Sunday, November 09, 2008

PTSW: Dirty Dishes

I have had the privilege of hearing excellent thought-provoking sermons often. Sheila and I have been members of Trinity United Methodist Church for several decades now. Our pastors have included James Sanders, Paul Hanna, David Naglee, George Freeman and other excellent speakers.
Our current young pastor, David Campbell, speaks from the heart, without notes, and delivers some of the best constructed sermons I've ever heard.
A while back Jim Turrentine, my brother by way of marriage to my sister Joan, retired from fulltime ministry and came to our church as a parttime associate minister, so I get to hear his excellent sermons fairly often.
My father was a Methodist minister during my first 39 years, so I got to squirm each Sunday, hoping he wouldn't use me as an illustration!
And tonight I once again got to hear another of my favorite pastors, my mother Ruth Shaw. You can read her blog at Ruthlace.
Mother began her full-time ministry two Sundays after my father's death in 1986. She completed seminary at Emory's Candler School of Theology and became a fully ordained Methodist Elder a few years later. She is now retired but, as the youngest 85-year-old you'll ever see, still frequently preaches at our Sunday evening services.
Tonight she spoke about thankfulness. She used Luke's account of Jesus healing the ten lepers, only one of whom took time to thank Jesus.
As an illustration Mother told about the weekend she stayed home in our tiny apartment in Wilmore, Kentucky, with little Debi who was two months old and very sick while Daddy traveled to Dunkinsville, Ohio to preach at his parttime appointment at three churches in that area. (Our parsonage at Dunkinsville was a nice little house, as I remember it, three bedrooms and a path.) When fretting Debi finally got to sleep mother still had chores to do, so she turned on the radio in the kitchen and started washing the big mound of dirty dishes she and her five children had used that day. As it happened the radio preacher asked a relevant question as my young mother's water-wrinkled hands scrubbed plates and rinsed them: Have you ever thanked God for dirty dishes? "Hardly!" she thought. Then he recited this little poem.

Thank God for Dirty Dishes

author unknown

Thank God for Dirty Dishes,
They have a tale to tell.
While others are going hungry,
We're eating very well.

With home and health and happiness,
I shouldn't want to fuss.
For by this stack of evidence,
God's very good to us.

Mother said she had never seen the poem in print but she could still recite it. I googled it as soon as I got home and found it sown all about the internet. No one seems to know the poet's name.

I find it easy to be thankful for the "goosebump moments" my mother mentioned elsewhere in her sermon, but for the next few days I may find myself expressing a silent prayer of thanks for things like grass to mow, broken gutters to mend, joints that ache, papers to grade, expensive gas to buy, -- maybe even taxes to pay.

God's been very good to me.

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Sunday, August 03, 2008

Sunday Concert -- Brannon's Song

It was late in the evening on August third, 1983 - twenty-five years ago tonight. I was upstairs, frantically trying to finish painting so the carpet installers could come the next morning. Sheila had already gone to bed. She called me down to time contractions. About nine, we decided the contractions were close enough and consistent enough that we ought to head to the hospital. I remember a moment of acute consciousness as I drove down a dark Cedar Avenue, in that sharp curve just before crossing the little side track, Sheila performing rhythmic breathing in the passenger seat. I knew it was a moment I would never forget. Tonight would be a night of irreversible change in our lives. I was a little frightened by it, but eager for it.

We parked in the emergency parking lot, then on the west side of the hospital. The contractions were coming so quickly that Sheila could make it only from one car to next between them. She would lean on a car and expel those rhythmic hisses till the contraction eased.

It was a long night. Sheila bravely, determinedly, and without anesthesia, labored until three A.M. Finally the baby's hair appeared. At three thirty-one with a final brave push, she was born: kinda messy but beautiful. The nurses had prepared a little cloth-lined bath basin and, after her just-as-beautiful mother had held her a bit, I got to hold the most precious thing I'd ever held to that point in my life and bathe her. Yes, it was a "her". I had not been concerned to wonder about her sex, I'd been so wrapped up in the wonder of her birth and the counting of her fingers and toes.

By the time mother and baby were settled into a regular maternity room, I had to leave to finish getting ready for the carpet guys: we wanted the house ready when Brannon came home. I'll be forever in the debt of our wonderful friend Cotton Franklin who met me at the house to spend a couple of very early hours frantically getting the upstairs cleaned and ready for the carpet guys. Then I rushed back to the hospital.

I went to sleep on the floor of the hospital room -- probably drooling on the carpet. Our pastor, James Sanders, and several others came by to see us, only to find us totally unconscious during the first visiting hour. (Sheila has a very complete journal of those days, but I haven't reviewed it in a while. I think maybe my sister Joan and our friends Mildred and Philip were among the ones who found us sleeping.) We managed to be conscious by the afternoon visiting time.

I had never felt vulnerable in my life till 3:31 a.m., August 4, 2008. The world changed for me at that moment.

Brannon, the joy and fear and excitement and love and ambition and admiration and awe that you (and later your sister) have brought into my life could never be adequately conveyed in the pixels of a computer screen or in any combination of the hundreds of thousands of words in the English language.

I love you unconditionally.

Happy Birthday.

My silly song for Brannon has always been "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You". Here is A very young Ricky Nelson singing the song.



Here's the post and slideshow I made of Brannon pics for her birthday last year.

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Saturday, July 05, 2008

Sunday Concert: Independence Day 2008

A few pics from our annual
Independence Day Celebration


We spent the week getting the house and yard ready. I primed the back porch floor, then gave it three coats of paint -- the third because I let an unexpected blowing rainstorm mar the second coat. I bought, hauled and spread four cubic yards of mulch.


I painted the yard furniture. I laid down a new pad of 25 pavers for the swing to sit on. I bought and repotted a bunch of flowers and ferns.


When I leaned the old mantle temporarily against a tree, I was suddenly inspired to make it a whimsical yard decoration with a geranium "fire".


David arrived before noon, parked his smoker in the back yard, fired it up. and started smoking four Boston butts. Later he would add a bunch of chicken, some corn on the cob, and some sourdough bread. (This pic is actually from last year's celebration - I didn't get around to getting the Canon out till much later in the day, and somehow neglected to get smoker pics.)


Early in the afternoom some other family members began arriving. By six, other friends began to filter in.

About six-thirty Mike, Richard, and I drove down the street to pick up Wint Barton, our "ninety-five and three-quarters" year old friend. Here Wint regales Teresa and Mike.
At about 7:20 we rang the dinner bell, Sheila gave a few instructions, I offered a prayer, and we formed a line through the hallway to the dining room and den where tables were laden with a huge array of bowls and platters of wonderful food.


The levee is the only toy the kids need. Haley (!!!!!) was my early afternoon helper, but by seven she was off and running on the levee with Cody and Miles and Hannah and Luke and Adam and Allie...



As the sun began to set Sheila enjoyed a laugh with our humorist and writer friend Ray Atkins and Marsha. Ray has recently published his first novel, The Front Porch Prophet, which I plan to read next week. A second, Sorrow Wood, is due to be published next year.


My current principal, Rodney, and my former principal, Bo, compare notes. I consider both good friends and enjoyed comparing early teaching experiences with them for a while. Bo's husband, Quillian, talks with thier grandson, Adrian.


Julie's friend Lori brought her kids, Hannah and Luke, who made themselves immediately at home.


Lyn, who made me an uncle with her birth, is moving to Rome this fall with hubby, Ricky, and their three children. Here they wait on the river walk at the top of the levee for the fireworks to start.

Nearby Julie, Miles, and Lori await the fiery show.


Our nephew Josh (waving) is just back in the states for a furlough after three years in Germany and Iraq. He brought along several friends. They and 25 or so others of our guests found the viewing just fine from the backyard at the base of the levee.


The top of the levee was crowded with many of our 94 guests and several thousand other Romans there to watch the fireworks.


One of my former students and his parents and grandmother joined us. Zane conducted one of the most interesting science fair projects two years ago. He set up three scent stations on the campus - a circle of smoothed sand a meter in diameter. In the center of each he placed a cotton ball soaked in bobcat urine.Bobcat urine is known to attract the attention of other animals. He checked the sand each day for animal tracks. We were disappointed that the only tracks he found other than assorted birds and domestic cats were those of 'possums and 'coons.


Three great-nieces and a niece -- all GREAT nieces!


Sam and his dad, Steve, are old friends of ours. Sam is spending the next couple of weeks directing an arts camp. He's invited me to sing at the camp next Wednesday.



Then the telltale sound and a streak into the sky over the river...


... and a big explosion of colors...






A great night... y'all come next July fourth!

In honor of the origins of this celebation, take a listen to this recording of Jefferson's immortal words:




(Hat tip to Tricia at the Miss Rumphius Effect.)

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Thursday, June 26, 2008

A Very Personal Questionaire

One of my sisters sent a thought-provoking questionaire out to the family to spur some discussion. As usual I've used this meme as a jumping off place for musings that go beyond single answers to the questions asked. So why not make a post of it:

1. Who influenced you the most when you were growing up?

I have written two posts about non-family influences on my life that you can read here and here. But like most everyone, the biggest influences on my life have come from my family. I see in my behavior and in the mirror some of the genetic influences of my parents every day. Growing up in a pastor's family means I grew up confronting big (even eternal) issues very early. I remember distinctly, at about six-years-old, trying to force my mind to comprehend the enormity of the universe as I pressed my cheek against the back window of the car, staring into the milky way on a cold clear night drive to Kentucky. When I could stand the terror of such thoughts no longer, I looked around the warm Chevy's interior at my calm parents, and my sleeping siblings, and realized that there are things beyond my imaginings and, for me, love is enough. (See "Beyond Stars" here.)

I practically worshipped my two older sisters and have always had great admiration for them, their husbands, and for their strong marriages. I wanted something like that for myself.

And I am still growing. Truth be told, Sheila has probably been my greatest influence. And both my daughters have, just by coming into our lives, opened up experience to me that I treasure. They have also influenced my life through their independent interests and experiences.

2. Tell about your favorite childhood memory.

There are many. The earliest is foggy, but I walked hand-in-hand as a toddler with Jan and Joan to take Daddy his lunch when he worked at Callaway Mills in Milstead GA. I hope that is a real memory. I was three when we moved from there. Vacation Bible School at Antioch Methodist near Mackville KY and at Midway and Sunnyside churches near Griffin GA. Walking to school that first day hand in hand with my Mama in Mackville KY. Swinging on a huge swing in a tree at a little house we rented near Milstead one summer and drying peaches and apples in the sun there for fried pies. People-watching and listening to stories in my grandfather's barber shop. Going to drive-in movies with Uncle James -- I remember he went to sleep during one! Listening to stories at my Daddy's feet in his little outbuilding study in Griffin GA. Listening to Bible stories at bedtime from my mother. Listening to family stories as my grandmother and her sisters crocheted on a porch in Porterdale GA.

3. What was the saddest time in your life?

My father's death. My grandfather's death. The death of our dear friend, Carolyn Burton. Like everyone else, I suppose, our family has suffered several very sad premature deaths. My cousin Jack in a hotel fire. My uncle Jack from a heart attack. My cousin Ray in a plane crash. Sheila's cousin Leland in a bicycle wreck. Just a few week's ago a teenage cousin was killed in an auto accident.
The failure of our first business in 1977 was a time of sadness.
The 1968, 1980, 2000, and 2004 presidential election results were very sad events for me.
I have had two other periods of self-pity and depression that were tough times -- mostly of my own making.

4. What was the happiest time in your life?

- that week at Cape San Blas in 1971,
- giving first baths to two little girls in 1983 and 1988,
- making up stories for my two daughters in the late eighties and early nineties.
- of course, those heady moments on stage as Charlie Anderson or Tevye or Archibald Craven.
- I was ecstatic that November night in 1976 when we celebrated with Jimmy Carter in Atlanta and when the next January I watched from home as he, Rosalynn, and Amy walked hand in hand down Pennsylvania Avenue. (And the Wyche Fowler and Bill Clinton victories)
- curtain calls

But I've had some blissfully happy days very recently, for that matter.

5. What was the best advice someone gave you?

I have received a lot of advice from family members that I value.
I have had the privilege of hearing an awful lot of very inspiring sermons from my father, my mother, my brothers-in-law, and pastors at our church and my college.
The Bible stories my mother read and lessons/discussions at VBS, Sunday School, and Camp Glisson.
My mother passed along advice from her mother that I try to follow:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Don't borrow trouble, with yesterday’s strife.
Take time, smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while
Then pick up each new day.
With love and a smile!

- Ruth Baird Shaw
from "A Ballad for My Mother"


The advice I read in Erick Fromm's book, The Art of Loving, about the nature of love rang true with me and empowered me to answer the next question very definitely.

6. If you are married, how did you know your spouse was "the one"?

I knew Sheila was "the one" when I decided she was "the one" and she agreed to make me her "one". As I have waxed eloquently in the past, I believe that love is a conscious deliberate decision. It is a choice. It is a commitment. Anything less is ... well , a lot less. Pheromones or fate are cheap, available to boars, bats, and butterflys, and not at all romantic. As humans, we get to choose to love. To me that is the only love worthy of the name.

7. Tell about your favorite vacation - or a trip you've taken.

Our rail trip across the country and back in 1979. Our Greater Shaw Family vacations at Mexico Beach, Sunset Beach, and Topsail Beach, and our Roman Holidays were wonderful, especially for our children.

8. If you could relive any part of your life, which part would it be?

That rail trip would be fun to repeat. A few moments with a toddler Brannon or Lillian would be great. Another week at San Blas as a 24-year-old would be great. To listen to Daddy Shaw, or Mama Baird, or Daddy again.

9. Tell about a childhood friend, pet, and/or experience.

My best friend, as a toddler, was Galen Foster. My mother declares that Galen and I invented our own language.
Terry & Galen and Galen & Terry

In elementary school my best friend was Marty Teem and yet I do not remember a single picture of Marty except for those in yearbooks. He and I were working on our bikes at his uncle's "filling station". Oiling the moving parts was part of the procedure, and in the process one or the other of us started squirting the other with oil. Tempers flared and we angrily agreed to meet at the football field at such-and-such time to settle the issue with our fists. I wanted very badly out of the predicament when such-and-such time arrived, but pride forced me onto my bike and on my way to the rendevous. I had hardly started my reluctant journey when I spied Marty coming on his bike toward me with a sheepish grin on his face and an offer to let bygones go. I was very happy to agree. I believe it took more courage for Marty to make peace than it did for me to climb stubbornly onto my bike and head for an unnecessary fight.

10. How did you choose your vocation?

Since I have been so vocal about "choosing love" it is incongruous that I did not choose my profession until 1999. Until then I was searching for a calling.

In 1969, a few days before graduating from college with majors in English and History, I was quarrentined in the Asbury College clinic with the mumps and NO idea what I would do the next year. My friend (and fellow blogger on the Limb) Mike Bock showed up at the clinic door and announced that he had picked up an extra Teacher Corps application in Lexington, in case I was interested. Taking a couple of years to serve my country by helping poor Appalachian kids sounded much better than trying to get into a standard graduate program or, even worse, going off to Vietnam to fight to save one dictator from another, so I filled out the forms and sent them in. Having no direction in my life at that point, and feeling really very unprepared for adulthood, I chose to do something useful while I looked for my calling.

I came out of the Teacher Corps with a Master's Degree, a fiance and, after a one-minute (or less) "interview" by phone with Judson Frost, a teaching job in Rome Georgia. Two years later at 26, Judson asked me to be his assistant principal.
"What would that entail," I asked.
"Well, you'd have to watch the late bus every afternoon, and lead the prayer at PTO meetings."
For a $400 a year supplement to my salary I accepted Judson's offer, though he failed to mention a few other responsibilities - toting children with busted or dislocated bones to a doctor's office or hospital, administering paddlings, filling in as the acting principal when Judson took off that week for a conference every year or when he was out for some other reason, and finally filling in for him for a bit longer when he died of a heart attack at 45. The superintendent asked if I'd be interested in filling in permanently. I responded that I had never considered going into fulltime administration. I've frequently wondered how things might have changed in our lives if I had responded differently. Today I would answer the question differently, but I can't wish I had done differently then. (See #14)

After 19 years of teaching and one failed business sideline, I decided that publishing would be my calling - I quit my teaching job to try to make my sideline my career. Eleven years later, my second business venture having failed, I took another look at teaching, and at fifty, decided this teaching thing is something I'm good at, that is rewarding intellectually and emotionally, and that pays the bills.

As a career teacher for nine years now, I am happy. I am so involved in several teaching projects close to my heart, that even if retirement were possible right now, I might not choose it. On the other hand, I could audition for lots of theater roles!

11. Of what event/accomplishment in your life are you most proud?

Brannon and Lillian, of course.



I was very pleased with my performances in Shenandoah and Fiddler on the Roof.
I am glad that I was able to lead the effort to construct a Braille Trail at Marshall Forest (I was the first recipient of the Marshall Forest Stewardship Award in 1981.)
I am pleased to have led, in the seventies, a very wide-ranging survey of Floyd County teachers, crunched the results ad infinitum (without a computer), and presented recommendations based on the results to the Board of Ed. I suspect I put as much work into that project as some have their doctoral dissertations. And that meeting with the superintendent and board may have been as stressful as a dissertation defense!
I am proud of my race for State Representative in 1984 -- even though I lost that race it helped me grow and become more confident, especially in public speaking and debate.
I am glad of having the fortitude to take the risks involved in our two business efforts.
I am pleased that I have been able to play a role in some of our school's environmental efforts.
I have tried very hard to stand up for what I believe is right even when it elicited namecalling from classmates in high school, or lost me votes in my one political race, or put me at odds with some of my loved ones and, a few times, spurred hurtful words.

12. How have you changed as you've grown older?
I am the same guy. As my mother reminds us, as we grow older we keep our earlier selves and just add new ages to them. A couple of my siblings may be surprised to read that I think I have grown more conservative with age. I suppose my most important growth has been in self-confidence. I have definitely grown fatter and achier.

13. What was your most difficult accomplishment? Three come to mind that were all failures, in a way.
The 1984 campaign-- I had to speak publically many times - my worst phobia. I participated in debates. I was interviewed by the Rome News and radio newsmen. I was wined and dined by assorted fat cats, and had to tell one well-heeled group that I opposed their primary cause. My opponent accused me of dealing unethically with some of his political enemies. (I listened to their charges against him but I did not repeat them.)
Business venture #1 and #2 were both very challenging and I am very proud of some of our accomplishments.
Our newspaper (#1) was the first in Rome to send a reporter to cover the state legislature for the whole session. The Rome News followed suit and has continued to cover the legislature more fully since that time. We published several investigative reports that were important for their time. Our most controversial one foreshadowed a major scandal that did not fully break into the public eye until after we stopped publishing.
Our magazine (#2) filled a real need in the community. When the big publishing company in town noticed they appoached the Chamber of Commerce and managed to persuade the Chamber, with no notice before the fact to us, to drop their sponsorship of our magazine and sponsor instead a big publishing company/CC collaborative magazine with, in my opinion, a nearly identical format. That magazine is still going strong. So our idea worked, but others reaped the benefit.

14. Tell about any regrets you've had.
I wish I had stuck with piano, even though I was very uncomfortable under the wing of Miss Mable Henslee.
I wish I could have overcome my teen angst sooner.
I wish I had taken voice lessons in my adolescence.
I wish I had gotten back into acting twenty years sooner.



I wish I had given up on my business venture a few years sooner.
I wish I were less of a pack rat.
I wish I had taken my girls on a big vacation out west while they were 8 and 13 or so.
I wish, I wish, I wish...but ...
I am almost obsessed with the ways in which all things work together.
I could have taken a voice scholarship at Berry, according to the judges at the Region voice competition in 1965 .. .but Sheila did not attend Berry. I cannot imagine. Philosophically, I know I could have found another love, but would I have read Fromm? Would I have learned that lesson? And more importantly, I know the love I've experienced with Sheila and the two little girls that resulted from our union. I cannot wish the tiniest change that might have affected those relationships! So I'll just take all 61 years, the good, the bad, and even the boring.

15. How do you approach death? It makes me angry that life is so brief. I have barely discovered my voice and I am already losing it. Youth is wasted on the young. My legs and feet and arms ache. The world is peopled so differently now when I am so much better equipped to tell my heart to those absent. And I swear I'll do better with those that remain, and another year passes and Don is gone, and young Tyler, and I still miss the mark. Whether it be this year or twenty years hence, soon it will be my turn. I want to have said and done the things I should.
I suppose it is an odd thought, but I have often sorrowed that, while I hope they will live long and therefore outlive me, I will not be present to support and comfort my younger loved ones in their final battles. I want them to hold on to my love in that hour.
I am not frightened by death, but I certainly want to live.
Life is too short. But how grand it is...
...to hear Grady Shaw's stories,



...to see the pride in Ieula Baird's eyes as she greets me,
...to feel Brannon or Lillian's tiny fingers clasping one of mine,
...to taste Sheila's lips on mine,
...or to smell the mingled joys of turkey and yeast rolls on the counter, and vegetables still simmering on the stove as my big extended family join hands and Mother offers a thanksgiving for all the blessings of this too short life.

16. What do you want the family to know about you (and/or how do you want to be remembered)?
When I step through those pearly gates, it would please me if St. Peter were to holler "Y'all look coming yonder! He may be a champion sinner, and sometimes an unmitigated ol' fool, but how 'bout that heart! Ain't that a load of love the ol' boy is carrying for his family, his friends, his students, his country, and that whole beautiful blue marble down there."

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Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Speeding Tickets

My mother suggested I submit this e-mail as a post on Alone On a Limb. I do what my Mama says -- except in politics.

For many years I was able to brag that I had never gotten a speeding ticket. Alas, I lost my chance to beat (my sister) Joan's record. It was only after I was a daddy that I started getting speeding tickets. I think I have had a total of three at this point.

The first was here in Rome late in 1985. It was certainly deserved. I was hurrying, late to school, and was stopped for going 45 in a 30 MPH zone. The only thing memorable about that is that I goofed up and, in the midst of Christmas and New Year celebrations, let the deadline pass without paying the fine and so had to go to court, even though I was not contesting it. I remember the court date well because it happened to have been the day (my uncle) Jack Shaw died. Sheila was at work. I had to pick up Brannon from Kids' Stop (day care) and then with my young child go sit in the big county courtroom on the second floor of the 1890 Floyd County Courthouse with its scary gargoyles on every corner, and wait my turn to plead guilty while I dealt with the shock of my uncle's sudden and very premature death.

The courtroom was crowded with an assortment of seedy looking folk. Two-year-old Brannon sat in my lap on the second bench from the back as the court officers called one case after another. Public drunkenness. Driving under the influence. Brawling. My mind had wandered far from the courtroom when I was jolted by the calling of my name. "Guilty!" I said, much too loud, and leaving no doubt in the minds of any listener of the sincerity of my plea. The unshaven wizened old coot on the row behind leaned in at that point to ask what it was I was accused of.

I earned my second speeding ticket in North Carolina on an Interstate, on the way home from Sunset Beach or Topsail maybe. I was just going with the flow (75 or 80 probably) when a NC State trooper picked me out of a bevy of candidates. I knew I was speeding - like virtually all the cars ahead and behind me. I was ready to pay my debt to society. I held no ill will toward the officer: but I was curious. So while he was filling out the forms and my wife sat quietly at my side and my two angelic daughters observed the interrogation of their criminal father, I asked the question on my mind. I asked it pleasantly and in a tone of genuine curiosity and motivated solely by a wish to be educated on the topic: "How did you happen to choose to stop my car out of all the speeding cars today?"

My bride gasped in exasperation and uttered my name in a stage whisper. The policeman did not really answer my question, but my question was a topic of discussion in our automobile for a while. My wife should have known by that point that I have conducted more interviews than Larry King - I just don't get paid for them. Anytime I am thrown in with another human being, I ask questions. I have discovered that virtually everyone has an interesting story. I always want to know it. This is a trait that has resulted in unexpected friendships and entertaining information and interesting experiences. Unfortunately, I occasionally run into someone who interprets curiosity and friendliness as impertinence.

I was truly just curious to know how he happened to pick me. Would he stop the very next speeder he would see after ticketing me? Does he stop each tenth speeder? Did my out-of-state tag influence him?

The third time I was ticketed for speeding it was late one evening on Highway 27 somewhere in southwest Georgia. We were on our way home from Tallahassee. Brannon, Lillian, and Sheila were in the car. I was obviously guilty as sin. I asked no questions of the officer. I paid the 85 dollars, if not happily, at least without complaint, on time by mail. Even I am capable of learning from my mistakes.

Though I had not been given a speeding ticket till 1985, I had been stopped and given warnings several times, the most notable being the first time in about 1963.

I was coming home one night, I think alone, from Atlanta to Rome on Georgia 101 between Rockmart and Rome, when I saw the flashing light - I think they were red back then - behind me. The fervent prayer that immediately beamed heavenward from my brain was: "Please Lord, don't let that be Uncle Tom!"

I pulled to the shoulder, put the car in park, retrieved my license, and watched as my worst fears were realized in the rear-view mirror. I stepped from the car to face the music. Uncle Tom, who on my sixteenth birthday in March had presented me my driver's license, was writing a different presentation on a pad as he approached. As he lifted his eyes to the miscreant before him, I saw recognition enlarge those eyes and he exclaimed : "Terry Shaw!"

He let me go with a very effective warning. Any time for the next few years that I was tempted to speed in Northwest Georgia, I was convinced God would put Uncle Tom behind the next underpass.

I have been stopped a number of times, but have usually been sent on with a warning.

[6-21-08 -- The following paragraph has been edited slightly after talking with David Jones about his memories of this event.]

One evening my senior year in high school I turned onto Broad Street in the old Chevy coppertone nine passenger station wagon that we had bought new in 1960. It was five years old, frumpy, and should have been driven by a suburban Mama, not a cool high school senior. My friend, David Jones, was in the passenger seat. We had just been to an MYF event. David is a great guy who could do amazing things despite a significant handicap. He had been left dependent on heavy leg braces and crutches by a childhood attack of polio. As we pulled up to the red light at Fourth Avenue another teen driven vehicle, a much sportier one ['56 Ford], pulled up beside us on the inside lane. The driver revved his engine in an obvious challenge to the yokel driving his Mama's station wagon. I grinned at David and said something to the effect that that jerk didn't know the old wagon had a mean V-8 under the hood. It was Sunday night. There were no other vehicles on Broad that I could see. Why not show this jerk a little something. I revved the V-8. The light changed. Two accelerator petals were floored. I pulled past him, then slowed for the red light at Second Avenue. The 56 Ford turned left and I followed. And just behind us were flashing lights on the only other vehicle on Broad - one that I had somehow overlooked -- a motorcycle cop. I richly deserved a ticket for my irresponsible behavior. The officer signaled us to saty put as he walked past to handle the other guy. David says he remembers the officer saying something like: "So it's you again, Wes. When he walked back to our car the officer informed me that he was going to take my license and the young man seated next to me would have to drive me home. David, bless his heart, showed off his leg braces and informed the officer that, though he could drive, the stodgy old station wagon was not suitably equipped. At some point the officer from embarrassment or mercy or divine intervention decided I looked like maybe I'd learned my lesson, and if I'd promise to behave he'd let me off with a warning and not tell Charles Shaw or Raymond Jones -- both of whom he knew!


And there's more than you likely want to know about Terrell's criminal career.

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Thursday, June 12, 2008

Just when you think it's safe to go outside...

When the Spring Beauties pop up in my yard I mow around them till the flowers fade. Same thing with the little wild violets in the front and the wild daisies in my mother's lawn. And right at our back porch, what I thought to be Queen Anne's Lace (also called Wild Carrot) comes up every year and I just let it be - to enjoy the delicate white umbrels for a while before cutting them back when they get too weedy.

Recently I was studying a Queen Anne's Lace flower and realized significant differences in it and what grows in our yard. I've been meaning to try to key it out. Maybe it's a native member of the carrot family I thought. Knowing me as I do, and few know me better, it's a wonder I didn't crush a leaf and taste it, or stick a stem in my teeth as I wander about the yard.

Today Richard and Teresa Ware dropped by with their friend Jim Drake to talk about plans for the Georgia Botanical Society's Spring Pilgrimage to be held next April here in Rome. We probably spent a couple of hours talking about the Pilgrimage, then reviewing my wildflower photos to identify the ones I hadn't figured out yet. As they were leaving I remembered the "Queen Anne's Lace", pointed it out to Richard and Jim. They both said immediately that it was definitely not Q.A.L. They began examining it. Crushing leaves and smelling them. Checking their every-ready field guides. Richard has taken a plant home - roots and all - to key it out more carefully, but the preliminary verdict is that, growing at my doorstep -- where my children, my neices and nephews, my friends' youngsters, have played -- is that famous plant, world famous for over two-thousand years, the plant whose juices were forced upon Socrates himself, yes:



Conium maculatum
Poison Hemlock

The most poisonous plant in America!


It is lovely. The umbrella flowers are delicate.



The pinnately compound ferny leaves look like the innocuous little sprigs of parsley that decorate a fancy dish.


And they are a part of that wonderful/terrible parsley [Apiaceae] family that gives us dill to spice our pickles, crunchy carrots for our salads, decorative garnish for desserts, anise for licorice candy and root beer, fennel for Chinese five spice and to feed the swallowtail butterflies, caraway seed for rye bread, coriander, cumin, celery, parsnips...

...and hemlock's potent poison for livestock who own no field guides and can't use Google images, for the occasional child who thinks the hollow stem makes a great straw, or for the outdoorsman who wonders it the carrot-like taproot just might be a way to flavor that wild stew.

Stay tuned -- I'll update when Richard gives me a final verdict.

*************

Whew!!!

Terrell,

After keying in several books and verifying by Google internet search I'm sorry to say that you'll have to retract your identification of the poison hemlock! Your plant is:

Torilis arvensis (Hedge Parsley), which is native to Europe but now an introduced weed here.

Best regards,
Richard



Well, the excitement is over. I have not, after all, been endangering visitors by harboring a dangerous killer plant. It is just another noxious invasive species. Read about it here.

Thanks, Richard!

*************

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Lilyloo, Cub Reporter

In the early seventies Sheila worked as a reporter in the newsroom at the Rome News-Tribune. Yesterday our daughter began her job there as a summer intern in the same newsroom. In the fall Lillian will be a junior at Mercer University and the editor of its student newspaper, The Cluster. But for now she is a "cub reporter" and loving it.

Here are links to her first two by-lined articles in the Rome News-Tribune:

Berry's Old Grads Come Back

Teen Entrepreneur Scores Big Scholarship

Today she wrote a report on local reaction in the black community to the Obama victory. I'll link to that tomorrow if I can.

Update 6/05:
"Words can hardly describe it,” said Rome City Commissioner Bill Collins in reaction to Sen. Barack Obama clinching the Democratic presidential nomination. Other members of Rome’s black community, in describing their reactions, said “proud,” “ecstatic” and just plain “wow.”
Here's the link to the complete Obama Story.

And one more story today:

STEP Program



And here is her new blog, LilyPutty:


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Sunday, May 18, 2008

Sunday Concert: Both Shall Row

When Sheila and I merged our record collections in 1971 we found a number of duplications. We both had some PP&M I remember. We also both had James Taylor albums. Here is James singing an ancient folk song that we often sing at our occasional "hoots". "The Water is Wide"


This beautiful tune is now used for a wonderful hymn based on the 13th chapter of First Corinthians. Here is a children's choir singing "The Gift of Love".

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Thursday, April 17, 2008

A New Pet?

My bloging friend SW Anderson at Oh!Pinion would have gotten a kick out of my morning.

As I stepped off my porch I was watching the mother cat slink under the house. There is hidden away under there, where we can't get to them, a new litter of kittens.


Suddenly I realized I was about to step on a kitten which jumped onto my leg.

Startled I jumped away. The doggone thing followed me. Except it wasn't a kitten.


It is a baby squirrel!! And it continued to follow me.



Then it bounced into the azaleas where I knew Mama Cat was now waiting.
So I grabbed a hoe to guard the little thing from certain death.
It ran up the hoe! I shook it off and moved away. It bounded after me. I jumped to one side. It ran after me. I ran across the gravel. It bounced toward me. I froze. It climbed onto my shoe and then up my leg!



I am the adoptive daddy of a squirrel.

My neighbor Welton saw the commotion and grabbed a camera to preserve for posterity the image of his crazy neighbor dancing with a squirrel. Then his wife Jeannie joined us with a some broken pieces of pecan.




The squirrel ate from her hand. Welton disappeared and came out with a glass lid of water for the critter to use to wash down the pecan he had stored in his cheeks.





What fun.
It ate from our hands. We petted it.



Unfortunately a tame squirrel in this neighborhood of a thousand cats may be doomed to a short life.

(Check a previous encounter with squirrels.)

I used my new Flip video camera to make a short movie of the little rascal chasing me around, eating pecans, and soaking up the love from his new friends.

video

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Sunday, April 13, 2008

Back to Pigeon Mountain

A year ago our friends Richard and Teresa Ware introduced us to the best wildflower walk in Georgia at Crockford-Pigeon Mountain Wildlife Management Area. Today Sheila and I returned to the "Pocket Trail" with my sister Joan, her husband Jim , and their grandchild Anna Grace. The place is just as magical as it was last year. We are a couple of weeks farther into spring so the show is a little different, but still gorgeous.

[April; 21, 2008 note: I have added several common and scientific names for plants. Thanks, Richard.]

I assigned the Nikon Coolpix to Aggie. I handled the Canon S3IS.

The air was a bit breezy and chilly as we walked toward the Shirley Miller Wildflower Walk. Aggie snapped the redbuds and dogwoods along the entrance path.


Eastern Redbud Cercis canadensis Photo by Anna Grace


The boardwalk has been greatly extended. Many other photographers were prowling and crouching along the boardwalk with tripods, long lens, and field guides. Soon we saw that the Virginia Bluebells (Mertensia virginica) were past their prime...

Photo by Anna Grace


But the Bent Trillium (Trillium flexipes) were right at their glorious prime...


Sweet Betsy (Trillium cuneatum) stands tall while...



Trailing Wakerobin (Trillium decumbens) hugs the ground...



I'll label the plants with my best guesses. Maybe Richard will correct my mistakes and fill us in on the ones I don't know.

This fern finds a space to root in stone crevices.

Bublet Fern Cystopteris bulbifera



Bladdernut Staphylea trifoliata



Canada Violet Viola canadensis


Foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia)


Squaw Root (Conopholis americana)



Mitrewort of Bishop¹s Cap Mitella diphylla


Mitrewort of Bishop¹s Cap Mitella diphylla



Celandine Poppy Stylophorum diphyllum




Sweet Cicely (Osmorhiza claytoni)


Wild Geranium Geranium maculatum


White Baneberry (Actaea pachypoda)



Wild Hyacinth (Camassia scilloides)



Aggie with her grandparents.


Anna Grace at the falls.


Anna Grace "practically under the falls".


Photo by Anna Grace
Terrell & Sheila


Phacelia (Phacelia bipinnatifida)



Star Chickweed (Stellaria pubera)


Wild Columbine (Aquilegia canadensis)


Wild Stonecrop (Sedum ternatum)



Jack-In-The-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum)

Coming home I turned right at Hogjowl Road and followed it through the lush green farms of the valley between Lookout Mountain and Pigeon Mountain. Georgia should buy Mountain Cove Farms at the valley head for a state park! The Toyota climbed out of the valley by way of zigzag switchbacks up Lookout Mountain. and back to Summerville by way of Cloudland. What a beautiful drive.

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Sunday Seven: Siblings



At the memorial celebration for our cousin, Don Baird, the seven siblings were together. L-R: Yours truly, Debi, Beth, David, Jan, Carol, Joan.



Our spouses joined us, L-R: Terrell, Terrell's Sheila, Jan's Gil, Jan, Beth, Carol's Ron, Mama, Carol, Debi, Debi's Gregg, Joan's Jim, Joan, David. (David's Vicki and Beth's Chuck couldn't make it that day.)




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Saturday, April 12, 2008

My Inner Birder

I have always been interested in birds, but have never considered myself a "birder". I have never been on an excursion exclusively to observe birds. But I have enjoyed reading the birders' blog carnival, I and the Bird, and visiting the guys at 10,000 Birds and DC Birding Blog.

When I worked out of my home for several years I started strewing bird seed on the driveway outside my window so I could watch the birds as I worked at my computer. Soon our cat showed her appreciation of my efforts in ways I had not anticipated. I had to find ways to attract birds without depleting their populations. So I built a shelf under the window right at my left shoulder as I sat at the computer.

Soon titmice, chickadees, cardinals, sparrows, finches, doves, and even woodpeckers were visiting so close that, were the window open, I could reach out and touch them. So I opened the window, put on a glove, poured a little birdseed in my hand, and waited. Soon the little rascals were eating out of my gloved hand. This practice probably contributed to a couple of missed deadlines. I won't blame the failure of my little business on the birds, though.

Yesterday I took to the woods along our school nature trail to see if the Catesby's Trillium I had seen in bud on Thursday had bloomed yet. It had. None of my photos turned out well, however.

Along the way I found a number of other sights worth recording with my digital camera. A glorious wildflower with beautiful ferny leaves and a stalk with a showy whorl of little orchid-like blooms of maroon and white and yellow -- maybe Richard will see this and identify it for me. I haven't found it in the books I have at home. [Later note: This gorgeous flower is called Wood Betony or Lousewort, of all things! Pedicularis canadensis. And it was right there on our Flora of Armuchee Elementary database - I had just overlooked it.]





Dwarf-crested irises.