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.