In The
Doghouse A Personal? No, Practical Gift
Eight days after my youngest granddaughter celebrated her fourth
birthday, I was back in Belmont, MS for another birthday celebration. My
daughter, Rayanne Adams, was honored with a birthday dinner (lunch) by her
in-laws, Charles and Beckie Adams, on Sunday, February 27th. It
hardly seems possible that Barbara and I have a thirty-four year old daughter,
but regardless whether I use a pencil or a calculator the math comes out
the same. Rayanne is only one year shy of the birthday my sister, Sarah,
has anticipated for approximately twenty years.
In celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday, Sarah recalls Rayanne’s question,
"Well, Aunt Sara Sue, how does it feel to be middle aged?"
Sarah didn’t find the remark very humorous at the time, and she believes
when Rayanne celebrates her own thirty-fifth birthday, she won’t be
very thrilled at being considered middle aged, either. Personally, I have
a problem defining middle age, because the average lifespan keeps expanding.
I’d never considered someone in his or her thirties as being middle
aged until Rayanne hit Sarah with the age question. A quick check in a standard
dictionary shows middle age defined as "The time of human life between youth
and old age, usually reckoned as the years between 40 and 60. I’m over
sixty, but I still think of myself as middle aged, so phooey with what the
dictionary states.
I haven’t checked with my brothers, Fred and James, but Sarah and I
agree that our parents were old from our earliest memories of them. However,
that’s only how we perceived them. Dad was ten years older than Mom
and was 26, 33, 42, and 46 years old, respectively, upon the births of his
children, Fred, Wayne, Sarah, and James. So, it appears that during our formative
years our parents were younger than we imagined, and I’m left wondering
how my granddaughters will remember their parent’s age classification
when they get older.
Barbara and I left Pontotoc early on the day of Rayanne’s birthday so
that we could attend church in Belmont, MS, where Rayanne serves as church
organist. I find attending there a refreshing change of pace from the
worship-through-music portion of the service at my home church. At FBC, Belmont,
they sing all the verses of the selected hymns, and if they sing any worship
choruses, they apparently sing them when I’m not present, plus the only
musical accompaniment consists of piano and organ music. Sometimes a synthesizer
is also used, but there are no drums.
After the church service, Rayanne and her three girls, along with Barbara
and me, drove over to Charles and Beckie’s, where a delicious lunch
awaited us. Afterwards, I relaxed in a comfortable chair in the living room
and listened to sounds of grandchildren playing and women-folk talking emanating
from the kitchen. I was so relaxed that I dozed off momentarily, only to
be awakened by the snort of one of my own snoring sounds.
By mid afternoon we were on our way back to Pontotoc, intent on making "our
nursing home rounds" as we refer to our Sunday afternoon ritual of visiting
with Aunt Jo at Sunshine Nursing Home and Barbara’s mom, Lillie Belle,
at Pontotoc Hospital Nursing Home.
Rayanne’s husband, Anson, surprised her with a birthday party Sunday
night. It was his Sunday to work, so he was unable to be with family at the
birthday dinner. Had he not thrown everything together at the last minute,
perhaps we could have arranged to stay in Belmont for the surprise. Though
he didn’t say so, I suspect he thought up the party idea as a way to
get out of the doghouse.
If there’s one thing my son-in-law and I have in common, it’s our
familiarity with "the doghouse." It seems that prior to Rayanne and Anson’s
wedding anniversary, she had insisted that they not buy each other an anniversary
gift for their ninth anniversary on February 17th. She explained
that money was tight and Katherine’s birthday was only days away (on
February 19th), and any indulgence would only serve to further
reduce the family’s finances.
Contrary to his wife’s advice, Anson bought Rayanne an anniversary present,
two, in fact. I don’t know if I was told this particular detail or not,
but I imagine he may have wished Rayanne "Happy Anniversary," as he handed
her a new portable phone for their household.
I do know that Rayanne thought, "That’s not personal," but said nothing
at the moment.
"Now, close your eyes and hold out your hands," Rayanne remembers Anson saying,
as she envisioned jewelry or some other personal item about to be placed
in her hands.
Rayanne could feel a box in her hands and continued to imagine its contents
being something personal. When she opened her eyes and saw that she was holding
an alarm clock, she was dumbfounded.
Rayanne was unable to contain her disappointment in not receiving a personal
gift and asked, "Why an alarm clock?"
"The girls told me, ‘Mama needs one,’" he shared.
Children, especially young children, have difficulty understanding the concept
of a "personal gift." I don’t think children are the only ones with
this problem, and I suspect a lot of guys are like me. I figure if my wife
hints for a new vacuum cleaner and I get her one for her birthday, anniversary
or other special occasion, then that should count as a personal gift. Apparently,
women don’t see it that way.
Needless to say, whatever anniversary celebrations Anson had considered were
not forthcoming. The next day, Anson sent Rayanne an arrangement of fresh
flowers at work, which only made his situation worse, as his frugal wife
considered his effort at reconciliation as one that involved spending even
more money at a time when finances were bleak.
Once one gets into the doghouse, one should make himself (or herself)
comfortable, as it may be a while before one is allowed out. I don’t
know how long my son-in-law was in the doghouse, but I suspect his confinement
was lifted after the surprise birthday party that he threw for Rayanne.
There’s at least one lesson to be learned from all of this, and I propose
the most important one may possibly be summed up as, if a woman says, "We
don’t need to spend the money," then don’t. That way, if she later
pouts because she didn't receive a gift, she has only herself to blame.
Rails To
Trails A New Era Begins
For the past several months, each time I crossed the railroad tracks on Columbia
Street, I tried to picture the scene as it was forty-five to fifty years
ago. The section of railroad between Columbia Street and Montgomery Street
once provided hours of entertainment for Tony Austin and me. There are steep
banks on either side of the railroad, formed when earth-moving equipment
sliced through the red clay hill to create a suitable grade for the roadbed.
When Tony and I were young teens, railroad work crews regularly cleared the
undergrowth along the railroad, and almost as quickly as saplings appeared,
members of the work crews dispatched them with axes or Kaiser blades. We
often climbed the north bank of the right-of-way between Columbia St. and
Montgomery St. and walked a narrow, sandy ledge approximately six feet from
the top that ran mostly parallel to the top of the bank. In our minds, we
were junior explorers and daredevils, and we fancied ourselves as surefooted
mountain goats on high precipices and dangerous ledges.
In our later teen years, we amused ourselves on even higher railroad banks
located between Eighth Street and Hwy. 15 Bypass. After tiring of the banks
we often competed with one another to see who could walk a rail longer without
falling off. On rare occasions, Tony and I would detour from our typical
route walking home after a school day and hit the tracks for a quarter-mile
or so before taking a shortcut through fields and yards of neighbors.
Gordon Sansing was pastor of First Baptist Church the last time I recall
walking railroad tracks. We had a big snow that prevented most everyone from
working, and for those of us who needed to traverse a few hills to get anywhere,
a rear-wheel drive vehicle was not up to the task. Why Barbara and I bundled
up our children and struck out walking to town, I don’t know, but I
recall that we walked the railroad tracks from Eighth Street to Coffee St.
and visited with the staff at First Baptist Church, who were able to get
to work that day.
I can no longer remember the year the railroad chose to cut labor costs.
They laid off most of their work crews and began to use chemicals to control
unwanted vegetation along the railroad’s right of way. But, it wasn’t
long afterwards that I noticed saplings growing on the high banks we once
walked. In the past few decades, I doubt anyone has tried to duplicate our
daring feats, for the ability to hold onto a tree every step of the way sort
of eliminates part of the fear factor.
It’s hard to say why the banks don’t look as intimidating today
as they did almost fifty-years ago, but perhaps it’s because the trees
and undergrowth provide a kinder, gentler look. Maybe, it has something to
do with perception in the eyes of youth versus perception in the eyes of
the mature.
I can’t recall the last time I saw a train rumbling though town, but
I’ve observed a decline in rail usage for quite a few years. Back when
Howard Stafford was Pontotoc’s mayor, he and the local industries lobbied
to keep the railroad line open whenever the railroad company threatened to
stop servicing Pontotoc. A couple of weeks ago, while driving along Columbia
Street and returning home from the grocery store, I noticed the iron rails
and wooden crossties had been uprooted from the railroad bed and were stacked
in a somewhat haphazard manner.
I suppose it had to happen sooner or later, the passing of the railroad era
for Pontotoc. After all, the depot shut down long ago and was later torn
down. Local factories now receive and ship product via trucks and highways
instead of trains and rails. Few folks rely on trains for transportation,
anymore, finding automobiles more convenient, bus service more prevalent,
and planes a lot faster. Still, it’s hard to say goodbye to an era,
and now I know how the old-timers must have felt with the passing of the
horse and buggy era.
On a positive note, though, there is a program or funding for something called
Rails To Trails, which is designed to help cities and towns utilize old railroad
beds for walking, hiking, and biking trails. I’m under the impression
that our fair city has applied for funding, but I’ve not heard or seen
anything officially on the subject.
I am encouraged with the prospect that portions of the old railroad roadbed
may be put to good use. However, I have the feeling that without continual
supplements from the coffers of the Federal Government, the walking, hiking,
and biking trails will one day be as neglected as the railroad right-of-ways
in recent years. Trails require maintenance, and maintenance doesn’t
happen without costs.
Anyway, who’s to say other factors might not influence the abandonment
or closure of the trails a few years from now? Though the number of motorists
has increased dramatically in the past few decades, the number of roadside
parks and rest areas has declined. Along the Natchez Trace, several stops
are now closed to the public, and along state highways leading into Pontotoc,
one is hard pressed to find a roadside park. I don’t know if the decline
is so much a budgetary one as it is a deterrent to crime and homosexual activity
or possibly both.
If Rails To Trails becomes a reality for Pontotoc, I hope to enjoy it while
it lasts and hope it outlasts me.
Bodock Beau
Theology - Kid Style
When His disciples were working on crowd control, Jesus told them, "Suffer
the little children to come unto me."
Thus, Jesus demonstrated not only his love for children but subsequently
declared the importance of having a child-like faith. We adults are sometimes
amused by the religious questions of children. God may also be amused, but
I suspect He welcomes them in the same manner as his only Son did.
1. Dear God, please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There
is nothing good in there now. – Amanda
2. Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I asked for was a puppy.
I never asked for anything before. You can look it up. – Joyce
3. Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come
apart. I had to have 3 stitches and a shot. – Janet
4. God, I read the bible. What does beget mean? Nobody will tell me. –
Love, Alison
5. Dear God, how did you know you were God? Who told you? – Charlene
6. Dear God, is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his golf
words in the house? – Anita
7. Dear God, I bet it's very hard for you to love all of everybody in the
whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it.
– Nancy
8. Dear God, I like the story about Noah the best of all of them. You really
made up some good ones. I like walking on water, too. – Glenn
9. Dear God, my Grandpa says you were around when he was a little boy. How
far back do you go? – Dennis
10. Dear God, do you draw the lines around the countries? If you don't, who
does? – Nathan
11. Dear God, did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident?
– Norma
12. Dear God, in bible times, did they really talk that fancy? –
Jennifer
13. Dear God, how come you did all those miracles in the old days and don't
do any now? – Billy
14. Dear God, please send Dennis Clark to a different summer camp this year.
– Peter>
15. Dear God, maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they
each had their own rooms. It works out OK with me and my brother. –
Larry
16. Dear God, I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come yet. What's
up? Don't forget. – Mark
17. Dear God, my brother told me about how you are born but it just doesn't
sound right. What do you say? – Marsha
18. Dear God, if you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new shoes.
– Barbara
19. Dear God, is Reverend Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him
through the business? – Donny
20. Dear God, I do not think anybody could be a better God than you. Well,
I just want you to know that. I am not just saying that because you are already
God. – Charles
21. Dear God, it is great the way you always get the stars in the right place.
Why can't you do that with the moon? – Jeff
22. Dear God, I am doing the best I can. Really. – Frank>
23. Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset
you made on Tuesday night. That was really cool. – Thomas
Submitted by Rebecca Franklin
Who Does What
A man and his wife were having an argument about who should brew the coffee
each morning.
The wife said, "You should do it, because you get up first, and then we won't
have to wait as long to get our coffee."
The husband said, "You are in charge of cooking around here and you should
do it, because that is your job, and I can just wait for my coffee."
Wife replies, "No, you should do it, and besides, it is in the Bible that
the man should do the coffee."
Husband replies, "I can't believe that; show me."
So she fetched the Bible, and opened the New Testament and showed him at
the top of several pages, that it indeed says..."HEBREWS"
Submitted by Rhea Palmer
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