From Mizzu Rick Vise And Crew
Rick Vise and Nancy Tafoya led the group of teens, all representatives of the Bread of Life Youth Group from St. Robert Bellarmine Catholic Church. Rick’s daughter, Cheryl, was missing from the group this year due to what Rick described as "not having her priorities right." Nancy’s son, Jimmy returned as did Katie and Josh Tylka, a brother/ sister duo. Janai Miller was a repeater, also. The two new members of the group were Jason Semple and Mike Davis, a pair of juniors. They came for what proved to be the hottest week of the year, when temperatures climbed above the hundred degree mark for two or three consecutive days. Yet, they endured the heat and suffered no ill effects. Neither were there any on-the-job accidents. As with other groups of volunteers, this group spent four days working on the job and had one day off for relaxation and sightseeing. They chose to travel to Memphis on their off day, where they visited the Civil Rights Museum. Barbara and I were able to visit with the group each night they were here, and made all the dinners except for Tuesday night. Though far from shy, the yo uths didn’t talk as much as those of some of the other volunteer groups, but then it’s hard for some of us to find a lot of common ground when a couple of generations are separating us. However, talking comes naturally to Rick Vise, and teasing others is second nature to him. Rick got on my case the first night when I struggled to remember the name of their city in Missouri. For days, I had been hearing Barbara refer to the next group of volunteers as being from St. Robert’s, and while I knew they lived in Waynesville, I managed to botch things as I was relaying information to members of By Faith Baptist their first night in Pontotoc. "They’re from St. Francisville," I stated, before Rick corrected me. Normally, it’s easy for me to remember anyone named Wayne or any place sharing my name. In my defense, it had been a year since I had occasion to use "Waynesville." I didn’t fare any better later the same evening at East Baptist Church as I got into a discussion with Barbara and Rick at the dinner table. "Is this a lemon meringue pie?" Rick asked, pointing to a pie wedge on his dessert plate. "Yes," Barbara responded. After considering the pie and Barbara’s response, I suggested, "A lemon meringue pie is like a chocolate pie that has meringue. That’s a lemon icebox pie." "You sure about that?" Rick asked. "I’m an expert on lemon icebox pie. In fact, the year I turned sixteen, I asked my mother for a lemon icebox pie instead of a cake for my birthday. So, yeah, that’s a lemon icebox pie, but it’s a store-bought one." "I think the box has ‘lemon meringue,’" Rick insisted. That might have been the end of it had our hosts not insisted on the volunteers taking part of the leftovers back to the church that was housing them for the week. A second pie, still in the box, was shown to me by Rick. Clearly, Mrs. Smith’s, since 1950, was labeled, "Lemon Meringue." "Can I help it if somebody changed the name on me?" Needless to say, for the remainder of the week, my authoritative answers were questioned with prefaces such as, "Is that like Waynesville," or "Is that like lemon meringue?" Friday night is typically a time of sharing in which volunteers recall any meaningful experiences during the week. From what I heard, each of them found the opportunity to meet the person or persons who will occupy the finished house gave them added satisfaction for the work they performed. The work itself was temporary, but the rewards are long-lasting, if not eternal. The group left shortly after nine o’clock Saturday morning. Barbara and I were on hand to see them off. They all expressed a desire to come back to Pontotoc for another week of work next summer. I believe they will, and I know, I’ll get Waynesville right next year. Pictures of this group may be viewed at following link : http://bellsouthpwp.net/r/r/rrnews/StRobert
Old Highway 78 The Road Less Traveled Today Those of us who, in the sixties and seventies, traveled from near Tupelo, MS to Memphis, TN over the dangerously narrow two-lane U.S. 78 can surely appreciate the present four-lane highway that replaced the old roadway. Mississippi embarked on a major highway improvement program in 1987, but at the moment I do not remember the year U.S. 78 opened with four lanes all the way from New Albany to Memphis. However, I do remember how pleasant my first trip along the new route was and the bright blooms of red clover blanketing the roadside and median along the newly completed portions. Though the old highway, now named Hwy. 178, remains open, I’ve had no reason to travel it, since the four-lane project was completed. I had a sales job in 1972-1973 and I made a number of trips to Holly Springs during that time. In the seventies, Barbara, the kids, and I, and sometimes Mama made a number of trips to Memphis or through Memphis on our way to Kansas and Minnesota to visit family members. As I recall, the traffic was awful from New Albany to Memphis. For the past few years, I travel the new highway about once a month for a hair cut in East Memphis. I normally exit U.S. 78 at Hacks Cross Rd. near Olive Branch, crossing old Hwy. 78 before continuing north to Hwy 385 (Nonconnah Parkway) which connects to I-240. Recently I have had a yearning to revisit old Hwy. 78. I’m not sure what precipitated the desire, but I often pick an alternate route in my routine travels, in order to avoid boredom with the familiar. Last week, as I was returning from my trip to Memphis, I decided to drive back along old Hwy. 78. "What’s fifteen or twenty minutes," I questioned. "If I see something I’ve not seen in years?" In hindsight, I can answer my question by stating I didn’t recognize much of what I saw, though it was surely there ten or fifteen years ago. Parts of Byhalia still look like they did thirty years ago, except a little more worn and weathered, and the same might be said of Potts Camp. I kept searching the hillsides for an underground house that once captured my imagination, but I never caught sight of it. Traffic along Hwy. 178 was practically nonexistent, and the only vehicle I got behind pulled off before I had a chance to pass it. I’d forgotten the old route through Holly Springs, but once I got to the downtown area, I had no trouble finding my way out of the city. There are a few stretches of roadway where the railroad parallels the highway and those sections were certainly familiar to me. I can’t say the same is true of the hill and curves south of Holly Springs, as without all the eighteen-wheelers the curves seemed less intimidating. I had traveled roughly forty miles along the old highway by the time I got to Hickory Flat, where I decided to leave my time travels of the past for another day and reenter the present. U.S. 78 was like I left it a few hours earlier, fast and furious. One of these days, when time permits, I’ll trek all the way from Olive Branch to New Albany along the old highway. Maybe, more of what I see on the next trip will remind me of the past.
In Threes Bad Things Happen My sister tells me bad things happen in threes. I don’t know if there is any research to support her hypothesis or not, but in our family a number of examples have been noted. Some instances are of greater importance than others. The following is the most recent of three inconsequential happenings in my family that occurred in a single day. Barbara had asked Sarah to make a birthday cake for one of the Habitat volunteers, who was from Waynesville, Missouri. Sarah’s friend Diane Nix Simmons was visiting her at the time she was making the cake. Apparently, Sarah was distracted enough in her conversation with Diane that, when she tried to remember the person’s name to write on the cake, she drew a blank. Sarah reached for her portable phone to call Barbara. About midway through the dialing sequence, Diane asked, "Do you know what channel she’s on?" Sarah was perplexed by the question until she noticed she wasn’t holding the portable phone. She had, in her hand, the remote control to the TV. That afternoon, Barbara had completed her bill paying chore at her office in downtown Pontotoc. Most of the bills and checks were inside stamped envelopes which she planned to drop in the outside receptacle at the downtown Post Office and Museum. However, she held back a lone check that she intended to personally deliver to a downtown location. After dropping off the envelopes in the mail receptacle, she couldn’t find the check she wanted to deliver and concluded she possibly had mixed it in with the bills she had just mailed. She called the Post Office/ Museum and explained what she thought she had done, only to be told the mail had already been retrieved and was then at the main Post Office. Another phone call was required to contact the main office and then explain once more how she mishandled a check. The postal clerk was able to find the check and Barbara drove across town to get it. Later that afternoon, when I heard what had happened to Barbara and Sarah, I had a good laugh at their expense. However, the day was not over and the last laugh would not be mine. "I’ve invited the volunteers over to our house for birthday cake and ice cream, after their meal at West Heights" Barbara shared. Rayanne and her family planned to have dinner at our house that same evening. Jason’s birthday was the previous Sunday, but Rayanne had not been able to be present and wanted to have a family party at our house. One might, rightly, conclude that I was a little busy with hamburger patties, a grill, and trying to get a freezer of ice cream going, all at the same time. Though, I was probably no more distracted than either my sister or my wife had been earlier in the day. After mixing all the ingredients for the ice cream, I assembled the electric ice cream freezer, packed the ice and salt inside the bucket, plugged it in outside the backdoor, and went about my cooking tasks while waiting for the ice cream mixture to freeze. I had made a couple of trips to and from the grill during the next five minutes. Suddenly, I saw the dasher of the freezer on the countertop where I had placed it when I rinsed the aluminum canister of the freezer. In my haste, I had failed to assemble all of the parts necessary for the ice cream freezer to work properly. Fortunately, the mixture had not begun to set up, and I was able to put the dasher in the canister without first emptying it. None of the above happenings could be classified as bad, since most of us would write them off as human error, forgetfulness, or inattentiveness. However, they do fit Sarah’s hypothesis concerning bad things happening in threes. We’re all glad the happenings, this time, were humorous.
Bodock Beau Sunday Clothes Sunday clothes are not much different from everyday clothes, these days, but as the following illustrates, there was a time when such wasn’t the case. Sunday Clothes A little boy was walking down a dirt road after church one Sunday afternoon, when he came to a crossroads where he met a little girl coming from another direction. "Hello," said the little boy. "Hi," replied the little girl. "Where are you going?" asked the little boy. "I’ve been to church this morning, and I’m on my way home," answered the little girl. "Me too," replied the little boy. "I’m also on my way home from church." "Which church do you go to?" asked the little boy. "I go to the Baptist church back down the road," replied the little girl. "I go to the Methodist church back at the top of the hill," replied the little boy. They discover that they are both going the same way, so they decided that they’d walk together. They came to a low spot in the road where spring rains had partially flooded the road, so there was no way that they could get across to the other side without getting wet. "If I get my new Sunday dress wet, my mom’s going to skin me alive," she said. "My mom’ll tan my hide, too, if I get my new Sunday suit wet," replied the little boy. "I’ll tell you what I think I’ll do," said the little girl. "I’m going to pull off all my clothes and hold them over my head and wade across." "That’s a good idea," replied the little boy. "I’m going to do the same thing with my suit." So, they both undressed and waded across to the other side without getting their clothes wet. They were standing there in the sun waiting to drip dry before putting their clothes back on, when the little boy finally remarked, "You know, I never did realize before just how much difference there really is between a Baptist and a Methodist." Contributed by Jim Hess You May Be in a Country Church if...
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There
were only eight of them this time. They traveled from the Waynesville, Missouri
area to Pontotoc by van and pickup in order to serve as volunteers for Pontotoc
County Habitat for Humanity. Six of the group were "repeaters," meaning they
had done this before. To my way of thinking, folks who traverse several states
to help others are special. That some return a second or third time to the
same area speaks volumes about the individuals and the community they seek
to serve.
