ABOUT WEDDINGS

Over the years, I have experienced many weddings. The first being my own in 1952. Since that time, the nuptial event has touched my life in many ways.  The latest being the Wedding of my adopted granddaughter, Heather Morice, and it is with pleasure I wish Nathan and Heather Turner the best as the couple begin their lives together.

My part in their wedding began with a journey to western Oklahoma, a formidable task at my age. We left early (for us anyway) at 9:00 am with the day’s destination to be Paris, TX.  Imagine a van load of wedding gifts (the cache from a Bridal Shower of a few weeks earlier), a lovely young woman (my granddaughter, Tasha) anxious to drive and well-equipped with electronics (iphone, ebooks with X-File stories), and my daughter, Robyn, with only the thought to keep up her classes for the Masters’ she has resolved to complete within this year.  Add to this scene all the paraphernalia needed for a wedding, in which all three of us had a part.  Crowded to the hilt, stressed to the limit, and a long, hot, road ahead, we climbed into the old van (assured by the mechanic, but not guaranteed that it was road-worthy) and began the journey.

“Only about 500 miles to Paris,” Robyn said, as she leaned back with her notes and computer to work on the last phases of the course facing her.  Tasha relaxed behind the wheel looking fresh and searching for a coffee shop with the eagle eye of the young.  I tried to relax with my knitting at my side in the jam-packed space.  Looking forward to six days of hotel living, I insisted upon too many toys, but they graciously accommodated my trappings without too much objecting.  Later, I heard that Tasha said,”Mommo (that’s me) and Maggie, Mandy’s, (the Maid of Honor and Heather’s sister) dog, were the heaviest travelers.  It seemed that Maggie’s baggage consisted of a huge dog food bin, her bed, dishes, and box of toys, and mine consisted of normal baggage, a hat box, a computer bag, a medicine bag, a knitting bag, and a folding walker. I admit, I never travel light.

But, I digress.  We made Paris later than expected after a long, hot ride with intermittent rainstorms to slow progress, at least a dozen stops, and surging stress from all sides.  The hotel room, crowded but adequate, felt great.  To be honest, I slept most of the trip listening to X-Files, a seven-hour story that droned on with adventure.  Entertaining, but so predictable that I could take twenty-minute sleep breaks and not miss any of the real story. 

Next morning, we left early (for us) and set the Google Maps destination for Woodward, Oklahoma, by late afternoon. One adventure after another, we doggedly searched for coffee shops.  One is remarkable, located in a small town in Texas, not sure where.  A typical western style, wooden floors, cultural décor on every open space on the walls, colorful local cowboys enjoying coffee mid-morning (I wondered about the status  of the ranches round about), but they had the modern iced-coffee Tasha craved to keep her focused for driving.  I asked for tea. Now, you would think that would be simple. Too many choices – I chose wrong. One swallow and I dumped the rest of the $5.00 cup.  Northeastern Texans apparently don’t care for hot tea.

Back on the highway – WOW, do we ever need tending to our infrastructure!  I could only think of Mark Twain’s comments. Riding in a stage coach is likened to “a cradle on wheels.” Believe me, our roads, as observed from the back seat of a fourteen-year-old Dodge van by an 82 year-old-lady, represent rather vividly what I can imagine that “cradle on wheels” ride must have been across the hills and plains of Louisiana, Texas, and Oklahoma.  My bones ached dramatically by “dark-thirty” as we traveled, the driver swerving often to avoid “bad roads.”

Oklahoma, a new experience for me, is beautiful, rolling hills, intermingled with miles of level plains, stretching before the observer.  Greener than expected, the terrain has experienced heavier than normal rainfall recently.  Amazing to me were the acres of windmills, or wind-generators, as some would call them, rising like silver, monstrous, towers of constant movement glistening in the sunlight across the plains of mid-Oklahoma.  I thought of my first view of oil derricks in southern Texas as, in 1948, my family drove through for the first time. Ugly, with their black creosoted wood structure, they rose like a blight on the otherwise pristine horizon. Gratefully, the oil industry conquered that era with more visibly acceptable equipment.

In talking with local folks, Oklahomans are divided as to the wind-generating dialogue. Many believe the wind power, along with other resources, is the future for energy.  However, with many years of research behind, the program remains questionable with growing costs, danger to the wildlife environment, and the vast amount of space required to produce power.  Oklahoma hopes to have a program in effect by 2017 to generate 15% of the State’s energy requirement.  Not the most glowing report considering the negatives that accompany the windmill.  Even so, I thought they were unique and beautiful rolling against the Oklahoma sky.

We made many coffee stops, one a truck stop with a huge teepee structure that could be seen for a long distance, reminding the traveler of the prominence of the Native American population, the Shawnee especially at this location.  As we climbed from the van, Tasha, looking back, exclaimed, “Mom, the car is falling apart!” Investigation revealed the stop-brake light had broken and hung by a wire to the van.  The, exceptionally well- equipped for this remote area, stop became critical at this point as it provided the duct tape Robyn needed to hold the van together.

We arrived in Woodward, dark-thirty, on Wednesday, hungry, tired, stressed, but happy to check into the Holiday Inn Express that stood like a beacon just off the main highway. A lavishly accommodating, huge space, two rooms and a kitchen, with excellent customer service.  I unloaded my baggage into the dresser drawers in the spacious room, set up my computer, kicked off my shoes, and made myself at home. THE ADVENTURE HAD ONLY JUST BEGUN!!!

If you’re interested, ABOUT WEDDINGS, will be continued. 

FATHER'S DAY

As do many dates on the calendar, Father’s Day is one of the most thought provoking in my memory.  Many will share my experience of losing a dad too soon in life.  At only 61 years of age, my dad succumbed to a disease of the circulatory system that plagued him for years.  He spent his life working in a chemical plant where he suffered exposure to various chemicals being researched and developed. In the early part of the twentieth century, when industrial development thrived, safety and possible injury remained aloof in the view of the great success of the advancement of manufacturing.  My dad and two uncles died in their early sixties after working from their teenage years in the same chemical industry. Thank God for the advances in protecting workers from such dangerous environments. 

The phone call came in the evening to my husband at the airport where he worked.  As he told of my dad’s untimely death from a massive heart attack, I felt my world falling apart.  I loved my dad with all my heart.  He above all others could still my fears, lift my spirits, excuse my faults, celebrate my successes, and love me unconditionally even when I didn’t deserve it.  Although it’s been 42 years, as I remember that evening, I feel the sharp pain in my heart as I accepted the finality of his passing.  William Donald Halstead, Jr. lived a simple live.  He worked with a passion to make life good for his family.  He lived a faithful life to his wife, my mother, and he taught his children to be independent and to reach for the stars.  He taught us to respect authority, to love God and His Word, and to give our whole heart to every task. He lived an example for us to follow.

Well-known and loved in the small community where they lived, nearly 200 friends passed through to express their sentiments to us, his loved ones.  We were overwhelmed by the outpouring of respect for our Dad. My mother lived many years longer, and I thank God for those precious years with her.  However, the pain at losing my dad has always haunted my spirit.  As Father’s Day celebrations fill June 19, 2016, with the honor deserved, I still miss my daddy.

The last years of his life, he visited my family often enjoying every minute with my three daughters.  The song “Make the World Go Away” was popular in that time frame of his retirement.  He loved teasing the children and singing the song to them as he often suffered silently with his illness.  As I swam in waves of grief the night of his death before boarding a plane to Texas for his funeral, I penned the following poem, and I still feel that grief.  This is for you, Dad, on this Father’s Day, June 19, 2016, as I live awaiting the day I will join you in Heaven.

MAKE THE WORLD GO AWAY

Once he was strong with a stubborn will

A tower of manhood, my Daddy Bill

Gentle and young, a wit of fun and pleasure

Savoring life each moment to treasure

As the years passed and youth did wane

His eyes grew dim and his body knew pain

He delighted the young ones in joyful play

With his teasing tune, “Make the World Go Away”

Unsteady hands, uncertain steps to take

A restless night, a blue morning to awake

But always a cheerful joke, the young to tease

He sang a tune, “Make the World Go Away,” please

Now the strength is gone, memories remain

Blue mornings, bad nights. There’ll be no more pain

Now he sings a new tune with the angels to play

For this winter evening, God “Made the World Go Away”

            The June calendar also celebrates Dad’s birthday. Born June 28, 1912, and passed to eternity, January 22, 1974.

YOU WILL NEVER REGRET THE HONOR PAID TO YOUR FATHER.

REMEMBER, JUNE 19TH

                                                

HONOR OLD GLORY

D-DAY, JUNE 6, 1944

Noticing the date on the calendar this morning, I’m drawn to memory lane once again.  Many time periods and dates remain embedded on my memory and cannot be denied regardless of the passing years.  For some reason, June 6^th I always remember although I often forget birthdays of important family members.

On Friday before June 6, 1944, I completed the fifth grade at Hansford Elementary School in St. Albans, WV.  On this particular Tuesday morning, I rose early, my bags packed, ready to go to the train station to ride the Doodlebug (a special passenger train) to Danville, WV, for my summer vacation with my beloved Aunt Pansy, Uncle Zach, and Wayne (presently the owner of Price Broadcasting, WZAC Radio, Z92 in Boone County, WV).

 Always a treasured trip, the weekend of preparation reached its climax as Mother posed me in the backyard for a photo before leaving for the station.  Other family members watched our performance with interest.  My six-year-old brother, Donny, continued to torment me about the trip (torment being his favorite pass time) as I tried to accommodate Mother for her photo.

Only a few hundred feet away on the same block, the school, the church, and a community bus stop stood as the gathering place for interaction between community residents.  Only two forms of public communication existed in those days. Radio and newspapers.  For this reason, newspapers published special editions when special events occurred, and they dispatched newspaper boys (young boys were the primary carriers to deliver newspapers) to designated corners to hawk the special event.

As we celebrated in the backyard, we heard the news boy shouting from the corner about the Invasion of Normandy. “Special, special, Allies invade France,” his excited voice carried throughout the neighborhood.  Mother gave Donny a nickel (5 cents) and sent him to purchase a paper for us.  We read the entire story, and I remember the excitement in the faces of the adults around us.  A rumored and “prayed for” turn of events in the five-year-long war.

As children, world war framed our lives and forced awareness of current events. My entire elementary school experience consisted of collecting for the war effort and understanding the shortages of things we desired.  The Weekly Reader, a current event paper, provided as a teaching tool that we must read on every Monday morning remains an outstanding memory. Following the pledge to the flag, a prayer, and a patriotic song, usually “God Bless America,” the teacher laid The Weekly Reader on our desks, and we began the journey across the map that always depicted the position of American troops through the war zones, both in Europe and the Pacific.  A dark period in History – the whole world at war. Without exception, we all had someone over there somewhere. 

At school closing the week before June 6th, the news remained grim. The Allies experienced more losses than gains.  However, rumors of an invasion that our leaders leaked to the masses gave hope for the future.  D-Day arrived. What did the term mean? General Dwight Eisenhower is quoted as saying, “It simply meant designated day.”

I rode the Doodlebug that June morning and enjoyed a delightful visit. When school began in September, 1944, the news continued to be grim as the troops fought a vicious struggle to gain French territory.  The winter of 1944 and spring of 1945 brought deadly and costly statistics to the Allies.  We learned of their losses and gains on a weekly basis every Monday morning.  However, on May 8, 1945, the Axis powers surrendered in Europe. In early August, 1945, Japan, refusing to surrender, suffered bombing that we pray may never occur again.  WW11 continued on in the Pacific until August 15, 1945, when Japan surrendered although hostilities continued until September 2, 1945.

Imagine the excitement and wonder of beginning my Junior High School days, the seventh grade, without war as the most studied subject.  War dominated my entire life from the first grade to the seventh. Is it any wonder that senior citizens of my age are appalled by the events surrounding us today?  And since those days, we fought bravely on so many fronts (Korea, Viet Nam, The Middle East) to keep our freedom.  Of course, we feel war-weary as we should.  However, to live free, to speak freely, to worship freely, to protect our rights, the price must be paid.  With memory of past battles, we stress over the loss of freedom being espoused by our leaders in the trend to socialism.

Many of our countrymen gave their ALL, loss of life or disability for life, to keep us free. History provides us with facts to study and learn.  Failure to make wise decisions that may not always be comfortable or desirable, may doom another generation to years of living in world-wide, war-torn countries, or following The Weekly Reader with a destiny of losses and gains to keep their freedom.

Yes, memories of D-Day, June 6, 1944, should continue forever as a reminder of past events, and History should teach us of mistakes to avoid for a brighter future. Let’s open our History Books and learn!

          

PHOTO taken 72 years ago today.  Background my brother, Donny Halstead, deceased in 2005. RIP 

MEMORIAL DAY

What does this day mean to you?  Great. A day off from work. The first holiday of summer.  Yea! Summer is officially here.  It means BBQ, potato salad, baked beans, and family gatherings. A trip to the beach, or the old fishing hole.  All good things. But, the question is “What does Memorial Day really mean?” 

Time for deep thinking. You wouldn’t be doing all these wonderful, entertaining, events if at least one percent of our fellow citizens were not sacrificing their whole lives to make this country safe for you to move about freely choosing how you will spend your days. Take a moment and offer a silent prayer for their safety in places where they are often unwanted.

I watched an NPR Memorial Day Concert last evening.  An excellent soul-searching, but entertaining, event honoring all our military from the War Between the States to the current issues in the world.  It is appropriate for every citizen to take a few minutes out of their free lives to remember those who have given their lives, and those who are living, but will never be the same – the disabled veterans.  Also, we owe allegiance to those thousands of families who hold up the hands of their loved one serving the country.  They should be honored for the hours of worry, the moves, the loneliness, the struggle to keep normalcy around their children. Say a special prayer for them also.

Many of you support open borders, socialized life style, government intervention into your lives, and all the free utopia hawked from the election podium, and you shout that America should not be exceptional in the world. Have you studied your history books – I don’t mean read history – have you STUDIED the facts? The road to socialism is clearly defined and the results demonstrated in current events occurring in Venezuela today.  Hugo Chávez stood at the UN spewing his socialism to the world a few years ago.  He called President George Bush, SATAN.  He said, as he stood in the place where Mr. Bush spoke only hours earlier, “I can smell the sulfur.  Yes, SATAN stood here.” He ruled his country as he spoke – utopia at first – but now, after a few years, total depravity, no food, no jobs, no hope for the future with a still dominate, controlling government oppressing the people.  IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT? BE SURE YOU LISTEN carefully to the rhetoric of the socialist. They do not have your best interests in mind.  They are reaching for control of your lives.

We must guard the freedoms many died to protect. We are losing them as the days pass. Think carefully of how you must guard your words, i.e. freedom of speech, you feel threatened by being religious, i.e. we can’t refer to ourselves living in a Christian nation; it’s politically incorrect to think religious freedom is a right. Not only are First Amendment rights questioned, but now Second Amendment rights are threatened.  

Those folks we stop to honor on Memorial Day fought and died for the Constitutional Rights others attempted to take from us in years past.  Have we made mistakes? Of course, huge mistakes. Will we make future mistakes? Of course, maybe even worse than before.  But NO ONE, ABSOLUTELY NO ONE has offered a better solution to living free with human rights held in esteem than our current Constitution. We must continue to provide the free, really free, country for our future generations.  Think about your choices while you enjoy your holiday, and try to make educated, knowledgeable choices in the future. 

Well, what do I know? I’m just an old lady without a clue. Happy Memorial Day to everyone!

IT'S A HANKIE!

One day my granddaughter and I were exploring the contents of my old trunks and stored memories when we opened a drawer to find a collection of handkerchiefs.  Imagine my surprise when she reached for a lovely lace sample and asked, “What is this?”  Taken aback by the question, I took out several to display for her and began my explanation.

 `The handkerchiefs, “hankies” as most women referred to them, are very old possibly fifty to seventy-five years.  They belonged to my grandmother, aunt, mother, and to a dear friend, Shirley.  Many were handmade by embroidery and crocheted lace, an intricate and delicate handcraft that is mostly lost to today’s generation.  In later years, hankies were factory made and ladies added the lace.  Some of these are factory made and others have handmade lace and embroidery.  Hankies were usually carried in a purse, a pocket, or to accessorize.  They were used to wipe tears and to blow the nose (believe it or not).  They were laundered, ironed with care, and folded three-corner style as these examples. 

 In earlier decades, one must not be caught without a hankie.  She may have it carefully folded in her purse, slipped in a pocket often showing slightly, or tucked neatly at her wrist peeking out of a long sleeve.

The hankie occupies a place of honor in the long forgotten hall of fame of feminine wiles. Young women perfected this sham to gain prominence and to pursue their mate.  In the day when women were submissive, demure, and a bit deceitful with trickery meant to catch the eye of a man, they used the hankie as a prop.  They purposely dropped it so the man, who must be the gentleman, will pick it up and have an excuse to speak to the elusive lady as he returns the hankie.  She must graciously respond thus beginning a legitimate conversation with the gentleman.  Hankies began many relationships that ended in marriage. 

Hankies disappeared with the advent of the paper tissue that made its debut shortly after world war two when the frenzy for disposable products began.  Demure young ladies and polite young men disappeared with the advent of women’s lib.  I miss them both.

 My granddaughter listened to my discourse with obvious interest and asked if she could have a few samples.  “Of course,” I said, “take as many as you want.”  As I watched her touch the old hankies with care, I wondered what amazing new invention would replace the tissue in future generations when trees begin to disappear.

THE NEW WORLD ORDER - GLOBAL POWER

Being careful to check things that are quoted and passed on as truth has become a challenge to me.   In recent weeks, I have fact-checked many issues being aired in cyberspace.  Of course, fact-checkers can be mistaken also, but controversial issues often become suspect.  Look for the source.  In today’s rush to be right, we need to slow down before we make a showdown.  The latest in my list of challenges concerns Hillary Clinton.

Although for my entire adult life, I have held little regard for Hillary Clinton, I must correct a statement traveling through Facebook referring to her book written in 1996, It Takes a Village and Other Things Children Teach Us. There is no reference to this quote. She has not said at any point that she believes children should be raised by the state, or that parents should take a secondary role. I challenge Facebook to show me where this is found. 

Having said this, I do believe Mrs. Clinton clings to the ideas of community involvement in rearing children, and to that point, I agree, with some reservation.  Parents do benefit from interacting with each other (as in a village) to share in parenting.  Helping each other physically and emotionally can make the burden lighter for a family.  There is no substitute for religious training, Godly guidance, and fellowship.   However, these are my views; not necessarily those of Hillary Clinton.

The real issue with Mrs. Clinton and other POWERFUL government puppets, and I do believe she is a puppet of the POWERFUL, is to seek out and become knowledgeable regarding the empire-building taking place in the shadows of our national politics.  To continue forward with the current agenda that leads us toward the goals of socialism and communism is of much greater danger than the trivial issues being dragged across our TV screens presently.  The use of restrooms falls to the bottom of the list of priorities when compared to the decline of our educational system, the loss of religious freedom, economic failure,  monumental debt,  and moral decay.

Of greater importance to me is the slippery slope toward GLOBAL POWER or government. Socialism fails in small doses, but if global leaders grab enough power to make socialism widespread, we are doomed to live in the resulting loss of freedoms. Consider the fact that the European Union continues to exist and is being propped up from the shadows in the hope to keep it alive and well.  In reading behind the scenes, this is MY THEORY, note carefully, my theory, NOT FACT.

When power in the Americas (Canada, Central and South America) can combine to form an Americas Union similar to European Union, grabbing global power by the ultra-liberal, wealthy will prevail.  With all the power and might, they can easily control Asian countries bringing the world into the global slavery the ultra-rich and powerful have long desired and are maneuvering into place. THE NEW WORLD ORDER.

We see today the lack of care in minority neighborhoods, using the poverty and disarray to keep attention on racism. How smart to direct our attention to one problem while oppressing the real reason so it can be grown without notice. Islam believes it is converting the world.  Allowed to press forward in radical form, they kill their own and keep the world distracted so THE POWERFUL can work silently in the shadows. If we cared to, our government could wipe out Islamic Radicalism like a swarm of insects.  In reality, THE POWERFUL support the radical crusade to keep the masses distracted, and they will destroy Islam when they no longer need them. Our higher educated believe religion is a non-issue and destined to fade into infinity.

Those who believe they are gods and all powerful will fall eventually.  Almighty God will bring them to their knees in due time.  Meanwhile, if we continue to ignore the symptoms, we are destined to live in global slavery beholden to global leaders who will crack the whip giving us what we deserve because we failed to stand up and fight when we had the opportunity.  Where are the heroes?