I find myself fascinated with a lot of things nowadays, everything from new technological developments to political shenanigans to words and foods.
My fascination with technology leads me to dream of the future and what life will be like, my review of politics makes me wonder if there will be a future to worry about! But those are topics for another day.
My fascinations with words and foods are the same: where did they come from and what led to their creation. It is often easy to find the origin of words by consulting a dictionary or a book on etymology, the study of word origins. Words can be traced to their origins and the changes that have taken place over the years can be followed. Many times the source of foods can be found with a quick google search. Sometimes I find these sources less than reliable.
Albert Broccoli was a movie producer who died in 1998 or 2002 depending of the source (see I told you sources weren't always reliable,) and is noted for producing several of the James Bond movies. I remember reading of his death in the newspaper where the story told that his family was noted for food engineering and creating what we now know as broccoli by crossing cauliflower with spinach! This was the Mobile Press so I shouldn't have believed it in first place but I did. Subsequently I learned that this story was not true although I have to admit it is a good story!
I often wondered about who ever thought to cover raisins with yogurt! I love the combination but I was distressed to think that someone actually sat down and tried it! Someone has too much time on his hands!
Several years ago, a television commercial tried to explain how Reeses came up with the idea of covering peanut butter, a nectar of the gods in my opinion, with chocolate. They illustrated the possibility that one person was walking eating a piece of chocolate bumping into a person eating from a jar of peanut butter with the chocolate ending up in the peanut butter. It's feasible but I don't recall ever seeing anyone walking down the street eating from a jar of peanut butter. I've been tempted to before but...
Which brings me to grits. Who decided that taking corn, grinding it then cooking it in a pan of boiling water, then slathering butter into it or simply mixing it with eggs was a proper way to enjoy corn?? This person deserves a national holiday set aside in his or her honor! Something like Saint Bubba's Day!
Grits, the name which the dictionary says can be either singular or plural so don't wonder about my choice of the verb here, is the official dish of the State of Georgia! A bill introduced into the legislature of South Carolina honoring the dish stated that if more people ate grits we would have a better chance for peace on earth! I think they're on to something!
I grew up with grits at breakfast, learning that the proper way to enjoy them was to add eggs, sunny-side up, and stir them together. I have since learned that grits can be fully enjoyed by itself or as a part of wonderful dishes such as Shrimp and Grits, one of my very favorites. In fact, I am in a never-ending search for the perfect Shrimp and Grits dish.
Wikipedia says grits originated with the Native Americans and was adopted by early Americans, primarily in the southeast. Maybe, but I like this explanation better:
On the eighth day, He arose from His rest and called to the Man and the Woman.
"Go to the southeastern part of the garden. There you will find a plant that grows tall, its tassels reaching toward the sky. Take the fruit of this plant, which you shall call corn, and grind the seeds between two large stones. Then you shall cook the finely ground corn and enjoy it with other fine things from the gardens and from the seas. This shall be called grits and is my special gift to my people."
The Man and the Woman went forth and did as He had instructed.
We Southerners are religious about our grits so it's not too farfetched!
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Monday, April 11, 2016
"I've got my pants on, ain't I?"
That's what I heard when I would ask my Daddy if he had his pocketknife on him. When I needed to open an envelope, cut a string or whatever else, I could always count on Daddy to have the tool needed for the task. His knife was never a fancy one and it wasn't the sharpest knife around, but as long as he had his pants on, he had a knife.
During the time I grew up, every man I knew carried a pocketknife. Carrying a knife was almost a rite of passage for young boys. It might be a two-blade small knife or a larger three-blade model but he had one. You didn't see any of the large blade models of today that are carried on a clip or in a leather holster on the belt.
A pocketknife was a tool. One never knew when the occasion would arise when a knife would be needed, whether it was peeling an apple, opening a package, cleaning fingernails or whittling on a stick, one needed to be prepared.
I remember my first pocketknife. I had accumulated a little money, probably from a grass-cutting job, so I went to Andrews, a local hardware store. I bought two knives that day, a smaller three-blade model and a larger fisherman's knife, complete with one blade for cutting and a second that was a fish scaler and hook remover. i don't remember the brand but I do recall that both had yellow handles. I paid seventy-five cents each. I no longer have the original ones I purchased but do have a similar model of the fisherman's knife.
In my early school years, boys were allowed to have a pocketknife at school. I recall playing a version of Mumbly Peg at recess with our knives. Mumbly Peg, at least our version, involved throwing an open knife to stick it in the ground near the foot of your opponent. Fortunately, no toes were injured during the playing of this game!
By the time I reached high school, the rules had changed and knives were not allowed. Imagine if a child arrives at school today with a pocketknife. I'm sure the penalty would be quite severe.
I've carried a knife at various times during my lifetime, mostly when it was useful for my job. The Navy issued what is called a TL-29 knife. It has one cutting blade and a second "blade" that locks open and has a screwdriver-like end. I never found the screwdriver very useful but carried the knife nonetheless.
I would later carry a Swiss Army knife with several blades/tools, including a tweezer and a toothpick. Who could ask for more?
I always thought I could sharpen a knife until I started wood carving. Every man thinks he can sharpen a knife, just ask them! But few truly master the art.
There's an axiom among wood carvers: a dull knife will cut you worse than a sharp one. A dull knife requires a lot of effort and force to make a cut, often resulting in a slip that combined with that extra force, makes for a nasty wound. Complete with a carver's set of knives and other tools is usually a box of BandAids and a story of an ER visit!
So, I learned to sharpen a knife. As my brother Woody remarks, my knives are so sharp they cut a quarter of an inch in front of the blade!!
It wasn't until the last couple of years that I've gotten to the point my Daddy was at, where, if I've got my pants on, I've got a knife!
It all started when Mary and I were in a jewelry store and I saw a display of William Henry knives. One doesn't normally think of shopping for a pocketknife in a jewelry store but a William Henry is not a normal knife! These knives are made with scales, the proper name for the material comprising the handles of a knife, of exotic woods, stone or animal bones, mammoth tusks and the like. The blades are frequently made from Damascus steel, an ancient method of forging steel into swords and other cutting edges.
I started carrying a pocketknife at that point so I could one day justify buying a William Henry. I had forgotten how often a knife comes in handy. Nowadays, I use my pocketknife many times during the day and feel like I'm lost if I don't have one on me.
I've acquired several knives in the meantime, most of them eBay purchases where I try to find vintage models of unique knives. but I also have several current models of popular brands like Case, Buck and Kershaw.
But times have changed and now even a small pocketknife is considered a dangerous weapon. Courthouses, sporting events and most certainly airports prohibit any knives. Several times I've made a trip back to my truck to put away my knife rather than having to give it up to enter a building.
For my birthday in 2015, Mary bought me a William Henry, one made with a Damascus steel blade and scales made of fossilized dinosaur bone , one-hundred million years old! I don't carry it daily and it doesn't see much use in my work shop or when I'm working in the yard. I consider it my "dress-up" knife! Any other time, the knife I carry might be used for just about any task.
So, if I'm around when you need a box opened or a string trimmed, just call on me. After all, I've got my pants on, ain't I?
During the time I grew up, every man I knew carried a pocketknife. Carrying a knife was almost a rite of passage for young boys. It might be a two-blade small knife or a larger three-blade model but he had one. You didn't see any of the large blade models of today that are carried on a clip or in a leather holster on the belt.
A pocketknife was a tool. One never knew when the occasion would arise when a knife would be needed, whether it was peeling an apple, opening a package, cleaning fingernails or whittling on a stick, one needed to be prepared.
I remember my first pocketknife. I had accumulated a little money, probably from a grass-cutting job, so I went to Andrews, a local hardware store. I bought two knives that day, a smaller three-blade model and a larger fisherman's knife, complete with one blade for cutting and a second that was a fish scaler and hook remover. i don't remember the brand but I do recall that both had yellow handles. I paid seventy-five cents each. I no longer have the original ones I purchased but do have a similar model of the fisherman's knife.
In my early school years, boys were allowed to have a pocketknife at school. I recall playing a version of Mumbly Peg at recess with our knives. Mumbly Peg, at least our version, involved throwing an open knife to stick it in the ground near the foot of your opponent. Fortunately, no toes were injured during the playing of this game!
By the time I reached high school, the rules had changed and knives were not allowed. Imagine if a child arrives at school today with a pocketknife. I'm sure the penalty would be quite severe.
 |
| A selection from my collection of pocketknives |
I've carried a knife at various times during my lifetime, mostly when it was useful for my job. The Navy issued what is called a TL-29 knife. It has one cutting blade and a second "blade" that locks open and has a screwdriver-like end. I never found the screwdriver very useful but carried the knife nonetheless.
I would later carry a Swiss Army knife with several blades/tools, including a tweezer and a toothpick. Who could ask for more?
I always thought I could sharpen a knife until I started wood carving. Every man thinks he can sharpen a knife, just ask them! But few truly master the art.
There's an axiom among wood carvers: a dull knife will cut you worse than a sharp one. A dull knife requires a lot of effort and force to make a cut, often resulting in a slip that combined with that extra force, makes for a nasty wound. Complete with a carver's set of knives and other tools is usually a box of BandAids and a story of an ER visit!
 |
| Woodcarving knives |
So, I learned to sharpen a knife. As my brother Woody remarks, my knives are so sharp they cut a quarter of an inch in front of the blade!!
It wasn't until the last couple of years that I've gotten to the point my Daddy was at, where, if I've got my pants on, I've got a knife!
It all started when Mary and I were in a jewelry store and I saw a display of William Henry knives. One doesn't normally think of shopping for a pocketknife in a jewelry store but a William Henry is not a normal knife! These knives are made with scales, the proper name for the material comprising the handles of a knife, of exotic woods, stone or animal bones, mammoth tusks and the like. The blades are frequently made from Damascus steel, an ancient method of forging steel into swords and other cutting edges.
I started carrying a pocketknife at that point so I could one day justify buying a William Henry. I had forgotten how often a knife comes in handy. Nowadays, I use my pocketknife many times during the day and feel like I'm lost if I don't have one on me.
I've acquired several knives in the meantime, most of them eBay purchases where I try to find vintage models of unique knives. but I also have several current models of popular brands like Case, Buck and Kershaw.
But times have changed and now even a small pocketknife is considered a dangerous weapon. Courthouses, sporting events and most certainly airports prohibit any knives. Several times I've made a trip back to my truck to put away my knife rather than having to give it up to enter a building.
 |
| William Henry "Katsumi," Number 06 of 50 |
For my birthday in 2015, Mary bought me a William Henry, one made with a Damascus steel blade and scales made of fossilized dinosaur bone , one-hundred million years old! I don't carry it daily and it doesn't see much use in my work shop or when I'm working in the yard. I consider it my "dress-up" knife! Any other time, the knife I carry might be used for just about any task.
So, if I'm around when you need a box opened or a string trimmed, just call on me. After all, I've got my pants on, ain't I?
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Kool Aid and Crafts: Memories of Vacation Bible School
As we went through this process after Mama's death, the memories flowed as the treasures were given out. Among the items I got returned to me was a gift I made in Vacation Bible School in my childhood. It's a lot worse for the wear of over fifty years but a little glue and a dusting made it presentable again.
This bird, can't tell if it's a chicken, duck or what, was created to be a sewing center. There is a cradle for housing scissors, a number of dowels vertically mounted and designed to hold spools of thread and lastly, the "wings" are stuffed cloths shapes to be used as pin cushions. This highly useful device is something I made at summer bible school. My mother, the consummate seamstress, quilt maker and skilled artisan in the needle and thread arts, as far as I can remember, never used it as it was intended. But, she kept it for over fifty years and displayed it for most of that time.
As I reflect on the bird, I recall the many years of attending Bible School, usually held the first couple of weeks in the summer after normal school let out. Bible School was usually a half day session lasting about one week. There was time to study the Bible, a time to play, singing, snacks and a time for making crafts. I'm sure that I could attribute some of my limited knowledge of biblical stories to the training I received in VBS but my memories are pretty much limited to the crafts we did and the snacks: cookies and KoolAid. I remember drinking a lot of KoolAid in my childhood and even in young adulthood but I haven't seem any in many years, is that stuff even made anymore?
There was a lady in our church, Mrs. Long, whose first name I can't recall, who owned a ceramics studio. Many years our crafts consisted of making something of clay which she would fire in her kiln. Sometimes the ceramics were pre-formed items that we simply painted before they were fired. We had one that featured a deer with a large rack of antlers. We painted the deer in our crude way, it was fired and at the end of VBS, I took it home. My older brother Joe saw it and decided the paint job needed more detail so he proceeded to "touch up" my art! I never have forgiven him for that! That deer hung in our dining room for years.
A craft piece that brings a chuckle to me now is the fig-leaf ashtray we made! Mrs. Long brought clay and freshly picked fig leaves. We molded the clay to fit the shape of the leaf, pressing the leaf into the clay to form the vein pattern of the leaf, then curling the lobes of the clay leaf where it would hold a cigarette and keep the ashes contained. I don't guess kids get to make ashtrays at Bible School today! Unfortunately, the ashtray didn't survive the years.
One day, hopefully many years from now, my kids will sort through boxes and lament the things Mary and I have kept but I hope they will trigger warm memories as the bird has for me. Either way, it'll be be their job to dispose of them , I'm too much like my Mama, I can't bring myself to do it!
Monday, February 8, 2016
Hey Mister! Throw Me A Memory!!
Mardi Gras tends to remind us all of Moon Pies, the ubiquitous treat tossed from the floats in the parades. And Moon Pies, remind me of my late sister, Bonnie.
Bonnie loved Moon Pies. I don't think she ever went to a Mardi Gras parade but bought her Moon Pies in the grocery store. When we were young and some of us still lived with our parents, Bonnie's late night snack was a Moon Pie and a small glass of milk. She kept a box of the pies in the cabinet above the refrigerator and every night around 10 p.m., she would enjoy her snack. If I was lucky, she would share one with me.
I don't think Moon Pies came in but two flavors in those days, chocolate and banana. Bonnie didn't care for the banana so it was the chocolate pie at our house. When a new box was opened, we always counted how many were in the box. A normal box contained 12 pies but frequently, we would discover 13 pies in the box. I don't think we ever had less than 12 but we always had to check. You would have thought we won the lottery when there was an additional pie in the box.
One hears the expression a " Baker's Dozen" describing 13 baked goods when a dozen was ordered and I guess that's why we got our extra treat. Somebody at the Moon Pie factory was being generous, or careless but we benefitted.
Later in life, a visit to Bonnie's house would result in a Little Debbie Oatmeal snack cake but that never created the memories like the Moon Pies did.
This past weekend, we had relatives in from out-of-town for them to take their young children to a parade. I asked one of the youngsters to bring me a Moon Pie. He came back with a bag full of beads and several Moon Pies and shared one with me.
The Moon Pies today are about half the size I remember from my childhood and I doubt the revealer who tossed the pie took the time to count and see if he or she got a Baker's Dozen before showering the crowd, but whoever they are, they certainly helped me relive a special memory
The pie tasted good, maybe just like the ones from long ago, but not nearly as special as the ones I shared with Bonnie.
Bonnie loved Moon Pies. I don't think she ever went to a Mardi Gras parade but bought her Moon Pies in the grocery store. When we were young and some of us still lived with our parents, Bonnie's late night snack was a Moon Pie and a small glass of milk. She kept a box of the pies in the cabinet above the refrigerator and every night around 10 p.m., she would enjoy her snack. If I was lucky, she would share one with me.
I don't think Moon Pies came in but two flavors in those days, chocolate and banana. Bonnie didn't care for the banana so it was the chocolate pie at our house. When a new box was opened, we always counted how many were in the box. A normal box contained 12 pies but frequently, we would discover 13 pies in the box. I don't think we ever had less than 12 but we always had to check. You would have thought we won the lottery when there was an additional pie in the box.
One hears the expression a " Baker's Dozen" describing 13 baked goods when a dozen was ordered and I guess that's why we got our extra treat. Somebody at the Moon Pie factory was being generous, or careless but we benefitted.
Later in life, a visit to Bonnie's house would result in a Little Debbie Oatmeal snack cake but that never created the memories like the Moon Pies did.
This past weekend, we had relatives in from out-of-town for them to take their young children to a parade. I asked one of the youngsters to bring me a Moon Pie. He came back with a bag full of beads and several Moon Pies and shared one with me.
The Moon Pies today are about half the size I remember from my childhood and I doubt the revealer who tossed the pie took the time to count and see if he or she got a Baker's Dozen before showering the crowd, but whoever they are, they certainly helped me relive a special memory
The pie tasted good, maybe just like the ones from long ago, but not nearly as special as the ones I shared with Bonnie.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
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.
Monday, November 23, 2015
Awesomely Amazing, or What?
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!!
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
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.
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.
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.
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. "
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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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. "
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