July 12 '03
Volume 371
A Regular Joe
Native Of Wichita
In what
has
been the busiest summer that I can remember in recent years, we
returned from the Nashville wedding with less than a week to prepare to welcome
another student from Sterling College into our home. Readers may recall that
Josh O'Grady was with us for the month of January.
Our newest arrival, Joe Millham, a native of Wichita, KS, arrived during
the late evening on June 21st. Joe will be at the Carter's home
until July 21st when he is scheduled to spend the remainder of
his six-week's adventure in Pontotoc with a second family.
Joe is enrolled in the Habitat For Humanity Fellows program at Sterling College.
As a part of his formal education, he is required to work with an affiliate
of Habitat For Humanity, International. Thus far, he has assisted Barbara
at the local Habitat affiliate and has spent a few days on job sites helping
Brother Joe Steen as needed. If there's a "glory" job in volunteer work on
a new Habitat house, I've not seen it, as most of it is labor intensive and
often requires getting ones hands, if not ones entire self, dirty. Any glory
is likely to be found in the hereafter.
At twenty, Joe is the oldest of three children born to parents, Steve and
Nancy Millham. I won't say his folks started their family late, but his dad
is my age, and Joe has two younger sisters, Rebecca and Anna, who will turn
sixteen and eighteen, respectively, later this year.
Joe has a girlfriend back home whom he met on a Habitat work site last September
and got acquainted with while showing her how to use a circular saw. Her
name is Maria Busmail, pronounced boose (rhymes with goose)-my-eel. Both
Maria and Joe are in the Habitat Fellows program. Though mutually interested
in marriage, they have wisely chosen to forego any marital plans until completing
their education, which includes two more years of college and one year of
internship. The after-college internship is stipend-based, but his summer
work here in Pontotoc necessitates his working part-time at the local Piggly
Wiggly in order to keep some spending money, as only room and board are furnished
by his host family.
Joe's long-term plans include working for Habitat for Humanity, either for
the international organization or an affiliate chapter.
Habitat for Humanity, according to Joe, is one of the few ministries he's
come across, "that actually puts hands and feet on the Gospel. It's an idea
of community building in a more real sense than any church program."
I continue to be impressed with persons I meet who are associated in some
way with Habitat. Whether they are volunteers or professionals, they exude
an enthusiasm for their work and a passion to help others that is not often
seen in the regular workplace.
I can honestly say that Joe has melted right into our family. He seems as
unshaken by the lamentations of Sarah over the Miss Mississippi pageant,
the effervescent personality of Felicia, or the spirited and multifaceted
conversations around the dinner table as he is when he's watching me ignite
a bed of charcoal in the grill or it's just him and me watching TV. I've
found him willing to help around the house in various capacities without
being prompted. On several occasions, I've watched him tidy up the table
and rinse the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. And, on one
of his first days with us, Joe practically assembled a storage unit my children
had given me for Father's Day while I struggled to comprehend the instructions.
Joe will be at our house until a few days after the fish fry on July
19th, when another host family will have the privilege of housing
him for about a week. If there are other Habitat Fellows to come our way,
they may have difficulty measuring up to the standard Joe has set. In some
respects, he's a regular Joe, able to blend into the crowd and not draw attention
to himself. Yet, when a smile breaks through his full beard, and when one
sees the gentleness and kindness he affords small children, it's evident
he's more than a regular Joe; he's special, and you can take my word for
it.
Serenading Back
In The Fifties
Lou Ramsey was prompted to write us a note upon reading the following in
the June 7, issue of RRN. I am not sure, but I believe that my older brother
is the reason my mother became the sort of overprotective mom she was.
Fred, you see, gave Mom plenty of reason to believe her neighbors'
admonition that she might not "raise him 'til he starts school." It was a
fear she never got over, because in the days of his childhood and youth Fred
never gave Mom much reason to believe he would survive from one school year
to the next. (Excerpted from "Purple Ears")
In reading your newsletter, and believe it or not, I enjoy some of them,
one article this week struck a note with me, but you'll have a difficult
time getting our choir director to believe that anything could strike a note
with me. That's neither here nor there, so let's get to the point of calling
your brother Freddie, or I believe it's Fred to you.
If I remember, there were city boys and country boys. I dare not use one
of Willie Gilliam's jokes to say how far back I lived as a country boy, but
we too might have had to go toward town to hunt. Anyway, I am strictly a
country boy. Your family was city folk.
Anyway, one Christmas, Freddie had an urge to see how country folks lived
across the barrier, so he came out to Turnpike and joined our Christmas serenade
"gang" of boys. We had serenaded up the Rockyford Road the night before and
had created "friends" along the way. As usual, we had stocked up on the largest
fireworks that we could find and went up the same road serenading.
We came to a house where one of our "friends" had conversed with us or at
us the night before. His house was very near the road and had a tin top.
It didn't take long for him to decide how he felt about gravel rocks rattling
on top of his house. The ditch on the opposite side of the road had been
freshly slanted by a road grader.
In order to avoid self "discrimination," I must change the pronoun,
we, to they; so they imbedded their fireworks in the
slanted ditch and aimed them right toward his housetop.
I suppose that night the word simultaneous was started. Of course, this was
over my objections on the signal they lit the fireworks simultaneously and
took off running back down the Rockyford Road toward where our transportation
was parked.
Momentarily, the .22 caliber bullets started pinging off the gravel rocks
behind this fleeing group. Even at full speed, I realized things were getting
a little out of hand, so I grabbed our guest's hand in an effort to speed
him up, or was it the other way around? One way or the other, I decided we
were going too slowly, so we needed more speed. I don't know whether we got
any faster than the bullets or not, but no one was seriously hurt.
I suppose someone in that crowd might have misled Fred. I still shudder to
think if we hadn't been lucky, how we would have ever gotten out of that
"lesson." God is good, especially in times like that.
Mr. Carter, your mother and others were probably justified to an extent.
Signed, "Satch" Ramsey
July 19th Party
You're Invited
When one's astrological sign is Leo, partying comes naturally. I'm a Leo,
and my family and I have been inviting friends and family over for a summertime
cookout for at least twenty years. Only in the past six years, have we opened
the gates to all who subscribe to
Ridge Rider
News. This year we are expecting more than one hundred guests.
Some invitees know little or nothing about this newsletter, but they belong
to the wider circle of friends of
RRN, and
I'm confident you'll like them and will enjoy meeting them if you don't know
them.
Invitations to the fish fry have been mailed. If you do not receive an
invitation, you should not be alarmed. I did not mail one to every subscriber.
If you do not receive an invitation and would like to attend the celebration,
you only need to let us know. Please contact my wife or me via phone no later
than Tuesday, July 15th.
Typically, local folks ask what they should bring. Pontotoc County is blessed
with great cooks. Desserts are always appreciated, especially cakes and homemade
freezer ice cream. Other items are welcome, but please check with us in advance
if you are willing to bring a dessert or other food item.
This summer has been unusually rainy. However, short of an all out downpour
at suppertime, we should be okay. My house won’t hold the expected crowd,
but Jason’s porch and my garage will accommodate a number of folks,
plus canopies in the backyard will help as well.
Weather permitting, we’ll start eating at six-o’clock p.m. on Saturday,
July 19th.
Bodock Beau
Rufus And Clarence
It's a simple story, but it speaks volumes. Whether it's a river that separates
neighbors or simple ignorance, one's perspective is often colored by his
or her education or the lack thereof.
There were two old geezers living in the backwoods of the Ozarks...Rufus
and Clarence. They lived on opposite sides of the river, and they hated each
other. Every morning, just after sun-up, Rufus and Clarence would go down
to their respective sides of the river and yell at each other.
"Rufus!!" Clarence would shout. "You better thank yor lucky stars I can't
swim...er I'd swim this river and whup your butt!"
"Clarence!" Rufus would holler back. "You better thank YOUR lucky stars that
I can't swim... er I'd swim this river and knock your head off!"
This happened every morning for twenty years. One day the Army Corps of Engineers
comes along and build a bridge. Still, every morning, every day for another
five years this yelling across the river goes on, even with the bridge
Finally... Mrs. Rufus had had enough.
"Rufus!" she squallers one day. "I can't take no more! Ever day for 25 years
you've been threatenin' to whup Clarence. Well, there's the bridge...have
at it."
Rufus thought for a moment. Chewed his bottom lip for another moment. "Woman!"
he declared, snapping his suspenders into place, "I'm gonna across that thar
bridge and I'm gonna whup Clarence's butt!"
He walked out the door, down to the river, along the riverbank, came to the
bridge, stepped up onto the bridge, walked about halfway over the bridge,
looked up...turned tail and ran screaming back to the house, slammed the
door, bolted the windows, grabbed the shotgun and dove, panting and gasping,
under the bed!
"Rufus!" cried his Misses. "I thought you wuz gonna whup Clarence's butt!!!"
"I was, woman; I was!!" he whispered.
"Rufus!" cried the misses. "What in tarnation is the matter?"
"Well," muttered the terror-stricken Rufus, " I went to the bridge... I stepped
up on the bridge... walked halfway over the bridge... looked up..."
"And?" asked Mrs. Rufus, breathless with suspense.
"And," continued Rufus, "I saw a sign that said 'Clarence, 13 feet, 6 inches,'
He ain't never looked that big from this side of the river!"
Submitted by Dena Kimbrell
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