Just the mention of one's mom and my mind's eye immediately sees your face and tears rise. How could it be that it has been eighteen years since we last talked? To simply say, I miss you would be an understatement. The hole in my chest has never healed, nor found matter to fill the void left that dreadful early morning looking on as you breathed your last.
Christmas with poinsettias will always remind me of you. A Christmas Eve anniversary for you and Dad, the red leaves were a symbol of your love for each other and a staple among our holiday decorations. The crimson potted plant sat on top of the TV cabinet or your sewing machine cabinet. Although, the sewing machine cabinet would not be its pedestal until company arrived, because you were likely sewing some dress or pair of pajamas for yourself, me or my boys. Your sewing machine now rests in one of my bedrooms. Your presence is felt as I stand near the machine, thinking of the many bridesmaid dresses, school clothes and pajamas you painstakingly stitched as the machine needle quickly plunged in and out of the fabric. The clickety-clack of the Singer lives in my mind and I see you seated in the little chair during late night and all day marathons diligently sewing as a special event approaches.
As this Christmas season wraps us in ribbon, toys, and the joys of being with family, I'm nostalgic with memories of you, apron clad, standing in our kitchen mixing up tasty pies and candies. No one could infuse as much joy and love in their baking as you did, especially during the Christmas season. Oh, to recreate those warm feelings of safety, love and acceptance I felt on chilly mornings in our kitchen, your eyes brimming with love for all of us, serving breakfast while baking pies and cakes for the holidays! Always busy, you embodied the woman of noble character.
Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. - Proverbs 31
Dedicated to my mother, Louise Bernice Bond Ritchey b. 03/02/21, d. 05/04/93.
November 30, 2011
November 5, 2011
Falling Back
As I think about falling back, the meaning that readily comes to mind is that this first Sunday of November most of the U. S. except Arizona, Hawaii and Navajo tribes will fall back to Standard time. It is a time the working class anticipates as they relish that extra hour of sleep. Although, as a Christian, our weak flesh has been caught up in temptations and I hear falling back as drifting backwards on promises made to remove harmful practices in my life. What comes to my mind is falling back into tempting habits once put away.
Matthew 26:41
Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
We are imperfect. As much as we want to do right, live right and exercise a Christian example to others, our flesh is weak. In times of weakness, an old habit once put away, tempts me and I allow it back in my life. Today, as much as I regret yesterday, it is a blessing to know that I worship a merciful, forgiving God. A God who will pick me up when I fall back and hold me closer today. As we fall back, let us pray:
(Matthew 6:9-15)
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,[a]
but deliver us from the evil one.[b]’ 14 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
Matthew 26:41
Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
We are imperfect. As much as we want to do right, live right and exercise a Christian example to others, our flesh is weak. In times of weakness, an old habit once put away, tempts me and I allow it back in my life. Today, as much as I regret yesterday, it is a blessing to know that I worship a merciful, forgiving God. A God who will pick me up when I fall back and hold me closer today. As we fall back, let us pray:
(Matthew 6:9-15)
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,[a]
but deliver us from the evil one.[b]’ 14 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
October 22, 2011
Respectful Generations: Part 2
Happily, the first grade students were coloring a heart outline red,
but my teacher didn't approve of my haphazard red crayon strokes. She
proceeded to pick up another student's heart to show how we should color
in the same direction within the lines of the drawing. A little 6-year
old's artistic inclinations squashed; I began to question my attempts.
On another day, I made jewelery out of buttons and thread and brought
them to school for "show and tell". Proudly, I displayed my creations on
a desk near the front of the classroom. My peers seemed to like my
jewelery and I felt happy. I don't recall if the teacher liked them.
What is embedded in my memory is the swat on the bottom admonishing me
for not going straight to my seat after lunch, when all I was doing was
admiring my little button jewels on the table by the door.
Children and adults alike are so very different than they were in 1958. A teacher's pupils are not as apt to be coloring in the classroom or showcasing homemade jewelery during "show and tell" because in 2011 teachers find it hard to schedule such free time. The first grade teacher, while not as attentive to my feelings as she might have been, garnered our respect. My first inclination, with bruised feelings, was not to lash out at my teacher hurling accusations that she was mean. On the contrary, my thoughts were to do a better job of coloring in the lines and to obey her words, returning to my desk, without talking back. Since my retirement five years ago, my experience while substitute teaching, is that some children do not understand the meaning of talking back. Angry children wanting not to be disciplined, will continue to talk back when I've repeatedly told them not to talk back. A concept that has sadly gone away in the realm of parenting should in my opinion be taught to children today. Although, their parents would do good to learn the concept first.
Many children of economic letdown are too often left alone at home with disconnected fathers and mothers who did not learn the skill of good parenting. Their parents are tired from the business of keeping a job, working long hours, putting food on the table and if they have to, will steal to get it. The next generation of their families followed the example of their parents. Those are the people filling up our jails, teaching their children by example to disrespect authority. Teachers are no longer revered role models. They are an authority not to be taken seriously or to give a respectful ear to their heeding. The misguided minds of the children is wreaking havoc on their learning process. When students who do not understand academic concepts on a test, they rebel against taking the test and expect teachers to give them assistance. The children will pout, scowl, talk back and even walk out of the classroom because they are mad. They are angry because they didn't know how to learn their subjects and their parents didn't know how to help them. Now they are such a disruption in the classrooms, teachers must remove them in order to keep the rest of the class on task.
The two stories of contrasting decades. They do not say 1958 was better or worse than 2011. In some ways, the teachers of 1958 were not as forgiving and loving as they should have been. Their public reprimand or correction was not always the best way to deal with the situation. Although, many of the children knew a better way to take disappointment, correction, instruction without being rude or disrespectful to persons in authority. My point is blurry as to what exactly my message is in these stories. It is apparent that somewhere a ball was dropped and children for generations have suffered for the fumble. May heaven help us to correct our children in loving kindness and teach them Jesus' way of reacting to other people in this world. This should be our prayer and action for the future of our children and grandchildren to come.
Children and adults alike are so very different than they were in 1958. A teacher's pupils are not as apt to be coloring in the classroom or showcasing homemade jewelery during "show and tell" because in 2011 teachers find it hard to schedule such free time. The first grade teacher, while not as attentive to my feelings as she might have been, garnered our respect. My first inclination, with bruised feelings, was not to lash out at my teacher hurling accusations that she was mean. On the contrary, my thoughts were to do a better job of coloring in the lines and to obey her words, returning to my desk, without talking back. Since my retirement five years ago, my experience while substitute teaching, is that some children do not understand the meaning of talking back. Angry children wanting not to be disciplined, will continue to talk back when I've repeatedly told them not to talk back. A concept that has sadly gone away in the realm of parenting should in my opinion be taught to children today. Although, their parents would do good to learn the concept first.
Many children of economic letdown are too often left alone at home with disconnected fathers and mothers who did not learn the skill of good parenting. Their parents are tired from the business of keeping a job, working long hours, putting food on the table and if they have to, will steal to get it. The next generation of their families followed the example of their parents. Those are the people filling up our jails, teaching their children by example to disrespect authority. Teachers are no longer revered role models. They are an authority not to be taken seriously or to give a respectful ear to their heeding. The misguided minds of the children is wreaking havoc on their learning process. When students who do not understand academic concepts on a test, they rebel against taking the test and expect teachers to give them assistance. The children will pout, scowl, talk back and even walk out of the classroom because they are mad. They are angry because they didn't know how to learn their subjects and their parents didn't know how to help them. Now they are such a disruption in the classrooms, teachers must remove them in order to keep the rest of the class on task.
The two stories of contrasting decades. They do not say 1958 was better or worse than 2011. In some ways, the teachers of 1958 were not as forgiving and loving as they should have been. Their public reprimand or correction was not always the best way to deal with the situation. Although, many of the children knew a better way to take disappointment, correction, instruction without being rude or disrespectful to persons in authority. My point is blurry as to what exactly my message is in these stories. It is apparent that somewhere a ball was dropped and children for generations have suffered for the fumble. May heaven help us to correct our children in loving kindness and teach them Jesus' way of reacting to other people in this world. This should be our prayer and action for the future of our children and grandchildren to come.
October 21, 2011
Respectful Generations: Part 1
On a cool breezy October day, a couple of six-year-old kids went out to play on the school playground with the rest of their first grade class. The little girl with her blond braids bouncing off her shoulders, walked obediently in the straight line like a toy soldier. The autumn breezes were reason to wear her navy blue sweater to school that day. Happily, she watched the student in front of her while the boy behind her laughed and flipped her braids the whole way out to the playground. The old school building's playground was across the street. The teacher watched carefully as each child moved to the other side of the road. The quiet street of the small town was unlikely to have many passing cars at 10:00 in the morning. Just in case though, the young teacher watched her brood like a mother duck leading her little ducklings to the pond.
Mary and John ran squealing with delight onto the playground as their classmates raced to the swings and slide. One by one, they climbed the tall ladder of the slide and swiftly glided to the bottom running around to ascend the ladder once again.
The leaves blew about the playground and John yelled, "Tag! You're it!" and punched Mary in her arm. Mary laughed and turned to chase John across the playground. Within moments, other friends joined in the game teasing Mary to tag them as they ran away with squeals of delight.
On one side of the playground stood an old two-story gray building used by the six grade students for band lessons. The tall gray structure made an excellent place to pull up behind hanging out to observe from a distance before rejoining the game. John was hiding behind the band building as Mary ran by. He reached out grabbing her navy blue sweater. Mary, laughed yelling "Tag!". Then, before running, John gave her cheek a brisk smack then ran so Mary would chase him again. Children of innocence, thinking nothing of the other one's kiss, ran squealing like piglets in a game of Tag.
As Mary, John and all their friends ran noisily past the teacher on the other side of the building, they heard the teacher blow her whistle. "Girls play with girls, boys play with boys. Now, go on!". Reluctantly, the boys and girls separated not understanding why the teacher broke up their play. They did not have to know their teacher's reasons, they only had to obey her directions.
Innocent children, running, chasing, yelling "Tag! You're it!" on a cool autumn day. As adults we still feel the cool breeze, but fail to recapture those carefree days when our play was innocent fun. Sometimes we don't remember the feeling of excitedly running so hard on a cold day that our lungs feel as though they will burst. Then, well-meaning adults for whatever reason, tells us to stop and the rules of life begin to fill our minds with negative ideas. The well adjusted child has a parent or guardian in their lives who lovingly explain the rules of life, obeying authority and the purposes of each. Sadly, some children grow up always taking orders, and never having a loving adult explain why there are rules. They never learn the good that can come from rules or the way to dispute a rule should they think it unfair. Those children grow up to be angry, bitter adults fighting authority in their school, at work and in life. They don't accept authority in a healthy manner. Their carefree days of childhood took place without parents who taught them how to cope in everyday life. They grew up to pass down their anger to their children.
Mary and John ran squealing with delight onto the playground as their classmates raced to the swings and slide. One by one, they climbed the tall ladder of the slide and swiftly glided to the bottom running around to ascend the ladder once again.
The leaves blew about the playground and John yelled, "Tag! You're it!" and punched Mary in her arm. Mary laughed and turned to chase John across the playground. Within moments, other friends joined in the game teasing Mary to tag them as they ran away with squeals of delight.
On one side of the playground stood an old two-story gray building used by the six grade students for band lessons. The tall gray structure made an excellent place to pull up behind hanging out to observe from a distance before rejoining the game. John was hiding behind the band building as Mary ran by. He reached out grabbing her navy blue sweater. Mary, laughed yelling "Tag!". Then, before running, John gave her cheek a brisk smack then ran so Mary would chase him again. Children of innocence, thinking nothing of the other one's kiss, ran squealing like piglets in a game of Tag.
As Mary, John and all their friends ran noisily past the teacher on the other side of the building, they heard the teacher blow her whistle. "Girls play with girls, boys play with boys. Now, go on!". Reluctantly, the boys and girls separated not understanding why the teacher broke up their play. They did not have to know their teacher's reasons, they only had to obey her directions.
Innocent children, running, chasing, yelling "Tag! You're it!" on a cool autumn day. As adults we still feel the cool breeze, but fail to recapture those carefree days when our play was innocent fun. Sometimes we don't remember the feeling of excitedly running so hard on a cold day that our lungs feel as though they will burst. Then, well-meaning adults for whatever reason, tells us to stop and the rules of life begin to fill our minds with negative ideas. The well adjusted child has a parent or guardian in their lives who lovingly explain the rules of life, obeying authority and the purposes of each. Sadly, some children grow up always taking orders, and never having a loving adult explain why there are rules. They never learn the good that can come from rules or the way to dispute a rule should they think it unfair. Those children grow up to be angry, bitter adults fighting authority in their school, at work and in life. They don't accept authority in a healthy manner. Their carefree days of childhood took place without parents who taught them how to cope in everyday life. They grew up to pass down their anger to their children.
Oh, What a Glorious Morning!
The birds are barely singing this morning because they are
lazily sleeping late. If not for the occasional chirp in the trees, one would
not know birds were on the scene. This crisp sunny autumn day illuminates my
backyard with a living glow. The green has begun to come back to the cheeks of
nature dried out by the summer drought. The clouds have spilled just enough H2O
to wake up blades of grass and the leaves of bushes. Still, Earth cries for more like a hungry baby wanting its
mother's milk.
The summer heat wave sent most of us inside for the
refrigerated air and caused us to swoon at the mere mention of work
outdoors. Today, however, is
another day and the cool breezes are beaconing all humans to come outside. While I desire to work outside the mellow
sounds of the neighborhood are pushing me back to my chair to listen.
My two cat-kids, the older one female, the younger one male,
are roaming outside amid the plants looking for an unaware lizard. I often find
myself on a rescue mission of mercy to some poor lizard captured and set down
in the unfamiliar surroundings of my home. Homer, the male hunter-cat, enjoys a
good safari when the weather out is so tempting. Capturing an unsuspecting prey
is great sport to him and he enjoys sharing the fruits of the hunt with his
female counterpart, Baby. Although, one might think he kills his prey, it is my
observation that he simply watches the chameleons as entertainment. This morning, I glanced up from the
monitor to observe both cats sitting, hunched down on the carpet, staring
intently at the bathroom floor. It was in that moment I knew I had to do what
has become routine in these situations. It was time to catch and release their
live toy back to the wilds of my backyard. So, with napkin in hand I picked up
the bewildered half green, half black reptile and set him free for another cat
hunt at another time.
The loveliness, that is a mid-morning in suburbia, is
delightful and carefree to those of us fortunate enough to be at home on a
weekday where we can soak it in. One can sit and brush away the cares of
finances, school loans, house maintenance and a laundry list of other such
concerns including the household laundry. Silently, I type, read and sip coffee
as the moving breeze carries distant sounds from a nearby schoolyard to the
open patio door invading my statuary. Images of junior high boys suited in
their school-issued shorts on a football field dance across the screen of my
mind. Quickly, I return to my writing ignoring the interruption of the outside
world of reality.
Oh, that this glorious morning could forever continue to be
my days. Yet, it is not to be for soon I must be at the work of preparing used
items for sale, sweeping my house, washing my clothes, feeding the people and
animals that live here and finding my place in the outside workforce. Although,
it is not with regret that I carry out my chores. I do them willingly because they
are the tasks God gave me for today. Although, for now, I will drink in another
sip of solitude like smooth chocolate sliding down my throat, warming the
inner chill of brisk autumn mornings and I will be content in it.
October 1, 2011
Looking for Jobs in All the Wrong Places
The first year of my retirement was the 2007-2008 school year. It was a sense of elated freedom washing over me the morning I observed cars hurriedly streaming down the road by my house the first day of school. My last three years of teaching was in our neighborhood school just three blocks from our house. Instead of running on pure adrenaline that Fall morning of 2007, I was sipping coffee and wondering what would be my next venture in this life.
The first year of my retirement would prove to be the best year I had spent in a long time, and since. My husband teaches theater arts on a 9th grade campus in a nearby town. It was a joy to join him at his school to stage a production of Our Town. My free time also allowed me to help Kim direct a play at the Baytown Little Theater. It was the previous summer of 2007 that a car crashed into our beloved theater facility. The crash caused major damage to the building and we had to move our production venue to a nearby church building. I painted set pieces, decorating chairs and backdrops with stenciling and created set decoration for Neil Simon's,The Good Doctor. The theater volunteer work was only part of what I had fun accomplishing that first year of retirement. My job search was for the most part non-existent.
The following year I soon had to go to work teaching reading tutorials twice a week back at the school I had worked before. It was pretty satisfying work and good pay for only 2 hours a week. Although, a little bit of pay, it was not near enough to supplement my TRS check. By the time the following school year came around, our budget was in dire need of supplements to bulk up bill-paying power.
The fall of 2008 I began working with the University of Houston, Clear Lake as an intern supervisor. I loved my work with the senior student teachers. My experience as a teacher in addition to my Master's Degree was finally paying off. The interns were a pleasure to work with as I observed their excited energy to become the best teachers they could. The two-course pay was a nice supplement to my TRS paycheck. I thought I could do this forever, not realizing the summers were going to tax our budget once again.
I'd never worked during the summer months in my life. The thought of working while Kim was off during the months we normally vacationed made me depressed. Mostly, I did nothing to find a summer job. I didn't want to work in the summer. The spring semester as the university supervisor met with university problems. Budget cuts within the university, resulted in the US course load to be cut back from 2 courses to one course. That pay cut was significant and I decided to try to work with the school district again. The substitute teaching jobs was sparse. I gave tests for the Gifted and Talented program which paid the best and I continue to test with that program whenever possible. However, Texas Retirement System rules make it almost impossible to work for two TRS institutes at one time. Tracking my work hours was tedious and stressful to say the least. The following fall semester of 2009 would be the last semester I worked for the university. If it had not been for testing GT students that spring, I might not have made much money at all.
Eventually, a friend suggested a tax preparation service she knew needed extra help for tax season. By January of 2009, I had a full time job working for a tax and financial service. The work environment was the perfect place for me. The all female staff immediately made me feel at home. My boss, a former school teacher, understood my work ethic and knew I was more than capable of the job at hand. Working with the clients, getting to know my coworkers that winter/spring was a joy. While it barely paid what was needed to supplement my TRS pay, I was happy to be working there. However, by the time tax season was closing, it appeared that the job would not be needed next season. Client involvement dropped significantly causing my position to disappear the next tax season and I was out of the perfect job.
Back to the job drawing board and I grew depressed by the bills piling up. Also, disheartening has been the lack of vacations we can take and the amount of general home improvements needed to our home. The summer and winter testing for GT students has helped my income along with a two month long term sub job last fall. However, as I pursued job possibilities, it became apparent to me that I was never going to get enough money to supplemental my TRS pay. Teachers may not make the salary of a good doctor or lawyer, but they sure make better than minimum wage.
Last February, the same friend who suggested that I work for the tax office, called me again. This time she wanted me to help her daughter with their family self storage business. There had been health problems in their family and the business ledgers were in need of updating. I was hired to work part time at minimum wage to help bring their bookkeeping up do to date. Making just enough money to buy weekly groceries, I was able to accomplish the immediate need in a couple of months. Initially a temporary position, I have now been working 8 months with the self storage business. The hours are great and my boss is very flexible about time off. The bad news is at only $8.00 an hour, the pay is not near enough for our needs and my friend is not in the position to pay more. Though the job is better than no job, and I certainly appreciate friends who look out for my job needs; I must once again search for permanent employment. My maturity as a responsible employee should aide the search, but not if an opportunity to interview doesn't come along.
It's my feeling that I'm going about this job hunt all wrong, but to tell the truth, I wish so much that I didn't need to work. My best days are the ones in which I don't have to show up at a job. My job of balancing out the books with the storage business has been pretty good. My favorite, the tax office job, was the best but unfortunately, played out. Teaching interns about being a school teacher allowed my professional experience and opinions to be put to the test. It made me feel like my 30 years had been for the purpose of sharing the fruits of my labor with others and I liked that feeling. Unfortunately, a change in department directors, in addition to budget cuts, caused this to be a less than perfect position for me. The GT testing for the school district is a very nice gig with good pay. I look forward to the self motivated work with the students. Unfortunately, it is a seasonal short-term job and can't supplement TRS enough to make a difference.
The daily prayer for my days is that God will lead me to His plan. That is, His perfect plan, for my husband and I with what we are supposed to be about. God, as Lord of all, knows where the perfect job is for me. The job is out there somewhere waiting for me to find it. Job hunting at this stage of life is a pain! I am praying that the next job will be satisfying and one that fixes our budget woes that will provide year-round income until my next retirement.
Part-time at $20.00 an hour would be great. I'm just saying!
September 26, 2011
Change? Of course!
Ecclesiastes 3:1
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens
As a 40-year-old woman, no change had been more jarring to my little world than the death of my mom. When my mother passed away, I felt like part of my body had been ripped out leaving an empty dark hole within my chest. Coping with that type of change to my life was more difficult than anything I had ever experienced up to that point in my life or since. When Dad passed away, grief stricken, but with relieved blessing I was glad that he was finally at rest from the misery that is Alzheimer's disease. My mind had mentally prepared for his passing. I was not going to be traumatized as I had been when Mama passed away. My desire was not to feel that much hurt again. Therefore, my prayers to God had been for Dad's deliverance from the bondage that dread disease had on all of his memories. My sweet daddy, the first male love of my life, the one to which all men would have to measure up, joined Mama five years after her death. Then, not many years later, my brother's wife, Cynthia, was diagnosed with cancer and passed away. She was a delight to be around, making everyone laugh and be happy. She was only a year or so older than me and I loved her so much. Change had been coming to my life all those 40-plus years I had lived. Yet I had not paid attention to what I'd seen of others passing from this world up to that point. It had not occurred to me how my life would be affected by death or how sad it would make me feel. My life paradigm began a significant shift.
Now, in my late fifties, another big change stunned my life last June when my oldest brother, Johnny, passed away at 68 years old. Saddened again by death, my childhood family has been reduced from two parents, plus three kids, to just my other brother, Richard, and me. Johnny was the oldest of the cousins and the first of us cousins to pass away. I suppose his death is what has prompted my thoughts about change lately. Of course, I knew this day was coming like death will come to us all. I had just not expected it to be so abrupt. All of my experiences with death had not prepared me for the abruptness of Johnny's death. The family members of my parent's generation are passing from this life, just as God has planned, and now it would seem my generation has started on the same passage from this world as well. My mother's brother, his wife, one of my dad's brothers and one of his sisters are all who remain of my parents' generation. Daddy's youngest sister, also has Alzheimer's disease and will likely be the next to leave this earth. Life changes like clouds adrift on a sky blue day.
Listening to an audio book by a Baptist minister, Don Piper, I heard him use a phrase to describe his life after a terrible auto accident, this would be my new normal. To have one sibling left, a handful of aunts and uncles and several more cousins, is my new normal on the family front. Another part of this new norm is the fact that my grown sons aren't going to live where I want them to live. Imagine that! Our middle son, his wife, and our almost 2 year old sweet Olivia, have moved a short 6-7 hours away with their feline pet, Pumpkin. They aren't so far away that we can't drive to see them in a day or they to see us. Modern technology allows us to use our cell phones to talk face to face with each other. Still, it rocked my world like a slight earthquake tremor when my son announced the move and our drive to their house would increase from 45 minutes to 6 hours without stops. It saddened my heart to think that our little Olivia would not be close to us and perhaps not remember who we were each time we saw her again. We were in Sugar Land helping them pack and ready that house for the move when I got my brother Richard's call that Johnny had suffered a massive heart attack in Beaumont. I will never forget the day Johnny died was June 20th, the day we were helping Kyle and Amanda move to Abilene with Olivia.Talk about my world being shifted and turned upside down in one day!
My cable network has CNN and I watch it. I realize I have a million and one blessings for which I should be and am thankful. The youngest of our three sons and his wife live right here in Baytown and our oldest son, his wife and their two adorable children live in a nearby town. With pleasure we get to see our two oldest grandchildren more often than when they once lived in far away Michigan. We've been to their dance recitals, swim meets, baseball games, plays and birthday parties. We've experienced watching the newest generation of Martins in Regan and Aidan as they perform on stage. I'm delighted every time our youngest son Ryan shows up unexpectedly at our back door. No matter what the reason, I smile when I hear his voice on the other end of a telephone call. It is God's blessings bestowed on us, undeserving as I am, that we are within at least a day's driving distance of all three of our sons' families. It is that new normal at this stage of my life to have grown children, grandchildren, and daughters-in-law in my family who are the joys of my life.
It is not my intention to slight the mention of a beautiful family I married into on a chilly December Saturday in 1974. My husband's family is one for whom I am eternally grateful. I love all of the Martins as if I had been raised alongside all of them my whole life. All of the holiday celebrations with the Martins are special. We sing, play games, laugh and I get to listen to the political minds of the Martins keeping fresh on current events. I love seeing Kim's parents at our church. We have celebrated JoAn and Kelly's anniversaries for the past 3 decades with this 2011 year being their 60th. The Martins are my family and I consider it a privilege to be a Martin.
My side of the family is dwindling for sure and it still makes me sad. There are no more Christmas gatherings with any member of the Ritchey's or Bonds any more, no birthday parties with grandparents or spur of the moment visits with my parents. The only times life finds the Ritcheys and Bonds still gathering on this earth is the occasional wedding or funeral such as the recent memorial service for my brother last June. My hope is to one day reunite all the Ritchey and Bond families for a happy family reunion. My prayer is that the reunion plans will be made and carried out before another change hits our families.
Drastic changes in my family over the past two decades has caused me to change the way I used to plan the weekends, holidays and even phone calls in the evenings. No longer do I think about driving one hour over to my hometown of Port Neches to surprise my parents on a Sunday morning. Gone are the excited happy plans of frantic Christmas present exchange with my cousins or birthday celebrations for my grandmother. Phone calls to Mom and Dad just to say "hello" are not even a bleep on the radar of my life anymore. All that is left of my life in Port Neches are memories, the cemetery holding my parents' last remains and a little wood-framed house on the corner of a meandering street corner, two blocks down from my old high school. To say I miss my family would be an understatement. Eighteen years past Mother's death and my heart still aches, yearns to be with my parents again, to have Johnny's large frame wrap his strong arms around me in a bear hug or hear the quick wit of my sister-in-law that kept us all laughing. Sometimes its overwhelming to consider, and I feel like I'm alone in the middle of a gigantic world.
Then, I shake my head back from my depression to the blessings God has left for me here and now. I am not alone when I still have a husband who is the love of my life. Kim has been my best friend and support during all those sad times of losing loved ones. Last summer as soon as I got word of Johnny's situation, Kim dropped everything and was helping me figure out the next plan. It was Kim, an in-law in my family, who volunteered to be in charge of Johnny's remains after the cremation. Though not without our share of hard times, our marriage has survived 36 years. I'm so blessed to have such a man as Kim to grow old with and trudge through the inevitable trials of this world. I thank God each night when I pray that He caused me to notice the skinny dark haired guy who walked into my choir class at ACC back in 1971. I am confident Kim will always be at my side to share life's burdens till God takes one of us home. Another paradigm shift one of us will have to deal with when the time comes.
Numbers 6:24-25
The LORD bless you
and keep you;
the LORD make his face shine on you
and be gracious to you
September 25, 2011
Be Patient...Change is Coming!
Change is inevitable to just about any activity in which we choose to engage ourselves. At some point down the road, rules will change, layouts will change, the way we use a devise will update; I can hardly keep up with the latest iPhone/iPad out these days. Take for example the Facebook changes of late. People have reacted with outrage to Facebook making recent changes in the layout and the manner in which we interact with the site. Friends have voiced displeasure in an overwhelming number of status updates of protest. What an inconvenience to have to learn a new way to read and post to Facebook! Really? It's free to use and we should be thrilled at the opportunity to save cell phone user minutes/dollars to keep updated with friends and family. If not for Facebook and Twitter too, we'd never know when old college buddies became grandparents or got a promotion at work or had retired. With the growing number of complaints about Facebook changes, I scoffed when I read a status update displaying disdain at such Facebook alterations. I even posted in essence for my FB friends to quit whining about Facebook and get over it. Not my exact wording but that's what I meant.
Then, after not posting to Blogger.com since early last July, I find my blog dashboard had been changed and I was at first a little...well...upset. I couldn't figure out how to post a new blog entry. It didn't look the same. Where were the tabs I was accustomed to seeing when I logged on? Where were all the features I'd grown comfortable using? Did I mention I couldn't post?! I couldn't even find my archive. Argggh! How dare they! Just as I was about to sink into despair, I noticed a rather prominent orange button with a pencil icon. Oh, do you suppose it will let me post to my blog? I clicked the obvious button and there it was, New Post. Next to the writing button, a list icon and a drop-down file. My archives! Ahhh, Happiness, home, comfort, satisfaction, contentment.
My disdain and unhappiness with the Blogger.com changes were much like those of my fellow Facebook friends. I'm no better and whined and complained when my little world took on an unexpected change. My fellow human beings, we are not creatures of change, but creatures of habit. Change is difficult. Change takes more thinking than we want to do today. Change is work! But wait...it didn't take all that long for me to catch on to the Facebook changes, and chances are within another week most of my Facebook friends won't even care about the changes to their home page. Furthermore, didn't I find the orange New Post button within a few page entries? It really wasn't all that difficult. So, why do we get so upset about change?
That, my social-networking, blogging, Tweeting friends is human nature. We are impatient, self-centered, imperfect people. Oh, that we all could learn to roll with the punches, bend with the wind and be flexible! As a public school teacher, my motto was Be Flexible. To the motto of my career, I would also add Be Patient.
Then, after not posting to Blogger.com since early last July, I find my blog dashboard had been changed and I was at first a little...well...upset. I couldn't figure out how to post a new blog entry. It didn't look the same. Where were the tabs I was accustomed to seeing when I logged on? Where were all the features I'd grown comfortable using? Did I mention I couldn't post?! I couldn't even find my archive. Argggh! How dare they! Just as I was about to sink into despair, I noticed a rather prominent orange button with a pencil icon. Oh, do you suppose it will let me post to my blog? I clicked the obvious button and there it was, New Post. Next to the writing button, a list icon and a drop-down file. My archives! Ahhh, Happiness, home, comfort, satisfaction, contentment.
My disdain and unhappiness with the Blogger.com changes were much like those of my fellow Facebook friends. I'm no better and whined and complained when my little world took on an unexpected change. My fellow human beings, we are not creatures of change, but creatures of habit. Change is difficult. Change takes more thinking than we want to do today. Change is work! But wait...it didn't take all that long for me to catch on to the Facebook changes, and chances are within another week most of my Facebook friends won't even care about the changes to their home page. Furthermore, didn't I find the orange New Post button within a few page entries? It really wasn't all that difficult. So, why do we get so upset about change?
That, my social-networking, blogging, Tweeting friends is human nature. We are impatient, self-centered, imperfect people. Oh, that we all could learn to roll with the punches, bend with the wind and be flexible! As a public school teacher, my motto was Be Flexible. To the motto of my career, I would also add Be Patient.
Be Flexible-Be Patient!
Colossians 3:12
New International Version (NIV)
12 Therefore,
as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with
compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
July 30, 2011
What Are Your Thoughts on Singing?
Our church worship leaders recently requested the thoughts of us (the members) in regard to singing and songs for an upcoming Wednesday night time of worship. We could choose one of their suggestions or make one of our own. I decided to answer all four of the Cloze-type queries and to share them on my blog. I hope you will relate to what I've written here. Perhaps what you read will conjure up some memories you have of singing in church. --ML
· The songs and singing that have meant a lot to me are…
hymns sang at a time when everyone in the place was of one thought and mind. At a Women of Faith conference where literally thousands of female voices lifted hands and voices to worship in one accord. At funerals where we all loved & mourned the life of one we would miss here on earth. After 911 when many of us gathered to sing and pray to God for strength. At the close of Abilene Christian University functions and now, family gatherings, when we all sing “The Lord Bless You and Keep You.”
· What I hope to hear is…
a joyful noise lifted up to heaven. So many times, I think we forget to be happy in our relationship with God. Our sins are many for sure, but Praise the Lord, we are saved through our savior Jesus Christ. Our songs should be joyful. I hope to hear joy in our voices as we sing songs of praise.
· My memories have a great deal to do with my favorite songs. Sometimes my mind travels to…
a church in Beaumont where we gathered one Sunday afternoon a month for a time of Gospel singing. There was always a full house on those Sunday afternoons where I witnessed so many other Christians lifting their voices in song. The song that I always hoped we’d sing was “Master the Tempest is Raging”. That one could lift the rafters and my young mind would picture a ship being tossed on a dark sea of waves in a terrible storm. Powerful words with the perfect music to accompany a strong message.
· If I could write the music and lyrics of a song, this is what I would want it to say…
(The tune to “Gilligan’s Island” oddly enough fits this meter. The words and tune I want to evoke happiness and joy.)
There is a new day coming,
We’ll sing a happy song.
There is a new day coming,
When we can do no wrong.
There is a new day coming,
When blue skies open wide,
There is a new day coming,
We’ll see Jesus eye to eye.
Praise God for all creation.
Praise God for Sun and Rain.
Praise God for food and water.
Praise God for Jesus’ name.
One day I’ll go to heaven.
One day I’ll see loved ones.
One day I’ll stand as one brand new.
One day I’ll be with You.
One day I’ll be with You.
July 28, 2011
Embracing Today
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| Christmas, 1970-something, my cousins, brothers and I in Port Neches with our grandmother |
For all of the years I lived in Port Neches, Texas, and even for many years to follow, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and my grandparents would all gather at my parent’s house for holidays. My mom’s parents, who lived a short drive away, celebrated with us every year. My dad's parents lived in Oklahoma and I have assumed all of these years it was because they just lived too far away to drive to Texas for the holidays. It might be safe to think that my grandparents just didn't drive very far across the Oklahoma border. We visited them about one time a year.
If the Abilene relatives drove down by Christmas Eve, mom and her sister would bake in the kitchen for the next day. The East Texas cousins would arrive on Christmas Day. While cooking and baking was going on in the kitchen, we kids would play games, the men watched football on TV, and at some point in the evening a domino game of Forty-Two would start up. What a great memory for me to remember the shouts of victory, explanations of why someone had lost or the laughter as a team caught up to the winners. Those happy sounds blended with delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, were a real joy to me as a child and a comforting memory to me as an adult.
All the beds in the house, plus sofa beds and pallets on the floor, were filled on Christmas Eve with family members. When us kids would wake up, we'd head straight for the Santa presents. I had to be careful not to reveal Santa’s true identity to my younger cousins. Mom explained the Santa thing sort of like this: "It’s fun to pretend there is a Santa Claus, but we are the ones that bring your presents." Mama felt she should not lie to us and so, I never "believed" in Santa as a real person. However, I sure believed in Christmas. I loved the decorated tree, the presents, the fun I had with my cousins and all the wonderful food my mom, aunts and grandmother would fix. Those were special times locked away forever in my memory.
Just thinking about all the scrumptious foods prepared at Christmas makes my mouth water. My aunts, grandmother along with Mama were experts at making fluffy white divinity candy so sweet that one piece was all you could eat. Mother's enticing pecan and coconut cream pies were a standard for the holidays. She baked ham, surgery yams, potato salad, baked beans, fruit salad, and hot soft rolls. Oftentimes, she also prepared turkey and dressing, in spite of having just served it on Thanksgiving. There was always enough food to feed "Cox's Army" as my mom would say. It all came so naturally for her to make Christmas a joyous time to be with family.
The last Christmas we celebrated in my childhood home, was 1992 before Mama passed away in May of 1993. Mom cooked her usual spread of Christmas food for all of us who gathered. We played games and laughed ourselves silly. However, mom was sick and was not to be with us for the next Christmas. She passed away in from cancer. That same year, my brothers and I learned that Daddy’s forgetfulness wasn’t just natural aging. He had Alzheimer’s disease. Christmas, 1992, closed the book on my childhood Christmas holidays. Even though I was an adult, as long as my parents were living, I still felt like a child. My dad passed away five years after Mom in September of 1998.
Even though I made attempts to continue my mom’s kind of Christmas with my brothers and sisters in law at our house, it never caught on. We all knew it was time to split up where we spent the holiday. Aunts and Uncles spent future holidays with my cousins' families. My brothers went with their wives' families and I with my husband's family at Christmas. Depression began to seep into my holidays as I mourned the passing of the Ritchey/Bond Christmas in Port Neches.
When Christmas with our three sons and their families come to our house, I anticipate a wonderful day shared with them, my husband, and three very fun grandchildren. With Mom’s recipes, I can prepare some of the tastes from my past and honor her, my grandmother and aunts. Traditions are perhaps a past generation’s idea. I am learning that it’s okay to let those traditions pass with their generation and not mourn their death over and over again. Our children and grandchildren will celebrate any occasion with their energetic youthful joy filling our home with laughter, songs and fun. So, I know it is better for me to dust off my Holiday Spirit and embrace the present generation through our children while fondly remembering my parents and days gone by.
(Embracing Today, originally written Dec., 2010)
(Embracing Today, originally written Dec., 2010)
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| Christmas, 2008, The Martins at our house in Baytown |
July 2, 2011
Obituary
I've never written an obituary, but it was a privilege to write this for Johnny. The obituary will appear in the Beaumont Enterprise next week without the photo. I was alarmed at how much adding a photo to an obit cost. Johnny didn't want the picture in the paper anyway. He was a good brother and I'm going to miss him a lot. - ML
Johnny Elton Ritchey, 68, of Beaumont, died June 20, 2011 at Memorial Hermann Baptist Hospital East.
Johnny “Big John” Ritchey was born January 24, 1943 in Ryan, OK, to the late Elton and Louise Ritchey from Port Neches. Following graduation from Port Neches-Groves High School in 1960, he attended Lamar University. He served in the United States Army from 1966 to 1972, serving much of that time in Japan.
Johnny was an employee of Richard Design Services, Inc. in Beaumont as a draftsman. He loved his pets and as an avid outdoorsman, enjoyed the shooting range, a deer lease or fishing hole better than any other place.
Johnny is preceded in death by his beloved wife, Cynthia Hayes Ritchey, and his parents. Survivors include his nephew, Charles Hunter of Austin; mother-in-law, Barbara Hayes, of Beaumont; one brother, Richard Lee Ritchey and wife, Melissa , of Kingwood; one sister, Mary Lou Martin and husband, Kim of Baytown; loving uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces.
A private memorial will be held on July 9, in Jasper, TX for family. Memorial gifts may be mailed to the Humane Society of Southeast Texas, P.O. Box 1629, Beaumont, TX 77704.
June 21, 2011
My Big Brother Johnny
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| Johnny and me |
My Big Brother, standing a few inches over 6 feet tall and 10 years my senior, was truly a big brother. When I was around 4 years old, I remember him carrying me through high water in our garage to our house after Hurricane Audrey hit Port Neches. My mom had grown weary of the high school shelter and wrangling my 7 year old brother and me. Even though wind was still blowing and light rain was continuing to come down, the real danger had passed and Mama insisted we go back home. Our garage was full of water and too high for a little girl my size to walk through, so Johnny scooped me up in his arms, carrying me through the water to the safety of our house. I thought he was so brave because I heard my mama comment that there might be water snakes in the water.
On another occasion while living in that same house, Johnny and a buddy was taking high school physiology, decided that they would catch bullfrogs at the city park down by the Neches River. There they would use one of the barbecue pits in the park to boil the frogs and reconstruct the bones as part of a science fair project. Before they boiled any frogs though, Johnny decided his little brother and sister should get a chance to see the overgrown toads they had caught. To a 4 year old, it seemed very late at night when Johnny and Lewis showed up at our garage back door. Mama had already gone to the back door when my brother and I came in the kitchen to see what was going on. Just as Johnny opened the gunny sack with the frogs, one of the critters croaked loudly and leaped to its freedom. That thing hit the garage ceiling, coming down on top of our car taking another great leap high in the air, all while my mama was squealing at Johnny to catch the frog and take it back to the park. The details are sketchy, but that's how I remember it happening. All I know was that my big brother could catch bullfrogs late at night and he was sure a brave person to do such a thing.
Many times Johnny showed his love to me making me feel very special. One such occasion was when my aunt gave birth to my cousin, Craig. I was sitting by myself in the hospital waiting room because 9 year old kids were not allowed in the patient's room. When Johnny arrived to meet our new cousin, he saw me sitting alone and asked if I had money for the vending machines. After he learned I didn't have anything to spend, he emptied his pocket change into my hands and told me to buy a coke for myself. Some years later, when I was just turning 13 years old, Johnny gave me a bottle of White Shoulders perfume. That as the first real perfume I had ever owned. He often brought me a little gift, gave me a special ride in his dune buggy or just handed me pocket change for a coke. All of which made me feel like he thought he a had a very special little sister.
My perception of Johnny's bravery became real to me when at about 21 years of age, he was drafted into the United States Army at a time when our country was involved in the Vietnam war. Having been awarded a sizable scholarship to Lamar University after high school graduation, Johnny had fallen in love with a girl he wanted to marry. After months of trying to work part time, earn enough to support a wife who wanted much and go to school, he dropped out of college to work full time. It was then that the draft called his number and he began boot camp. After a time he was shipped to Japan. I remember feeling such relief when 80% of his platoon were deployed to Vietnam; while he was fortunately sent to Japan where he drove and worked with the wounded on a medic bus that received soldiers from the war zone to a Japanese hospital. To me, it took a lot of gumption and integrity to be a soldier and my big brother fit the bill. Unfortunately, after returning from the war to his wife, his young marriage ended in divorce. I recall how respectfully he approached my dad with the news and later with news of his marrying Cynthia. He wasn't sure how dad would take the divorce or his marrying again because of what the church taught about divorce and remarrying. But as soon as my family met and got to know Cynthia, we all knew she was meant to be in our family. When she suffered through an aggressive cancer in her 50's, which eventually took her life, I knew Johnny was in her life for a reason. As Johnny stayed by his love's side through her darkest hours, willing to do anything necessary, I now realize his ultimate act of bravery.
There are so many more stories that come to mind involving Johnny and me. It won't do them justice to write them here. I realize that my big brother was not a perfect man even though I could relay many times he was kindhearted, giving, caring and noble. Johnny realized his shortcomings better than any other person. There was a time when he lived a rough adult life almost to the ruin of another marriage. Although, Cynthia was put off by his heavy drinking at times, she loved him and would not divorce him. She was a God fearing Christian who made a lasting impression on Johnny's life. To her credit she would not insist or pressure Johnny to attend church with her either. He respected Cynthia's faith and after our mother's death, questioned Cynthia about God's love for sinners. In what was Cynthia's dying days and out of his love for her; Johnny took her to church one Sunday. That day he walked down the aisle during an alter call. Cynthia told of the outpouring of love shown to Johnny by the church members and what that act of kindness had meant to him. Cynthia also told me later that he even prayed with her at their dinner table. That meant so much to her. Several months ago, Johnny had hip surgery and their nephew, Chas, came to live 3 months with him to help care for him through his recovery. Chas lived a large portion of his growing up years with Johnny and Cynthia and regarded them as parents. As Johnny was recouperating he had the occasion to think and told Chas that he believed in Jesus Christ and that he would see Cynthia in heaven. I know all the angels rejoiced to hear those words and none more than Cynthia.
My big brother, Johnny, will be missed by many and especially by his little sister.
January 15, 2011
Psalm 119
169 May my cry come before you, LORD;
give me understanding according to your word.
170 May my supplication come before you;
deliver me according to your promise.
171 May my lips overflow with praise,
for you teach me your decrees.
172 May my tongue sing of your word,
for all your commands are righteous.
173 May your hand be ready to help me,
for I have chosen your precepts.
174 I long for your salvation, LORD,
and your law gives me delight.
175 Let me live that I may praise you,
and may your laws sustain me.
176 I have strayed like a lost sheep.
Seek your servant,
for I have not forgotten your commands.
give me understanding according to your word.
170 May my supplication come before you;
deliver me according to your promise.
171 May my lips overflow with praise,
for you teach me your decrees.
172 May my tongue sing of your word,
for all your commands are righteous.
173 May your hand be ready to help me,
for I have chosen your precepts.
174 I long for your salvation, LORD,
and your law gives me delight.
175 Let me live that I may praise you,
and may your laws sustain me.
176 I have strayed like a lost sheep.
Seek your servant,
for I have not forgotten your commands.
Talking to God is such an intimate act. I was fortunate to have a loving earthly father that I see my God as a loving Father in heaven. He watches over me day and night, he loves me and doesn't want me to fall. I feel His rebuke when I walk the wrong path and also his loving embrace when I grieve my sin. This whole Psalm unfolds within my heart and soul what is constantly on my mind as I go through my day. Whether my actions are worthy of praise or not, this I know; I am saved through Jesus who died for me and nothing can separate me from that grace offered to me on that tragic day. God be praised for saving such a wretch as me!
Lord "let me live that I may praise you, and may your laws sustain me. I have strayed like a lost sheep. Seek your servant, for I have not forgotten your commands." Amen
January 6, 2011
Bygone Years
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| Drayton Hall: The first settlement stands at Albemarle Point along the Ashley River, where Charles Towne Landing, a historic site, is located today. (Built between 1738 and 1742 near Charleston, SC) |
The history of a place such as Drayton is intriguing to me. This particular house and its 400+ acres has seen armies from the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. Troops were camped on the lawns during both wars with officers setting up headquarters within the house on more than one occasion. When other towns and cities all around Drayton Hall were being burned down, an outbreak of smallpox was the cause for the house to be under quarantine. For whatever reason, be it because of the outbreak of smallpox or other cause, Drayton Hall was spared and still stands today as an open history book for us to read.
If you are ever around Charleston, SC, with an interest in plantations, visit Drayton House. It will leave you in awe of how it has been preserved.
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