 You are happy, driven, and status conscious. You want everyone to know how successful you are. Very logical, you see life as a game of strategy. A bit of a loner, you prefer to depend on yourself. You always keep your cool and your composure. You are a born leader and business person. |
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
"Very logical, you see life as a game of strategy..."
Lifted from Sharon Hurlbut's blog (link on the right), here are my results after taking The Shortest Personality Test ever.
Excerpt, Part One of 1961 - An Upside-Down Year
The current staggering July heat and storms spurred me
to post this excerpt from my memoirs. -- GHC
1961 – An Upside-Down Year (Part One)
The January MAD Magazine cover declared 1961 the last
upside-down year (the numbers read the same upside-down
as right-side-up) until 6009. The United Kingdom stopped
using the farthing coin – in use since the 13th century --
as legal tender. President Eisenhower severed diplomatic
and consular relations with Cuba two weeks before he
gave his final State of the Union address to Congress.
On January 20th, John Fitzgerald Kennedy became
President of the United States, and five days later
delivered the first live presidential news conference
from Washington, D.C. I was three years old. What I
remember most about January 1961 is the United States
space program sent a poor chimpanzee named Ham up into
space.
President Kennedy established the Peace Corps on
March 1st, the same day Uganda held its first
elections and became self-governing. Uganda seemed
as far away as Ham the chimpanzee. My parents paid
more attention to the Peace Corps announcement.
Remember, many people still walked to work in 1961.
The Interstate system was far from completed, and
Africa was more of a concept than a reality to most
Americans.
In March, the 23rd Amendment was ratified, allowing
residents of Washington, D.C. to vote in presidential
elections for the first time. On April 12th, the first
human being, Yuri Gagarin, was sent into space. The
Bay of Pigs invasion disaster took place over 48 hours
in mid-April. On May 5th, Alan B. Shepard became the
first American sent into space, just three weeks after
Gagarin and 94 days after Ham the chimpanzee. My
parents were excited about men being sent into space.
For me, it was natural. After all, I was three and
a half and still learning what the world was.
Easter Sunday was April 2nd, 1961, the day after
my brother Fritz’s first birthday. There’s a
family photo of Fritz and me standing in a bright,
sunny spot in the front yard of our little house
on Garrison Avenue. He’s wearing a white shirt and
matching plaid diaper cover and vest, and a dark
red clip-on bowtie. I’m wearing the requisite yellow
dress that my grandmother made for me. For some
reason, every spring until I was in junior high
school I was given a yellow dress for Easter.
Fritz and I are standing beside the tall hedges
that surrounded our yard. The hedges look to be
five feet tall. Mom was four months’ pregnant and
expecting our brother Scott in mid-August.
On May 14th a Freedom Riders bus was fire-bombed
just outside of Anniston, Alabama, and the civil
rights protestors were beaten by an angry mob.
Two days later, Do Young Tsang took over South
Korea in a military coup. Just a week later,
Governor John Patterson of Alabama declared
marital law after race riots broke out. A short
three days later Freedom Riders in Jackson,
Mississippi were arrested for “disturbing the
peace” after disembarking from their bus.
The very next day, May 25th, President Kennedy
announced the Apollo program and his intention
to put a “man on the moon” before the end of the
decade. I find it ironic that we couldn’t resolve
our own inter-human, inter-racial problems but
were anxiously looking to space for adventure.
Television consisted of three channels – if you
had good reception – ABC, CBS, and NBC. The
picture was black and white and often rolled
from side to side or top to bottom. TVs had
horizontal and vertical hold knobs to adjust
the rolling picture. There was no cable yet.
The pictures often were full of static
interference. Folks had antennae on their
roofs with wires that snaked down and
connected to the television to improve
reception. Many people had rabbit ears –
a small double antennae, hence the name
-- signal boosters on top of their TV sets.
Aluminum foil on a wire hanger which
substituted for commercially produced
rabbit ears were also part and parcel of
the sophisticated 1961 television viewing
experience.
It was a hot and humid Thursday when Gus
Grissom, piloting the Mercury 4 capsule
“Liberty Bell 7,” became the second
American to orbit the Earth on July 21st.
A strong summer thunderstorm during the
early morning hours of Saturday July 23rd
caused a flash flood in Magazine Hollow on
Garrison Avenue where my family lived in our
little home with the five-feet-tall hedges.
THE FLOOD
One of my most vivid childhood memories are the
events surrounding the Magazine Hollow flash flood
of July 19-20, 1961.
Dad was medically discharged from the Air Force and
purchased a Volvo and a little white house on
Garrison Avenue. I’m not sure when we moved in but
I know we were there by April because of the
Easter photos of Fritz and me standing in the yard.
Mom was heavily pregnant with Scott (although, of
course, we didn’t know who Mom was pregnant with
at the time). She was due in two weeks.
I loved to play at the creek’s edge, catching
salamanders and plopping rocks into the water –
experimenting with the sounds they made when
dropped at different heights and angles. Nancy,
a ten year-old-girl who lived next door
in a ramshackle house that had been converted
into a gambling den, was my best friend and
favorite playmate. Nancy and I played on the
edge of, and sometimes in, the creek that ran
behind our houses. We played the usual little
girl games – pretending to be mothers with our
dolls, making mud pies and sharing giggles. My
mother disapproved of me playing with Nancy.
Nancy was sweet and gentle and loving to me and
I continued to risk a spanking when I snuck out
to play with her. I had no way of knowing Nancy's
stepfather sexually abused her and that my mother
wanted to protect me from both the knowledge of
the horrendous deeds and the possibility of
falling victim to him. All I knew was I felt
lonely. Mom paid a lot of attention to Fritz,
who was only sixteen months old, and she slept
a lot. Mom said it was because the baby growing
inside her made her feel tired.
I don't remember Nancy's mother at all. I only
retain the faintest memories of her stepfather.
He was a disheveled man who wore layers of dirty
work clothes. I recall him always wearing a hat
like all the other men at the time, but his was
dirtier and somehow sloppier than the other men’s
hats. He was older than my parents and Nancy's
mother and he walked stooped over. Nancy’s house
was rundown and I remember a metal Pepsi
thermometer on the left side of their front
porch, closest to our house. Men stopped by to
play cards and have a few beers before lurching
down the shabby steps and wandering back up the
hill.
July in West Virginia is a hot, humid and
miserable time of year. The night of the flood,
there was a summer storm in the air. I always
loved storms – still love storms, in fact. I
was in the maple bed Mom brought from her
parents’ home when she married Dad. It had a
single carved maple leaf on the headboard.
Each night after I'd knelt and said my prayers,
I’d trace the curves and angles of that leaf
until I fell asleep.
I’d been asleep for several hours when
something woke me. I sat up in bed and
adjusted my eyes to the room’s dimness.
Nothing seemed unusual. Fritz was in his crib
across the bedroom from me, asleep. My hobby
horse sat just out his reach. Looking to my
left, I could see Mom and Dad sleeping on the
fold-out bed in the living room just beyond
the front door. There wasn't much light, but
the moon was full and there was enough
illumination to see the shadowy outlines of
my parents. I could hear Daddy's familiar
snores. There were sounds of thunder crashing
and when the lightning blazed I could see the
reins on my hobbyhorse like it was daytime.
It was after one of these lightning crashes
that I saw the king walk through the front
door. I watched him, fascinated. I couldn’t
remember seeing anyone pass through a solid
door before. He was tall like Daddy and he
wore a loose robe that touched the floor.
There was a sash or rope at his waist. He
seemed to glow like the glow-in-the-dark toys
I'd have later on in life, except he glowed
clean white instead of sickly yellow. He had
a moustache and a beard, and he wore a crown.
The connection I made at the time was that he
looked like a king on a playing card. He stood
in the doorway of my room. My parents were
still asleep on the sofa-bed just behind him.
I was unafraid and intensely curious. I
sensed he knew I was watching him as his warm,
loving eyes met mine. A gentle smile came on
his lips and without speaking he conveyed to
me that much would happen this night but I
wasn’t to be afraid. I would see and experience
much but everything would be all right. I
immediately felt a spirit of calm and peace
come over me and I don't remember him leaving
or my falling back to sleep.
Someone beat on our front door, over and over,
until our family woke. There was a deafening
roaring sound outside that added to my sleepy
confusion. I heard a man’s voice yell, "Get out!
There's a flashflood. You have to leave now!
No time to get dressed. Get out now. Go to
higher ground!"
Mom’s fingers were swollen due to her
pregnancy and she wasn’t wearing her wedding
rings. I remember her screaming she had to
find her rings. Dad yelled for Mom to come on,
to get out. Mom couldn't swim and the water was
already five feet deep outside and rising fast.
Mom screamed at Daddy to forget about her and
"Save Ginger! Save the children." The two of
them argued over what to do and who should
leave first. I remember looking out my window
and seeing an endless sea of darkness beyond
our front porch.
Dad scooped Mom into his arms and struggled
across what had hours earlier been our yard
and beyond, the road. Standing at the front
doorway I saw cars tumbling end over end,
boards and unidentifiable objects, but the
only sound was the deafening roar of the
water. There was no earth in sight. It
seemed our little house was sitting in the
middle of a tidal wave of dark water.
The man who came to wake us was a neighbor
from higher up in the hollow. His name was
Joe. Joe was about nineteen. He’d always
been kind to me and I trusted him. I felt
safe when he scooped me into his arms. It
seemed quite the adventure just to be awake
in the middle of the night. I almost didn't
mind the cold muddy swirling water as he
waded down the stairs to ford what used to
be our yard. Everything was unrecognizable –
just the very tops of the tall privacy hedges
stood in the middle of a wild roaring river.
We’d just passed the hedges when I looked
over Joe’s shoulder and saw Nancy in the
moonlight holding onto a porch column. The
Pepsi sign was at the same level as her head.
Her eyes were dark hollows in an eerily pale
face. Nancy’s arm fluttered into the air in a
slow motion wave as the raging waters ripped
the ramshackle porch away from the house and
she disappeared into the darkness. I screamed
for Joe to save her. There was nothing Joe
could do. My feelings of helplessness and
anguish were so intense I’ve blocked the
memory of most of the rest of that night.
When we reached the relative safety of the
house on the hillside directly across the
street we were naked, as were most of the
other people there. Women and men moved in
the darkness, some with flashlights, some
with blankets, and others with clothing to
cover the refugees. All the while rain poured
down and the water raged through the hollow
just a few yards below where we sat. Mom
screamed and wailed once she realized no one
had saved Fritz, who was still in his crib
inside our house. He was only a hundred feet
away, yet an ocean separated us.
Forty years later Mom still wept when she
remembered how the other women murmured how
terrible she was for leaving her baby behind.
She had no choice; Mom was 5'1" tall and
weighed 115 pounds eight months' pregnant.
My father was 6'1" tall and weighed 170 pounds.
My mother was pregnant and couldn’t swim.
I believe Dad made the best decision he could
at the time, which was to save his wife and
their unborn child.
After Dad got Mom to safety he tried four
times to get back across the road and into
the house. Three of those times, a rope was
tied around his waist and fastened to a tree
to keep him from being swept away. Eventually
the men on the hill side of the water dragged
him back in and made him stop because they
feared he would drown from exhaustion.
A neighbor lady gave me a large shirt to cover
myself with. I vaguely recalled seeing it
hanging on a clothesline once when Mom and I
went for a walk. I don't remember my mother
crying or my father collapsing from exhaustion
and anguish at the loss of his firstborn son.
I can't remember seeing all those people
walking around with flashlights and blankets
and clothes. Those are my mother's recollections.
I woke up in a strange room with bright
sunshine so intense on my face I had no
choice but to rise. Looking around, I had
no idea where I was or how I got the shirt
I was wearing. I didn’t immediately remember
the flood. I walked into a narrow dark hallway.
There was a brighter area at one end of the
hallway, like the proverbial light at the end
of a tunnel, and I walked toward it. I don't
know if my ears were full of water or if I was
in shock and my faculties returned to me in
stages but the sequence I recall went like this:
The light grew brighter as I walked down the
hallway. I soon could make out voices. A woman
passed behind me walking faster than I was and
she hurried to the front door. There were
several people in the living room talking
quietly but animatedly and they all glanced up
at me in surprise as I followed the lady who
had passed me in the hall.
The storm door was still open a bit and I
hurried out onto the porch behind her. Just
as my foot made contact with the muddy wooden
slats of the porch, she poured water from a
glass gallon milk jug onto the porch. The
coldness snapped me out of whatever dream-state
I'd been in, and the pressure in my ears
stabilized. At once I could hear clearly and
recognized my surroundings. I knew I was on
the porch across the street from our house,
and I looked in the familiar westerly direction
for home. The neighborhood was muddy and strewn
with branches, lumber, and garbage. Where our
house should’ve been was a jumble of
unrecognizable boards and pieces of metal. I
learned later a trailer that had washed off its
foundation, slid down the hill and crushed our
house hours after we'd gotten to safety.
Disoriented and afraid, I searched for my
mother. There’s another blank place in my
memories during this part of the day. My
parents filled me in. Here’s what they told me:
Mom prayed unceasingly for the life of her son
and her unborn child. While Dad carried her to
safety, part of a chicken coop that was tumbling
wildly through the water struck Mom between her
legs, leaving a huge ugly bruise and nearly
drowning both my parents before my father somehow
found his footing. The neighbor boy, Joe, handed
me off safely to someone and tried to go back for
my brother Fritz, but the rapidly rising water
had become too strong for him. He and Dad rigged
a rope to a tree to try and make it across to save
Fritz but the current overwhelmed Dad and he gave
up in despair and exhaustion. Dad was made to lay
down, his nakedness covered a blanket. He slept or
passed out.
Hours later after the sun came up, the water
subsided enough that Dad and some of the men were
able to go across the street and climb inside our
house. The mournful party climbed through a window,
searching for the body of a fourteen-month-old
baby boy. Imagine how stunned they were to find
Fritz floating around on his Kant-Wet mattress,
singing, with his chubby little baby fingers
playing in the muddy water over the side of his
crib mattress. The only damage he suffered was
diaper rash from having a dirty diaper on for so
long. The local newspaper even ran a story about
the miracle, "Little Shaver Gets Close Shave."
(This Charleston Gazette article references them
finding my brother floating on his mattress:
http://www.wvgazette.com/News/201107171218)
Less than an hour after they retrieved my brother,
the trailer on the hill slid off its foundation,
rolled down the hill and crushed what was left of
our little house.
Searchers found Nancy's body trapped up under
the porch of a house way
down the hollow. The young man who saved us, Joe,
had moved his family to higher ground before going
door to door and saving most of the families in
the hollow. In a cruel twist of fate, the house
where they’d sought refuge was flooded and most of
his own family died. The irony doesn't escape me.
I think of Joe as a hero -- Joe, whose 19-year-old
boy face is engraved forever in my mind's eye.
Nine souls were lost in our little hollow
that night, and twenty-two in the Valley.
My parents believed me when I told them about the
king who'd come into my room and reassured me that
night, and I often think of him. I know everything
will be fine.
to post this excerpt from my memoirs. -- GHC
1961 – An Upside-Down Year (Part One)
The January MAD Magazine cover declared 1961 the last
upside-down year (the numbers read the same upside-down
as right-side-up) until 6009. The United Kingdom stopped
using the farthing coin – in use since the 13th century --
as legal tender. President Eisenhower severed diplomatic
and consular relations with Cuba two weeks before he
gave his final State of the Union address to Congress.
On January 20th, John Fitzgerald Kennedy became
President of the United States, and five days later
delivered the first live presidential news conference
from Washington, D.C. I was three years old. What I
remember most about January 1961 is the United States
space program sent a poor chimpanzee named Ham up into
space.
President Kennedy established the Peace Corps on
March 1st, the same day Uganda held its first
elections and became self-governing. Uganda seemed
as far away as Ham the chimpanzee. My parents paid
more attention to the Peace Corps announcement.
Remember, many people still walked to work in 1961.
The Interstate system was far from completed, and
Africa was more of a concept than a reality to most
Americans.
In March, the 23rd Amendment was ratified, allowing
residents of Washington, D.C. to vote in presidential
elections for the first time. On April 12th, the first
human being, Yuri Gagarin, was sent into space. The
Bay of Pigs invasion disaster took place over 48 hours
in mid-April. On May 5th, Alan B. Shepard became the
first American sent into space, just three weeks after
Gagarin and 94 days after Ham the chimpanzee. My
parents were excited about men being sent into space.
For me, it was natural. After all, I was three and
a half and still learning what the world was.
Easter Sunday was April 2nd, 1961, the day after
my brother Fritz’s first birthday. There’s a
family photo of Fritz and me standing in a bright,
sunny spot in the front yard of our little house
on Garrison Avenue. He’s wearing a white shirt and
matching plaid diaper cover and vest, and a dark
red clip-on bowtie. I’m wearing the requisite yellow
dress that my grandmother made for me. For some
reason, every spring until I was in junior high
school I was given a yellow dress for Easter.
Fritz and I are standing beside the tall hedges
that surrounded our yard. The hedges look to be
five feet tall. Mom was four months’ pregnant and
expecting our brother Scott in mid-August.
On May 14th a Freedom Riders bus was fire-bombed
just outside of Anniston, Alabama, and the civil
rights protestors were beaten by an angry mob.
Two days later, Do Young Tsang took over South
Korea in a military coup. Just a week later,
Governor John Patterson of Alabama declared
marital law after race riots broke out. A short
three days later Freedom Riders in Jackson,
Mississippi were arrested for “disturbing the
peace” after disembarking from their bus.
The very next day, May 25th, President Kennedy
announced the Apollo program and his intention
to put a “man on the moon” before the end of the
decade. I find it ironic that we couldn’t resolve
our own inter-human, inter-racial problems but
were anxiously looking to space for adventure.
Television consisted of three channels – if you
had good reception – ABC, CBS, and NBC. The
picture was black and white and often rolled
from side to side or top to bottom. TVs had
horizontal and vertical hold knobs to adjust
the rolling picture. There was no cable yet.
The pictures often were full of static
interference. Folks had antennae on their
roofs with wires that snaked down and
connected to the television to improve
reception. Many people had rabbit ears –
a small double antennae, hence the name
-- signal boosters on top of their TV sets.
Aluminum foil on a wire hanger which
substituted for commercially produced
rabbit ears were also part and parcel of
the sophisticated 1961 television viewing
experience.
It was a hot and humid Thursday when Gus
Grissom, piloting the Mercury 4 capsule
“Liberty Bell 7,” became the second
American to orbit the Earth on July 21st.
A strong summer thunderstorm during the
early morning hours of Saturday July 23rd
caused a flash flood in Magazine Hollow on
Garrison Avenue where my family lived in our
little home with the five-feet-tall hedges.
One of my most vivid childhood memories are the
events surrounding the Magazine Hollow flash flood
of July 19-20, 1961.
Dad was medically discharged from the Air Force and
purchased a Volvo and a little white house on
Garrison Avenue. I’m not sure when we moved in but
I know we were there by April because of the
Easter photos of Fritz and me standing in the yard.
Mom was heavily pregnant with Scott (although, of
course, we didn’t know who Mom was pregnant with
at the time). She was due in two weeks.
I loved to play at the creek’s edge, catching
salamanders and plopping rocks into the water –
experimenting with the sounds they made when
dropped at different heights and angles. Nancy,
a ten year-old-girl who lived next door
in a ramshackle house that had been converted
into a gambling den, was my best friend and
favorite playmate. Nancy and I played on the
edge of, and sometimes in, the creek that ran
behind our houses. We played the usual little
girl games – pretending to be mothers with our
dolls, making mud pies and sharing giggles. My
mother disapproved of me playing with Nancy.
Nancy was sweet and gentle and loving to me and
I continued to risk a spanking when I snuck out
to play with her. I had no way of knowing Nancy's
stepfather sexually abused her and that my mother
wanted to protect me from both the knowledge of
the horrendous deeds and the possibility of
falling victim to him. All I knew was I felt
lonely. Mom paid a lot of attention to Fritz,
who was only sixteen months old, and she slept
a lot. Mom said it was because the baby growing
inside her made her feel tired.
I don't remember Nancy's mother at all. I only
retain the faintest memories of her stepfather.
He was a disheveled man who wore layers of dirty
work clothes. I recall him always wearing a hat
like all the other men at the time, but his was
dirtier and somehow sloppier than the other men’s
hats. He was older than my parents and Nancy's
mother and he walked stooped over. Nancy’s house
was rundown and I remember a metal Pepsi
thermometer on the left side of their front
porch, closest to our house. Men stopped by to
play cards and have a few beers before lurching
down the shabby steps and wandering back up the
hill.
July in West Virginia is a hot, humid and
miserable time of year. The night of the flood,
there was a summer storm in the air. I always
loved storms – still love storms, in fact. I
was in the maple bed Mom brought from her
parents’ home when she married Dad. It had a
single carved maple leaf on the headboard.
Each night after I'd knelt and said my prayers,
I’d trace the curves and angles of that leaf
until I fell asleep.
I’d been asleep for several hours when
something woke me. I sat up in bed and
adjusted my eyes to the room’s dimness.
Nothing seemed unusual. Fritz was in his crib
across the bedroom from me, asleep. My hobby
horse sat just out his reach. Looking to my
left, I could see Mom and Dad sleeping on the
fold-out bed in the living room just beyond
the front door. There wasn't much light, but
the moon was full and there was enough
illumination to see the shadowy outlines of
my parents. I could hear Daddy's familiar
snores. There were sounds of thunder crashing
and when the lightning blazed I could see the
reins on my hobbyhorse like it was daytime.
It was after one of these lightning crashes
that I saw the king walk through the front
door. I watched him, fascinated. I couldn’t
remember seeing anyone pass through a solid
door before. He was tall like Daddy and he
wore a loose robe that touched the floor.
There was a sash or rope at his waist. He
seemed to glow like the glow-in-the-dark toys
I'd have later on in life, except he glowed
clean white instead of sickly yellow. He had
a moustache and a beard, and he wore a crown.
The connection I made at the time was that he
looked like a king on a playing card. He stood
in the doorway of my room. My parents were
still asleep on the sofa-bed just behind him.
I was unafraid and intensely curious. I
sensed he knew I was watching him as his warm,
loving eyes met mine. A gentle smile came on
his lips and without speaking he conveyed to
me that much would happen this night but I
wasn’t to be afraid. I would see and experience
much but everything would be all right. I
immediately felt a spirit of calm and peace
come over me and I don't remember him leaving
or my falling back to sleep.
Someone beat on our front door, over and over,
until our family woke. There was a deafening
roaring sound outside that added to my sleepy
confusion. I heard a man’s voice yell, "Get out!
There's a flashflood. You have to leave now!
No time to get dressed. Get out now. Go to
higher ground!"
Mom’s fingers were swollen due to her
pregnancy and she wasn’t wearing her wedding
rings. I remember her screaming she had to
find her rings. Dad yelled for Mom to come on,
to get out. Mom couldn't swim and the water was
already five feet deep outside and rising fast.
Mom screamed at Daddy to forget about her and
"Save Ginger! Save the children." The two of
them argued over what to do and who should
leave first. I remember looking out my window
and seeing an endless sea of darkness beyond
our front porch.
Dad scooped Mom into his arms and struggled
across what had hours earlier been our yard
and beyond, the road. Standing at the front
doorway I saw cars tumbling end over end,
boards and unidentifiable objects, but the
only sound was the deafening roar of the
water. There was no earth in sight. It
seemed our little house was sitting in the
middle of a tidal wave of dark water.
The man who came to wake us was a neighbor
from higher up in the hollow. His name was
Joe. Joe was about nineteen. He’d always
been kind to me and I trusted him. I felt
safe when he scooped me into his arms. It
seemed quite the adventure just to be awake
in the middle of the night. I almost didn't
mind the cold muddy swirling water as he
waded down the stairs to ford what used to
be our yard. Everything was unrecognizable –
just the very tops of the tall privacy hedges
stood in the middle of a wild roaring river.
We’d just passed the hedges when I looked
over Joe’s shoulder and saw Nancy in the
moonlight holding onto a porch column. The
Pepsi sign was at the same level as her head.
Her eyes were dark hollows in an eerily pale
face. Nancy’s arm fluttered into the air in a
slow motion wave as the raging waters ripped
the ramshackle porch away from the house and
she disappeared into the darkness. I screamed
for Joe to save her. There was nothing Joe
could do. My feelings of helplessness and
anguish were so intense I’ve blocked the
memory of most of the rest of that night.
When we reached the relative safety of the
house on the hillside directly across the
street we were naked, as were most of the
other people there. Women and men moved in
the darkness, some with flashlights, some
with blankets, and others with clothing to
cover the refugees. All the while rain poured
down and the water raged through the hollow
just a few yards below where we sat. Mom
screamed and wailed once she realized no one
had saved Fritz, who was still in his crib
inside our house. He was only a hundred feet
away, yet an ocean separated us.
Forty years later Mom still wept when she
remembered how the other women murmured how
terrible she was for leaving her baby behind.
She had no choice; Mom was 5'1" tall and
weighed 115 pounds eight months' pregnant.
My father was 6'1" tall and weighed 170 pounds.
My mother was pregnant and couldn’t swim.
I believe Dad made the best decision he could
at the time, which was to save his wife and
their unborn child.
After Dad got Mom to safety he tried four
times to get back across the road and into
the house. Three of those times, a rope was
tied around his waist and fastened to a tree
to keep him from being swept away. Eventually
the men on the hill side of the water dragged
him back in and made him stop because they
feared he would drown from exhaustion.
A neighbor lady gave me a large shirt to cover
myself with. I vaguely recalled seeing it
hanging on a clothesline once when Mom and I
went for a walk. I don't remember my mother
crying or my father collapsing from exhaustion
and anguish at the loss of his firstborn son.
I can't remember seeing all those people
walking around with flashlights and blankets
and clothes. Those are my mother's recollections.
I woke up in a strange room with bright
sunshine so intense on my face I had no
choice but to rise. Looking around, I had
no idea where I was or how I got the shirt
I was wearing. I didn’t immediately remember
the flood. I walked into a narrow dark hallway.
There was a brighter area at one end of the
hallway, like the proverbial light at the end
of a tunnel, and I walked toward it. I don't
know if my ears were full of water or if I was
in shock and my faculties returned to me in
stages but the sequence I recall went like this:
The light grew brighter as I walked down the
hallway. I soon could make out voices. A woman
passed behind me walking faster than I was and
she hurried to the front door. There were
several people in the living room talking
quietly but animatedly and they all glanced up
at me in surprise as I followed the lady who
had passed me in the hall.
The storm door was still open a bit and I
hurried out onto the porch behind her. Just
as my foot made contact with the muddy wooden
slats of the porch, she poured water from a
glass gallon milk jug onto the porch. The
coldness snapped me out of whatever dream-state
I'd been in, and the pressure in my ears
stabilized. At once I could hear clearly and
recognized my surroundings. I knew I was on
the porch across the street from our house,
and I looked in the familiar westerly direction
for home. The neighborhood was muddy and strewn
with branches, lumber, and garbage. Where our
house should’ve been was a jumble of
unrecognizable boards and pieces of metal. I
learned later a trailer that had washed off its
foundation, slid down the hill and crushed our
house hours after we'd gotten to safety.
Disoriented and afraid, I searched for my
mother. There’s another blank place in my
memories during this part of the day. My
parents filled me in. Here’s what they told me:
Mom prayed unceasingly for the life of her son
and her unborn child. While Dad carried her to
safety, part of a chicken coop that was tumbling
wildly through the water struck Mom between her
legs, leaving a huge ugly bruise and nearly
drowning both my parents before my father somehow
found his footing. The neighbor boy, Joe, handed
me off safely to someone and tried to go back for
my brother Fritz, but the rapidly rising water
had become too strong for him. He and Dad rigged
a rope to a tree to try and make it across to save
Fritz but the current overwhelmed Dad and he gave
up in despair and exhaustion. Dad was made to lay
down, his nakedness covered a blanket. He slept or
passed out.
Hours later after the sun came up, the water
subsided enough that Dad and some of the men were
able to go across the street and climb inside our
house. The mournful party climbed through a window,
searching for the body of a fourteen-month-old
baby boy. Imagine how stunned they were to find
Fritz floating around on his Kant-Wet mattress,
singing, with his chubby little baby fingers
playing in the muddy water over the side of his
crib mattress. The only damage he suffered was
diaper rash from having a dirty diaper on for so
long. The local newspaper even ran a story about
the miracle, "Little Shaver Gets Close Shave."
(This Charleston Gazette article references them
finding my brother floating on his mattress:
http://www.wvgazette.com/News/201107171218)
Less than an hour after they retrieved my brother,
the trailer on the hill slid off its foundation,
rolled down the hill and crushed what was left of
our little house.
Searchers found Nancy's body trapped up under
the porch of a house way
down the hollow. The young man who saved us, Joe,
had moved his family to higher ground before going
door to door and saving most of the families in
the hollow. In a cruel twist of fate, the house
where they’d sought refuge was flooded and most of
his own family died. The irony doesn't escape me.
I think of Joe as a hero -- Joe, whose 19-year-old
boy face is engraved forever in my mind's eye.
Nine souls were lost in our little hollow
that night, and twenty-two in the Valley.
My parents believed me when I told them about the
king who'd come into my room and reassured me that
night, and I often think of him. I know everything
will be fine.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
A Sign From God
Here's another true story from my childhood. The mind-numbing, thankless task of caring for my retarded younger sister during church turned into an adventure of epic proportions the day our congregation got a sign from God.
A Sign From God
My sister Liz was brain-damaged at birth and never grasped the subtleties of social behavior. She picked her nose or dug around in the seat of her pants with as much enthusiasm as plump Mrs. Johnson sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” It was as likely that Liz would stand on her head with a huge grin demanding old Mr. Buckalew tell her what color her panties were as it was that musty old men would pass the collection plate right before the doxology was sung.
Though our family never figured out a pattern to her obnoxious behavior, we all knew she’d do something shocking before church was over.
I was assigned to keep her in the balcony and preserve what little social status our family retained after nine years of… Liz. Sometimes I’d give her a pen and she’d doodle on the back of the church bulletin until she got bored. If I didn’t watch, she’d cram the paper in her mouth and choke trying to swallow it. Then I had a situation on my hands trying to quiet down her gagging and convince her to stop moaning. Other times she’d get enthralled by the motion of her legs swinging. She’d stare at her legs and swing them faster and faster until she kicked either the bottom of the pew or the wooden railing of the balcony. Occasionally she’d burst into spontaneous song. You haven’t lived until you’re in the middle of a solemn Presbyterian church service and your sister belts out a monotone rendition of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” Liz definitely was a show stopper.
Dad chewed us out after every incident. His lectures were infamous in our neighborhood. The same tenor voice that rose above the choir singing praise to Our Father in Heaven screeched blasphemous oaths and berated us children or Mom when Dad was displeased. He was often displeased. As other families sat down to an enjoyable Sunday meal, ours stood quaking in fear from Dad’s vehemently delivered post-church sermon. He’d outline our shortcomings, berate me for failing to keep Liz under control, and despair of ever gaining his rightful status as lord of the Hamilton manor. Eventually he’d wind down and we’d all escape to our bedrooms for the afternoon.
Mom and Dad sat in the choir loft directly across from the balcony where they could cast an evil eye when Liz got too far out of control. Because we sat in the balcony most of the congregation missed the “What will Liz do this week?” show, but the few brave souls who sat behind us enjoyed a circus the rest never knew existed.
It was early in September the day that God gave the congregation a sign. Liz wore her new red Buster Brown shoes. Bought just the afternoon before, there hadn’t been time for Dad to carry out his new shoe ritual. Dad liked to buy leather shoes a little small, then soak and stretch them for "a custom fit." He believed this was better than our shoes slipping and eating our heels.
Liz was fairly quiet this particular Sunday. She seemed mesmerized by how her feet looked in her new shoes. I relaxed my usual vigilance and let my attention wander.
The church wan’t air-conditioned. The sanctuary was muggy and the balcony was stifling. Noonday sun poured through stained glass windows, happy to be in its Father’s house. I made a fan from my bulletin. It created a tiny sultry breeze as I moved it back and forth.
The back of the heads in the main congregation looked like they always did. Most of the older ladies wore pillbox hats which sported various bizarre feather or flower arrangements. The only difference from one old man’s head to the next was the amount of baldness and whether it was a Friar Tuck or a futile attempt at a comb-over.
Old Miss Deskins was sound asleep in the main congregation, her mink stole hanging limp around her shoulders. I figured the heat had gotten to her and I envied her ability to escape the boring sermon by falling asleep. She’d taught elementary school for thirty-five years and was the bane of the local children. Like most of the old ladies at church, she had horehound candy breath and smelled of mothballs. The difference was that once Miss Deskins had you within arm’s reach, she’d imperiously demand that you recite the entire multiplication table before she excused you.
A golden-haired teen boy and his family had recently moved into town from out west. I searched the crowd and found him sitting in a side pew. Somehow I caught his eye and we began a coy exchange of shy grins and fake indifference. I flirted with him from behind my fan. He made one too, and we played peek-a-boo with our bulletin fans.
I glanced at my sister. Liz had unbuckled her shoes and was busy twirling her brown pigtails and swinging her right leg. For once she wasn’t causing a ruckus and I looked forward to one Sunday without a lecture from Dad. I remember wondering if anything noisy or potentially trouble-causing could happen and foresaw no indication of impending disaster. Assured I was safe while Liz amused herself, I concentrated on my fan flirting. I knew the boy downstairs was interested in me when the pink tip of his tongue slid across his lower lip. Feeling flushed, I uncrossed then re-crossed my legs and fanned myself even faster. The heat and the sexual tension were palpable.
The minister quoted from a passage declaring that our sins would be revealed. He proclaimed what was done in the dark would be exposed in the light. A dazzling sunbeam suddenly pierced the stained glass windows and fell directly on Old Lady Deskins. Simultaneously Liz swung her leg and one of her shoes came off. The red Buster Brown sailed over the balcony and struck Miss Deskins on the head, waking her up. As she rubbed her head it was apparent that all two hundred worshippers were staring in her direction. The sunbeam had drawn their attention but once the shoe fell down from heaven, well, it was evident to all that this was a sign from God. A murmur spread through the normally silent congregation.
My father glowered at us from the choir loft. Mom rifled in her purse to retrieve her inhaler, suffering an asthma attack trying to keep from laughing. As news of the miracle spread throughout the choir loft, I could see each individual's face reacting. Dad was clearly furious but Mom and most of the choir members were amused. After I realized the choir found it funny, I too saw the humor in the situation and began to giggle. Giggles soon became laughter. Dad continued to glower. Desperate to contain my laughing, it seemed the harder I tried to stop the more impossible it became. Soon tears streamed down my face as I gasped for air trying to compose myself.
The minister continued droning on. A crimson-faced Miss Deskins held a red Buster Brown shoe in one hand and felt her head with the other. Mom’s inhaler wasn’t helping; she coughed violently and her face turned a dusky shade of blue. A blood vessel on Dad’s forehead pulsed so hard I could see it from the balcony. Miss Deskins craned side to side intent on identifying who’d hit her with the shoe.
Liz bobbed over the balcony rail like a child’s toy bird bending for a sip of water. Her lacy pink panties showed each time she leaned forward. I lunged to keep her from falling over the railing and jerked the hem of her skirt down to cover her bottom. Once she was safely back in the pew and aching from laugh-crying, I clutched my chest and rocked in my seat. An old man with a full Friar Tuck sitting nearby must have thought I was having a fit. He took it upon himself to slip downstairs and call for an ambulance.
Usually so much as a whisper or the accidental rattling of a bulletin drew disapproving glances but this was a singular event and the whole congregation was abuzz. People twisted in their seats, turning to look around or speak to their neighbors. Some pointed at the stained glass window or the balcony or even toward Heaven. With their mothers distracted, several small children broke away and raced around the sanctuary.
Soon two men in white uniforms arrived and wandered around the sanctuary with a stretcher, seeking casualties. Nonplused, Reverend Laney abandoned his sermon and stood slack-jawed, gazing around the church.
It was now a disaster of biblical proportion.
The old man who’d called the paramedics directed them to the balcony. I waved them off and pointed to Mom in the choir loft. Her face was dusky and it looked like she might stop breathing at any moment. The paramedics clomped down the stairs and jogged to the choir loft where they strapped Mom to their stretcher and administered oxygen. Slowly, her color returned to normal.
Reverend Laney folded his notes and dismissed the congregation. No one was paying attention to him anyway. Liz broke away and galumphed down to the first floor to search for her shoe. For a moment I considered blocking the balcony door with a pew rather than going downstairs and facing Dad’s wrath. The man who’d called the ambulance returned. He gallantly held my arm and led me down the stairs so the barricade option was lost.
Damage control became my highest priority. I grabbed Liz and we wove through the milling crowd of excited church members to search for Miss Deskins. When I saw the boy I’d been flirting with my cheeks burned like they were on fire. We looked away from each other and didn’t speak. Mortified, I never flirted with him again, and eventually his family moved away.
When we found Miss Deskins, she had a golf ball-sized flesh-colored lump on the top of her head. Her sparse lilac hair had parted to make for the bump. She glanced down and saw Liz’s sock foot. Miss Deskins brandished the shoe at Liz and the minks on her stole jiggled with each wag of her hand. Fascinated, Liz gaped at the dancing minks and ignored Miss Deskins.
Old Purple Hair Lumpy Head Miss Deskins insisted on an apology. Elizabeth refused to apologize, insisting "I didn’t do it on purpose so I don’t have to apologize.”
Thank God, Dad was still occupied with Mom and the ambulance crew.
The Buster Brown shoe standoff ended once I explained the situation, apologized, and pledged my first-born child to the old woman. Miss Deskins relinquished the shoe with a haughty admonition to be more careful in the future. Liz and I escaped without reciting our times tables. My sister stared at the glassy-eyed minks while I buckled her Buster Brown shoe.
Soon after, our parents collected us. Not a word was spoken during the long drive home. Dad disappeared into his workshop. Mom suggested we stay in our rooms until dinner. We took her advice.
We ate our dinner in an unaccustomed and eerie silence. After dinner Dad and Mom called a family meeting. Instead of chewing us out as usual, Dad explained that Miss Deskins was a harsh, judgmental person and he felt the incident may have been God's way of humbling her. He cautioned us to keep our shoes buckled in the future and dismissed us from the table.
Dad never mentioned the incident again.
To this day, I keep my shoes on when I’m in church. No matter how they pinch. I still shudder when I see a mink stole but I’m always ready to recite my multiplication tables.
A Sign From God
My sister Liz was brain-damaged at birth and never grasped the subtleties of social behavior. She picked her nose or dug around in the seat of her pants with as much enthusiasm as plump Mrs. Johnson sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” It was as likely that Liz would stand on her head with a huge grin demanding old Mr. Buckalew tell her what color her panties were as it was that musty old men would pass the collection plate right before the doxology was sung.
Though our family never figured out a pattern to her obnoxious behavior, we all knew she’d do something shocking before church was over.
I was assigned to keep her in the balcony and preserve what little social status our family retained after nine years of… Liz. Sometimes I’d give her a pen and she’d doodle on the back of the church bulletin until she got bored. If I didn’t watch, she’d cram the paper in her mouth and choke trying to swallow it. Then I had a situation on my hands trying to quiet down her gagging and convince her to stop moaning. Other times she’d get enthralled by the motion of her legs swinging. She’d stare at her legs and swing them faster and faster until she kicked either the bottom of the pew or the wooden railing of the balcony. Occasionally she’d burst into spontaneous song. You haven’t lived until you’re in the middle of a solemn Presbyterian church service and your sister belts out a monotone rendition of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” Liz definitely was a show stopper.
Dad chewed us out after every incident. His lectures were infamous in our neighborhood. The same tenor voice that rose above the choir singing praise to Our Father in Heaven screeched blasphemous oaths and berated us children or Mom when Dad was displeased. He was often displeased. As other families sat down to an enjoyable Sunday meal, ours stood quaking in fear from Dad’s vehemently delivered post-church sermon. He’d outline our shortcomings, berate me for failing to keep Liz under control, and despair of ever gaining his rightful status as lord of the Hamilton manor. Eventually he’d wind down and we’d all escape to our bedrooms for the afternoon.
Mom and Dad sat in the choir loft directly across from the balcony where they could cast an evil eye when Liz got too far out of control. Because we sat in the balcony most of the congregation missed the “What will Liz do this week?” show, but the few brave souls who sat behind us enjoyed a circus the rest never knew existed.
It was early in September the day that God gave the congregation a sign. Liz wore her new red Buster Brown shoes. Bought just the afternoon before, there hadn’t been time for Dad to carry out his new shoe ritual. Dad liked to buy leather shoes a little small, then soak and stretch them for "a custom fit." He believed this was better than our shoes slipping and eating our heels.
Liz was fairly quiet this particular Sunday. She seemed mesmerized by how her feet looked in her new shoes. I relaxed my usual vigilance and let my attention wander.
The church wan’t air-conditioned. The sanctuary was muggy and the balcony was stifling. Noonday sun poured through stained glass windows, happy to be in its Father’s house. I made a fan from my bulletin. It created a tiny sultry breeze as I moved it back and forth.
The back of the heads in the main congregation looked like they always did. Most of the older ladies wore pillbox hats which sported various bizarre feather or flower arrangements. The only difference from one old man’s head to the next was the amount of baldness and whether it was a Friar Tuck or a futile attempt at a comb-over.
Old Miss Deskins was sound asleep in the main congregation, her mink stole hanging limp around her shoulders. I figured the heat had gotten to her and I envied her ability to escape the boring sermon by falling asleep. She’d taught elementary school for thirty-five years and was the bane of the local children. Like most of the old ladies at church, she had horehound candy breath and smelled of mothballs. The difference was that once Miss Deskins had you within arm’s reach, she’d imperiously demand that you recite the entire multiplication table before she excused you.
A golden-haired teen boy and his family had recently moved into town from out west. I searched the crowd and found him sitting in a side pew. Somehow I caught his eye and we began a coy exchange of shy grins and fake indifference. I flirted with him from behind my fan. He made one too, and we played peek-a-boo with our bulletin fans.
I glanced at my sister. Liz had unbuckled her shoes and was busy twirling her brown pigtails and swinging her right leg. For once she wasn’t causing a ruckus and I looked forward to one Sunday without a lecture from Dad. I remember wondering if anything noisy or potentially trouble-causing could happen and foresaw no indication of impending disaster. Assured I was safe while Liz amused herself, I concentrated on my fan flirting. I knew the boy downstairs was interested in me when the pink tip of his tongue slid across his lower lip. Feeling flushed, I uncrossed then re-crossed my legs and fanned myself even faster. The heat and the sexual tension were palpable.
The minister quoted from a passage declaring that our sins would be revealed. He proclaimed what was done in the dark would be exposed in the light. A dazzling sunbeam suddenly pierced the stained glass windows and fell directly on Old Lady Deskins. Simultaneously Liz swung her leg and one of her shoes came off. The red Buster Brown sailed over the balcony and struck Miss Deskins on the head, waking her up. As she rubbed her head it was apparent that all two hundred worshippers were staring in her direction. The sunbeam had drawn their attention but once the shoe fell down from heaven, well, it was evident to all that this was a sign from God. A murmur spread through the normally silent congregation.
My father glowered at us from the choir loft. Mom rifled in her purse to retrieve her inhaler, suffering an asthma attack trying to keep from laughing. As news of the miracle spread throughout the choir loft, I could see each individual's face reacting. Dad was clearly furious but Mom and most of the choir members were amused. After I realized the choir found it funny, I too saw the humor in the situation and began to giggle. Giggles soon became laughter. Dad continued to glower. Desperate to contain my laughing, it seemed the harder I tried to stop the more impossible it became. Soon tears streamed down my face as I gasped for air trying to compose myself.
The minister continued droning on. A crimson-faced Miss Deskins held a red Buster Brown shoe in one hand and felt her head with the other. Mom’s inhaler wasn’t helping; she coughed violently and her face turned a dusky shade of blue. A blood vessel on Dad’s forehead pulsed so hard I could see it from the balcony. Miss Deskins craned side to side intent on identifying who’d hit her with the shoe.
Liz bobbed over the balcony rail like a child’s toy bird bending for a sip of water. Her lacy pink panties showed each time she leaned forward. I lunged to keep her from falling over the railing and jerked the hem of her skirt down to cover her bottom. Once she was safely back in the pew and aching from laugh-crying, I clutched my chest and rocked in my seat. An old man with a full Friar Tuck sitting nearby must have thought I was having a fit. He took it upon himself to slip downstairs and call for an ambulance.
Usually so much as a whisper or the accidental rattling of a bulletin drew disapproving glances but this was a singular event and the whole congregation was abuzz. People twisted in their seats, turning to look around or speak to their neighbors. Some pointed at the stained glass window or the balcony or even toward Heaven. With their mothers distracted, several small children broke away and raced around the sanctuary.
Soon two men in white uniforms arrived and wandered around the sanctuary with a stretcher, seeking casualties. Nonplused, Reverend Laney abandoned his sermon and stood slack-jawed, gazing around the church.
It was now a disaster of biblical proportion.
The old man who’d called the paramedics directed them to the balcony. I waved them off and pointed to Mom in the choir loft. Her face was dusky and it looked like she might stop breathing at any moment. The paramedics clomped down the stairs and jogged to the choir loft where they strapped Mom to their stretcher and administered oxygen. Slowly, her color returned to normal.
Reverend Laney folded his notes and dismissed the congregation. No one was paying attention to him anyway. Liz broke away and galumphed down to the first floor to search for her shoe. For a moment I considered blocking the balcony door with a pew rather than going downstairs and facing Dad’s wrath. The man who’d called the ambulance returned. He gallantly held my arm and led me down the stairs so the barricade option was lost.
Damage control became my highest priority. I grabbed Liz and we wove through the milling crowd of excited church members to search for Miss Deskins. When I saw the boy I’d been flirting with my cheeks burned like they were on fire. We looked away from each other and didn’t speak. Mortified, I never flirted with him again, and eventually his family moved away.
When we found Miss Deskins, she had a golf ball-sized flesh-colored lump on the top of her head. Her sparse lilac hair had parted to make for the bump. She glanced down and saw Liz’s sock foot. Miss Deskins brandished the shoe at Liz and the minks on her stole jiggled with each wag of her hand. Fascinated, Liz gaped at the dancing minks and ignored Miss Deskins.
Old Purple Hair Lumpy Head Miss Deskins insisted on an apology. Elizabeth refused to apologize, insisting "I didn’t do it on purpose so I don’t have to apologize.”
Thank God, Dad was still occupied with Mom and the ambulance crew.
The Buster Brown shoe standoff ended once I explained the situation, apologized, and pledged my first-born child to the old woman. Miss Deskins relinquished the shoe with a haughty admonition to be more careful in the future. Liz and I escaped without reciting our times tables. My sister stared at the glassy-eyed minks while I buckled her Buster Brown shoe.
Soon after, our parents collected us. Not a word was spoken during the long drive home. Dad disappeared into his workshop. Mom suggested we stay in our rooms until dinner. We took her advice.
We ate our dinner in an unaccustomed and eerie silence. After dinner Dad and Mom called a family meeting. Instead of chewing us out as usual, Dad explained that Miss Deskins was a harsh, judgmental person and he felt the incident may have been God's way of humbling her. He cautioned us to keep our shoes buckled in the future and dismissed us from the table.
Dad never mentioned the incident again.
To this day, I keep my shoes on when I’m in church. No matter how they pinch. I still shudder when I see a mink stole but I’m always ready to recite my multiplication tables.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Mwaoh to Katie Weekley!!
Thanks, Katie *blows kiss* for identifying the problem with the spacing on my blog. I went back to June's posts and discovered the announcement of Tim Nichols's new book had a LONG underline separating my post and his press release.
I took that line out, and voilah! All better now.
I took that line out, and voilah! All better now.
Displaced Links, H. E. Eigler, & Throw Paper Game
My links are showing up WAY down the blog. Apparently they've been hiding down there for quite some time and I was oblivious to it. Now I'm noticed it and it's driving me nuts but I don't know how to fix it. If you're blog-savvy, drop me a note and explain how I can fix it, please.
I added a link to H. E. Eigler's blog,
Phantom Keyboard. She's a sweet gal and a good writer. Keep an eye out for her name -- it'll definitely show up more and more in the future.
Here's a link to a silly game Throw Paper. Some might say it's a waste of time. I enjoy playing mindless games sometimes; I think it helps my muse. I got an 11 score my first time out.
I added a link to H. E. Eigler's blog,
Phantom Keyboard. She's a sweet gal and a good writer. Keep an eye out for her name -- it'll definitely show up more and more in the future.
Here's a link to a silly game Throw Paper. Some might say it's a waste of time. I enjoy playing mindless games sometimes; I think it helps my muse. I got an 11 score my first time out.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Dead Mule School of Southern Literature's Back Online!
I was happy to see Val MacEwan's Dead Mule School is back online after a server switchover. I read and enjoyed Gerard Smith's "Hummingbird" poem while I was wandering the halls.
Go read the decidedly nonfiction story, Grandma Loved Ducks. When you first get there, you'll see my Southern legitimacy statement. To read the story, click on the blue title.
Hope you enjoy! Thank God, my hair's long since grown out...
Go read the decidedly nonfiction story, Grandma Loved Ducks. When you first get there, you'll see my Southern legitimacy statement. To read the story, click on the blue title.
Hope you enjoy! Thank God, my hair's long since grown out...
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
"Don't Quit"
When I was a child, at the top of our stairs was a plaque with a poem called "Don't Quit." As I recall, the plaque was made of brass with black enamel lettering. I used to say the poem as fast as I could, trying to say the whole thing before I reached the fourteenth (and final) step. The author's name was listed on the plaque, but all I can recall is Edgar or Edward. Today I GOOGLEd to learn his name, but the poem is attributed to "Anonymous" or "Unknown" on every site I looked at.
People often ask me how I've endured all the experiences I've had. I usually tell them "you do what you have to do." Now I'm thinking this poem had a profound impact on my way of thinking and looking at life. I hope it influences you in a positive way. -- Ginger
"Don't Quit"
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about,
When you might have won, had you stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far.
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worse that you must not quit!
People often ask me how I've endured all the experiences I've had. I usually tell them "you do what you have to do." Now I'm thinking this poem had a profound impact on my way of thinking and looking at life. I hope it influences you in a positive way. -- Ginger
"Don't Quit"
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about,
When you might have won, had you stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far.
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worse that you must not quit!
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