More Than a Christmas Tree

At this time of year, our house, like many others, is filled with a variety of Christmas decorations, Nativity scenes, and, yes, Christmas trees.  Trees of all sizes and shapes and materials from which they are made can be found in nearly every room of our house.

But the largest and most special tree is the one in front of the living room windows where we put it so all the neighbors can ooh and ahh over it as they drive by.

It's the one I have to drag from its storage place in MY SHOP into the house, unbox it, assemble and fluff it and make sure all the lights work.  If, by the time all this is done, Mary and I haven't strangled each other, I disappear and stay gone until she has it festooned with the contents of  two dozen boxes of ornaments she pulls from storage in the Christmas closet.

Mary takes her time to make sure each ornament is in exactly the place it should be.  It has to be so because each ornament has special meaning and needs to be placed just right.

We didn't go to WalMart or even Robert Moore to buy boxes of ornaments, we have built this collection, piece by piece,  over our 39-years of marriage.

There are ones from our first Christmas, a time when we hardly had money for a tree or decorations.   Mary's grandmother had some fabric balls so she and Mary decorated them with foil stars and snow flakes along with beads held on with pins, creating our first ornaments. As we finished our tree decorating, we realized we didn't have a star for the top.  I took gold foil wrapping paper, some cardboard and a coat hanger and made a star for our tree.  It has topped every tree we've had since and will continue to do so until it disintegrates.  The handmade ornaments from our first year are still there also.

That first year, we had a real, cut tree.  We left it up too long after Christmas so it dried and started to shed its needles which promptly embedded into the carpet.  Our vacuum could not get them out.  The needles were quite prickly so if one dared walk barefooted over that part of the room, an exclamation of pain was quick to come!  That continued as long as we lived in the apartment.

For the last few years, we've had store bought trees, completely pre-lit!!  While these are nearly as nice as a "real" tree, it does serve to reduce my yuletide frustrations and keep me from using the portion of my vocabulary usually reserved for times of exasperation!

Along with our handmade first-year ornaments, there are ornaments that our children have made over the years, starting in daycare and continuing through kindergarten and on.  It takes care to make sure they survive the packing and unpacking each year but they have special places on our tree.

Mary's birthday is only a week before Christmas so she has frequently gotten ornaments as gifts, especially on her 40th birthday.  One of the first ornaments to go on our tree each year is a motorized mobile-type ornament with angels revolving.  It always gets noticed on our tree.

There are ornaments that were hand-made by loved ones long since departed from this life, crocheted angels made by my mother and beaded bells by Aunt Grace.  They bring special memories and an occasional tear.

There are ornaments acquired on vacations to special places or to commemorate special events.

So, yes, it is much more than a Christmas tree.  And I guess the things hanging from the branches aren't ornaments but rather memories.  Our tree is a living, growing recording of our family history. It is a memory-recalling, memory-making gathering spot during the holiday season.

At Christmas,  Mary and I will be joined by Amy, Travis, Oliver, Jonathan, Kim and Maddie, around our tree.  We'll tear wrapping paper from the gifts, we'll laugh and shout thank you's as each gift is unveiled and we'll make more memories.  We'll probably also add an ornament or two to the collection and next year they will take their place of honor on the tree.

Awesomely Amazing, or What?

We all like to brag about ourselves, our kids, our parents or other loved ones from time-to-time but with social media, we take it to new heights.

Posts are filled with adjectives like awesome or amazing in describing a loved one when we all may have different thoughts about the individual being described!  We can no longer talk about someone as simply being special to the writer, we have to give the subject super-human characteristics, using superlatives in all cases.

What brought this rant on?  Let me preach on it!

This past Saturday, Mary and I attended an event in which Jonathan and Kim (son and daughter-in-law) participated.  The event was a fund raiser for a charity called Neverthirst whose mission of providing clean water to third-world countries.  The event was a Crossfit competition with an entry fee and donations accepted for the charity.

For those not familiar with Crossfit,  this is an exercise/fitness program which uses many different exercise regimens to achieve fitness and strength..  They use weights lifting, running, jumping rope, and among many others.  The first competition for the event on Saturday involved teams of two people who alternated jumping onto a wooden box, two feet high,  then back down, then doing a "burpee" which is a cross between what we used to call a "squat-thrust" and an pushup; and as soon as the first completed this series, the second would go.  The alternating kept up until they had each completed 50 repetitions. They then performed forward lunges down to one knee and back up while holding a barbell weighing 95 to their chin, 10 times.

That was followed by lifting a kettle bell ( a round ball with a handle) weighing 53 pounds, from between the knees to over the head and back, 10 times.

They then picked up a jerry can filled with water, (weighing about 40 pounds) and ran for 100 meters where the can was passed to the other person who carried it back to the starting point, where they repeated the activities two more times.  The carrying of the water is symbolic of the focus of the charity since a large portion of the world obtains their daily water needs in this fashion, frequently from contaminated streams or wells.

Doesn't sound too tough?  Try just one rep.  And that's just the first event!  The others are too strenuous to describe, much less do!

Neither Jonathan and his partner nor Kim and her teammate won their events so this is not about how awesome they are in their strength or how superior they are to the other competitors.  But it is about the dedication and commitment it takes for any of the people who participated in this event or similar events around the world to get their body in the condition to make participation possible.

There were many who could not complete all the events. But unlike most athletic competitions, when the first crossed the finish line, they stood and shouted encouragement to the others, urging them on to completion.

I don't know the stories behind all the athletes but by observing Kim and Jonathan I have a pretty good feel for what it takes to get to the point of being able to enter the competitions; training at 5 o'clock in the morning  then coming back home to get ready for a day's work and then back to the gym afterwards.  Trading off times so that one can tend a child while the other works out and then reversing the roles.

As I said before, this is not about how awesome Jonathan and Kim are but it is about how awesome the dedication they and their fellow athletes show as they constantly strive to improve.  They are not looking forward to multi-million dollar contracts with the associated fame that we see in so many athletic events.  They are seeking fitness and friendships, they have to pay to compete.

There were some events for the kids, mostly children of the competitors, since they live the Crossfit life too!  But it was all for fun, no competition involved.

As I took these pictures, I knew I would be writing about the them and the words awesome and amazing kept popping into my mind.  But I knew those words are used way too often and were inadequate to express what I was seeing.  I can't really say I know the words that are needed.  It is inspiring to see the strength, skill, dedication and commitment that is necessary in this individuals.  It is encouraging to see them put their interests into something benefitting to mankind. And, it's pretty neat that they raised over $83,000!

But, when it comes to talking about Maddie, there's only one thing to say:  She's the awesomest!!

Final Resting Places

It seems that almost every trip I take, I wind up visiting a cemetery.

I've found that one can learn a lot about the history of an area in its cemeteries and you can also find some of the area's best art and architecture there.  Monuments are often in the form of statuary that rivals that of the local art museum and the poetry from tombstones can be quite remarkable.

Graves of the famous and notorious become tourist attractions and objects of veneration.  I've visited the graves of JFK in Arlington, Virginia, Marie Laveau in New Orleans, tried to visit famous railroad-engineer Casey Jones' grave in Jackson, Tennessee but the cemetery was locked, Meriwether Lewis's grave on the Natchez Trace Parkway and the grave of Joe Cain in Mobile, Alabama.  The infamous Boot Hill in Dodge City, Kansas is now a major tourist attraction.

A cemetery on the edge of Taos Pueblo in New Mexico surrounds a long-destroyed church dating to the 16th century.  The cemetery is no longer accepting new burials as it is full.

Cemetery at Taos Pueblo, New Mexico

I've visited a cemetery in northwest Alabama, the only creatures buried there are coondogs that have been certified, in writing by three witnesses, to have treed a raccoon without assistance from another dog.  There are dogs brought there from all over the country, their monuments ranging from simple wooden crosses to elaborate inscribed marble.

I've visited the grave of the only man in America to create a monument to the assassin John Wilkes Booth.  Joseph Pinkney Parker, a Confederate Veteran of the War Between the States,  hated Abraham Lincoln so much that when Lincoln was assassinated, Parker had a monument created and engraved: "Erected by Pink Parker in honor of John Wilkes Booth for killing Old Abe Lincoln." Parker, a resident of Troy, Alabama, tried to have the monument erected in the county courthouse square to no avail.  He placed the monument in his yard where it stood for several years.  It received national attention with demands that it be destroyed.  Parker died before the furor did.  His family had the monument re-engraved with Parker's  name and dates and stands today as his headstone, sans his tribute to Boothe.

Tombstone of Joseph Pinkney "Pink" Parker, Troy, Alabama

Exploration of a cemetery leads to finds of tombstones bearing inscriptions telling the stories of lives cut way too short, children victims of epidemics from bygone eras or of entire families consumed by disease or tragedy.  Headstones tell love stories between couples and between parents and their children.  Honors received and achievements grace some epitaphs.  Then there are the newer cemeteries where no headstones or grave slabs are allowed except for markers, identical to all the rest,  with only the name, birth and death dates inscribed.

Cemeteries tell of our society.  We are buried with "our people."  There are cemeteries for Catholics, for Jews, for members of the church where the cemetery is located.  The Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia has an area for burial of retired railroad conductors.  Mobile's Magnolia Cemetery has sections dedicated to various fraternal organizations as well as an area for Confederate soldiers.

There are cemeteries for our veterans with the monuments laid out with military precision reminding one of formations on the parade grounds with soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines marching to a common cadence.

Veterans Cemetery at Magnolia Cemetery, Mobile, Alabama

A google search reveals that the largest US cemetery is Calvary Cemetery, a Roman Catholic cemetery, located in the Queens portion of New York City, with over 3 million burials.  Contrast that to family burial sites with as few as one burial.

Theologian, professor, pastor, Dr. WC Dobbs, Sr. grew up in the southwest Oklahoma towns of Altus and Blair.  After many years of living and working in various parts of the country, he longed to be buried on the family farm located just outside Blair.  A small family cemetery was created and Dr. Dobbs was buried there following his death in 2007.

His son, musician and minister WC Dobbs, Jr.,  who was also my sister's husband, expressed his desire to be returned to that cemetery. Following a life of service to God, his family and to churches and people around the southeast US, WC died in 2012.  But he continued to serve following his death when his body was donated to the University of South Alabama's College of Medicine through the Anatomical Gift Program.  Medical students use the donated bodies to study anatomy and gain knowledge and insight of the human body.  His remains were then cremated and returned to the family.

So on a Sunday in late May, 2015, WC Jr. returned to Oklahoma where his family held a brief service then spread his ashes on the family cemetery.  Although he's not buried there, he is there as is his headstone.

I started writing this by saying that every trip I take ends up in a cemetery and I guess, for most of us,  the long trip through life ends that way too!  I'll follow WC's lead and donate my body to science and where my ashes end up, it really doesn't matter.  Maybe these writings will be my epitaph. "

The World's Most Interesting Man

Cotton field awaiting harvest in southwest Georgia 

I spend a lot ot time getting my entertainment in the form of YouTube videos.  Not the videos of cute cats gone wild or folks doing crazy stuff to their own detriment but "how to" videos or people demonstrating their work or hobbies.

I was watching videos of sawmills in action, (yep, I'm a wild and crazy guy!), when I found one  featuring a man named Steve Cross.

The video opened with a man in bib overalls and a floppy felt hat, holding a microphone, standing in front of a conglomeration of metal and wood and calling it a sawmill, while speaking in the thickest drawl I think I've ever heard.  My first thought was this is a comedian seeing how country he could sound and I was expecting the jokes to start. But no, the speaker was for real.

Steve Cross operates a sawmill in the wiregrass region of southwest Georgia, near the town of Iron City.  He and his sawmill have been featured in many videos that can be found on the intranet and has also been the subject of more than one documentary.  He states that his homemade sawmill is the largest horizontal-cutting, thin-kerf, bandsaw-sawmill in the world.    He specializes in cutting up lumber from trees no other sawmill can handle.

After watching some of the videos about his operation, I knew I had to see it.  So, two days after my retirement in November, 2014, Mary and I left for a trip to Savannah, Georgia, our route carefully planned so I could go to Iron City.  Following a GPS-guided route, we passed the acres of cotton fields, white with their crops near harvest, many pecan orchards and peanut fields.  The sawmills that I have seen in the past are large operations with huge buildings and stacks of logs awaiting the saw along with cut lumber stacked for drying.  With this image in mind, we would have passed the Cross Sawmill if it hadn't been for a small sign alerting us to its location.

As we turned off the road, I expected to see a bee hive of activity and hoped only to get a picture from the parking lot and drive on.  But the only activity to be seen was a man sitting in his truck, talking on his cell phone, a man I would learn was Cross. I waited until he got off the phone, introduced myself and told him I wanted a picture of the mill.  He graciously invited us to come get a closeup view.

I mentioned earlier that Steve has a drawl but that's only part of the story.  You see, people in the wiregrass part of Georgia pronounce words, particularly names, in a way no one else does.

In this area is the city of Albany.  Most of the English speaking world would pronounce this AWL ba nee.  Not the locals, it's ALL benny.  Cairo, Georgia is not pronounced like Cairo, Egypt, it's like Karo, the syrup.  I was speaking on the phone to a gentleman named Stanley Houston, which he spelled carefully for me.  Then he went on to say, "It's Stanley like the tool company and HOUSEton, like the city in Texas."  I fought back the laughter because I, along with a majority of the English speaking world, thought it was HUGHSton Texas.

In my conversation with Steve Cross, I had to pay close attention to keep up with him, partly because of the regionally pronunciation of words but mostly because he was speaking way over my head!

Cross and I inspect the sawmill

Steve Cross is a 5th-generation sawyer, carrying on the family tradition but with his unique sawmill, a homemade contraption made up of spare parts from various equipment.  The platform that is the base of the mill, is comprised of 9-flatbed trailers, the kind you see on the interstate hauling freight. The power operation of the saw comes from what was originally three fork lifts!  These raise and lower the cutting head and power the device that turns the logs to position them for cutting.  The blade is powered by an engine that powered a parking lot sweeping machine!  The portion of the mill that moves the logs in and out of the cutting operation was originally-a sawmill!

Stacked around the weed-filled lot are slabs of wood and piles of saw dust, the remnants of previous milling operations.  Also evident are piles of large stones.  Cross Sawmill now does part-time duty in stone milling.

I asked Cross about the stone. He not only told me about how he cuts them  but how he sold a slab to former first Lady Rosalynn Carter when she accompanied her husband, former US President Jimmy Carter on one of his numerous visits to Cross's business; and, how the rocks were formed during a time millions of years ago when the moon was closer to the earth and when that portion of Georgia experienced daily tides in excess of 500 feet!  As I said, I had a hard time keeping up with my new friend!

So here's a man that is a combination of Fred Sanford, the junk collector from the television show, Sanford and Son; Rube Goldberg whose designs of complex machines to accomplish simple tasks are legendary; and Carl Sagan, the late scientist who informed viewers of his Cosmos television show of the billions and billions of stars in our universe.  Cross is a renaissance man with the ear of a former US president (and his wife).

View of homemade sawmill

As Steve gave me a tour of his sawmill, i was truly amazed at how he was able to put these various machines designed for one purpose and make them into one machine with a different purpose.  The machine is not the most polished thing one might encounter.  In fact, I suspect there is bubble gum and bailing wire holding most of it together but it works and works well by all accounts.

Main cutting mechanism

Gauges to monitor sawmill functions

Mechanism for rolling and positioning logs.  Note skull at top of forks!

As we toured the grounds, we found a wood carving completed by Cross.

Adjacent to the carving was a space-age looking device.  When I asked what it was, Cross told me that it was a prototype of the flight control system from a Patriot missile!  He remarked that when Jimmy Carter visits members of his Secret Service security detail don't like to see the missile parts!  I failed to aksed how one acquires such a device but with connections to the White house, I guess you might have just about anything!

Missile flight control system

We ended our visit with Steve giving me a ride around his property in his '60's model Jeep that he is so proud of, "It has 43000 original miles on it!"

You might ask how did I conclude that Steve Cross is the most interesting man in the world.   Here's a man in rural deep south, earning his living by hard work.  When he needed a larger saw to improve his business, he didn't commission an engineer to design it, someone else to manufacture it, he made it himself.  It's not pretty, but it works and has built him a reputation that has brought him business from around the country and visits from a US president.  There is no pretense to Steve Cross, he wears his overalls and gets embarrassed by all the attention.  

He might not be the most interesting man in the world but the most interesting that I've talked to in a long, long time.  

If you'd like more information, visit his website:  http://crosssawmill.com/.  I think you'll enjoy it!

You Only Go 'Round Once

The people who have worked with me over the last few years have heard (and probably grown tired of) my rants about cliches and their use in modern business.  It is my opinion that we've forgotten about substance and about communication in our language.  But we want to sound like we know what we're talking about or be on the cutting edge (how's that for a cliche?) so we use the words or phrases we learned at the last seminar we attended, whether we know what they mean or not.

Among my least favorite "phrases" is "thought processes."  There was a time when one was asked a question like:  "What do you think about this?"  The answer would be something like: "I think we should...", or "My thoughts on the matter are...",  Today the answer one is likely to get is:"My thought processes are....."  I always felt this was pretentious and that the speaker was only trying yo impress.

We even had a presentation at one of our management meetings where the speaker related that his company would " take your data and bucketize it..."  To this day I don't know what he meant!

But this isn't a rant about cliches, although I've wanted to do one for a long time.  I've had other cliches or maybe more appropriately, slogans,  on my mind a lot in the last few days. Things like "grab for the gusto," "you only live once," and "Carpe diem."

You see, a person that I'm quite fond of recently received a medical diagnosis of the sort none of us wants to get.  In fact, this is the third person that I've worked with that   has received similar news in the last several months.  With these diagnoses, they face at best, months or years of unpleasant treatment.  People in the prime of their lives, with bright futures or with their golden years at hand, will, along with their loved ones, be forever changed.

In hearing of the latest diagnosis, I had a feeling of great uncertainty.  First, I felt anguish for my friend but I also realized that if this can happen to these friends, it can happen to me or to someone very close to me.  It makes me think about how you and I should live our lives daily.  That's what made the cliches come to mind.

I certainly don't claim to have the answers or the right thing to say that will help someone approach their life to make sure they are getting the most from it but I am reminded of the Harry Chapin song "The Cat's in the Cradle" (1974).  The lyrics tell of a  father who is too busy to enjoy time with his son, hoping to do that later in life,  only to find the son is then too busy.  I recall my teenage years  when the last thing I wanted to do was spend time with my father.  By the time I was in my mid twenties and came to my senses, his health was such that I never got to know him man-to-man.

I was in conversation recently with a young man who was asking me about how I was enjoying retirement.  He went on to say he couldn't wait until he retired so he could do some things he longed to do. I quickly admonished him that if he had things he truly wanted to do, he must do them now. The next life changing or ending diagnosis may be his.

I think the late, great Lewis Grizzard may have said it best, however grammatically incorrect:  "This ain't no dress rehearsal!"  You have to get it right the first time.

Purple Mountain Culture Shock

The Front Range of the Colorado Rockies with the town of Cripple Creek in the foreground

When I travel, I like to try to get a good feel for the people of the area, their culture and their history.  I like to compare the environment, the weather, the terrain, what makes an area unique. Taking a trip to the arid southwest of our beautiful country presented a variety of features in each of the above categories and created in me a culture shock.

Mary and I set out to visit the northern part of New Mexico and the east central portion of Colorado.  But to get there and back, we would also explore a part of Texas that neither of us had ever seen and our return would take us into Kansas and Oklahoma, again states we had never visited.

To go from a heavily forested area like our home in Alabama to the flat lands of the southwest inspired a certain awe in me.  In the west, one can visit an area where a tree can become a landmark, as in travel directions:  "Go down the road until you see the tree and turn right at the next road.  If you get to the second tree, you've gone too far!"

New Mexico

One also gets to experience and see geological features and use the terms learned in elementary school, things like mesa, butte, arroyo (although I think I learned that term reading Louis L'Amour novels),  high plains and prairies.  We don't have many of those items in Alabama!

One also learns that although it's the end of May and temps in the southeast are soaring above 90 every day, the middle of Colorado hasn't gotten the message with temps staying in the 40's with record snow fall still occurring in the high mountain peaks.

Pike's Peak and the Cog Railroad

Determining the culture of an area can be difficult when the area has had so many strong influences.   Areas like Santa Fe have the cultures of the Native American tribes that were in the area  as the country was being explored and settled.  Add to that the Spanish/Mexican influence of the first European settlers which also brought the heavy influence of the Roman Catholic Church.  The influence of the military services is readily evident in and around Colorado Springs.

Then add the affects of the environment.

Getting on a state highway and seeing a sign that warns that there are "No Automobile Services for the next 95 Miles" adds to the culture shock!  And following that road for well over 100 miles with only one curve, the road's path otherwise straight as an arrow's flight.

Most of the areas of north Texas, Colorado, Kansas and Oklahoma that we traveled through are areas of huge farms with the fields stretching as far as the eye can see.  It made me wonder about the logistics of planting, feeding then harvesting those fields.  I can only imagine the equipment and people that it takes to make it all happen.

And it reminds me of the story of the Texas rancher who dropped by the feed store and was on the porch chatting with other ranchers and farmers.  Someone asked him how big his spread was.  He replied that he had a large spread, his ranch was so big that if he got in his truck at daybreak and drove until sunset, he still couldn't reach the other side.  A farmer, a wizened older man, sitting in a rocking chair, whittling on a stick, said, "Yup, I once had a truck like that!"

Near Kit Carson, Colorado

I grew up in an era when the "western"  was a staple of movies and television, where places like Dodge City, Boot Hill, the Santa Fe and Chisholm Trails were common settings for action and adventure.  For me to visit those places on this trip invoked a lot memories.  I almost expected to see the guys who wore the white hats ride out of the heat haze, just in time save the day!

Then there are the large feed lots where cattle are gathered while they wait to be turned into rib eyes and hamburger meat.  I've visited barn yards and cow pastures and experienced the fragrances they provide but that is nothing to compare  to a feed lot where there are thousands of cows gathered in a relatively small area.  These lots aren't necessarily isolated either with most on the edges of the towns and cities.  I wondered how people could live with that smell permeating everything until I realized that to them, it's the smell of money!

It's easy for us in our daily lives to get a sense of having experienced almost everything and knowing about everyplace until we get outside the confines of our usual world.  For me, a visit to the "big sky" part of our country was very humbling.  To realize that this country and our earth is so vast makes me feel so tiny and insignificant.

Throughout the trip, I was reminded of the words of the song "America the Beautiful" with references to "spacious skies", "purple mountains" and "amber waves of grain,"  While some would decry miles of highway with little to see but open fields as ugly and boring, I see beauty.  When I see forests, I see beauty, when I see no trees, I see a different beauty.

My wanderlust and quest to see the beauty and bounty our country has to offer was not sated with this trip but was whetted.  I can't wait to see more!

Legend Of The Loretto Chapel

In beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico, there is a Roman Catholic church on just about every block!  The Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi is the biggest, one block over is the Loretto Chapel and the next block houses the St. Miguel Mission, the oldest church building in the United States.  A few blocks away is the Santuario de Guadalupe.

Interior of the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi

Each is beautiful in its own way but the Loretto Chapel has what may be the most famous staircase in the world.  The spiral staircase is visited by over 250,000 people each year!  The legend behind it has even inspired a movie, titled appropriately, The Staircase (1998).

The chapel was commissioned in the 1880's to be built as a part of a school for girls.  The legend has it that the chapel was built with an upper level balcony at the rear of the chapel but there was no staircase to reach the balcony.  The nuns that ran the school couldn't find anyone to build the stairs so they began to pray a novena to St. Joseph, the patron saint of carpenters.   Being that I'm a Presbyterian, I can't explain what that is, but... 

On the ninth day of the novena, a carpenter came from out of town and offered to design and build the needed staircase.  He began construction using only simple hand tools and wood acquired from an unknown source.  He used no nails or glue.  Once he completed the job, he left town without being paid.

The Staircase

The legend is made even more grandiose in that it claims the stairs shouldn't even stand since they have no central pole nor any attachment to the building except at the bottom and at the top.  In other words, the staircase, resembling  illustrations I've seen of a DNA helix, is a miracle.

The staircase rises some 21 feet from the floor to the balcony, makes two complete 360 degree circles and has 33 steps, referring to the age of Jesus at his crucifixion.  Please note, I didn't count them, just passing on the legend.

Interior of Loretto Chapel

Snopes.com, that wonderful source for debunking urban legends and other tall tales, has a little different take on the story.  I have no feelings one way or the other but will say, the chapel and the staircase are beautiful and well worth the price of admission,  Yes, the chapel was sold to a private company and charges a fee to enter.  It is also available for rent for weddings and the like.

She Would Be 98

I spent March 30th helping my brother Johnny put up a privacy fence.  Acting on the axiom that good fences make good neighbors, Johnny must have been seeking extra good relations as his fence was to be 8 feet tall!

Now to build a fence properly, one must use a lot of string, first to set the posts in line. then to make sure the support rails are installed right then to make sure the tops of the pickets are in line.  Now Johnny has a collection of string, some  day-glo orange string, some bright lime green string and...some bright pink, a brand new roll.  A ribbon the color of this string would have made  wonderful decorative trim to a young girl's Easter dress.  It was a nice color and I immediately thought about what my mother would have said about it.

 When Mama was pleased with the appearance of something, her voice would rise about an octave and she would say:" That's so purty!", with her voice rising another octave on the word purty.

Now, we all know that the dictionary says the word should be pronounced "pretty" but good country folks everywhere don't necessarily refer to the dictionary when learning how to pronounce words so most of us say "purty" and everyone knows what we mean.  As long as the listener knows what the speaker intended to say, communications has occurred and the dictionary be ...darned.  Since this is about my Mama, she wouldn't have wanted me to say "damned" so I won't.

Mama's birthday was March 30 so when I commented to Johnny about the string, he reminded me of the date and its significance.  March 30th is also the date we buried our father in 1978.

Mama died on March 29, the day before she would have turned 90 years old.  Although Mama was in bad health, we had planned a celebration on March 31st, a Saturday, to commemorate her birthday. The celebration was to be held at her church in the fellowship hall.

When Mama died, the birthday party changed to a wake and funeral, again to be held at the church.  Although a tremendous effort was made to inform folks of the change of plans, one lady came expecting a birthday party but instead found the wake.  As Mama would have said, she was quite "got off with."

My mother was quite famous for her sewing abilities, particularly her quilts but to her family, for her biscuits.

When I would visit, she would make a pan or two of biscuits for me.  She would occasionally burn one and I would comment that she made a burnt offering for the prodigal son's return and she would laugh.  When I finished eating, she would ask if they were good and I would say, "no, I had to eat a dozen before I could find one fittin' to eat!"  She would laugh again.

So, Mama, mixed in with the planning of fence construction, our designs for building a better trap for carpenter bees and all the other topics of the day, Johnny and I celebrated your birthday with happy memories of you, and with a piece of string.  It was so purty.

I have to quit now, I can no longer see the screen.

He Was Called Pete

I was an uncle before I was old enough to know what the word meant.  My oldest brother, Gene, is about 16 years older than me and was gone from home before I became too aware of things. I have no memory of him living in the house with me.

Gene married soon after leaving home and soon began his family.His son Horace Eugene Sellers, Jr. was born while I was 4 years old.  He was quickly nicknamed Peter by his parents, for reasons I'll let them explain but it has nothing to do with the British actor famous for the Pink Panther movies!

They lived far away from our hometown and visits were not frequent.  Soon Debbie, Vickie and Cathy joined the family.  While they did spend time with us a couple of summers, we were never together enough to establish really strong bonds.  And as we all grew up, started our own families and moved to various parts of the country, we never strengthened those bonds.

Seated: Shelby, L to R:  Vickie, Debbie , Gene and Cathy

Although  Peter, who came to be better known as Pete, lived close by, we were never close.  I never got to know his children very well.  Although they are all grown and have their own families, my best knowledge of them came only in the last few years through connections in social media.

Pete left this earthly existence last week.  As I'm sure happens with most families, we gathered from far and near to provide support for his children, Crystal, Bubba, Amber and Staci and for his parents, Gene and Shelby.

Pete's children and grand-children

I will admit that I approached this gathering with apprehension, I haven't seen some of them in many years and most of them might as well be total strangers.  But as we gathered and talked, ate, laughed at little, cried a little, I found myself coming to appreciate them in new ways and look at them through different eyes.

I found in Debbie an openness and candor that was so refreshing and in Vickie and Cathy, a sense of humor I never knew of. And although I still  think of them as little girls they once were, they all have grandchildren much older than mine.

Pete's kids, young adults actually, faced a situation for which they were ill prepared, as most folks would be, regardless of their age.  Having to make decisions about end-of-life issues is difficult at best.  Like most families, it took some time for them to reach a consensus but they did.  Let no one second guess them.

As I spent time with them and their kids: the sullen teens, the rambunctious pre-teens and the adorable toddlers, I found myself regretting that I haven't gotten to know them better before. It makes me want to go to my other nieces and nephews here near my home, those in Georgia, in Birmingham and in Texas and spend time with them, getting to know them and their children better.  Funerals should not be the only time to get acquainted.

My brother Gene is a preacher and has preached many funerals.  He had a role in Pete's funeral, something that not many people could do.  How he maintained his composure and delivered a powerful eulogy and message, I'll never know. I admire his courage.

This occasion  also allowed for time with my siblings.  Our sister Betty, now the matriarch of our clan, made sure everyone had a place to stay and was fed.  In her tireless way, she kept going strong for the entire week, something none of the rest of us could do.

Left to Right:  Woody, Joe, Gene, Betty, Johnny and Elmer

As we gathered, I took the opportunity to try to update my family history records.  I sat with some of the folks and got information on spouses, kids, grand-kids for  my genealogy files.  As I later input the data into my computer database, I learned a couple of things.

I always understood that the children of my nephew would be called "great-nephew or niece.".  I learned that the more appropriate term for these relatives is "grand-nephew or niece!"  Their children would then be great-grand-nephew or niece."

As I tried to verify this using various sources, which all confirmed the terms, I ran across another new concept.  Just as brothers and sisters are called siblings, nieces and nephews are called "niblings!" Check it out, I'm not making this up!

So whether they're niblings, great or grand niblings, I've developed a new appreciation for them.  I think they're all "great!"

How Minnie Pearl Inspired My Name

Yes, that Minnie Pearl, the one of Grand Ole Opry and Hee Haw fame, the one with the price tag on her hat and who would say: "Howdeee!  I'm so proud to be here!"

My late mother's name was Ruby Dean Motes Sellers.  Like all good rural southern girls she wasn't known by one name but by two: Ruby Dean.  In fairness, some of her family would from time to time call her Dean, her nieces and nephews on her side of the family would call her Aunt Dean but no one ever called her Ruby. That is except for patronizing people like the staff at the doctor's office who really didn't know her but would see her name on the registration card and might call her Miss Ruby but as she was prone to say, "they don't know no better."

Mama gave birth to 8 darlings in her life time of which I was the seventh. She told me later in my life that she was fond of the name Dean and always wanted to name on of her children Dean.  So the time came when it was my time to enter the world that she decided to make her wish come true, I was to be named Dean, boy or girl.  You have to remember  that when I was born, the sex of the unborn child was a mystery until an eyes-on investigation could say for sure which it was.  Fortunately, Dean is one of those androgynous names that can fit either sex so the plan was in place.  Now, what to go with Dean to make the name complete?

Here's where Minnie Pearl enters the picture.

In the early '50's, entertainment from outside the home came mostly in the form of the radio.  Entertainment could come in the form of a drama, or the broadcast of a ballgame, but one of the most popular shows on the radio, particularly for my folks, was the Grand Ole Orpy.  Live from the historic Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville, Tennessee would come the sounds of country music performers like Roy Acuff, Little Jimmy Dickens and countless others, including Minnie Pearl.

One of the main sponsors of the Opry was American Ace Coffee, a product of the American Tea and Coffee Company, also of Nashville.  Their commercials would open with Minnie Pearl shouting: "Elmer, don't forget the American Ace Coffee!"  The name Elmer would be said in the same style as her famous tag line: "How-dee!", with the second syllable rising an octave or so higher in pitch than the first.

An American Ace Coffee bag as offered for sale on eBay

American Ace Coffee also sponsored a radio show known as the American Ace Coffee Show using the same commercial.  Thanks to an exhaustive search of the internet by my friend Steve Lancaster, you can hear it the introduction of the show here:

And, according to the story told to me by my mother, this is where she found the inspiration to use the name Elmer to go along with her Dean and is how I got my name.  I think it's also the inspiration for the way she would call out to get me home in time for supper when I was off playing with the kids down the street.  She would step onto the back porch and holler: "Ellll-mer."  Nothing else need be said and I knew it was time to go home.  I could pretend I didn't hear her but there were usually corporal consequences if I did!

Interestingly, for the first few years of my life, I was called Deannie.  I started the first grade of school with my family calling me that while at school I was known as Elmer.  I opted to stick with Elmer until I went into the Navy where I chose to use the name Dean.  My friends from that era still use Dean.  But of course, here in the deep south there are those that think the proper style is to use both!

I continued the tradition of the name Dean and my son is named Jonathan Dean, although he has never gone by Dean.  Perhaps he will maintain the tradition and we will have a Dean in the family for the future.

From 2003, Elmer Dean, Ruby Dean and Jonathan Dean Sellers

If I had known this story when I was in high school, I could have told my friends and maybe I would have tagged with a cool nickname like the "American Ace", or just plain "Ace."  But, most likely, they would have looked at the bag of coffee, read the label and I would have been called "Drip!"