Captured Memories: High School Yearbooks

            High School Yearbooks – there’s just something about them that captures a memory and loads it into forever.

            This Labor Day, my husband’s class is celebrating the walk to pick up the coveted diploma. It’s been 50 years. His school’s colors were black and gold, like Camden’s colors, so I’ve felt a connection to the class since I met them ten years ago. Marvin saved his black basketball sweater and a gold wool coat the team wore for basketball road games. Their Senior ring was far more stylized than our black onyx center stone design.

            Last night I thumbed through a copy of The Cat’s Paw, 1965, and found quite a number of people I’ve met over these ten years. Jane Kennedy Huffman, classmate, let me borrow her treasure for a few days. I recognized these classmates by their eyes and their smiles. And, of course, the hair styles – we had the same flipped up, side part for the girls. Styles showed more crew cuts among the guys in Rector, but they dressed up for senior photos in sport coats accented with skinny black ties. The style had 1965 written throughout the section.

            Cheerleaders, Majorettes, Choir, Student Council, National Honor Society, all the queens and athletes were pictured. And the teachers. Their memories and my memories are somewhat the same because High School in the mid-1960's rocked to the same tunes.

            This graduating class was the largest ever at Rector, I’ve heard, with over 88 receiving the diploma in May of 1965. The class started out with close to 100 members. The basketball team packed the gym and came in runner-up at the State Tournament. Later, as adults, the two rival teams had a ‘rematch’ which Rector won going away. 

            I look forward to the Class of 1965 Reunion because I have learned much about this class and have real fondness for the classmates I’ve met. It was 10 years ago that I accompanied Marvin to Rector for their Reunion and returned for the Labor Day Picnic. The town and the people charmed me, indeed, and I married into the Rector family. I got a great guy in the bargain.

Lessons from the Nail Salon

While at the nail salon today, I learned about risky color choices from a lady rather advanced in age. She was at the salon to have her "pinking about pink" color refreshed.
Her daughter suggested that the lady consider a change in nail color.
She asked what color I had chosen because "it looks pretty."
I waggled my drying fingernails painted a snazzy, new OPI exotic color, "ready for red," or something close.(see photo)
"Oooh, that's really nice, but if I wear that, people will think I'm a hussy!"
We all laughed and I replied, "Well, if this color morphs me into a hussy, my status will probably change in two weeks!"

Lessons in color: I learned that "blondes have more fun" when I frosted my hair in high school.
But, I did not know my nail polish color could catapult me straight to "hussy."
Wonder what she would have thought of the "peaking at purple" I have on my toes?

Good-bye, Old Buddy; Hello, New Friend

Oh, My Goodness Gracious!
 I killed it. Too much exercise is certain to be the cause.
That, or I drowned it in Lake Wappapello.
The literature indicates the devise is "water resistant" but it did not resist the water.
Instead, it jumped right in with me and paddled around for a while.
It got out with me and sunned a bit.  No complaints.
Then, it just sorta...quit.

Yesterday, it must have been heaving a final hooray because it worked...registered...synced and acted alive and well.
Took a bit longer than normal to charge...just like me.
This morning, however, it had bitten the proverbial dust.

I tapped it.
I double tapped it.
I tapped it a bit harder and a dim light showed.
Eureka! Success!
No, It dimmed more until it faded away.
Rather sad, actually.
RIP: FitBit Flex

I found the box and the receipt (are you shocked?) and the poor little thing had not made it to Birthday one...August 14 would have been one calendar year that I've had Fitbit Flex.
Oh, how I loved earning my badges and getting the messages, "You're a Champ!" or "Hooray."
Never did it message me, though, those 3 beautiful words, "Eat Chocolate Today."

It was my constant companion, encouraging me, monitoring my activity level, reminding me by just being there, on my wrist in its turquoise band, that I should get out of the chair and turn off the computer. Get into the street or the gym. Move! Do Something Active!

The Fitbit Company (I did find a phone number and call to report the death.) said, "Good News! You are eligible for a replacement!"
Oh!  Wow!
That is good news - within 3-5 business days I'll have a new FitBit Flex and I'll be on the road to continued good exercise habits.

Good-bye, Old Buddy, Hello, New Friend!

BTW, I found the coolest charms (jewels!) for FitBit Flex on Esty: check it out -

Unintended Consequences

            Once, there was a young man…

He hooked up with some unsavory characters.

            As a young Army officer from Texas, the man’s ideology got him wrapped up in the politics of the day.

            On the wrong side of history, as it turned out.

            An impassioned idealist, he gave little thought to reality and “unintended consequences.”

            Arrested for his involvement in a dastardly plot against the United States government, he was tried and convicted. Upon hearing the guilty verdict, his mouth overran his brain. His outburst echoed the same rebellious nature and attitude that led to his predicament and his conviction.

            Ever know anyone like that? Ever read a newspaper article or hear a new report about a similar situation? Perhaps someone you know is guilty of exploding epithets when quiet would have been a better choice.

            Good stories transcend generations and provide opportunity for thought, conversation, and self-reflection.

            Who was this young officer? When did his betrayal occur? It might be a surprise to learn that the event which triggered the story took place during the campaign and election of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States.

            That long ago.  Over 150 years, to be exact.

            The writer of the story, Edward Everett Hale, based his fictional account on current events of the period, steeping it in the culture of the time, so much that it read as realism.

Even then, people disagreed over politics, their country’s direction; the difference lies only in the names attached to the sides they favored. The disputes seem altogether familiar.

 Phillip Nolan, the officer Hale imagined, ended up on the wrong side of national sentiment. When Hale’s character heard the verdict of the court, he retaliated with expletives and spoke his own sentence: “D..n the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!”

            And he didn’t.

            Even the uniform buttons on which U.S. was emblazoned were replaced with plain buttons, those words becoming his nickname. He was relegated to various ships in the naval fleet with the officers and enlisted men receiving strict orders as to young officer’s treatment. No harsh treatment. No offensive remarks. Nevertheless, conversation about home or politics must cease in his presence. His reading material was censored for all mention of the USA; any mention of his native land was cut from newsprint. Those naval personnel onboard the ships where he was a passenger came to dread his presence when the trade from one vessel to another transpired. His transfer to the next ship always happened at least 100 miles from the United States mainland.

            In his fifty-plus years aboard ships roaming the oceans of the world, Nolan did mellow. His patriotism created a poignant shrine in his final stateroom. Over time, his demeanor changed from a brash, impetuous hot shot to a humbled patriot. Nevertheless, he was granted no pardon, no clemency, no appeal hearing. His sentence had been absolute and final. His outburst sentenced him to life without a country.

            Did he receive a just sentence from the court?

The short story “The Man Without a Country” by Edward Everett Hale offers opportunity for conversation on a grand scale. Family conversations or neighborhood chats generate discussion about patriotism, divergent opinions, or politics of the day. Put down the cell phone. Don’t tweet. Read the short story. Talk among yourselves. 
          Reactionary verbiage seldom builds a bridge. 
          Speaking in the heat of the moment often brings regret. 
         The subjects for discussion are open.

         “The Man Without a Country” is available for download on Kindle or Nook for Free, perhaps also through your My Library account. Check with your favorite librarian. Revisit this little gem or meet Philip Nolan for the first time.

            Email your perceptions to ellajane.jg@gmail.com

             You are invited to join the conversation.
My column featuring this article was published in the Clay County Times-Democrat last week. I'm sharing it here for multiple reasons...a little test print, if you will. 

New Kid: You Just Never Know

You just never know.

When your front doorbell chimes on Sunday afternoon, who might be paying a visit?
The preacher?
Not this time.

When I opened the door, there stood a pretty young lady, with a fish.
A good sized, yellow goldfish.
In a baggie filled with water.
She held it out like an offering to an unknown god.

Pretty fish - more yellow than gold and a great size.
Seems her daughter had received the fish from a Romeo.
Alas, however, she had no place to keep it, seeing as to its size.
She has Beta, but no place for a 3" x 3" gold fish.

Since her mother had heard from a relative's fiance that we were planning on cleaning out our goldfish pond and were looking for a container to hold the fish while we drained and cleaned the pond, she came to us, bearing a gift.

What? Run that past me again.

We'd been at Adams' Nursery getting some pots to transfer my gigantic ferns and saw some containers in their back lot. We talked to the folks there about the upcoming goldfish pond project, and there you have it. Word was out.

Joining Dot, Dreamsicle, Big Daddy, Jasper, and GreenieWeenie, among others, we have a new gold fish among our menagerie of fantails, speckled orange and white beauties, and butterfly koi,.. I call it New Kid.

And there you have it. What a Serendipity!
You just never know.

Lost and Found

A decree has been issued to declare me sane.
No vote is necessary.

I have found that for which I have searched.
For a month I have searched.
In the heat, sweat stinging my eyes.
Store rooms in the garage, crates in the dungeon,
Standing on my head, risking spider sightings.
I have video tapes of Richard's arrival and Christmas Pizza, other important events covering a few years that I used that enormous video camera (remember the 1990's?).
These video tapes' importance far exceeds many other tapes - even a video tape of GWTW.

These treasures for which I have turned the world upside down are video tapes my parents made for us from old 8mm movies.
YIKES
Now you understand.
I had them in Memphis.
I had them in Cordova.
I had them in Bartlett.
I had them in a bookcase
And then in plastic totes, Sam I Am.
Then, I unpacked.
Dangerous thing to do.
And, I put them away.
In a safe and secure place.
Double dangerous.

I've about pulled my hair out going from safe place to safe place.
Then, VOILA!
Today, after a month of searching, "What are you looking for?"
"Oh, just a few things...I don't remember where I put them..." I'm so nonchalant!
I looked where I had looked weeks ago, but then, I did not get down on hands and knees.

The tapes are in black cases and were pushed back - way, way back in the dark underground
Inside entertainment center cabinets under the TV, where the mechanism for DISH and DVR and JOEY and BlueRay live with all their wires and boxes and flashing lights and other so-very-important equipment.
A thousand pound weight lifted when my hands clasped the VCR boxes.

The wonderful thing is this:
While I may have lost some hair, some sleep, and almost lost my mind,
I did not lose the Family Video Archives.
Whew,

I live to lose other stuff, on another day.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The GIrls on the Porch

There, across from the Methodist Church and across from the proposed site for the new County Court House, the Gordons lived and prospered. And posed for a photograph with cows. They were city-folk now. Papa still taught school and helped his sister Mary Sue on the Gordon Plantation but they had mooooved into town in 1890.

Families in town sometimes kept chickens and raised hunting dogs. The Gordons did. They grew a little garden, also. They may have actually kept cows on the back acreage and perhaps some oinky pigs, also, but it would have been a noisy place if they did.

            Sometime about 1894-5, Papa had some cows he needed to sell. He determined to photograph the cows in the front yard of his home. This must have been a big event because he and his son George R Gordon donned suits with a hat to match. Four of the five daughters were helped into their coats and hats and hurried out onto the front porch by “Aunt Bessie,” the cook. The two older girls wore matching dark, double-breasted buttoned outerwear that made them appear much larger across the shoulders than they were. The two younger daughters did the same; theirs were light colored coats with mutton sleeves and festive, multi-pointed collars.

            This photo is affectionately known in the family as “the cow picture,” for if the cows were not about to be photographed for their sale, this charming picture of the sisters and their brother along with Papa and “Aunt Bessie” in the doorway would not exist.

            Frances, Susie, Mib, and Janie are posed beside one of the Corinthian columns, providing a backdrop for the photographs of the cows. Who took this picture? And where was Alice?

            In front with Cow 1 is an unidentified man with a huge, gray beard and George R Gordon, standing straight and tall, glad to be in the manly position of holding on to a cow. To the far right with Cows 2 and 3 stands Papa, Charles Thomas Gordon, and another unidentified man. Papa wears a white bow-tie and sports a pocket watch along with his fedora. He is dressed up to pose with the cows.

The rose trellis needs trimming as the weather must be quite chilly. The leaves on the roses appear dead and ready to crumble. The yard is dirt with some sprigs of whatever grasses grow without care. A brick walkway fashioned in a pattern leads up to the five steps at the approach to the front porch and open doorway flanked by two etched glass panes. Floor to roof shutters cover windows on the right side of the house, but are opened to the left, showing curtains in the window, suggesting the living area to the left of the center hall. The multiple Corinthian columns appear on two sides of the house in this photo.

            Missing from the photograph is first daughter: Alice V. Gordon.  She would have been sixteen or so and in typical Alice fashion would have raised herself up to full height, pitched her chin forward and said, “If you think I’m getting dressed up in a coat, standing out in the cold on the porch to have my photograph taken with a bunch of cows, you are out of your mind. You go right ahead. You’ll not find me there.”