poetry

I knew in college that I was learning a lot of things, but I think I'm still discovering even now just how greatly my college experience shaped who I am today.

One of the authors I was exposed to in college was James Weldon Johnson, particularly his book of poems called God's Trombones, based on African-American sermons. One of the drama students in college performed several of his pieces during chapel, and I've never forgotten those presentations. I checked the book out from the library this weekend and read several of the poems/sermons to Bobby this afternoon.

Johnson took liberties in his poetry, which many black preachers tend to do, but he captured the cadence of the sermon extremely well. I can hear the rhythm and deep, bass voice in my head every time I read one. While "Creation" is probably the most well-known of the seven sermons, it's actually not one of my top two favorites. As morbid as it sounds, one of them is "Go Down Death". I've heard it read at many funerals, though I never realized it was a Johnson poem until I checked out his book. I found it somewhat fitting and comforting that a book I checked out for the poem "The Judgement" also included a piece about grieving and hope. Over Christmas a college classmate lost her husband.  And Welch college alumni (formerly Free Will Baptist Bible College) are still reeling with the death of 32 year old Bethany Atwood Lytle last week, missionary to Peru, wife, and mother of 3 very small children. I find assurance in the reminder that God has allotted all of our days, and he knows when the time is up, even if it takes us by surprise. I still ache for those families and her close friends. I doubt they'll ever know how many people have taken them before the throne of grace this last week, and will continue to do so in the year ahead. It won't make their grief go away, but I pray it will at least be a little more bearable.

And in case you've never read anything by Johnson, here's one of my two favorites:

Go Down Death

James Weldon Johnson 

Weep not, weep not, She is not dead;  She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.  Heart-broken husband—weep no more;  Grief-stricken son—weep no more;  Left-lonesome daughter—weep no more;  She’s only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,  God was looking down from his great, high heaven,  Looking down on all his children,  And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,  Tossing on her bed of pain.  And God’s big heart was touched with pity,  With the everlasting pity.  And God sat back on his throne,  And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:  Call me Death!  And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice  That broke like a clap of thunder:  Call Death!—Call Death!  And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven  Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,  Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.  And Death heard the summons,  And he leaped on his fastest horse,  Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.  Up the golden street Death galloped,  And the hoofs of his horse struck fire from the gold,  But they didn’t make no sound.  Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,  And waited for God’s command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,  Go down to Savannah, Georgia,  Down in Yamacraw,  And find Sister Caroline.  She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,  She’s labored long in my vineyard,  And she’s tired—  She’s weary—   Go down, Death, and bring her to me.  And Death didn’t say a word,  But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,  And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,  And out and down he rode,  Through heaven’s pearly gates,  Past suns and moons and stars;  On Death rode,  And the foam from his horse was like a comet in the sky;  On Death rode,  Leaving the lightning’s flash behind;  Straight on down he came.  While we were watching round her bed,  She turned her eyes and looked away,  She saw what we couldn’t see;  She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death  Coming like a falling star.  But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline;  He looked to her like a welcome friend.  And she whispered to us: I’m going home,  And she smiled and closed her eyes.  And Death took her up like a baby,  And she lay in his icy arms,  But she didn’t feel no chill.  And Death began to ride again—  Up beyond the evening star,  Out beyond the morning star, Into the glittering light of glory,  On to the Great White Throne.  And there he laid Sister Caroline  On the loving breast of Jesus.  And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,  And he smoothed the furrows from her face,  And the angels sang a little song,  And Jesus rocked her in his arms,  And kept a-saying: Take your rest,  Take your rest, take your rest.  Weep not—weep not,  She is not dead;  She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

beauty pageants

I grew up in an area where beauty pageants were the norm. Almost every year, in elementary school, I would be one of the few girls in my class who did not enter. If I remember correctly, the pageant was actually a fundraiser by the PTA. I attended a Christian school during middle school, so that eliminated any thought of such things other than seeing pictures of winners from numerous pageants in the paper and copies passed around at family reunions if a person "placed". In high school, only a handful of girls did the pageant circuit, though many girls would do it "at least once", as part of their high school experience.

I've thought about some of those memories a lot the past few weeks. My youngest niece has decided to join the insanity. Her friends talked her into it five years ago, as she was the only person in first grade who did not compete. So in second grade, she participated, absolutely hated it, and refused for third grade, which was totally fine with her Mom. But fourth grade brought the pressure back on, along with an upscale in the type of dress needed. My sis put out her limit on what could be spent. They couldn't find a dress in time, so that was the end of that. This year, my niece was determined that she'd have a dress, whether it was exactly what she wanted or not. She made a point to inform my brother that he would have to come see her again. My brother informed my mother that his wife could attend, but he had already done that once and would not sit through such a waste of time and money again. My niece plans to send him a personal invitation. I'm thinking she's not going to get her way on this one. And were I living in AL, I would be right there with him.

Beauty pageants are not an absolutely terrible thing. I think parents, like my sister, can say, "Here's my budget for this activity and no more." But what really bothers me is seeing posts on Facebook from friends and relatives back home saying "This dress has only been worn in one pageant. It's retail price is $700, and my friend is asking $350."

$350...that would buy textbooks for two semesters of college. That's a car payment. That's half a payment on a pair of eyeglasses. That would replace the seat of a shower wheelchair. And while I know my sister does not even pay 1/3 of that asking price, I still can't help but think of how much that would be in a college tuition fund in another 7 years.  I agree with my brother. It's such a waste. And as a Christian, while I don't think beauty pageants are sin or evil, I'm not exactly sure what the point in emphasizing outward beauty is. You're paying to enter your child in a competition, paying for her to wear a non-practical/only worn a few times dress, for judges to decide whether or not she's the "prettiest one of all".  It makes me a little sick.

And if all my AL/MS friends are reading this, yes, I am a Christian with some feminist views. I simply don't see how a beauty pageant enhances a girl's life in any positive way. I know others disagree, and that's okay.

It's probably good I don't have a daughter. I think this would be one of many events where my mother would come out of my mouth, "No, not everyone is doing this, because you're not doing this; so therefore EVERYONE can't be doing it."

And as I re-read this before posting, I understand why my husband laughs sometimes and asks how I ever survived growing up in Alabama.

merry-go-round

I've typed four posts since Thursday. I've deleted all four of those posts, intentionally.

To prevent being a bad news bear or an outlet of negativity, I'm not going into details in these situations, but please pray for these families:

1) The Wilkinsons
2) Charae
3) The Potts
4) The Wyatts
5) The Lewis family
6) Lytle/Atwood families
7) the Beatty family

A funny from today...For Bobby's 60th birthday, 1/2 of his family met at Toot-n-Tell for breakfast. For the 6 great nieces and nephews who could be there (ages 1-6), I had helium balloons on the table that they could take home after we ate. The kids were thrilled; the parents just gave us that look. My sister-in-law stayed behind and told us that many years ago the oldest one got a balloon at a restaurant, and she suggested in the parking lot they they let it go and give it to Jesus. So they did. A few years later, leaving the same restaurant, she overheard the oldest tell her younger sister "Whatever you do, don't give your balloon to Jesus. He doesn't give it back."  We have laughed at that all day long.

I am thankful that while Jesus doesn't return helium-filled balloons, he does hear the groanings of our heart.

bite size

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time. 

I've been reminding myself of that old saying this week as I slowly tackle cleaning house.

And housework with a wheelchair involved is very similar to the way a cow eats...you're constantly cleaning the same thing over and over and over. We met someone once who had an indoor and an outdoor wheelchair. Bobby was aghast. Not only is the cost of that prohibitive, but the thought of having to be transferred into a different chair every time you want to leave the house or come back inside is horrid. Just the thought of a minimum of four extra transfers a day makes my shoulders hurt.

But I am determined that this year I can somewhat return to everything having a place and everything being somewhat organized (though the kitchen table is already mocking me on that one). I am so not there, but hopefully, by this summer, I will be. One bite at a time.

just bizarre

A few days ago we started receiving junk e-mail...from ourselves. Yes, our own personal e-mail account was sending us spam. I ran our anti-virus software and double checked to make sure all the updates and been installed (they had) and nothing showed. The next morning, same thing. So I went to the e-mail help section, found out many people have this problem, downloaded the company software to check for malware, which took all day to run, found nothing...same thing.

So this morning I go to google, found a forum in our e-mail's software where a university professor shared some info, as well as many links to four different types of virus checks his university (Stanford) offered to students. They also had a 30 day trial version that people can run just to check and see what is on the computer. It found two pieces of malware. It quarantined them instead of removing them. So now I'm wondering what will happen when the trial version ends. Does the quarantine end as well?

Equally bizarre, though in a totally different vein, is ancestry.com.  A few years ago Bobby and I did a DNA test. He knew/knows his family history back almost 200 years, and everything he'd been told and researched held to be true. No surprises. Me, on the other hand, was a very different story. Unlike him, my family knew very little about our maternal line (my grandfather said there was no point in learning about skeletons in the hospital and would never answer any questions at all, other than he royally disliked his step-mom). My Dad's side of the family knew their history back to a certain point, and supposedly my great-grandmother was full blooded Creek and her my great-grandfather was half Cherokee. According to my DNA tests, that is not the case. At all.  So I tested my parents. Nada.

An online search suggested you download your raw data from ancestry and submit it to gedmatch.com for a more detailed breakdown of what each gene sample revealed. That revealed small traces of AmericanIndian, but not much. Certainly not a 1/16th (for me) or 1/8 (my Dad) that we had always been told.

So I'm researching, trying to find out as much as I can about the family line. I've found a lot that makes me laugh, some that makes me sigh, some that makes my husband exclaim "You scallowag!" I'd like to learn all I can before my subscription to ancestry.com ends. I've spent enough time the last few weeks to get thoroughly confused (do you know how many Ellen Smiths lived in Alabama in the 1880s?). Hopefully the rest of this week I can get all my notes organized and by next week be back on track and focused on one branch at a time.

Until then, I'm hoping there will not be anymore e-mails from myself.

the Rockingham County Museum

One of my sister-in-laws lives in Rockingham County, NC.  During December we had the chance to drive up and spend half a day with her. After lunch, she took us to the nearby town of Wentworth to see the new county museum. And I must say, I was a bit impressed.

I don't remember what building these concrete slabs came from, but they made an incredibly awesome table and chairs. Can't you picture little kids on a field trip eating their lunches here before/after a trip to the museum?

While I did enjoy the few quilts they had out on display, one of my two favorite exhibits from the museum was a photography exhibit from a local person who had worked for the Smithsonian. They were incredible.

The second favorite thing was the building itself - an old courthouse. I was amazed at the doors and the archway, the old tile floors, the safes (some of the exhibits were actually housed in the safes, which are huge and which I found both interesting and a bit unnerving if I thought about too much). They had a small cramped room on tobacco history, pre-civil war days - dealing with slavery and occupations, a civil rights room, and a room that held antique furniture, as well as an exhibit of items from the Chinqua-Penn plantation (which I hate we never made it to see before they closed last year in bankruptcy). 

It was a "field trip" worth taking.

super spicy

I've been trying to tackle one small thing (housework wise) each day the last week. It's not a planned thing, but something I've just been trying to do to keep the house semi-clean.

And last night, while waiting for supper to finish cooking, I started this one project (because it was there, in front of me, daring me) and finished it this morning. Normally Bobby is not happy when I throw things away, but today when I showed him the labels, he actually laughed.

Most of these are Kroger brand.  The year before we got married, I lived across the street from Garner High School (which connects to the Kroger shopping center). But I've not shopped there since 2000.  That tells you how old these spices are.

And somewhat in my defense...I used to cook a lot of things from scratch. Bobby's parents had a huge garden every summer, as well as beef cows, so I learned to make spaghetti and chili without the seasoning packets. And then we had to cut back/out the tomato products Bobby could have for a few years, so I quit making those dishes. Hence, chili powder, garlic powder, oregano, ginger...those spices quit being used. And the nutmeg...I'm not sure how or why I wound up with that.

Some people laugh at me, but I have a policy that if a recipe has more than two ingredients I've never heard of/don't use, then I won't try it. It does sound a little absurd, but there's nothing I hate more than to buy something, like spices, and then not like it but have quite a bit of it.

Not every cleaning project is this drastic.  But this one still has me shaking my head.