From The Arbor Memorial Day Musings
I let the May issue get by without mentioning Mother's Day, so I'll let this article honor both my mommas and my daddies. I use the plural, because my in-laws, Ralph and Opal Graham of the Hurricane, MS community, have also been Momma and Daddy to me for over forty-two years. My biological momma went to a better place nine years ago, and daddy died in an automobile wreck when I was twelve. But Ralph and Opal have been a momma and a daddy to me as long as I have known them. They have loved me and done for me like I was their own son. Opal always cooks my favorite foods. Ralph laughs at my funny stories. No one else I know is blessed with a more caring wife than my Mimi. She takes care of me with the same care she did and still does for our children. She even trims my toe nails. Sergeant Eugene T. Stone told us in USAF boot camp there would never be another Mother's Day go by that we didn't think of him. He was right. My real momma raised us five children after our daddy died. She didn't have time or money to do more than give us food on the table, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads. But she made do and raised all of us to be responsible citizens and Christians with our own families. She didn't allow any complaining, saying we had it good compared to how she and daddy had it growing up in the Great Depression. She was right. Daddy was a traveling salesman and only home on weekends most of the time. I remember him taking us fishing a couple of times, but mostly I remember us going to church services every time the church door was open and him leading the singing. And, I dimly remember him rocking us children to sleep singing old hymns. Momma did, too. I clearly remember her singing us to sleep with "Heavenly Sunlight" and "Bringing InThe Sheaves." My other momma and daddy, Mimi's parents, added another wonderful aspect to my life. They believe in and teach responsibility, too, but in a nurturing way. I wouldn't trade my upbringing for the world, but I also wouldn't trade the love and nurturing I learned from Mimi and her parents. This family can all talk to each other about anything. My grown children still talk with their momma almost every day. Ralph taught me many things and let me experience many things I otherwise would have never known much about, from gardening, to hunting, fishing, baling hay, feeding calves, killing and cleaning hogs, and working hard even when you don't feel like it. I have been richly blessed with all my mommas and daddies sharing their love for God and Jesus Christ our Savior. What a glorious blessing. Let’s not forget our men and women in the armed forces who are not able to be with their families for either Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. I have always thought there was some sort of subtle planning in having Mothers Day first. That way they can out do us on Father’s Day and gloat, well just a little. I heard an interesting story from Mr. Mark Petteway of the Cherry Creek community near Ecru. Many years ago his father-in-law gave him an old stable with bodock wood posts. When he was moving it and pulling the posts out of the ground, he felt a mushy place. It was a hand size piece of bark. When it slipped off, there was a small area of green under the bark. He said those posts were at least forty years old when he pulled them out of ground. This is another amazing story about the durability of bodock wood. I trust you will be delighted with this month's edition of the Bodock Post with its humor, parental tributes, and remembrances of times long past. Hopefully you will be inspired to share your memories with us for a later edition and our stories will last as long as Mr. Petteway's bodock posts. Note: From The Arbor is a regular feature of our newsletter from which our Editor of the Month introduces each issue, season, or theme, as the case may be. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Pontotoc Imprints Hospitality And Work Ethic
I came to Pontotoc with a group of students from my university, the University of Illinois at Chicago, and we were joined by a group from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC). We stayed at By Faith Baptist Church, where we were fed delicious southern suppers by kind local churches. I stayed up every night with the kids from UIUC to play various games, such as "Catchphrase!" (Think of a verbal version of charades.) and sometimes hide-and-seek. We had a hilarious and awkward moment on our last night in Pontotoc when we invited Wayne and Barbara Carter, the head of Pontotoc County’s Habitat for Humanity organization, to play "Catchphrase!" with us. One of the kids from UIUC drew the phrase "one night stand" and had to explain it to the audience, which she did as "when you have sex with someone and never see them again." You can imagine the look on the faces of the Carters who have been married for more than forty years. We came to Pontotoc to work with Habitat for Humanity of Pontotoc County on a house in the Circle of Hope. I spent my first two days at the worksite digging a ditch to connect the house’s sewage pipes to the city’s lines. It was my first experience with a pickaxe but I’d like to think I mastered it. I was helped by the great field generals assembled by Mrs. Carter on the worksite. I can not say enough positive things about the people who oversee volunteers down there. There was Bill Eubanks, who taught me how to use the pickaxe. When I first started to work he walked over to me, asked to use my pickaxe and dug deep into the ground with no visible effort. The first time he did it I scratched the back of my head and gave him the most baffled look I have. Bill is 75 years old, wears big goofy glasses and has a supporter for his back. How on Earth does he dig with metronome-like efficiency? His story is one that recurs over and over in Pontotoc County Habitat for Humanity. Keith Thomas is 70 years old, six feet tall, and, truth be told, on the heavier side of the scale. He worked every day we were there and mostly busied himself with the foundations of the house, and his duties included sawing boards and two-by-fours then nailing them down with us. But, at one point he went outside to the hole we had dug and walked in to figure out the best way to saw the pipe. When he came out, I offered him my hand and pulled him up. Afterward I laughed and said, "You know, you’re much bigger than I am. It was likelier that I’d fall on you than that you’d fall and need me to pull you up." He just looked at me and said, "Well, I’d catch ‘ya if you fell." Everybody’s so matter-of-fact in Mississippi, and it’s a breath of fresh air for someone used to obfuscation! There were two other people who worked with us students that deserve to be mentioned. Rachel Walker was always there, right at the morning, with her trusty red pickup truck and endless energy. She amazed each and every one of us because (no disrespect intended) she is not a particularly young woman but has more energy than just about every college student who came to Pontotoc. I had the opportunity to talk to her a couple of times as we picked materials up around town or worked on the house and she was wonderful to work with and know. Finally there was Ken Corley, a retired Methodist minister, who volunteered with us a couple of times and made a bunch of good jokes. On my third and fourth days there he helped me nail the structure of the roof down and held the ladder for me, which was very helpful of him and much appreciated. I came to Pontotoc to build a house. I left having made friends with the students I worked with and the adults who supervised us. I loved Pontotoc immediately, not just because it has long stretches of trees and space so that you can spend a moment by yourself but because the people there are all helpful and kind. I’d like to think we did as much as we could have done in the four days we spent working there. And, I shall return. ~ By Gregory Pratt, Guest Contributor Biographical Sketch: Gregory Pratt, a college student at the University of Illinois at Chicago is majoring in history and political science. He writes for numerous publications, including the Chicago Flame student newspaper and a baseball website called Baseball Evolution. You can reach him at GregoryRoyalPratt@gmail.com
Father’s Day Generous And Loving Dad
He knew most folks in town and in the county. About twenty-five years of students who graduated from Pontotoc High School knew "Pa Jones." Although he hardly ever could call the pupils real name, he loved them still and called them Tom, Bill, and Susie when they met on campus. Most students were endeared to him for the work he did maintaining the buildings and grounds and from the times he drove their school bus. Many remember the boxes of apples and oranges he had sitting on the floor of the school bus that last day of school before Christmas time, giving each student a treat before they left his bus. He wanted to make sure each had at least one gift for Christmas. That, no doubt, was a hold over from his childhood when times were much harder and gifts were less plentiful. Holidays did not score very highly with Dad. When asked what he would like for a particular holiday, he would say that if everyone was "well and happy" that was enough for him. Although he would accept your gift like a real gentleman, many times they were left unused on the shelf in his closet. It always seemed that he would rather give you a present than to receive one himself. A simple man to the core, he never put on "airs" or tried to be someone he was not. He would never try to impress you. Get in a tight, however, and he was one of the first to help. If the fire siren sounded he dropped whatever he was doing and rushed to the scene to put your well-being ahead of his own. One of the few times I ever heard him be critical, was when the Stock Yard (Auction Barn) there on Liberty Street burned. He was critical of himself for not taking an ax to the fire to remove fences and let the stock out of harm’s way. You did not leave Dad’s house empty-handed. If you did not have a sack or basket he would furnish it and then fill it with garden fresh vegetables, canned fruit, and/or frozen foods he and mom had prepared. They felt hurt if you did not partake of their "bounty." Dad had come up from very humble beginnings. He grew up in a large family of thirteen kids, they were "dirt pore" farmers, and the great depression was going on during much of that time. He and my mother got married in 1930, smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression. "Things" never were a priority in his life to say the least. During all his days, working and staying healthy enough to work and make a living for the family was his priority. His idea of a good "Father’s Day" was when we came to visit with all six of our children. He loved to be with them and to do things for them. He built them a good tree house, way up in a giant oak tree; it even had a window and door with a sturdy ladder to climb. After my grandparents died, the little house they lived in was converted into a playhouse for the kids. He made sure there were plenty of toys there, even a new bicycle. They made sure the place was clean, safe and a pleasant place to play. This was his kind of "Father’s Day," a day where he could give; not get. After his home-going, as we cleaned out their house, there were many gifts still unused. Even after his passing I could not throw them away, so I did what I thought he would do; donate them to the needy. He was still giving even after death. As I think of Dad, I remember how frugal he was with everything. He purchased good tools, used them carefully till they broke, repaired them, and used them until they wore out. When the school would declare one of the large "Yazoo Lawn Mowers" worn out, he would take it, salvage the useable parts and with parts from several other previously discarded mowers, make a "new" mower. He did not believe in throwing useable stuff away. He was a Christian and very faithful to his church, First Baptist Church. "Perfect Attendance" was his middle name at Sunday School. The church secretary told me that if they dismissed services because of ice and snow, they would always call him on the phone. She said, "Mr. Jones will be here unless we tell him there is no service." Yes, he would load that old brown and white Chevy pick-up with cordwood, put on a set of chains and he’d be there in the church’s parking lot at the allotted time if someone did not call. Was he a perfect man? No! But to a little red-headed freckled faced boy, and now an old gray headed man, he came mighty close. He was generous to a fault. He was hard to out give. Mr. R. G. LeTourneau a Christian businessman who gave ninety percent of his income to his church said that it pays to give to the Lord. He said we use a shovel to give; the Lord uses a (corn) scoop to return the blessing. In many ways, Dad was like that; he used a scoop also. ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Caregivers The Challenges Of Aging In my family, Barbara and I have dealt with relatives, hers and mine, who were residents of nursing homes. My mom’s baby sister died early last year after spending several years being cared for by others. She was unhappy with her existence and lived in pain for most of her last few years. Having witnessed what she went through, I’ve come to believe it’s better to live out ones days with little or no mind than to have good mental faculties and be in miserable health. As sad as it is to see my mother-in-law, whose ability to converse with us has long been lost to the ravages of Alzheimer’s/ dementia, struggle to express herself in largely unintelligible speech, I still believe her inability to understand what’s happening in her life has its advantages as opposed to having a good mind trapped inside a body wracked with pain. Recently my wife chronicled in journal form the passing of her brother and a niece within the span of one year and the guilt she felt for not sharing the news of either death with her mother. However, the Caregivers Support Group we attend provides an outlet for her emotions. This was her journal entry, "This is a time of therapy. I can share about my feelings regarding the deaths of my brother and my niece, and the fact that I feel I am betraying my Mom in not telling her about their deaths. I choose to think that I am just saving a surprise for Mom for when she gets to Heaven. She won’t be expecting to see them there." When I read the last sentence, I burst into laughter. "I don’t think you meant this the way it sounds," I hee-hawed, and then read the paragraph back to her. "It sounds like your mom didn’t think either of them would be in Heaven, though I’m sure you meant that she would be surprised they got there before she did." She agreed, and we laughed together. Caregivers already have plenty of experiences that provoke tears. The remainder of this article has already been shared in The Pontotoc Progress, my hometown’s weekly newspaper, in an effort to inform residents of Pontotoc and Pontotoc County who are caring for family members or relatives that a support group for caregivers is alive and well in Pontotoc. I wrote it upon the encouragement of my wife and another member of our caregivers group who believe many in our community could benefit from the monthly meetings. If you are a caregiver and there’s no support group in your community and you desire information on forming one, feel free to contact me or my wife at editor@bodockpost.com. As the average life expectancy in the U.S. continues to increase, many individuals are thrust into a new if not unexpected role, that of being the primary caregiver for a loved one. We can thank medical advances and our health care system for enabling us to live longer, but we aren’t sure who or what to blame for the increased number of people with mental impairment associated with dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease. As the generation of Baby Boomers retires, more long-term care facilities will be needed. Most of us would rather live out our lives in homes of our own choosing, but circumstances often dictate long-term health care in housing we now call extended care facilities or assisted living environments, because these terms sound more delicate than "nursing homes." Some of us haven’t retired, yet, but already we find ourselves caring for an aging parent or relative in what seems a cruel reversal of roles and responsibilities. And, in some cases, the person in need of care is our spouse. Caregiving involves helping meet physical needs as well as mental ones, however mild or severe. Accepting the role of caregiver is a challenge. Even in families with several siblings, the role typically falls to a single individual. The emotional aspect of being a caregiver is burdensome, at best. It seems unfair that other family members should shirk their responsibility to help in caregiving, but rarely does the primary caregiver receive support from within his or her family. Emotional support for a caregiver is most often found in the setting of a support group. Sadly, many who might benefit from a support group either do not know there is one in their area or else feel attending would be seen by others as an admission of weakness or failure. When caring for a loved one at home, family issues and the scheduling of a sitter are often problems that prevent the caregiver from attending a support group meeting. Several years ago a concerned church member and the pastor of First Baptist Church, Pontotoc, formed the Caregivers’ Support Group that meets the fourth Sunday of every month in the fellowship hall of the church. The group welcomes caregivers outside of the membership of First Baptist Church. Life has some struggles that can only be faced by the individual confronting them, but the struggle of caregiving does not have to be one of these. Help is available, as any of the several members of the Caregivers’ Support Group will happily testify. In fact, members of the group say it’s therapeutic for them to attend the monthly meetings. Laughter or tears during the meetings is not uncommon. The Caregivers’ Support Group recognizes it cannot eliminate the challenge of being a caregiver, but it is willing to help individuals address the challenges and instill a sense of hope through prayer and the shared experiences of others. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor . HFH Gardening Try It You Might Like It We all stay too busy. I keep telling my wife Mimi I am going to cut back on some of my outside projects and spend more time on home chores. She said mowing the yard more often would be nice. One of those projects I am not planning to stop doing is the Master Gardener volunteer landscaping work for Habitat for Humanity. It truly is more blessed to give than to receive, and I receive a lot more than I put into it. Some of these blessing from this project are: I get to work with people like Tom, my manager at work, the FedEx Construction Project Leader, and Jimmy and Jeff, the Master Gardener Landscaping Project Leaders. They have hearts of gold, are tireless workers, and an encouragement to everyone around them. You can't outwork them and will feel the joy of giving back to society that radiates from them. I've heard the criticism of this project, but the Good Book reminds us we all want mercy and not the justice we deserve. This is the hard earned second chance for some citizens to get a leg up on life, and there's a blessing doing something for someone else with nothing expected in return. Another blessing is the good feeling you get from doing hard work. That ache is a good one. And, the iced tea is tastier, and the rest is so much sweeter in your own recliner afterwards. Mimi says the rest would be even sweeter if I took a shower first. There also is the blessing of the satisfaction of accomplishing an objective completely and correctly. We start with an almost blank slate and leave well-landscaped flower beds and a lawn filled with plants and promise.
Another blessing is the educational value: essentially a full demonstration
of all the basics. First, there has to be a plan; a team must be organized;
and tools and refreshments
and necessary facilities provided. Then the right plants must be selected and obtained. The scraped lot has to be cleaned, and often we remove a pickup truck load of rocks, glass, and other debris. Then we scratch the ground, cover it with a little sand, and lay the sod (green side up). For the flower beds we break the surface which sometimes is a hard pan. Then we till it, apply a thick layer of amendment and some fertilizer, then till that in until we have nice tilth. Next, we lay the plants out where we want them to be - after the differences of opinion on that are resolved. The total number of opinions is equal to the number of gardeners present plus or minus one. Once the murmuring dies down, we dig the holes making sure they are well integrated in the beds and are not potholes, then plant the plants in the holes. One task I will not be a part of is planting monkey grass. I excuse myself and take a break. I know people who would never dream of getting a tattoo who will plant monkey grass, which is far harder to get rid of, or get shed of, as we say in the country. A few last tasks are applying a layer of mulch, watering everything, and cleaning up any mess we've made. That's almost a complete Master Gardener course in one half day. Try something outside your comfort zone, or as Gene, the head Master Gardener says: "Think outside the compost pile." Consider volunteering for one of these projects. If you live near Collierville, Tennessee, contact me or call the Habitat For Humanity office. We can always use help. Master Gardeners will be there to answer questions. You need only bring gloves, your own trowel, and a full supply of elbow grease. After the dedication ceremony, you will be taking home far more in your heart than you brought in your hands. ~ By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Editor
Parents - God’s Gift A Gardener's Perspective Aother’s day has past and I hope the Moms all had a good time and got lots of hugs from their children. My Mom passed away many years ago, so I just blow a kiss toward Heaven and know that she grabs it. I still have all the great memories. My Mom was my Mom, my best friend, and my big sister all rolled into one. Father’s day is coming up and I want to wish all the Dads a "Happy Father’s Day". My Dad is still here and lives in Pontotoc. His name is Roy Burress and is known affectionately as Pop to me and lil’ brother, and if you’ve been around Pontotoc for a long time, you have probably seen him around town in his old Toyota pick up with "Pop’s Toyota" on the tailgate. He bought it new and wore it out more than once. I painted it pearl white and personalized it for Father’s Day one year. I expect that we will gather for our usual Father’s Day Feasting again this year, and I look forward to it. I hope that you have all your planting done and/or replanting which ever the case may be. There has been a good bit of rain this year, and some crops could be late. I have a good stand of green beans, cucumbers, and my tomatoes and squash are blooming. Be sure and keep an eye for pests in the vegetable garden. The caterpillar cabbage loopers are on the hunt for cabbage, broccoli, and cauliflower plants to devour. If you see any, just pick them off and dispose of them. Then there is always Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Deer looking for something to nibble on. Deer and rabbit remedies are a collage of things, ranging from whirligigs to human hair to fox urine and some other assorted things. If you have a remedy for critter deterrent, drop me a note at colorsbytim@hotmail.com and I will share it with everyone else. I hope you have all your colorful annuals planted, because perennials are pretty year round, but those annuals really make the flower garden pop. Daylilies will be in bloom soon and they are some of my favorites in the garden. They stand proud like peacocks with all their color each morning as I tour the garden with my morning coffee. It’s a wonderful time of day; so peaceful, just me and my tour guide. Jesus is my personal tour guide each day, showing me all the fabulous colors and pleasant sounds of the garden that He has in my yard. Ain’t life wonderful! Then He sends me out into the world to work, why can’t I just stay at home in the garden. Any way, keep the grass mowed and the flower beds weeded and the flowers deadheaded so that they will keep producing more blooms. Share your garden with someone that doesn’t have one and put a smile on their face, it’s a wonderful feeling and I bet they will appreciate your kindness. See you next time and Happy Gardening ~ By Tim Burress, Regular Contributor Biographical Sketch: Tim Burress lives in New Albany, MS. He and wife, Janet, are avid gardeners. Tim writes "Gardening with Tim" which appears in the local paper.
Goodbye To Tigger All-American Cat
Of the many things my grandfather Phillips taught me was to never let an animal suffer. He was somewhat of a country veterinarian and treated many sick animals in the community of Randolph. His idea was to "doctor" an animal if there was hope for them, but put an animal down before you let it suffer, if there was no hope. I suppose he taught me well. It was so hard to approve the "cure" for Tigger but it was the right thing to do. Tigger was the pet of a young girl that lived in our neighborhood. The girl’s parents divorced during her adolescent years, and her father departed. The cat was well cared for by the girl, but when she went to visit her father; Tigger was put outside and not allowed back inside until the girl returned. The mother did not share the love that the daughter did and did little for the cat’s well being. On one of these occasions, Tigger ventured over to our house where one of our children gave him some food. That was all he needed to take us on as a second family. Each time the girl would leave, Tigger would make his way over to our house and stay until the girl returned. The girl learned where Tigger was staying and upon her return she would come knocking on our door and ask, "Is my Tigger over here?" She would collect him and they both left happy. However, as time went along we suppose the girl went off to college and Tigger stayed with us more and more. We think the mother remarried and they moved away leaving Tigger behind. He became our cat. He was a friendly guy that loved us as we loved him. He loved being outside much of the time and we gave him that privilege. Although there was little game for him to hunt, Tigger would bring us an occasional chipmunk or mole/vole and carefully leave it at our back door. His present to us! He was an enormous cat, large frame, and with plenty of meat on his bones. On occasions, it appeared that his belly would drag the floor. But he was quick for his size and a fierce fighter; the cats in the neighborhood gave him a wide berth. There was no pedigree attached to his name, just "All American Cat." He accepted most every human that came around and allowed them to pet him. The dog we had during part of this time, he only tolerated. He even allowed the dog, Miss Margaret, to share me. Rarely did I sit down when one or both of them were not vying for their spot with me. They did not fight, each had their own special place and that worked out well. Margaret lay against my left thigh and Tigger lay curled up in my lap, we all were happy. One of our children said, "We know all is well when we come to the back storm door and see dad snoozing on the sofa with Tigger asleep on his chest." Three of our grandchildren, Allen, Morgan and Parker, who spent much time with us, were very close to Tigger as well. We have many pictures of the kids with "their" cat, on the floor asleep, or dressed up in doll clothes, or asleep in a doll’s bed or their own bed. He was truly a team player and seemed to love each person he was near. Miss Margaret died some years ago at the age of fifteen and we buried her in the back yard with a head stone at her grave. Now, five or more years later Tigger has passed on at the age of twenty, his grave lies next to the other with a stone marker as well. We miss both of these our little friends. And although there is much speculation as to the possibility of pets in heaven, personally I happen to believe there will be some, if not many, animals there. Scripture tells us, "Now I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse. And He who sat on him was called Faithful, and True, … And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses…. (Revelation 19:11,14) By this, we know that some horses will be there. Animals played such an important roll in the Bible; it stands to reason that they were important to God. All the animals were rescued in the Ark during the flood. One colt carried Jesus into Jerusalem, one donkey spoke words of admonition, and others were used to help fulfill other part of the scripture. Possibly not every dog, cat, cow and pig will be there, but the ones that were special in God’s plan and to God’s people will be there to bring additional joy in heaven. Tigger and Miss Margaret will most certainly be there if my thinking is correct. Thank you Tigger! Thanks for making my life and the lives of our family fuller, happier, and more content! Thanks for loving us! Now, Rest in Peace my little friend! ~ By Ralph Jones, Managing Editor
Remembering Dad William Henry Carter 1909-1978 Though I often write of my parents as "Mom and Dad," or used the more formal terms, "Father and Mother," I never in their lifetimes addressed either of them by anything other than Mama (pronounced mom-ah) and Daddy. Their names were Henry and Frances, but only their friends and relatives spoke to them as such. We, their children, were taught to speak to them respectfully with "sir" and "ma’am," and when names were needed for communication, Daddy and Mama were sufficient. Dad was the breadwinner; Mom was the homemaker. Neither term is politically correct in the present, but that says more about the perversion of parental roles than it does about the era of my childhood. Because Dad worked long hours in the grocery business, I saw a lot less of him than I saw of Mom. Yet, he was a strong masculine influence in my life. I viewed him largely as a disciplinarian in my early years. While, Mom would grab a switch from time to time to handle one of her unruly children, she would occasionally issue a stay of execution, "Your punishment can wait until your father gets home." It was the dread of what might happen when Dad got home that later helped me appreciate a line from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, "Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never tastes of death but once," as I wasted a lot of hours worrying about what might be. I guess I got to know my dad, when at age thirteen he ushered me into the grocery business. It wasn’t long before he had me cutting meat, the old fashioned way, behind a service meat counter. As soon as I received a learner’s permit to drive a car, I became a delivery boy, also. In my youth, Dad taught me a valuable work ethic that I maintain to this day, namely, "A job worth doing is worth doing well." The example Dad set in taking me to church in my childhood was diminished during my teen years as he spent long hours on Saturday nights and a lot of Sunday mornings when the store was closed with his bookkeeping chores.
A good thirty years had passed so much of what Dad knew about the violin had been lost, but he was relentless in his pursuit to re-learn his skill. He experimented with improving the sound of the fiddle his parents had purchased for him in his youth. I guess one might say he fiddled with it. He would have fellow fiddlers and guitar-pickers over to our house on weekends to play and sing, and sometimes he’d invite me to go with him to a pickin’ at a friend’s home. Eventually, the music rubbed off on me. I became accomplished at chording the guitar, and leaned to play a few hymns, such as In The Sweet By And By, on the fiddle. In time, I came to appreciate the very music I had disdained for much of my life. Dad’s final years were painful ones as arthritis took its toll on the joints of his shoulders, elbows, and hands. Playing the violin was both painful and therapeutic for him. Heart disease resulted in Dad’s death a few months before his sixty-ninth birthday, but not before he had taken me to visit the graves of his parents and to explain how many cemetery plots were available for our family. It seemed a passing thought at the time we were there, but he also shared he was prepared to "meet my maker." Driving home from the hospital after Dad had died, I drew comfort from his casual remark in the cemetery, and I pictured him painlessly drawing his fiddle bow over celestial strings "in a land that is fairer than day." This Father’s Day, I’ll enjoy the accolades of my children, grandchildren, relatives, and friends, and I’ll spend part of that day being thankful for my Daddy. ~ By Wayne Carter, Associate Editor
Bubba Bodock Grandchildren On Grandparents We are unable to verify whether the following are truth or fiction, but we can certainly appreciate the humor of each.
1. She was in the bathroom, putting on her makeup, under the watchful eyes
of her young granddaughter, as she'd done many times before. After she applied
her lipstick and started to leave, the little one said, "But Gramma, you
forgot to kiss the toilet paper good-bye!" I will probably never put lipstick
on again without thinking about kissing the toilet paper good-bye....
8. When my grandson asked me how old I was, I teasingly replied, "I'm not
sure." "Look in your underwear, Grandpa," he advised, "mine says I'm 4 to
6."
Our Mission Purpose - The Bodock Post It is our desire to provide a monthly newsletter about rural living with photographs of yesterday and today, including timely articles about conservative politics, religion, food, restaurant reviews, gardening, humor, history, and non-fiction columns by folks steeped in our Southern lifestyle. Copyright © 2008 - 2009 The Bodock Post. Return to home page. Open This Issue with MS Word
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This morning my electronic
calendar popped up Daddy's birthday. He would have been 95 years young. Momma
would have been 97 in February, but she would not have liked me mentioning
that. Before you start figgerin’ my age, while I am the third of six
children, I was born just about when most families are done having new babies.
Seems WWII, that's the big one, delayed starting their family a bit.
I have lived in Chicago all of my
life except for a couple of months spent in the suburbs and half a year in
Tennessee when I was too young to know the difference between skyscrapers
and fire-ant hills. Despite this background, I looked forward to spending
my spring break in Pontotoc. I had a great time.
Not many days hence we will be observing
"Father’s Day," and rightly we should. If your father was like mine,
he was the grandest man I knew. He was everything a man and leader of the
family should be. It was "his way" to work and he expected it from me as
well. Strict? Yes! But he was fair in everything. He liked everyone he met
and they like him. If he ever had an enemy, no one ever knew of it.
It is with much sadness that we say farewell
to our long and faithful friend and companion, T - I - (double) grrrrrr -
R (Tigger). He was our beloved feline friend for many years and only in the
very recent days had he become almost incapacitated. He had wasted away to
almost skin and bones and would hardly eat. Upon examining him, our vet said
he could not do anything more. We sadly chose to have him put to sleep in
order to stop his suffering.
About the time I went off to college,
Dad took up his fiddle-playing for the second time in his life. I’d
return on weekends to see a frazzled-looking mother who would complain that
"Henry’s fiddling was running her crazy."
