The World in a Book

A couple of months ago when I was out of town, Encyclopedia Britannica announced that it was ceasing publication of their print edition after 244 years. I couldn’t help but think back to when we got our first encyclopedia at home. They were a 1961, or so edition of the World Book Encyclopedia. I was in heaven.

I remember saying something at school about looking things up in the World Book. One of my more affluent friends kind of sneered that he had the Encyclopedia Britannica. I remember thinking that it couldn’t possibly be any better than the World Book. Several years later, I was in the library and looked through a volume of the Britannica thinking, “I am glad I had my old trusty World Books instead of this. I could have never written all those reports at Dodge Elementary if I had to use this as a reference.” It may have been more scholarly that my trusty World Book, but at least I understood what I read in mine. Besides, Britannica was LEATHER BOUND. No one in my house would have let me touch a leather bound book of any kind until I was old enough to drive.

One of my best friends growing up had a set of grocery store encyclopedia (I don’t remember the name.) His Mom was buying them one volume at a time when she had the money and there was a featured volume available that they didn’t have. I assume that this is why he knew so little about topics, beginning with the letters J-K, N-O, and V-Z. Apparently, these volumes were never featured when there was extra cash in their household.

I really don’t remember the traveling salesman that sold the books to my mom. In fact, for all I know, we may have had a used set. I have no idea what that set cost my mother in the early 60’s. I am quite sure it was a lot of money to her, but he was willing to sacrifice so that her child could learn. They would be available to me at home, every day, all year long. It worked. From the day we first got them until I was grown, I remember going to the bookshelf to look up something and end up reading article after article. I do essentially the same thing today when I look up something on-line. It was my Google, Wikipedia, and CIA world fact book all rolled up and bound in cream and green fake leather with gold embossing on the cover.

I’m sure that the print encyclopedia business will soon be a thing of the past and all be gone shortly. Even though I have moved on and it has been years since I picked one up, I can’t help but be a little sad to see them go.

Grannies in a blanket

A few weeks ago, the leader of our church’s senior adult group, “Senior Friends” asked me about helping with a hayride for the group. He said, “My wife told me to ask for your help because if you helped, it would be fun; if I planned it by myself, it would be boring.”

I suspect that she may have suggested that he ask for my help, but I really doubt that she said anything about him planning a boring trip without me. He is a retiree who rides a motorcycle, for heaven’s sake. How could he be boring?

In any case, I gave him my thoughts and told him that I hoped they had a good time; I wouldn’t be there for it though.

The weekend before the hayride, he again asked me a few questions. I answered as best I could, but again wished him well and told him that I couldn’t (wouldn’t) be there.

A couple of days before the event, my wife casually mentioned that she had signed us up to bring soup to the “after the hayride” festivities. You could have heard a hay bale drop…… “Honey, didn’t I mention that I couldn’t be there?”

Well, as you can imagine, the night of the event was a beautiful, full moon-lit night, with temperatures hovering around a crisp 32° F. That’s cold enough that those who were actually crazy enough to get on the trailer wouldn’t admit to having been there.

They had borrowed a nice trailer from “Gully Branch” that was actually built for that purpose. It had a nice John Deere paint scheme and plenty of bench seating. It was even equipped with a slide out, walker-wide ramp so that the infirm (both of mind and body) could get on and off.

The way I heard it, the ride started with a bang. The driver pulled out with a trailer full of seniors, wrapped up in light jackets and a smattering of gloves, hats and blankets.

Living in the Deep South, I am not all that familiar with, nor have I ever had the need to understand, a wind chill chart. As best I can tell, with an ambient temperature of 32°F and a truck pulling a trailer at 35 MPH, frostbite is not a serious threat, but you would have a hard time convincing about 30 of my senior friends that it was not possible.

“Hey, Hey, Hey, Are you late for some appointment somewhere?” they shouted.
When the driver finally stopped, he asked, “Are you cold back there? I was only going 30-35!”

“We could fly a kite back here, if the wind-chill didn’t freeze and break the string!”

A whole nest of Grannies were all wrapped up in one blanket, shaking their heads.

After that, he held the speed down to 18-20, so the wind chill was only about 20°F. This made the next 100 yards, or so, NOT TOO BAD.

One couple was completely under their own blanket by the time they got to the next stop sign.

“What are you doing under that blanket, David?”

“Leave me alone, I’m smooching with my wife.”

“David, are you sure that that is Jan under there with you?”

“It’s too cold to come out and check, right now.”

By the time they got to the next stop sign, riders were saying, “Great, we can turn around here, and maybe we won’t all have pneumonia.”

It didn’t happen.

By this time, several folks were beginning to express concern that the driver and his wife were really missing all the fun that was happening on the trailer. At least 10 men volunteered to drive so that the driver and his wife could ride in the back where the “fun” was.

“This whole trip was their idea and they are missing all the fun.”
Really, this was a trailer full of caring, selfless people. (If I had been there, I might have cried.)

When a car pulled up behind the trailer, someone said, “Don’t look right at them. They might recognize us. We don’t want them to think that our church if full of idiots that would be out on a hayride on a night like tonight.”

Indeed.

They made it a full six miles before the threat of violence appeared, “turn around, get us back to the church and get us hot chocolate and no one gets hurt…”
Even though they were headed back, several were still not convinced that the driver was not lost. “Is he still looking for a place to turn around?”

“These are my best gloves and I still can’t feel my fingers.”

“Don’t touch my ears, they might fall off.”

And my personal favorite, “I can’t tell, is my nose running?”

This was an over 50 crowd, a group that, as a whole, is technology averse. I suspect that they will all have a better understanding of weather forecasting and wind chill before they get on a “Gully Branch” trailer at night again. The way I heard it, there were more than 30 “Senior Friends” out that night, but none would admit to actually being on that hay ride. I know that if I had been there, I probably wouldn’t admit it either.

Thanksgiving wishes

From Veteran’s Day until sometime in January when sheets and towels go on sale, life is really a blur at the Davis house. Probably yours too! Between dealing with leaves on the ground, decorating, shopping for gifts for your friends and loved ones, practicing for Christmas plays, Thanksgiving, office luncheons, church dinners and parties, and POSSIBLY watching just part of a football game or two, there doesn’t seem to be enough time to stop and smell the pumpkin pie.

In the middle of this blur, I think that it is important for us to stop and take a few minutes to think about what and who is important to us. Even more important, take the time to tell those special people that they important to you and how you appreciate them. Sending flowers after they’re gone will not be enough, trust me. It is much better to tell them while you are both living.

A friend once told me about a long-time friend of hers who had lost her husband. She took it very hard. It was almost a year before the two friends were able to talk about the loss. My friend asked, “What was the hardest part of losing your husband unexpectedly?”

She replied, “What I regret the most is the fact that the last time I saw him was when he left for work that morning he died, I was in such a hurry that I did not tell him I loved him. We always said ‘I love you’ each morning before he left. But that morning we were just too busy. I would give anything to be able to tell him that I love him, just one more time.”

Well, chances are that you will be around the very people that mean the most to you in the next few days. My challenge to you is to take just a few minutes to chat with each one and tell them how they are special to you. And if you love them, tell them! If they are not where you are, PICK UP THE PHONE!

Life expectancy is the longest it has ever been. But life is still too short to not take the time to smell the pumpkin pie, and laugh with family, and let them know what they mean to you. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving.

God told me to ask you…..

Yesterday we had our office Thanksgiving luncheon. The company furnishes the meat and drinks and the employees bring covered dishes. We have a couple of great folks that always volunteer to coordinate everything and pull it all together. They do a great job and it is always a hit.

The Thanksgiving menu discussion is always fun, especially if you have folks from different parts of the country. Do we have stuffing or dressing? (One participant insists that it is all dressing unless you dig it out of a turkey carcass.) Is it cornbread or bread in the dressing/stuffing; sweet potato or pumpkin pie? PEE-can or pe-CON pie? Is the turkey roasted, smoked or fried? (We actually had all three.)

When they finally settled on the menu and sent it out so we could volunteer for dishes, I decided to wait and see what was left on the list that no one wanted to bring. This is sometimes dangerous, at least for me. I could have ended up with a complicated dish and I would be stuck. Luckily, I was assigned to bring Cool Whip. I kinda felt like I had wimped out because there is not much effort or creativity in bringing cool whip, but what can you do?

On my way from home to work yesterday, I stopped by the trusty Piggly Wiggly to pick up my cool Whip. It was early, so I got a close parking place and there wasn’t even a line to check out.

As I walked out to my Jeep, a woman was getting out of her car halfway across the parking lot. She hollered across the parking lot, “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Don’t you want to buy a sweet potato pie?’

“You have pies?”

“I sure do!” and she proceeded to open the back door of her car, so I got into my Jeep and drove over beside her. She pulled out a big tray of warm, homemade 4-5” sweet potato pies.

“I was just over at the convenience store on the bypass. Those men on the bench out front said I should bring the rest of these to town.”

“They look good! How much are they?”

“Just $2 apiece.”

“I’ll take two.” I told her. “And how did you know I just bought Cool Whip?”
“I didn’t. God just told me to ask you if you wanted a sweet potato pie. What’s yo name, honey?”

After exchanging pies, money, names and pleasantries, I noticed the embroidery on her apron. It said Heavenly Pies.

Indeed.

Looking back, I should have given her a container of Cool Whip. I had two.

Veterans Day 2011

In honor of Veterans Day we had several things happen in our church this past Sunday. We viewed a Veterans Day tribute video which went from Pearl Harbor through Korea, Viet Nam and September 11th right to today with our troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. It was very moving. Our pastor then recognized all the veterans in attendance. I looked around at all these men and women who have served our country. Some served in wartime and other during peaceful times. Some of them were young, others, not so much. Some served briefly, others an entire career. I was struck by the fact that these men and women that were standing are pillars of our church and our community.

Even though I have worked in and around a large military industrial complex most of my working life and feel like I have as good an understanding of the military way as an outsider can have, I am still an outsider. I believe that there is no possible way for me to truly understand the sacrifice that many veterans gave because I did not go there. I am an outsider.

There are more than 22 million veterans in America. There are over 1.5 million veteran women, probably more than any time in our history. There are 3.3 million veterans with service related disabilities. On any given night, there are over 107,000 homeless veterans in America.

We celebrate Veterans Day on November 11th each year, a tradition going all the way back to the end of WW I. It was then called Armistice Day in honor of the end of hostilities on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. In his proclamation in 1919, President Woodrow Wilson said:

"To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country's service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations."

Please take a few minutes this Veterans Day to reflect on what the men and women who have served in our military have contributed to our security and freedom. Call or go see one just to say thanks for what they have done to make America the place where people still want to come. Most of us outsiders really have no idea what our freedom cost them.

Memorial Day

We lived life at a much slower pace when I was growing up on Chicken Road in rural north Dodge County. It was easy to tell where the Bleckley County line was on Chicken Road because the pavement ended when you got to Dodge County. It was really fun when it rained because you might get where you were going and you might not. Today, when people refer to getting in the ditch, it is a metaphor for something going wrong. Back then, it referred to driving on a slick rain-soaked road and quite literally, sliding in the ditch.

We didn’t eat out often and I really looked forward to going to Macon, maybe twice or three times a year. I remember one of the stores in downtown Macon had an elevator and there was an elevator operator that was always dressed up and operated the doors and the controls. It was probably Joseph N Neel’s, but I'm not sure. We’d always go to Sears, Newberry’s, Dannenberg’s, and I remember eating at Krystal or the lunch counter at Woolworth’s.

I remember going to Macon with my mama and her good friend Edna Scarborough. I must have been six or seven years old, I guess. We were in mama’s 1954 blue and white Ford. I remember this trip particularly because there was a parade while we were there. As the parade passed us, some of the entries threw candy. Ms Edna seemed to be getting more candy that the rest of us. She said several times, “Y’all don’t need to get any; I’ll have plenty to share.” She would pick up candy and put it in her pocket and as soon as she stood up, there would be more candy at her feet. As it turned out, we all got more candy than she because she was reaching through the pocket (of her all-weather coat,) and dropping the candy on the ground. She picked up the same 10 pieces of candy over and over.

In that parade were some military units, but there were also some old men dressed up in military uniforms that didn’t fit. They didn’t look like they could defend their rocking chair very well, much less America. Some of them were on crutches and some were missing arms. I asked Mama what those old men were doing in the parade. She explained that they were there to remind us of all the men and women who had made sacrifices to keep America free. I didn’t understand.

She said, “Billy, I’m talking about people like your uncle James.”

I understood. I never saw him in person because he died seven years before I was born. He was one of the first from Dodge County to Join the Navy after Pearl Harbor was attacked. One day this 22 year old was rolling in the floor, playing with his nephew and just a few days later he was a young man rolling in the mud at boot camp. One day he was a carefree brother trying to sort out what he will do with his life and just a few days later, he was a young man with purpose to fight and destroy a common enemy.

He didn’t die in combat, but he did give his life doing what men and women have done for more than 200 years. He was wearing the uniform with honor and a solemn promise to defend the United States of America.

I understood what those old men in the parade were trying to tell me. I had held the musty smelling, moth-eaten flag with 48 stars that draped James’s coffin when they brought him home and buried him at his parents’ feet in Bower’s Cemetery. I had read the letters that he sent his sister, and I had seen his pictures, both in and out of uniform. I saw what his loss did to his baby sister, my aunt Beck. She lived another 30 years, but started dying the day he did.

Uncle James didn’t make it to his 24th birthday. He never married, had children, found his first gray hair, or got to meet me. He gave all that up because he thought that the American way of life was threatened by those men far away and he needed to do his part to protect it.

He didn’t do anything that others before or since haven’t done. I just thought that this Memorial Day, I should introduce you to him by name. He and the thousands that he represents gave their all so that we could have the freedom that we enjoy every day. They deserve so much more.

Late Nights and Books on Texas

I wrote this over ten years ago during the week of Mother’s Day. I was a sick man and wasn’t sleeping well at the time. Reading through it today, I feel the same way as I did then. I hope that you have a wonderful Mother’s Day. bd

Last night as I was reading a pretty good book as everyone else in the house slept, I got to thinking about where my reading habit really began. I am sure that it was the fault of, or credit to my first grade teacher, Ms. Peacock. Now I know that I’m getting older and my memory is not what it used to be, but I remember her as a woman in her mid to late eighties and weighing at least three hundred pounds. She wore her hair in a knot, drank grapefruit juice out of those little cans through a straw (that always had lipstick on it.) She put on that really red lipstick using the back of her granddaddy’s pocket watch as a mirror. I remember someone asking her once why she drank that stuff, was it really that good? And she said that it helped her keep her weight down. We couldn’t imagine how big she must have been before she discovered this miracle juice.

At any rate, Ms. Peacock wrote on my report card at the end of the school year that my reading skills were weak and that my mama might want to work with me on it over the summer. Although Ms. Peacock may have started it mama followed through with a vengeance. You would have thought that I had been diagnosed with a serious, if not fatal disorder the way mama attacked the “problem.”

The bookmobile came to Empire once a week, Tuesday afternoons, I think. My mother and I were there to drop off and pick up a load of books every time it came. I remember it looking like a big pink and white bread truck. Before the summer was over we were visiting other libraries too. I became an authority on the Hardy boys and the Bobbsey Twins that summer. I also caught up on Samson and those poor wandering Jews that desperately needed a map. (I already knew about Kim, Wendy and their rowdy dog Tyke.)

Our routine was to sit on the front porch swing and I would read out loud and mama would shell butterbeans, or whatever hand work was needed, and just listen. I would read a while and then I could go play a while, and then read again. When I finished the book, I would close it and mama would have me tell her the story. Sometimes she would ask me questions. I climbed my Chinaberry tree and played in the creek that summer, but I read a lot of books too!

That was forty-odd years ago. I hadn’t really thought a lot about any of it until last night, as I reading about Texas. When mama sat there beside me shelling butterbeans and helping me with the hard words, I thought that I wasn’t going anywhere that summer. I was wrong. The journey that I started that summer has taken me many places and I hope it won’t end for a while….

This Sunday after a nice lunch I’d like to sit on that front porch swing and read a pretty good book to my mama, close my eyes and tell her the story that I just read, just one more time.

And what are YOU doing this Sunday?