this online club, but I’m happy
that I did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
this morning (May 14, 2019) we had a webinar in which Anne talked about the
books that she has put on the Summer Reading Guide . . . thirty books that she
suggests that we read. She’ll send the list to us via email, but I took down
the titles of about ten of them and immediately added them to my Goodreads
“Want to Read” list. I think I have thirty or so books on that list. My problem
is that I don’t have the funds to order or even to buy at Book Mountain, my
favorite used bookstore. It seems as though a book from Amazon comes almost
every day, adding to my credit card total. As I said earlier, I’m addicted to
reading!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
have no idea how many books Frank and I have. Maybe I’ll count someday, but not
right now. In my office, I have them sort of divided into categories: old books
from teaching and sales repping, books on writing, books that friends and
relatives have written, those on grief (mainly about losing children, of
course), those that I’ve read this year (nineteen as of today) and in years
past, books that I want to read. In our bedroom and in the guest room, I have
bookshelves with the volumes divided by authors. We love to read authors who
have written lots of books, trying to read all of them . . . authors like David
Baldacci, Lee Child, Vince Sparks, Harlen Coben, Mary Higgins Clark, Ken
Follett, and many more. Both Frank and I are readers, and the good thing is
that we usually like the same books.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before
I close on BOOKS, I’ll have to tell you a secret. I read so many books and my
poor old brain is getting so old that I can rarely tell you much about books
after about a week. Isn’t that sad? I’m really thankful that I finally learned
how to use Goodreads because now I can keep up with what I’ve read and remember
a little bit about the books because I write a blurb about them when I finish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here are my bookcases. Not a very neat librarian, I'm afraid! But you can see how much I love books. And so does Frank!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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This is what I WISH my library looked like:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5W-BrIIjia6aaainDeHnhuVvZNQLE5i8wQ3k3P5eyKfyHgiRUFa-1D04vbBhsgFVDW-yT-j2_AmX-x6q9OXZxHuBQZzz3c2UHPUxpECTnBOKUZOh1Odoj66PJZF1YjKX1MZw/s1600/UXIY4089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5W-BrIIjia6aaainDeHnhuVvZNQLE5i8wQ3k3P5eyKfyHgiRUFa-1D04vbBhsgFVDW-yT-j2_AmX-x6q9OXZxHuBQZzz3c2UHPUxpECTnBOKUZOh1Odoj66PJZF1YjKX1MZw/s320/UXIY4089.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-72870580491713333522019-05-15T15:18:00.001-06:002019-05-16T08:22:36.908-06:00A is for Address<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "lucida handwriting"; font-size: 14.0pt;">A
is for Address<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>know I’m strange, but I have lived in only six cities (some were towns or
villages) that I remember in my almost 79 years: Mobile, AL; New Orleans, LA;
Pensacola, FL; Clinton, MS; Pascagoula, MS; and Cerrillos, NM. And I remember
the address in each place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We moved from Baton Rouge, LA,
which I don’t remember, to Mobile, AL, when I was three years old. The
apartment neighborhood where we lived is still there, now a neighborhood where
almost all of the tenants are black people. It was practically new when we
moved in at 401 Crenshaw Street, Apartment A.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Even though I was very young, I
remember several things about this apartment. The thing I remember best was
what I said to a new neighbor and what happened later. I was on my tricycle on
the porch when the new neighbor spoke to me. I told her (the mother, I presume)
that my mother had told me not to talk to them until she got to know them. The
little boy in the family, Leroy Willingham, later became my best friend.</div>
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What I remember about Leroy is that
I’d let him break my toys if he’d stay a bit longer to play. When my mother
found out that I was doing that, she was furious. I don’t remember exactly what
she did to stop that silly activity, but she probably let Leroy have it! He was
my first boyfriend.</div>
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I also remember a closet shaped
like a cornucopia, where I kept my toys. Maybe it was built for a shelter of
some sort, but for the Cheatham family, it was for toy storage. I also remember
eating almost a whole stick of butter that my mother had put on the table
because we were having company for dinner. This was somewhat of a disaster
because during WWII, butter was rationed, and Mother had bought all that she
could for a while.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=32460121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>When I was a child, I was what we
in the South call sickly. I have specific memories of two of my sick spells.
When I was four years old, I had scarlet fever. Today, scarlet fever is cured
with antibiotics, and children stay out of school only a few days while they
get over being contagious. Back in 1944, children were quarantined for a couple
of weeks. That’s what happened to me. What a long time for a child to be in
bed! I don’t know where I was exposed to the disease but maybe at church since
my mother and I went every Sunday. The disease is spread through coughing and
sneezing, and I’m sure that there was much of both in the Primary Department at
West End Baptist Church.</div>
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My dad caused the second sick spell
that I remember, or so he thought. One day, after we had had a hard rain in
Mobile, I went outside to play. The lovely mud puddle in the street in front of
our house was too much for a four-year-old to resist even though her mother had
specifically told her not to wade in the water. When Mother looked out and saw
what I was doing, she ran out, jerked me out of the puddle, and said, “Just
wait till your daddy gets home! He’s going to spank you!”</div>
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I have no idea why she threatened
me with Daddy, the kindest, least violent man in the whole world. He had never
spanked me before, and I hoped he wouldn’t begin something new now; however,
when Mother told him what she had promised, he had to spank me . . . probably
not very hard, but since my daddy was doing the spanking, it broke my heart.</div>
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</div>
That night, I became sick in the
night, and Daddy swore that spanking me made me sick and vowed never to raise a
hand against me again. He kept his word, and I was relieved. Mother never made
such a promise, and the narrow black belt or a strong switch was always handy
for her!</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I really intended to write about
each of the places that I’ve lived, but I’ve spent far too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>much time on Mobile. Since I said that
I remember all of the addresses, I’ll give them here just so that I won’t be
telling a big fat fib.</div>
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<br /></div>
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New Orleans – 8326 Palmetto St.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pensacola – 2305 W. Cervantes St., 610 “Q” Street, 24 Janet
St. (with my parents)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clinton – Main St. and a PO Box when I was in college</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pascagoula – 2306 Saratoga Dr.</div>
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Pensacola --<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>613
Detroit Blvd. (after Frank and I married)</div>
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Cerrillos – 279 Gold Mine Rd./PO Box 555<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGD9irL0PlB2RZ_srLMJHB7M75mh6jeurUfBd0EOLtOxaWQNLJQDrAUoIVNdowjDRcbJNsXkszCPc43zJuv94q_s08cBw9jUTCKgsV_VgQRrx9sPKu9wKCfM-XQ4nkDLmPWsC1/s1600/DSC08895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGD9irL0PlB2RZ_srLMJHB7M75mh6jeurUfBd0EOLtOxaWQNLJQDrAUoIVNdowjDRcbJNsXkszCPc43zJuv94q_s08cBw9jUTCKgsV_VgQRrx9sPKu9wKCfM-XQ4nkDLmPWsC1/s320/DSC08895.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I took this photo in 2008. This is the right apartment
house, but it’s been remodeled a bit. I didn’t see the screened in porch, and
we certainly didn’t have these trees. I wanted to go to the door to ask to see
our apartment, but I wasn’t that brave.</div>
<br />
<br />Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-87818345413704737072018-04-30T12:07:00.000-06:002018-05-14T12:07:46.775-06:00Z is for Zucchini<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
In Florida, Frank had a huge garden every year. He’s grow corn, onions, potatoes, cucumbers, zucchini and other kinds of squash . . . just a huge garden. I loved the produce, but I’m here to tell you that I didn’t like what I had to do with most of the veggies when they were ripe for picking. I had to either freeze or can them, and I’m just not domestic enough to enjoy those chores. Also, almost every year, the veggies needed to be either frozen or canned right at final exam time, when I needed to be making and grading tests and getting final grades done; or everything needed doing just as we were getting ready to leave for Europe, when I needed to be getting all the last minute things done for the trip. I loved the onions, potatoes, and cukes, though, because I just needed to go out and pick or dig veggies for dinner.</div>
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I think that the last time Frank had the huge garden was in 2002, the year before our move to New Mexico. Things are different here in the Land of Enchantment. It’s almost impossible to grow a garden of any sort because of the lack of water. You need to know that some people have beautiful gardens – both flower gardens and vegetable gardens – but it takes MUCH tending and LOTS of water. I’m not much of an outdoor person, even for having beautiful gardens, and Frank has grown weary of working so hard, sometimes not getting anything to grow.</div>
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But . . . one year (and I wish we could remember which one!) we had so much zucchini that we couldn’t even eat it all. He would go out in the evening to check the growth and find six or seven inch squash, only to find that they had grown to ten or twelve inches by the next morning. Amazing! I have searched for a photo that I have of him holding one at least fifteen inches long, but to no avail. That summer, just as I was leaving to go to Pecos to do a math inservice, he came in the house with a box full of zucchini. He said to tell the teachers that I wouldn’t be doing the meeting until they had taken all of the zucchini with them. A couple of years later, I was in Hagerman visiting a teacher. The new principal came to the desk in the office, and we began to chat. We both said that we thought we’d met before. He told me that he used to be the principal at Pecos Middle School. Then the light bulb went off in his head, and he said, “You’re the zucchini lady!” Funny, huh?</div>
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Let me tell you a couple of things to do with zucchini. We found or created lots of recipes that Summer of the Abundant Zucchini! The first is one that Frank made up, and it’s delicious. He’d slice the zucchini into what he calls “slabs” lengthwise. I prefer to call them “slices.” Then he puts either butter or olive oil on the griddle and grills them. At the end, he puts slices of cheese (any kind will do) and melts the cheese. These are absolutely delicious! My hero is good at making up recipes.</div>
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And what about me? I’m a recipe gal. So I found a delicious dessert recipe. I hope you make it sometime. You can really fool people!</div>
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<span style="color: #4a2114; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Zucchini Dessert Squares</span><span style="color: #4a2114; font-family: "times"; font-size: 20pt;">– </span><span style="color: #4a2114; font-family: "times";">I found this recipe in the New Mexican one summer, but I lost the recipe. Since you can find anything on the Internet, I googled it and up popped my recipe. Tastes like apple pie!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4a2114; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Ingredients<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> <span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 4 cups all-purpose flour<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 2 cups sugar<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1/2 teaspoon salt<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1-1/2 cups cold butter<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4b2113; font-family: "verdana";"> FILLING:</span><span style="color: #878787; font-family: "verdana";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 8 to 10 cups cubed seeded peeled zucchini (4 to 5 pounds)<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 2/3 cup lemon juice<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1 cup sugar<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4a2114; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14pt;">Directions<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt. Cut in butter until crumbly; reserve 3 cups. Pat remaining crumb mixture into a greased 13-in. x 9-in. baking pan. Bake at 375° for 12 minutes.<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> Meanwhile, for filling, place zucchini and lemon juice in a large saucepan; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and cook for 6-8 minutes or until zucchini is crisp-tender. Stir in the sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg; cover and simmer for 5 minutes (mixture will be thin).<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> Spoon over crust; sprinkle with the reserved crumb mixture. Bake at 375° for 40-45 minutes or until golden.<b> Yield: </b>16-20 servings.<span style="color: #878787;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-79217962189001518892018-04-28T11:03:00.000-06:002018-05-14T11:04:55.256-06:00Y is for Between Fairbanks and the Yukon<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
In August 2013, Frank, Sam (his older brother), and I went to Alaska. We drove Sam’s new Chevy to Prince Rupert, B.C., and boarded a ferry to Alaska. We had a room with three single beds, a desk, a closet, and a bathroom. What a wonderful way to cruise! We had a forest ranger on board with us to give lectures, and we stopped at various ports so that passengers could go on land to explore a bit if they wanted to. We never did get off the ferry because we didn’t want to risk not getting back before departure. Of course, when we reached Haines, AK, we had our car for touring.</div>
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We made lots of stops along the way, but Fairbanks and Anchorage, with Denali in between, were our main destinations. We loved Fairbanks, but Anchorage was just another big city to us. Besides, the only rain that we had was in Anchorage. So . . . we cut our stay there by a day or so and headed to Dawson City, a place where Sam had wanted to go from the outset . . . the place where Jack London lived for a year and wrote many of his stories. Sam had always been a fan of Jack London and was so excited about going to a town where London had history.</div>
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On the way to Dawson City, we stopped at a “town” that I want to tell you about . . . Chicken, AK. Oh, my goodness, what a treat! Chicken was once a mining town, but now, it’s just a tourist trap. You may think the name of the town a bit strange, but there’s a story behind it.</div>
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You see, the miners wanted to name the town after the local bird . . . the ptarmigan; however, no one could spell it, so they named it chicken, another bird in the area and one whose name they could spell.</div>
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The reason I used quotation marks around “town” is that I’m not sure that a place with a population of 7, according to a 2010 census, should be called a town. In 2000, the population was 17, so you can see that Chicken isn’t growing.</div>
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We loved the Goldpanner, the gift shop, and spent about an hour there. Then we headed for Dawson City. Hope you’re not disappointed that I didn’t write about the Yukos, but I was writing about the place between Fairbanks and the Yukon . . . Chicken, Alaska. What a treat! Here are some photos to prove that we were there!</div>
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Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-52689208880923646422018-04-27T16:28:00.000-06:002018-05-13T16:30:01.993-06:00X is for 40 Words That Start with X<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times";">Well, dear reader, I’ve cheated a bit on X. I know only two words that begin with X:</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times";"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times";">x-ray and xylophone. I don’t want to write about x-rays, and I’ve already written about xylophone in another year of Blogging from A-Z April Challenge. So . . . I went to the internet and found the following article. It has neither of my two words, but it has 40 words that I’ve never heard of and which I will probably never use. I enjoyed reading this and thought you might, too.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: times;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; font-weight: bold;">40 Words That Start With X</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://mentalfloss.com/authors/57420/Paul-Anthony-Jones" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline;"><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 1pt; text-transform: uppercase;">BY PAUL ANTHONY JONES</span></a><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 1pt; text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #a4a4a4; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 1pt; text-transform: uppercase;">JUNE 28, 2017<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">When the lexicographer Dr. Samuel Johnson put together his Dictionary of the English Language in 1755, there weren't a lot of words that started with X; he even included a disclaimer</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>at the bottom of page 2308</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">that read, “X is a letter which though found in Saxon words, begins no word in the English language.” Noah Webster went one better when he published his Compendious Dictionary in 1806 that</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>included a single X-word</u>,</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xebec</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, defined as “a small three-masted vessel in the Mediterranean Sea.” Although, by the time he compiled his landmark American Dictionary in 1828, that total had</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>risen to 13</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">X has never been a common initial letter in English, and even with today’s enormous vocabulary you can</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>still only expect</u>around 0.02 percent of the words in a dictionary to be listed under it. But why not try boosting your vocabulary with these 40 words that start with X.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">On its own, the letter X is listed in the</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>Oxford English Dictionary</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">as a verb meaning “to cross out a single letter of type.”</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>X. X.</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>in Victorian slang</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">meant “double-excellent,” while</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>X. X. X.</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">described anything that was “treble excellent.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">2. XANTHIPPE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Xanthippe was the name of Socrates’ wife, who, thanks to a number of Ancient Greek caricatures, had a reputation for henpecking, overbearing behavior. Consequently her name can be used as a byword for any ill-tempered or cantankerous woman or wife—as used in Shakespeare’s</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><i>Taming of the Shrew</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">3. XANTHOCOMIC<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Xanthos</span></i><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">was the Ancient Greek word for “yellow,” and as such is the root of a number of</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>mainly scientific words</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">referring to yellow-colored things. So, if you’re</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xanthocomic</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, you have yellow hair; if you’re</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xanthocroic</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">you have fair hair and pale skin; and if you’re</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xanthodontous</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, you have yellow teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">4. X-CATCHER<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">In old naval slang, an</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>X-catcher</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">or</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>X-chaser</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">was someone who was good at math—literally someone good at</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>working out the value</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">of</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>x</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">5. X-DIVISION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>Victorian slang</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">for criminals or pickpockets, or people who make a living by some underhand means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">6. X-DOUBLE-MINUS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>1960s slang</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">for something really, really terrible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">7. XENAGOGUE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Derived from</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>the same root</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">as</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenophobia</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenagogue</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is someone whose job it is to conduct strangers or to act as a guide while…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">8. XENAGOGY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">…a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenagogy</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is a guidebook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">9. XENIAL<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The adjective</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenial</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is used to describe a friendly relationship between two parties, in particular between a hospitable host and his or her guests, or diplomatically between two countries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">10. XENIATROPHOBIA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Don’t like going to see doctors you don’t know? Then you’re</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xeniatrophobic</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">11. XENIUM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenium</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is a gift or offering given to a stranger, which in its native Ancient Greece would once have been a lavish feast or a refreshing spread of food and fruit. In the 19th century art world, however,</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenium</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">came to refer to a still-life painting depicting something like a extravagant display of food or a bowl of fruit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">12. XENIZATION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A 19th century word meaning “the act of traveling as a stranger.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">13. XENOCRACY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A government formed by foreigners or outsiders is a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenocracy</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">. A member of one is a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenocrat</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">14. XENODOCHEIONOLOGY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Defined as “the lore of hotels and inns”</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>by Merriam-Webster</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">15. XENODOCHIUM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A guesthouse or hostel, or any similar stopping place for travelers or pilgrims.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">16. XENODOCHY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A 17th century word for hospitality. If you’re</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenodochial</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">then you like to entertain strangers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">17. XENOGLOSSY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The ability to speak a language that you’ve apparently never learnt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">18. XENOLOGY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The scientific study of extraterrestrial phenomena is</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenology</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">. The study of extraterrestrial life forms is</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenobiology</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">19. XENOMANIA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The opposite of</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenophobia</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenomania</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">or</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenophilia</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, namely an intense enthusiasm or fondness for anything or anyone foreign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">20. XENOMORPH<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Something unusually or irregularly shaped is a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenomorph</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">—which is why it’s become another name for</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>the eponymous creature</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">in the</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>Alien</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">film franchise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">21. XENOTRANSPLANTATION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Transplanting organic matter from a non-human into a human (like a pig’s heart valve into a human heart) is called</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenotransplantation</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">. Whatever it is that’s transplanted is called the</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xenograft</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">22. XERIC<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">An ecological term used to describe anywhere extremely dry or arid. If it’s</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xerothermic</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">, then it’s both dry and hot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">23. XERISCAPE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">If you live in a xeric area, then you’ll have to</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xeriscape</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">your garden. It’s the deliberate use of plants that need relatively little moisture or irrigation to landscape an arid location.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">24. XEROCHILIA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The medical name for having dry lips. Having a dry mouth is</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xerostomia</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">25. XEROCOPY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A xerographic copy of a document—or, to put it another way, a photocopy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">26. XEROPHAGY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The eating of dry food is</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xerophagy</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">. It mightn’t sound like it, but it was</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>originally a religious term</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">27. XESTURGY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The proper name for the process of polishing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">28. XILINOUS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Something described as</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xilinous</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">resembles or feels like cotton…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">29. XIPHOID<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">…while something described as</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xiphoid</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">resembles a sword.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">30. XOANON<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Derived from the Greek for “carve” or “scrape,” a</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xoanon</i> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">is a carved idol of a deity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">31. XTAL<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">An abbreviation of “crystal,” according to the</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>OED</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">32. XYLOGRAPHER<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A 19th century word for a wood engraver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">33. XYLOID<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Why say that something is “woody” when you can say that it’s</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> <i>xyloid</i></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">34. XYLOPOLIST<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A 17th century formal name for a timber merchant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">35. XYLOTOMOUS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Describes anything or anyone particularly good at wood-cutting or wood-boring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">36. XYRESIC<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Means “razor-sharp.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">37. XYROPHOBIA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">The fear of being close to or touching sharp implements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">38. XYLANTHRAX<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Nowhere near as nasty as it sounds, this is just an old name for what we now call charcoal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">39. XYSTUS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">A type of covered walkway or portico.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "helvetica"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">40. X.Y.Z.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">Late</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>19th century slang</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">for a journalist who takes on any work going, or else</span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"><u>18th century slang</u></span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.5pt;">for a dandyish or “exquisite” young man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #26323e; font-family: "times"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;"><input name="email" type="email" /> <input type="submit" value="Sign Up
Now" /> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32460121.post-86007857974180498212018-04-26T16:25:00.000-06:002018-05-16T13:19:56.132-06:00W is for Writer Friends<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
I’m what I call a writer wannabe. Even though I’ve self published three books, none of which are on amazon.com, I still don’t consider myself a real writer; however, I have lots of friends who fall into that category.</div>
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I’ll tell you only a smidgen about the writers and their books because I want you to read them for yourselves, and I don’t want to give anything away that might cause you not to read. So, here they are, listed alphabetically by last name but not by preference:</div>
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Adrian, J.D. – <i>Now I’ve Seen Everything: Growing Up in Maine in the 1940s and 1950s</i>. Joyce is my husband’s first cousin and a dear friend whom I call my sister-cousin. Her book is a memoir and a very good one. I proofread it for her and enjoyed every minute.</div>
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Brandt, Betsy – <i>The Three Sources of Creativity: Breakthroughs from Your Head, Heart and Gut</i>. Betsy is one of my Christian friends and writes beautifully about creativity. She is also one of my cheerleaders for writing.</div>
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Coleman, RoseAnne – <i>The Stories I Keep</i>. All I need to say about this book is that RoseAnne is a born Southern storyteller. All of her stories are personal experiences.</div>
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Conoway, Patricia J. – <i>Listening With My Eyes: An Abused Horse, A Mother with Alzheimer’s, the Journey to Help Them Both</i>. My neighbor used her experiences with an abused horse to help her know how to care for her mother. A memoir.</div>
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Fisher, Ruth. H. – <i>The Amazing Victor McLaglen Motor Corps: The History of the Oldest Motorcycle Stunt and Drill Team in the World, 1935 – 2014</i>. Ruth is a friend whose husband, Harry, was the leader of this team from 1978 until he died in 2014. Ruth was the announcer for the team and is the foremost authority on the history of this famous team.</div>
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Fletcher, Claudia – <i>Out of Many, One Family: How Two Adults Claimed Twelve Children through Adoption</i>; and <i>Little Did She Know</i>. Claudia is the daughter of my husband’s first cousin and, as you can tell from the title of the first book listed, the mother of twelve adopted children. Oh, how much I admire Claudia!</div>
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Holmes, Tyrone – <i>The Undone Heart.</i>Tyrone used to go to Florida to do math presentations for me when I was a sales representative for McDougal Littell Publishing Company. I called him, even back then more than twenty years ago, a math teacher with an English teacher’s heart. I recognized him as an excellent writer, so I wasn’t at all surprised to find that he had published a book of poetry.</div>
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Jarvis, Sharon Downing – <i>A Fresh Start in Fairhaven</i>; <i>Mercies & Miracles</i>; and <i>Through Cloud & Sunshine</i>. Sharon and I were best friends in junior and senior high school. She wrote wonderful teenage stories about Tony and Tricia, and on Friday nights, we used to sit side by side on her bed with her writing and me reading the stories. I always knew that she’d be a “real live writer” one day, so I wasn’t at all surprised when she became a published author. She writes for Deseret Book.</div>
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Lutz, Nancy Cole – <i>One, Two, Buckle My Shoe: Nurturing Learners</i>. Nancy tells the stories of three elementary students and their learning quest. This wonderful teacher adapted materials for these children.</div>
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Lytle, Samuel L. – <i>Gold Stars: Why do you do good things?</i>I met Sam in an online journal writing class. Through class discussions, he found out that I could proofread. So that’s just what I did for him. He published another book (online) and when he requested me to, I submitted my story of handling my grief after our son died. I can’t remember the name of the book.</div>
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Posey, Nancy – <i>Let the Lady Speak</i>. My cousin, Nancy Posey, wrote this chapbook of poems about famous women in history and literature – their thoughts and feelings. She was the 2009 winner of the November Chapbook Challenge of Poetic Asides with her collection. She is my inspiration to be a writer.</div>
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Purkins, E.W. – Finding <i>Light in the Dark</i>. E.W. Purkins is Chip to me, a friend from our little church here in Cerrillos, NM. He recognizes that his poems are dark, but I always encourage him to write more!</div>
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Shama, Avraham – <i>Finding Home: An Immigrant’s Journey . . . A Memoir</i>. My friend here in New Mexico, Avi Shama, paints a beautiful, sad, but true picture of life in Israel during his childhood and of his finding his true home here in America.</div>
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Taylor, Rodney – <i>Countdown to Midnight.</i>I proofread this first novel, a murder mystery, by my childhood friend. Rodney has also written books about the Bible.</div>
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Thurston, Cheryl Miller – <i>Hide Your Ex-Lax Under the Wheaties</i>; and <i>Cranky Language Lady</i>. I met Cheri at a National Council of Teachers of English conference many years ago. She was working at the booth for her publishing company, Cottonwood Press, located in Colorado. We immediately clicked, and I bought two books from her: <i>Hide Your Ex-Lax Under the Wheaties</i>(a book of poems for teachers) and <i>Writing Your Life</i>by Mary Borg. I must show you the poem, the first line of which is the title of the book:</div>
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A Consumer Guide for Teachers</h3>
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Hide Ex-Lax and beer under Wheaties</div>
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and condoms below the Parkay.</div>
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Put pregnancy tests and your tampons</div>
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under boxes of Budget Gourmet.</div>
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Hide hemorrhoid treatments and hair dye</div>
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under Cocoa Puffs, cat food or Fritos.</div>
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And if you buy douches or Denture Cream,</div>
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then slip them below the Doritos.</div>
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It’s best to be careful when shopping.</div>
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It’s best to be overly prudent.</div>
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Just let down your guard for a second –</div>
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and you’re bound to run in to a student.</div>
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She’ll shamelessly stare in your basket.</div>
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You’ll strive to look innocent, cool.</div>
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Tomorrow your personal secrets</div>
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will be gossip all over the school.</div>
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I must tell you a secret before I close: I haven’t read all of these books by friends. Maybe someday I will, but for right now, they serve to encourage me to write. I have no desire to write a novel or poetry. But I do love writing memoir. We’ll see what happens to this writer wannabe.</div>
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Cerrillos Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05819657846881446756noreply@blogger.com2