tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19612676513655638692024-03-13T14:06:32.856-05:00Mappings for This Morning...the joy of journey as a family.Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.comBlogger411125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-90749643439946620132020-05-28T12:40:00.003-05:002020-05-28T14:52:00.776-05:00Encouragement that Lasts<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QHCPxincmHk/Xs_l0kLcy-I/AAAAAAAAS9Q/IR6JAlFPh9IBWPEMwyKfY34lNBeCNN8wQCK4BGAsYHg/20200412_082601.jpg" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="2160" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QHCPxincmHk/Xs_l0kLcy-I/AAAAAAAAS9Q/IR6JAlFPh9IBWPEMwyKfY34lNBeCNN8wQCK4BGAsYHg/w480-h640/20200412_082601.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This branch of rosemary leans into the bloom of an Amaryllis that still grows from a bulb that many years ago bloomed in Mother's room. Rosemary stands for remembrance. The Amaryllis reminds me of perserverance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So much has filled our days in the months since I last posted here. I have kept records of most of it in my other blogs and journal but this blog is devoted to family journey. The journey recently has been difficult and unprecedented. Global pandemic from a corona virus named Covid-19 and economic crisis continues as efforts begin to put pieces of the puzzle together. Today, over 100,000 people have died from the virus in our country alone, Unemployment claims have climbed beyond 40 million during a period in which schools, restaurants, churches, and all but essential businesses have been closed. Handwashing for 20 seconds often, disinfecting surfaces, wearing masks, and social distancing have become habits, Stay at home mandates have only begun to lift. Our church held its first short gatherings last week for the first time since mid March with many restrictions in place. I have journaled some of this because although it is something none of us will ever forget, writing is healing for me. By the grace of God I am able to continue dealing with the pain of recovery from my back injury and deliberately live in the moments of today, knowing I cannot add anxiety or fear for the future to the load. Simple things help me with that.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc e5nlhep0 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_a1" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 4px 16px;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="oi732d6d ik7dh3pa d2edcug0 qv66sw1b c1et5uql a8c37x1j muag1w35 enqfppq2 jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; color: var(--primary-text); display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; margin-bottom: -4px; margin-top: -4px; max-width: 100%; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I find myself remembering childhood prayers, songs, and friends. Along with other people who mention it on FaceBook - I am choosing to cook simple comfort foods, often from old recipes. I made Mother's Mexican cornbread and chicken and dumplings. I got barley to make her Barley Burger Soup this week. I am thankful for many things, among them all the things my mother passed on to me, including endurance that leaned on faith. I wrote this several years ago and found it this morning. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">For Opal</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">she played the first piano notes I ever heard,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">loved all the old Baptist hymns plus</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Rustic Dance and I Love You a Bushel and a Peck</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">took me to piano lessons and made sure I practiced</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">when I played my piano today, it was a tribute to her</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">she found the prettiest cloth to make my dresses</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">smoothing fabric on her bed, laying the tissue patterns, cutting with care</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">sitting for hours at her Singer </div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">in front of the window where Hawthorne bloomed</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">pinning and fitting before hand-stitching hems</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">and teaching me that, too </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"> she brought me yellow roses when I was a young mother of 3 sons</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Tyler roses, tight yellow buds in a bunch</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">in her last years there were petals of yellow sticky notes</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">to remind me she loved me</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I miss her laughter,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">the magazine and newspaper clippings she used to send in letters</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">she had the most beautiful handwriting</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I miss the way she loved coffee</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">the way she smelled of face powder and Tide</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I miss sitting by her, </div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">her wrinkled hands clapping with joy or clasped in prayer</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">clinging by faith until it was by sight</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="stjgntxs ni8dbmo4 l82x9zwi uo3d90p7 h905i5nu monazrh9" data-vc-ignore-dynamic="1" style="border-radius: 0px 0px 8px 8px; 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font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-height: 19px; outline: none; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: inherit; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: none;" tabindex="0"><span aria-hidden="true" class="bzsjyuwj ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs ltmttdrg gjzvkazv" style="float: left; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; width: 100px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="gpro0wi8 pcp91wgn" style="font-family: inherit; padding-left: 6px;">7</span></span></span><span class="gpro0wi8 cwj9ozl2 bzsjyuwj ja2t1vim" style="background-color: var(--card-background); float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-left: -100px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="pcp91wgn" style="font-family: inherit; padding-left: 6px;">Teion Parker, Amy Mitcham and 5 others</span></span></span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="pcp91wgn" style="font-family: inherit; padding-left: 6px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></span></div><div class="kb5gq1qc pfnyh3mw c0wkt4kp" style="flex-grow: 0; flex-shrink: 0; font-family: inherit; width: 7px;"></div></div><div class="bp9cbjyn j83agx80 pfnyh3mw" style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-shrink: 0; font-family: inherit;"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: #242526; color: #e4e6eb; font-family: "segoe ui historic", "segoe ui", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div></div>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-35149595817712957082020-02-15T16:20:00.001-06:002020-02-15T16:20:20.729-06:00Making Music <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: left;">Memories made 72 years ago unfold like a paper fan, some sharp, some faded. Most likely, nothing is exactly as I remember this special evening, the first time I remember playing a piano for someone besides family or music teacher. Without even looking at the sepia photograph, I remember what I wore - a long pink eyelet dress with a slip underneath. There were ruffles where I remember wearing a pin in the shape of a tiny spoon that was enameled with roses. I look at the picture where my dark hair is parted in the middle. Normally straight as a stick, my mother valiantly tried many ways to give me fluffy curls. Instead of a wrist corsage,favored in later years, I </span> wore flowers in my hair.</div>
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Somewhere in one of my keeping boxes lies a yellowed program announcing the recital of the students of Mrs. Lottie Dee Stephens where my name and the title of the piece I played is listed among more advanced musicians. I was 7, and had not been taking lessons long. In the years since, I have used my limited piano skills in different ways and different places, including being allowed to play the organ in the oldest Christian church in Jakarta, Indonesia, and playing the piano played by the last Queen of Hawaii. Joe gave me the wonderful gift of a baby grand piano in 1983 which has been shipped along with our household around the world. I am unable to sit down and enjoy playing currently due to my recovery from a back injury. I miss it.</div>
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I am thankful to my parents, who could ill afford my music lessons and to my mother for reminding me to practice. I am thankful I grew up in a church that helped me enjoy music and encouraged me to sing from the time I was much younger than I am in this picture. I am thankful for choirs where I have loved joining voices, and for the churches in different places where I have been allowed to help with children's choirs. I have had so much fun with toddler grandchildren, making music and marching.</div>
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Nothing makes me happier than hearing my granddaughters sing,knowing they love music, watching them on their own paths of choirs and recitals. Now, a grandson joins them. I am listening and loving it!</div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-36231634304367393582019-09-28T15:37:00.000-05:002019-09-28T15:37:33.601-05:00A Repair Job<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JR1tTrJbKj8/XY0Z1YhNZoI/AAAAAAAAPAg/91xhlW5ZwJY28CLRrmNIdz5rg_R76ENTACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/BensKangaroo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="714" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JR1tTrJbKj8/XY0Z1YhNZoI/AAAAAAAAPAg/91xhlW5ZwJY28CLRrmNIdz5rg_R76ENTACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/BensKangaroo.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
This mama kangaroo and her baby were a sewing project for me a long time ago. This week they were again on my to do list. Construction the first time, another mending this time. I spread and laid out fake fur , layered on patterns, cut and hauled out my Singer to sew, then stuffed. I embroidered eyes and remember giving a proud sigh of relief that I was able to finish mama and baby before Christmas in 1975, the year Ben was nearing 18 months old. Now, his own children still play with them. Three year old Oliver brought them to me and told me to "fix it!', pointing to a parted seam or two and spilling stuffing. I told him I would work on it "tomorrow" and we put Kanga and her Roo in a chair in my room. But a little while later, I picked them up thinking about all those years ago when my sewing gift made Oliver's Daddy smile. So I threaded a needle, sat down and repaired broken places.<br />
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This stuffed toy is real. Remembering The Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse.<br />
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"You did it!" was all the thanks I needed! <br />
<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-51460971567387058762019-09-10T16:54:00.002-05:002019-09-10T16:54:28.365-05:00Family Names, Notes, and Dates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My mother's handwriting was beautiful, distinctive. I always spot it among a stack of old papers. As I sorted a file of family records recently, I spotted her writing on 4 pages of yellowed lined tablet paper. They contained names and dates of both hers and Daddy's family. I am sure I found it going through the many boxes of her things, filing it away until I could give it more attention. Each entry could have its own story.</div>
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I will make an effort to do just that, but for this post, I want to record the photographs of the pages and make some general observations. While I am recovering from my back injury, I am unable to sit for very long at my laptop.</div>
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Today it is important to remember that record keeping was very different in the 2 centuries these dates reference. Passing information from generation was done by recording births, baptisms, marriages, and deaths in a family Bible, by word of mouth, by writing notes in a tablet much like these. For us now, census and church records and gravestones only supplement online research and helps like Ancestry.com</div>
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I see that my mother did her best to record names, date and place of birth, date and place of faith commitments and baptism, sibling names, date of marriages, and date of deaths. Just reading the family names is like poetry to me. I hope I am able to work on developing our family history in a way that will be available to all who wish access. At the least I can make the bits and pieces of information I do have accessible to others.</div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-52188726297515595802019-08-28T11:19:00.000-05:002019-08-28T11:19:07.582-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The center statue is etched in mind as part of my childhood. It stood on the corner of the park where the town library was located and I saw the statue often when I was taken to the library. I did not know then that I would someday marry a descendant of one of those memorialized with their names inscripted on the base. Pasco Parker is Joe's Great Uncle. Now there are 3 more Pasco Parkers: Joe's youngest brother, Pasco Parker, his grandson Pasco Rowe as well as great grandson Pasco Pico Rowe. The article below describes more about the statue than I ever knew growing up. It has been relocated and joined by the other memorial walls shown.<br />
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The Hazel Tilton Park War Memorial, was originally a structure honoring solely those Jacksonville American soldiers lost during World War I. The war concluded November 11, 1918, a day then referred to as Armistice Day and now memorialized as Veteran’s Day.</div>
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The task of raising money for the monument was spearheaded by the Jolly Workers Club, an organization of young working women in positions of responsibility around Jacksonville. The club was composed of twenty-four members. In 1924, they contracted for the monument and raised $900 toward that end. The statue, carved by an unknown Italian sculptor and hewn from Italian marble, was completed and delivered. However, it was not erected because another $400 was needed for the inscription of names and erection costs. Unfortunately the Jolly Workers Club disbanded in 1926, and the memorial statue was left abandoned in the lobby of the then Guaranty State Bank.</div>
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In 1928, the <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=1395510294084014&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdKH-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARAwm9inpD7MvfuEjI_ezZrKUxjywKfYhUIrA6i5V_1CGrRGPSxfKOuYpNdIW1oSPjdjwfHI-5aHfd_w%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/Jacksonville-Progress-1395510294084014/?__tn__=KH-R&eid=ARAwm9inpD7MvfuEjI_ezZrKUxjywKfYhUIrA6i5V_1CGrRGPSxfKOuYpNdIW1oSPjdjwfHI-5aHfd_w&fref=mentions&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAafY2pCm5vkT7vOcuAe5I2u7xxLraJ4rtd6xyBJQiztB032jbSVwVel2ExU1XZHhl4zPny-wcTQP9XSGgLnuElA9kqy4I2opZy0WhcYqUbjnXnVr3ODF5tq5c1kyopLUC-GFYXrvapSMErZ_Z-R2DBSwIOoRUjICF0YT7EiHqrwG0_KrH-0px2IX0HNMK34aZYVSW6EUGQP1MvymS5XDZz9vaco3TxEK7W25VFtkTErGitjCR9SsnQIBman_EpGJM-Jiwh9tXZbFlync3orwkjOYadVDK5orX2wGoQ1xdSHIfhdBQfYRF8Qwri2Td2PdW8rF9qeTu-pwBWRdOI" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Jacksonville Progress</a> began a series of wrenching articles aimed at shaming the public and local government to raise the needed funds for the monument’s completion. One essay stated that the lack of completion “…stands as an accuser of tragic neglect on the part of the citizens of Jacksonville.” Finally, the Civic Committee of the <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=394676750559429&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdKH-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARB8VTPuFSR59_tqFzNBorxwRPJiylQbGVBKStSqihHzz9LZq7I50CDw9YVPcpHoWbNRH4en3GZSDTbV%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/JacksonvilleChamber/?__tn__=KH-R&eid=ARB8VTPuFSR59_tqFzNBorxwRPJiylQbGVBKStSqihHzz9LZq7I50CDw9YVPcpHoWbNRH4en3GZSDTbV&fref=mentions&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAafY2pCm5vkT7vOcuAe5I2u7xxLraJ4rtd6xyBJQiztB032jbSVwVel2ExU1XZHhl4zPny-wcTQP9XSGgLnuElA9kqy4I2opZy0WhcYqUbjnXnVr3ODF5tq5c1kyopLUC-GFYXrvapSMErZ_Z-R2DBSwIOoRUjICF0YT7EiHqrwG0_KrH-0px2IX0HNMK34aZYVSW6EUGQP1MvymS5XDZz9vaco3TxEK7W25VFtkTErGitjCR9SsnQIBman_EpGJM-Jiwh9tXZbFlync3orwkjOYadVDK5orX2wGoQ1xdSHIfhdBQfYRF8Qwri2Td2PdW8rF9qeTu-pwBWRdOI" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Jacksonville Chamber</a> took over the project and the City Council got on board as well. Checks and cash began to flow and eventually the needed funds were finally raised. The statue was erected on a plinth of Colorado marble and stood twelve feet high. The local J. E. Gould Monument Company (founded in 1908) was in charge of erecting the statue and engraving all needed inscriptions.</div>
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The main day for the Memorial Statue inauguration was April 15, 1928, a beautiful Sunday, at 3:30 PM in the Jacksonville City Park. Attending were the Boy Scouts, former Jolly Worker Club members, and the Jacksonville Municipal Band, along with a host of interested citizens. Mayor T. E. Acker delivered a short historical address. A local black minister spoke briefly thanking the city for inclusion of five fallen African American soldiers. The grand moment came when Mrs. T. M. Clairborne, the Gold Star mother of Jimmie Walter Clairborne- the first soldier to fall- unveiled the statue.</div>
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The statue itself depicts a uniformed soldier holding a Springfield 1903 (30-06) model rifle with fixed bayonet. He wears a hip length coat with artillery belt, a helmet, and puttees to protect the ankles. The state of Texas suffered 892 deaths attributed to World War One. From that number the names of thirty-two Jacksonville men are inscribed on three sides of the statue’s base, all lost in the Great War.</div>
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The white marble statue of the Dough Boy endured much over the years from the indignity of being sprayed green during the mid 1950s (by several high school boys who will go unnamed!), to its near destruction from horrific winds in 1990. It was after this that the concept of a new memorial at a different site in the park was contemplated, one that would represent not just Jacksonville but the entirety of Cherokee County in all wars fought where lives were lost.</div>
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Therefore, in 1992, the original WWI monument (1928) was transferred to its new location in the Jacksonville City Park and rededicated as the Cherokee County War Memorial. In anticipation of the new memorial and relocation, the WWI statue, which had been partially destroyed by high winds in1990, was repaired. Three large black granite walls were erected on white marble foundations adorned with the names of the Cherokee County fallen in World War I (24), World War II (139), Korea (9), Vietnam (22), and Iraq (1). The major inscription reads: “In Memory of All Cherokee County Veterans Who Served With Honor In The Armed Forces of The United States of America.” Symbols of the services surround the inscription.</div>
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It was a grand affair planned by the Veterans of Foreign Wars, Post 3984. The ceremony took place on Saturday, May 30, at 2:00 PM. A flag ceremony was executed by the National Guard and the national anthem was sung by recent <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=1519096381668507&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdKH-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARDwLiLrVKO18EFjbdwS1QlRFE3xvc8c4SACe8IKVSr_5IH6NnFnakpghYA7OQzOkx7BUfNOwrRZ58mV%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/jhsjacksonvilleisd/?__tn__=KH-R&eid=ARDwLiLrVKO18EFjbdwS1QlRFE3xvc8c4SACe8IKVSr_5IH6NnFnakpghYA7OQzOkx7BUfNOwrRZ58mV&fref=mentions&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAafY2pCm5vkT7vOcuAe5I2u7xxLraJ4rtd6xyBJQiztB032jbSVwVel2ExU1XZHhl4zPny-wcTQP9XSGgLnuElA9kqy4I2opZy0WhcYqUbjnXnVr3ODF5tq5c1kyopLUC-GFYXrvapSMErZ_Z-R2DBSwIOoRUjICF0YT7EiHqrwG0_KrH-0px2IX0HNMK34aZYVSW6EUGQP1MvymS5XDZz9vaco3TxEK7W25VFtkTErGitjCR9SsnQIBman_EpGJM-Jiwh9tXZbFlync3orwkjOYadVDK5orX2wGoQ1xdSHIfhdBQfYRF8Qwri2Td2PdW8rF9qeTu-pwBWRdOI" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Jacksonville High School - Jacksonville ISD</a> graduate, Jason Harkins. All of this was highlighted by a twenty-one gun salute along with a somber rendition of “Taps”. The Reverend Grady Higgs, pastor of the <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=222678265117459&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdKH-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARBziNPVda4ZhMjPvAme_4vH3xuCmGTzoRdsT6_5O_QO3HKTq-CDYsYJNW9XURm5IfuNLeGOvcpheBAu%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/First-Baptist-Church-Jacksonville-Texas-222678265117459/?__tn__=KH-R&eid=ARBziNPVda4ZhMjPvAme_4vH3xuCmGTzoRdsT6_5O_QO3HKTq-CDYsYJNW9XURm5IfuNLeGOvcpheBAu&fref=mentions&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAafY2pCm5vkT7vOcuAe5I2u7xxLraJ4rtd6xyBJQiztB032jbSVwVel2ExU1XZHhl4zPny-wcTQP9XSGgLnuElA9kqy4I2opZy0WhcYqUbjnXnVr3ODF5tq5c1kyopLUC-GFYXrvapSMErZ_Z-R2DBSwIOoRUjICF0YT7EiHqrwG0_KrH-0px2IX0HNMK34aZYVSW6EUGQP1MvymS5XDZz9vaco3TxEK7W25VFtkTErGitjCR9SsnQIBman_EpGJM-Jiwh9tXZbFlync3orwkjOYadVDK5orX2wGoQ1xdSHIfhdBQfYRF8Qwri2Td2PdW8rF9qeTu-pwBWRdOI" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">First Baptist Church Jacksonville Texas</a>, delivered the invocation, while the benediction was given by Reverend Karl Hockenhull of the <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=104886129562209&extragetparams=%7B%22__tn__%22%3A%22%2CdKH-R-R%22%2C%22eid%22%3A%22ARBIiYg4eYO12zuManBdU7mTjLPAljCXQL-c18Owh5oKKZwqvNxK1g6AQzqkwSKs6ekYZSkCIGFVdyVQ%22%2C%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/Sweet-Union-Baptist-Church-104886129562209/?__tn__=KH-R&eid=ARBIiYg4eYO12zuManBdU7mTjLPAljCXQL-c18Owh5oKKZwqvNxK1g6AQzqkwSKs6ekYZSkCIGFVdyVQ&fref=mentions&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARAafY2pCm5vkT7vOcuAe5I2u7xxLraJ4rtd6xyBJQiztB032jbSVwVel2ExU1XZHhl4zPny-wcTQP9XSGgLnuElA9kqy4I2opZy0WhcYqUbjnXnVr3ODF5tq5c1kyopLUC-GFYXrvapSMErZ_Z-R2DBSwIOoRUjICF0YT7EiHqrwG0_KrH-0px2IX0HNMK34aZYVSW6EUGQP1MvymS5XDZz9vaco3TxEK7W25VFtkTErGitjCR9SsnQIBman_EpGJM-Jiwh9tXZbFlync3orwkjOYadVDK5orX2wGoQ1xdSHIfhdBQfYRF8Qwri2Td2PdW8rF9qeTu-pwBWRdOI" style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">Sweet Union Baptist Church</a>.</div>
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Attending the ceremony and calling aloud each name on the monument, was Cherokee County Judge Craig Caldwell, a Vietnam veteran of the 101st Army Airborne. US Congressman Charles Wilson (1933-2010) delivered the major address. Rep. Wilson was a Naval Academy graduate and twelve term US congressman representing the Texas second congressional district. He is best known as the subject of the book and movie entitled Charlie Wilson’s War. The movie starred Tom Hanks as Charlie and Julia Roberts as his benefactor.</div>
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The City Park, where the memorial is located, began as a public square donated by the International Railroad when the town of Jacksonville was first laid out shortly after 1872. In 1882, a train track of the Kansas and Gulf Short Line Railroad cut through the park area and will remain, though eventually unused, for several years following 1928.</div>
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Other structures were located in park during those early years. A water tower was built in 1906, and a small fire station and pine-slab jail existed for a short time. Tree planting began in 1882 directed by Captain H. L. Morris. One of these trees, a magnolia, was eventually referred to by locals as “The Tree of Knowledge” because the town elders would gather beneath the tree on benches to discuss important affairs. It is possible that the large magnolia near the front of the new fire station is that same tree. A wooden bandstand erected in 1907, was replaced by native stone during the 1930s by the Worker Progress Administration.</div>
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The park represents an important place in the history of Jacksonville and the War Monument is its center. While the monument is made of cold stone it is etched with real names of real people who loved and were loved. Reflecting upon this public stone, we can better understand both the private loss as well as the concept of duty.</div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-79172559954402995482019-08-11T16:02:00.000-05:002019-08-11T16:02:30.814-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LxL2pvOXCF0/XVB9MC3dl1I/AAAAAAAAO0o/gVXOwythlBQ02NLXbUKZa8J8rzP0bqnVgCKgBGAs/s1600/20190313_144124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LxL2pvOXCF0/XVB9MC3dl1I/AAAAAAAAO0o/gVXOwythlBQ02NLXbUKZa8J8rzP0bqnVgCKgBGAs/s640/20190313_144124.jpg" width="640" /></a>There are reminders of my mother, Opal Terrell Teal, everywhere. In these months following my back injury I have had more time than ever for reflection and remembering stories, though the distraction of pain and other health issues has delayed working on recording those stories. Recently, I asked our oldest son if he would like to have the red enamel pan. Only the story that accompanied it would have led anyone to say yes to this chipped and rusted enamelware. Mother told me when she gave it to me: before she was married in 1931 at the age of 18, she sold tins of salve to earn money to buy a set of pans and a coffee pot. This is the remaining piece of that set. I only wish I had asked more questions about her early days of housekeeping and cooking. </div>
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I photographed the pan sitting on another reminder. Mother did needlework, taught by her own mother and grandmother who both crafted many works of needle art - sewing clothes and quilts, crocheting doilies and booties and lace, embroidering linens and collars, even tatting with a little silver shuttle that I still have. Years after I married and had my own children, she maintained her love of crocheting. My sons and grandchildren all have afghans she crocheted. This lovely cream afghan is one she made for me and is edged with fringe. It is on the foot of my bed right now, ready to pull up for a nap. I am still covered with her love.</div>
Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-3374374486562531672019-07-07T11:31:00.000-05:002019-07-07T11:31:56.441-05:00Magic Dressup Trunk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F0hNhVRiTq8/XRKI-gSqS3I/AAAAAAAAOTs/vSGoduWIwdI2Wp4iSqwS4s2BpQ8DN_RtgCLcBGAs/s1600/Maddiedressup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="611" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F0hNhVRiTq8/XRKI-gSqS3I/AAAAAAAAOTs/vSGoduWIwdI2Wp4iSqwS4s2BpQ8DN_RtgCLcBGAs/s320/Maddiedressup.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
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Maddie, summer 2010</div>
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Nora, summer 2019</div>
During Maddie's recent visit with us, we enjoyed so many special times. She spent time and had fun with all of us in this multigenerational household - oldest to youngest! Maddie is now 13, but when she was a little younger than Nora is now at 5, she came to stay with us and loved dressing up using all her imagination and the dressup collection we kept in the front closet. When they pullled out the dressup trunk a couple of weeks ago, Maddie found an old skirt of mine that she remembered making into an outfit and modeling for us. The two girls found a hat and ribbon and sunglasses to complete the ensemble and proudly displayed the results.<br />
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There is still magic in that trunk!Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-12039675591866678892019-06-14T14:06:00.001-05:002019-06-14T14:06:58.167-05:00Change and Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It has been 10 and 1/2 years since I accepted my own challenge to begin this blog. I did not know how, only why, I wanted to do this. In the first post, On January 12, 2009, I admitted "<span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px;">Blog? The word is strange to me. I know what it is. I read other blogs. But I do not know how to blog. The word as a verb instead of a noun is vaguely unsettling because it implies an action I do not yet know how to perform. But I will learn. I will.</span><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px;"> </span></div>
<br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px;">Forty one years ago tonight I was beginning the labor that would bring our first son into the light. On that cold Saturday morning, mighty work was required but then came the overwhelming joy. The work that can deliver words that have grown within me into the light of print and scrutiny may be absorbing and intense as well but with joy I ask for grace in the passing on of life and story. </span><div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.524px;">Again, I have needed to determine to learn, and to ask for grace in the passing on of life and story...</span></span><div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.524px;">I see that it has been 2 months since I last posted - April 13, 2019. Later, during that night, I fell, fracturing a vertebra in my lumbar spine, launching me into a season of change. I wrote recently about this and Joe's recent vision loss in another blog: </span></span><a href="https://stonesandfeathers.wordpress.com/2019/06/02/return/">https://stonesandfeathers.wordpress.com/2019/06/02/return/</a></div>
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In all the challenge of wearing a thoracic brace for 3 months, beginning daily injections that must be on my calendar for 2 years, managing pain making my own health management a necessary priority while yet being available to Joe, and learning to accept help there has been a great deal for me to keep on changing and learning. And, as I wrote all those years ago, I will.</div>
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<span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">The Untried Melody</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">Howard Thurman</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">I will sing a new song.</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">I must learn the new song for the new needs</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">I must fashion new words born of all the new growth in my life---of my mind---of my spirit.</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">I must prepare for new melodies that have never been mine before,</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">That all that is within me may lift my voice unto God.</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">How I love the old familiarity of the wearied melody,</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">How I shrink from the harsh discords of the new untried harmonies.</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">Teach me, my Father, that I might learn with the abandonment and enthusiasm of Jesus, </span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">The fresh new accent, the untried melody,</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">to meet the need of the untried morrow.</span><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">Source: from "I Will Sing a New Song" in Meditations of the Heart</span></div>
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Our Vitex greens and blooms. Again.</div>
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<span style="background-color: #c0a154; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.524px; text-align: start;">"The strongest and sweetest songs yet remain to be sung." ~Walt Whitman</span></div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-37063134531808508932019-04-13T17:19:00.000-05:002019-04-13T17:19:19.754-05:00Family Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jeremy, Maddie, and Jordann spent a week and a half with us.We said Goodbye with both smiles and tears and blessed their travel home. While they were with us, we enjoyed doing as much together as we could pack in the days! The photos show how much!<br />
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Fishing in the little lake behind our house.<br />
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Catching up with talks and hugs!</div>
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Cousin Time!<br />
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Cooking and Eating!<br />
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Tea for Two and Friends<br />
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Revisiting Favorite Places. Secret Places.<br />
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Making music and listening!<br />
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They made hummingbird nectar and put out 4 new hummingbird feeders!<br />
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Jordann's Canvas Art</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">There was more, of course - they went to the zoo, to a splash pad, and picked strawberries. The girls and Jeremy drove down to Galveston and Surfside for a day. Maddie brought back tiny lavender lined shells to create a butterfly picture.Jordann and Nora worked jigsaw puzzles. They had movie and popcorn nights and a Dutch Baby one morning for breakfast! We did art projects and picked roses. It was snowing when they left Nevada, and Spring had arrived in South Texas.</span><br />
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We made precious memories. Joe and I reveled in being with our children and grandchildren. I am thankful for Joe and for each of these, the generations who follow us. </div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-47670282545369671452019-02-18T10:21:00.000-06:002019-02-18T10:21:30.396-06:00Friends and Valentines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is a valentine that I keep in my kitchen year round. In fact, it has been around many years. It has sat in its frame in my last 3 homes, so that could be up to 25 years, but on the reverse side, there is only written "Happy Valentine's! Mignon" We began friendship in our second grade year, and it continues. Although we don't see each other often, that bond forged so early remains. Enduring friendships are rare and precious. Joe and I say that we are forever friends - a solid foundation for a solid marriage.<br />
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I watched my grandchildren get ready for February 14 last week, remembered all the ways it is celebrated. and smile as I consider how the tradition changes, but also stays the same. I got texts from my older granddaughters, and tiny candy boxes from Nora and Oliver. Joe and I had a Valentine lunch and planned to prune the roses. Kristen wound up doing that for us because Joe's eyes and my shoulder kept us from using our new garden gloves and pruning shears . That was a valentine labor of love!.<br />
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-45383303392152597212019-01-24T11:53:00.000-06:002019-01-24T11:53:00.348-06:00Keeping and Letting Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a little girl, I had this miniature rocking chair plus a few other pieces of doll house furniture. It is strange to me, but I do not remember having a doll house although I remember in detail most of these pieces of tiny furniture. I loved this little yellow and red rocking chair and the tiny grand piano. Both sit on one of my bookshelves, in front of a row of books.<br />
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There was a family - a mother, a father, and a baby. There was a refrigerator with a door that really opened, and a table and chairs. And there was a pink plastic bathtub and pedestal sink. Some of these survived until I did have a dollhouse, a Victorian house I had made by paraplegic craftsmen at a hospital in Jakarta, Indonesia. In our time there, I added a few handmade wooden pieces, a 4 poster bed and other small things. As my granddaughters were added to our family in later years, they loved the dollhouse and our odd assortment of furnishings. We added bottle tops for vases and coasters for rugs. Over time, the doll house began to fall apart and when we parted with a great many other things in order to make our move with Ben and Kristen and Nora, the doll house wound up being rescued by our oldest son, Sean, along with the remainders of furniture.<br />
<a href="https://tinyurl.com/FarewellHouse">https://tinyurl.com/FarewellHouse</a><br />
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Long before that happened, I had picked the little rocker and the piano to sit where I could see them. I don't know why I chose these 2 pieces. But when I let my story telling heart imagine, I think of all the ways rocking chairs have been important to me - savoring the stories of being rocked and sung to when I was a baby, then doing just that with my own babies.<br />
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I think too how much I love my real piano and the way I feel when I am able to sit at its keys and pour my feelings into music.<br />
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The things we keep, and the ways we let them go speak volumes. This story is one of my ways of letting go.Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-85346448882183494402019-01-09T11:51:00.000-06:002019-01-10T09:44:40.244-06:0055 Years!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our 55th, as in every anniversary, passed during Christmastide.</div>
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We were married three days after Christmas in 1963 after dating for 11 months. Choosing each other then was only the beginning, a glimmer of what grew to become intentional, tenacious choosing as years unfolded. Unlike many weddings now, we had no wedding planner, no announcing for saving a date, no plans for a honeymoon. We chose the date because we decided we wanted to begin our life together then instead of waiting until after I finished my degree in nursing at Oklahoma Baptist University 5 months later. We decided this in October, a little over 2 months away from our wedding. Joe was recently discharged from the army, had a job with Petty Geophysical on a field crew that was at the time located in southwestern Oklahoma. I was finishing a degree;I was in Oklahoma City. He had made many trips to Oklahoma City in his Karman Ghia so we knew it was not a great commute. The plan was for him to find another job in Oklahoma City and move there. The announcement of our engagement appeared in the Jacksonville paper on my birthday, November 14.</div>
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The timing was historical. On the day he was to arrive in the City, as I walked through the nurses' residence on my way back from John Wesley Hospital which was adjacent, I found a cluster of students in the large room at the front where the only television in the building was located. Unusual, because most of us had classes or shifts to work at the hospital. As I paused, I learned that our nation's president, John F. Kennedy, had been assassinated while in Dallas, TX. Many in the room, including me, were in tears. So November 22, 1963 became forever a date to be remembered. But I also remember it because Joe was on the way. We would find a place where he could live, he would find a job, we would be married very soon. Most brides have many things on their list to check off in the weeks before their marriage. I was no exception, but my list included exams for that semester and completing the construction of my wedding gown. I had made one trip with Mother to Tyler to try on wedding dresses, but buying one was out of the question. So I sketched one I had admired, with Mother's help selected some patterns, fabric, lace, and put my sewing machine to work. </div>
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When Joe and I went to Texas for Thanksgiving weekend, my mother and I cut out patterns from the lace, appliqued them to the slim skirt of the dress and circular train, and stitched on what seemed like hundreds of seed pearls.</div>
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Details of my wedding day drift through and settle. The arrival of my best friend and maid of honor, Jo Rita, along with Mary June and Sue and my sister Janice. Laughter. Last minute alterations and adjustments to my dress because I lost so much weight. Sugaring inexpensive Christmas bells for a topper to the cake my mother's friend had made. Having a hamburger for a quick supper. Wearing a plaid shirtwaist dress and realizing it was time to put on the dress! Hearing that Joe and his best man, our friend, Eddie Ballard had gone to Tyler to a movie the night before. They saw Spencer's Mountain with Maureen O'Hara. No bachelor party, no bridesmaid weekend somewhere. No elaborate reception and dinner. The wedding rings we had ordered from a local jeweler were lost in the mail! Judy and Arnold (Joe's brother) let us borrow theirs! It was a Saturday night. When the organ chimed 7 times, my nervous Daddy and I started down the aisle toward my choice, my love. </div>
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The phrase in our wedding vows "I take you..." means I choose you. The choice has been made every day since. </div>
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I still do!</div>
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-41541003758620316472018-12-26T10:51:00.000-06:002018-12-26T10:51:26.893-06:00The Day After Christmas 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The acceleration of flurry, anticipation and glee combined with celebration preparations on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day presents us with a choice: irritation and frustration, which are certain joy killers, or hold the activity of family gathering and gifting with gratitude, bending into it and letting go to simplify where needed. With intention, I choose the latter, savoring the occasion of being together, being sure to include loved ones who aren't with us with calls and texts, and making the time early or late for some reading and reflection to be sure that I am holding even closer the presence of God with me, with us. Immanuel. </div>
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Since I celebrate the 12 days of Christmas and Christmastide, today and the days that follow are times of reading, music, quiet reflecting - soaking in the mystery of God becoming one of us. When we lit all the Advent candles last night, 4 year old Nora helped, then sang the blessing she sings for us at mealtime "Oh, the Lord is good to us..." afterward snuffing out each candle we talked about the Light that never goes out. </div>
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-48158286884245438562018-12-13T14:42:00.000-06:002018-12-13T14:42:48.906-06:00All Wrapped Up in Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Bringing out the Christmas decorations and getting them all put into place can be hard work! Nora, all worn out from her excitement and helping, fell asleep on the couch, all wrapped up in a Christmas wreath I sewed up nearly fifty years ago! <span style="background-color: #eff1f3; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span style="background-color: #eff1f3;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;">It is a circle braided from stuffed fabric- green velvet from scraps of a dress I wore to a banquet in high school, white brocade from my high school graduation, and red corduroy from a jumper I wore when I was pregnant with Sean. Mother made the clothes, I made the wreath. I enjoyed sewing the pieces together and thinking about the times I wore those dresses, but seeing her like this filled my heart with even greater joy. I confess to my eyes filling and spilling a bit as well. It's </span><span style="color: #1d2129;">beginning</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"> to look alot like Christmas! </span></span></div>
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-78154748814184971552018-12-02T15:35:00.000-06:002018-12-02T15:35:18.495-06:00Growing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Fall and winter bring new growing seasons for south Texas. Nora and I planted a few broccoli plants. This is her first harvest, which she ate with her dinner that night. We grew this one in a container on the porch, but more from seeds will grow in our garden. Kristen harvested sweet potatoes and look at this one! This big sweet potato made 2 large casseroles for 2 different family Thanksgiving tables!<br />
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-3226342035054363872018-11-14T16:43:00.000-06:002018-11-14T16:43:32.041-06:0078 Celebrations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mary Ann Teal November 14 1946<br />
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Today I celebrate my 78th birthday so I began listening to Christmas music, a habit that I call a gift to myself started many years ago. It is a clear, cold November day, unlike the day I was born, stormy morning described to me by my mother. I began the day as I do every morning now - thanking God for the gift of this day and for the sure knowledge of His presence with me in all the days past and the certainty that He will be with me in the days ahead. As the day unfolds, I think of past birthdays. I have had birthdays in Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Oregon, and California as well as Indonesia and Singapore. There have been cakes and special meals and sweet gifts. But best of all has been having loved ones with me. I am grateful!Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-46884494716655750472018-10-14T16:12:00.000-05:002018-10-14T16:12:53.606-05:00Another Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another family birthday arrives this week. I found this homemade invitation to Jeremy's 1976 birthday party when I was sorting a box in my closet recently. His birthday is October 19. I picture the day he was born, remembering that 2 year old Sean and I sat outside and played in the autumn leaves watching for Joe to get home from work so that Sean could go to my sister's home and Joe and I could go on to Methodist Hospital in San Antonio where Jeremy made his 3 week early arrival at 11:41 p.m., just 19 minutes before his grandmother Opal's birthday on the 20th. All the love and pride we felt that night has multiplied through the years! Happy Birthday, Jeremy Teal Parker!</div>
Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-611489403446573062018-09-25T16:40:00.000-05:002018-09-25T16:40:38.729-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On his way to his second birthday, Oliver has discovered trucks and heavy equipment! All these are powered by imagination and perserverance. Add a rainy day and the stories multiply. He tossed his umbrella and had the best time moving wet dirt in the rose bed. I only wish I had been ready with my camera when he was coaxed inside with mud in more places! As I watched him, I remembered his Daddy and uncles doing the same things and looking quite alot like him.Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-60097686131038434642018-09-16T15:41:00.000-05:002018-09-16T15:41:35.442-05:00August NightThis is a guest post. My 12 year old granddaughter Maddie wrote the poem and composed the photograph when I was visiting in Reno a month ago. On the night before I left we sat outside talking while we watched moonrise and starshine. I will be sure to keep these memories, too.<br />
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-24874666111202084122018-08-29T10:30:00.001-05:002018-08-29T10:30:31.886-05:0010!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My granddaughters are growing up! The most recent family birthday starred Jordann, celebrating her tenth with an ice cream cake. When she and her sister and Dad went camping this summer, she started a rock collection which she plans to polish in the rock tumbler she got for her birthday. When I visited them in Reno recently, she was getting off to a good start in fifth grade. She is beautiful, inside and out!Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-66022727117308762602018-08-08T12:14:00.000-05:002018-08-08T12:14:15.897-05:00Grover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Reading to my children, and now, to my grandchildren is one of my greatest pleasures for several reasons. I love that this can be a time to snuggle up and get lost in a story together. The opportunity for interaction and conversation is another benefit. And I know that reading together contributes to lifelong pleasure in reading for them. But one of the most fun book times through the years has been watching Joe read the book pictured here to first our little ones, and more recently, our 5 granddaughters. Joe recently lost a great deal of vision, but I know that he knows this book by heart so today I am going to find our copy and watch our grandson Oliver and Joe enjoy it together. Grover is an old friend, just like so many of the children's books waiting on our bookshelves.Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-88591450874138935862018-07-25T15:35:00.000-05:002018-07-25T15:35:38.443-05:00High Flight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are some well advised warnings lately that concern heavy use of technology and its consequences. I am in agreement with using our laptops, tablets, and cellular phones responsibly. I cringe when I see a whole family at a restaurant meal with phones up instead of talking to each other. But I am so thankful for the technology that lets me easily stay in touch with my son and granddaughters who live too far away to visit often. I talk and text with them - not as good as face to face, but truly a good thing. This week I texted photos of some clothes I was planning to get for the girls and was able to get an opinion - most likely more quickly than I would have if we had been out shopping here in Texas. Jeremy is a pilot who travels all over the world. I am thankful for our phone visits! </div>
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Maddie, Jeremy, Jordann</div>
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Jeremy Teal Parker</div>
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I read this poem a long time ago, and found it again this week. It reminded me of the way Jeremy describes flying.</div>
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<b>High Flight</b></div>
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Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth<br />
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;<br />
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth<br />
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things<br />
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung<br />
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,<br />
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung<br />
My eager craft through footless halls of air… .</div>
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Up, up the long, delirious burning blue<br />
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace<br />
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —<br />
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod<br />
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,<br />
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.</div>
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John McGee, Jr. age 19 - a young Canadian pilot who wrote this in WWII</div>
Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-66655066000136108762018-06-23T16:16:00.000-05:002018-06-23T16:16:35.634-05:00I see that it has been exactly 2 months since my last post for this blog. I confess I have wondered if it is time for me to hang up my blogs. But writing is healing for me, and stories still need to be told even when they are painful! I believe we model for our sons and grandchildren ways that we handle difficulty. After all, it is not about the heaviness of the load, but the way that you bear it! Joe's vision is improved but still fluctuating after laser surgery; he is still unable to drive and vision related pursuits he enjoys like reading and watching television are unsatisfactory. A month ago I spent a week in the hospital due to pneumonia secondary to flu. Since then we have made and kept over 20 medical appointments! Friends and family have called, prayed, shared food and flowers. God is with us every moment. We have learned in new ways the blessing of asking for help, and allowing it! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The week after I was released from the hospital, we had a surprise impromptu Parker family reunion! Twenty three people, most of whom we have not seen in several years, gathered to not only bring a meal but clean up every single thing after we had visited all afternoon. There is great joy in keeping family connections. I love looking at photos and seeing all the smiles and shining eyes! I stood near my kitchen table where 5 girl cousins and Ben were laughing and trading stories. 2 of these "girls" were flower girls in our wedding! Sean and his family had just left to go home, and Jeremy (in Nevada) received a phone call from them. As they put the phone on speaker and continued their laughter, I thought this was a dear moment I could never have dreamed when we planned that Christmas wedding 3 days after Christmas in 1963! </div>
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Three of Joe's brothers (here with other groomsmen) have passed from earthly life. His brother Pasco (3rd from Joe in the photo) and his wife, Iris, my sister in law Judy, nieces, a grand nephew, and Iris' sister and her husband plus our sons and their families who live near us made the group that Saturday. </div>
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Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-83326174474194800082018-04-23T12:19:00.001-05:002018-04-23T12:19:38.352-05:00JourneyI miss the storytelling when I go weeks without working on this blog. There have been very few times that has happened. The reasons are almost always the same: family circumstance and illness.<br />
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This time is no exception. In addition to problems occurring during travel with our son and granddaughters, 2 weeks ago Joe woke up unable to see anything at all. Since he only has one eye, when that eye is affected, the result is grim. We have excellent medical resources here and he is being treated by a retina specialist. He has 2 kinds of glaucoma which has resulted in dangerously high intraocular pressure and severe pain plus vision loss. Last week he had laser surgery on the eye. There is some improvement but his vision is still very poor. Our hopes and prayers are that there will be continued healing and improved vision. We are no strangers to eye disease. Our youngest son was diagnosed with Cone Rod Dystrophy when he was 10, resulting in severe vision loss. His experience and spirit have been important to Joe as he deals with this latest issue of his own. I had cornea transplants. The first one was 12 years ago next month. The other eye received a transplant 2 months later. None of these issues appear related. Although none of them have been something we would have chosen, I realize that our combined experiences have given us a strength and connections with medical experts that is a phenomenal resource as we wait for the results for Joe.<br />
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Enough for today. It is not always true that one picture is worth a thousand words.<br />
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<br />Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961267651365563869.post-33495566615804275002018-03-23T11:42:00.000-05:002018-03-23T11:42:05.269-05:00Stitches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year in late winter, trail riders make their way on horseback and in wagons through outlying areas of Houston to gather for the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. As the dates approach, western hats and gear appear everywhere, even if those wearing them are not on the way to the rodeo. Nora has her boots and vest and hat, but it is not easy to find gear for a tiny baby boy who has not been walking very long, so I decided to I would make Oliver a vest, complete with a badge for the newest sheriff in town. When I was helping him try it on, I thought about all the stitches that sewing machine and I have made together. I bought it around 1961, when I was still a student at Oklahoma Baptist University. In 1963 I used that machine to make my wedding gown!<br />
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I don't spend as much time sewing these days, but my faithful stitcher is ready to work when I am. It has been my helper in mending, making most of my own clothes at one time, sewing baby boy overalls when our sons were little, making shirts and curtains, pillows, and table linens. I have a picture of me on the morning we left to go to the hospital in downtown San Antonio. That cold January morning, I was wearing a gray knit coat with a paisley lining that I made. I remember that one well, because my bulging belly would not allow the lapels of the coat to meet and button!<br />
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Nora brings me everything that needs "fixing" and asks me to sew it up for her. I am glad the Singer and I continue to be stitchworthy. It has proved worth far more than I paid for it. And I was shocked when I saw that on Ebay, it is now worth more than that original $150, which at the time seemed such an extravagance. I think it was a good buy!<br />
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I am thankful for my Grandmother and for my Mother, who sewed for me and showed me the value in that creative skill.Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02593003591441991452noreply@blogger.com0