RRN Online Volume 370

July 05 '03

Volume 370

The Wedding Differences Noted

On June 14, 2003, at four p.m., the marriage ceremony for Kathy Bock and Brett Brown began in the sanctuary of St. Matthias Episcopal Church in Nashville, TN. Present for the occasion were a goodly number of family members from both families as well as several friends. At the ceremony, I gave no thought to numbering those present, though there may have been as many as one hundred people on hand for the solemn occasion.

It would be my first experience to attend a wedding in an Episcopal church, and to my knowledge, only the second time I'd been inside an Episcopal church. I no longer recall the occasion, but I remember attending an Episcopal service when my family lived in Okolona, MS, in the early fifties, but I imagine it must have been a community service, perhaps something around Thanksgiving. I don’t recall any details of the church service, but it was different enough that I remember it as being different.

During the Protestant Reformation, religious groups whose theology was different from that of the Roman Catholic Church formed a number of distinct denominations. Anabaptists and Baptists were among the groups choosing to distance themselves from the Catholic church, not only theologically, but also in their forms of worship. Based upon my limited experience with the Episcopalians, I have concluded they didn't make a clean break with Catholicism. On the other hand, Baptists made a clean break initially, but in recent years I’ve witnessed the tendency of Baptists to bless an increasing number of Catholic-styled worship services. I also believe that the typical Baptist doesn’t know what he or she believes with respect to the tenets of the Baptist Faith which may account for Baptists straying from their roots.

While I respect the right of others to worship God as they see fit, I’m most comfortable among Protestants, even Protestants whose religious observances are different from that of Baptists. The Episcopal wedding was similar in some respects to the weddings I have seen in Baptist churches. The practice of seating parents and grandparents of the bride and groom prior to the marriage ceremony and the use of groomsmen and bridesmaids was largely indistinguishable from other Protestant wedding ceremonies. However, it was my first exposure to guests having a wedding program with a word-for-word script. I didn’t follow along too closely as the woman priest officiated, but I did notice she failed to have us stand at one of the several sections where the congregation was so directed. However, as we stood for most of the hour-long ceremony, I was grateful she overlooked one occasion for us to stand.

In the sanctuary itself, I saw a number of similarities with the Roman Catholic Church. There were kneeling rails and altar rails, and where one might have viewed religious sculptures in a Catholic Church, there were religious paintings positioned in alcoves. Additionally, the observance of the sacrament of communion was a part of the wedding ceremony. All baptized believers were encouraged to partake in communion, but I wasn’t too keen on everybody sipping wine from the same cup, even if it was blessed and doused with holy water. Therefore, my immediate family and I opted to forego participating in communion.

Jason, who served as Brett’s best man, later told us he was embarrassed by our failure to partake in the communion ceremony, saying, "It made my family look like a bunch of heathens."

I doubt that others thought of us as such, but then that’s something that didn’t concern me at the time. Anyway, I don’t consume alcohol even if it serves a religious purpose. Plus, I’m not sure if Episcopalians believe as Catholics regarding transubstantiation, wherein upon consumption of the wine and the bread those items are miraculously transformed into the blood and body of Christ.

As to the wedding as a whole, it was a beautiful ceremony. The bride looked the prettiest I’ve ever seen her look, the groom was handsome and debonair in his tuxedo, the bridesmaids were captivating, and the groom’s attendants were handsome, too. Reverend Susan H. Crane did a wonderful job reading from the lengthy passages of the ceremony, maintaining a clear voice and reading with expression.

My niece, Felicia, who was a bridesmaid at the wedding, has a better ear than I do, and she maintains the organist hit a few sour notes, but I didn’t notice, and if there really were any sour notes they did not detract from my enjoyment of the music emanating from the pipe organ.

The reception that followed was held in an antebellum home made over as a restaurant. Unlike other receptions I’ve attended, this one was a sit-down dinner as opposed to finger foods. The entire dinner was excellent, but the main entrée of grilled Ribeye and Chicken Cordon Bleu was superb.

Barbara and I had the opportunity to dine with the wedding photographer and her husband. We learned something regarding the generosity of Brett’s in-laws, for the photographer said it was her first invitation to a reception dinner among the hundred or so previous weddings she had photographed.

After the best man and others proposed a toast to the newlyweds, Barbara and I made our way to the table where most of our family had gathered and there we enjoyed wedding cake and a few minutes conversing with family members with whom we seldom have a chance to visit.

More than four hours after the wedding ceremony had begun, Brett and Kathy walked briskly through a shower of soap bubbles to their getaway car. They spent the night at our hotel before leaving for a few days honeymooning in Florida. The new couple have set up housekeeping in Flowood, MS, a suburb of Jackson, MS.

Stressed Out Sara Sue And Me

The second Friday of June was also Friday the thirteenth. That should have been warning enough of what sort of day was in store, but like so many of my days there was little I could do to control the circumstances that beset me. Staying home might have altered the circumstances, but I didn’t have that option. Instead, it fell my lot to transport some of my family and to lead others of my family on a northward journey to Nashville, TN. My nephew, Brett Brown, was getting married in Nashville on the fourteenth, and we had to be there the thirteenth for a rehearsal dinner.

Sarah was stressed to the maximum before we left Pontotoc, and we saw no change in her until the rehearsal dinner was over. When Barbara and I pulled into Sarah’s driveway at 9:30 Friday morning, Felicia and her mom were already at odds with one another.

Barbara gave me a choice, "I’ll ride with Felicia and Sarah can ride with you, or you can ride with Felicia and I’ll drive Sarah."

"Sarah can ride with me. I can handle her," I stated confidently, almost arrogantly.

Once it was decided who would ride where, we were off, after I briefly described our route to Felicia. I had supposed that Barbara would team up with me at a stop somewhere along the way, but that never materialized, and I would regret having been so generous with my brotherhood in the early morning.

I tuned out most of my sister’s chatter as we sailed a northerly route toward Corinth, MS, by way of Tupelo, but Sarah’s continual questioning took a toll on my nerves.

"Do you see Felicia? Is she still back there? She didn’t run down that embankment did she?" she quizzed with a frequency in minutes measured by single digits.

Felicia was getting on my nerves by lagging behind, too. If I’m leading the pack, I expect those who follow me to keep up, but I assured my sister, "Sarah, she’s about a half-mile behind me, and I’m not going to run off and leave her."

Felicia had told me earlier, she had to drive the speed limit. She wouldn’t elaborate on the reason, but I’m no dummy. One can’t drive 85 between Pontotoc and Oxford with any regularity without attracting the attention of a State Trooper. If the fines don’t do it, the knowledge of having one’s license suspended for multiple infractions will.

Shortly after passing through Corinth, Sarah accepted my assurances and drifted off to sleep. I would later decide the next hour was the best part of the entire trip. I was free to keep one eye on the traffic and one eye on the roadmap as we entered McNairy County, Tennessee, home of the legendary Sheriff, Buford Pusser. After traveling a few miles east to Selmer, TN, we then headed due north toward I-40.

Just north of Lexington, TN, and right before accessing I-40, we pulled off at a convenience store for snacks, gas, and a chance to stretch our legs. It would have been the perfect time to swap around passengers, but Felicia and Sarah were still simmering over whatever had set them at odds earlier.

"Surely Felicia will stay caught up once we get on the Interstate," I reasoned to myself, as I handed Sarah the Tennessee map as we got onto the on ramp.

"Here you are Sarah. Find where we are," I stated pointing in the general vicinity of Lexington, TN, on the state map.

"We’re getting onto 108," she concluded, obviously confusing the exit number plotted on the map with Interstate 40.

"No wonder you and what’s her name, can’t drive to Columbus, Miss'sippi, and back once a year without getting lost returning. You’ve got sense, but you don’t have any gumption," I fussed.

Once on the Interstate Felicia kept up for about a mile until I set my cruise control at seventy-five, and then she soon became a speck in my rear view mirror. Finally, I pulled off at a rest stop and waited for her. She never saw us, so we pulled in behind her and soon overtook her.

"Okay, Sarah, I printed off these directions to the hotel using the Internet. Do you think you can be the navigator as I drive?" I asked as we neared Nashville.

That threw her into such a state of confusion that I soon abandoned Plan A. I phoned Barbara and told her we would be staying on the Interstate all the way to Brentwood, and then I instructed Sarah to plot our course from I-40 to I-65 south of Nashville. I had a visual image of the map in my mind, but I figured Sarah could be helpful in watching for major interchanges.

When Sarah got confused about I-440 East running a north-south route, I felt a stroke coming on, but the feeling subsided once I got lined up in the traffic correctly, or it did until she had similar trouble with I-65. Barbara had brought along the printed instructions to the hotel that came with our wedding invitation, so I phoned her again to ask which exit we should take. It may have been the first time she had read the directions because she said I should look for Hwy. 31 South or Franklin Road.

About the time it was too late for me to make the Brentwood West exit, Sarah became coherent, "There’s Brentwood. Shouldn’t we turn here?"

I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Felicia signaling to turn, but it was too late for me to exit. Felicia followed me to the next exit, Brentwood East. Then, heading easterly, I grabbed a left lane and turned left at the first traffic light and pulled onto the shoulder of the road thinking Felicia and Barbara would stop, and we’d figure out how to correct our course. Instead they sped past us.

Sarah suggested or shouted, "They’re not gonna stop; you better go after them."

I tried to phone Barbara again, but in all the chaos, I couldn’t get the cell phone to work until about the time she and Felicia figured out they were going the wrong direction and pulled off to wait for us. I was at the boiling point and Sarah knew it.

"You need to calm down your husband," she told Barbara as the two of them finally switched cars.

"I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know if I can get back to the Interstate from here," I fumed to my wife.

Barbara remained calm, and her soft voice soothed my throbbing temples.

"All we have to do is go right back up here," she coaxed.

As it turned out she was right, however the Highway 31 sign, obscured by foliage, was not sighted in time for us to make our turn. We had to drive to the next traffic signal and double back in order to get on the road leading to our hotel. I suppose our hotel was in one of those areas where zoning ordinances prohibit certain types of signs, because I wouldn’t have found it without a navigator helping me, and until I saw the registration area, I still wasn’t sure it was a hotel. It looked a lot like an office building or a bank.

I checked into the hotel thinking the worst part of the day was over. Yet a business phone call around three o’clock set into motion a series of events that made the stressful conditions of the road trip seem like child’s play, and at one time, as I worked feverishly to meet a five o’clock deadline, I really did think I was in danger of having a heart attack or stroke. If I take my company cell phone on vacation again, I intend to leave it off during business hours or just not answer it.

While members of the wedding party rehearsed their roles at the church, Rayanne, Anson, Anna, Barbara, and I made our way to the restaurant for the last-minute chore of creating the floral centerpieces for the rehearsal dinner. It may have been the stresses of the day or our long wait for the wedding party to arrive, but the food at Pargo’s was the best I had during our stay of two nights and three days in Brentwood.

As for Sarah, aside from her complaining of not being able to stand up through a wedding service in the shoes she brought for the occasion and after paying for everyone’s dinner that night, she was practically her old self (not necessarily a good thing), but we were all grateful for it. I felt a lot better that night, too. I had survived a four-hour drive with my sister, a missed exit, a work-related interruption that taxed my nerves, a floral arranging party courtesy of Rayanne, dinner, and a mini family reunion back at our hotel room which made the whole day, stress and all, seem worthwhile.

She And I First Published In '98

She was left an orphan at an early age. Her father was not even a brief memory, and just as well, for he had left the two of them to fend for themselves. Her mother was accidentally shot and killed. A kindly family in the community took her in when she was two.

It's hard to say what attracted her to Buck. Perhaps it was his powerful frame. Perhaps it was a father-figure attraction that drew her to an older male partner. She must have wondered what he saw in her. He was strong and handsome, while she was thin and gangly. That which drew them together was apparent to some in the community, but not to her.

Later, when he had left her for another, she felt ashamed, used. Many offered their support, and showed a kindly understanding of her circumstances. Her circumstances became more and more evident with each passing week. When she could bear her shame no more, she moved to a new community where she hoped to begin anew.

Unfortunately, the past is not always easily left behind. In her despair she sought to take her own life. It occurred to her she might end her life by plunging off a cliff or precipice, but living in the Delta provided her no such advantage. As she walked along the quiet river, she saw her swollen belly for the first time in several weeks. The river was down, so the thought of drowning hung on but for a fleeting moment. It was then she heard the noise from the nearby highway. Her mind was now set. She would hurl herself into the traffic.

It was just beyond the Grenada County line along Highway 7, where a small river meanders through Leflore County, that I witnessed her demise. She ran with determination from the edge of the forest, across the "barpit," onto the shoulder of the highway and directly into the path of a full sized Chevrolet pickup. I felt completely helpless as I watched the tragedy unfold. I wanted to warn the driver or her, but inside my car my warnings could not be seen or heard. The truck swerved slightly into my lane in a vain attempt to avoid colliding with her. I had already begun slowing as I anticipated the approaching accident.

She was not moving as I pulled alongside. Her body looked slightly twisted, and she appeared to have a broken neck. A small amount of blood pooled on the pavement near her mouth.

She is no more. Though my time with her was brief, I shall long remember her death. Hers is a fate that many more fair creatures will share in the years to come. To the road crew of the State Highway Department and to the insurers of trucks and automobiles that travel Mississippi roads, she has become yet another Jane Doe.

Bodock Beau Newspaper Humor

Sometimes the best humor is found within the daily news as reported in newspapers. The following were supposedly gleaned from newspaper headlines.

Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers
Iraqi Head Seeks Arms
Is There a Ring of Debris around Uranus?
Prostitutes Appeal to Pope
Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over
Teacher Strikes Idle Kids
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant
War Dims Hope for Peace
If Strike Isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile
Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
Enfield (London) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Man Struck By Lightning Faces Battery Charge
New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
Chef Throws His Heart into Helping Feed Needy
Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
Miners Refuse to Work after Death

The following reportedly appeared in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

Personals:
SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good looking girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. Rub me the right way and watch me respond. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me. Kiss me and I'm yours. Call (404) 875-6420 and ask for Daisy.

Result: Over 15,000 men found themselves talking to the Atlanta Humane Society about an 8-week old black Labrador.

Comment: Men are so easy

Submitted by Kenneth Gaillard

For those of you who don't know, Ole Miss has announced that they're considering changing their mascot from Col. Reb to something less indicative of their violent, racist past (as they did when they eliminated the Confederate battle flag and eliminated the playing of Dixie during television broadcasts) and also to reflect more accurately it's contemporary sports teams.

One proposal (Col. Reb with brown skin) is seen below, however I'm sure other suggestions will follow.

Submitted by H.P. Prewett, Jr.

Share this article with a friend.

Home