January 23

I knew that day, before we even started out from Wilmore, Kentucky, that I would take an unannounced side trip around Fort Mountain along the way to Atlanta. I wanted to ask a question. I wanted the right answer. I needed a little help and I thought the sound of Holly Creek splashing down the mountain, the smell of green pines, the majesty of the Cohutta...

Sheila and I parked on a dirt road and walked among the giant pines. She rested against one and I leaned in to kiss her, and asked my question.

She gave the right answer! Just one word expressed unreservedly, enthusiastically, beautifully.

.

That was 53 years ago today. I love her and admire her even more in 2024 than in 1971.

.

(We did not get a picture that day. This picture is about a year later.) 

August 4, 1983

I was busy trying to finish painting to get the upstairs ready for the carpet layers the next morning when I heard Sheila call me down. She said we'd better start timing contractions and get ready to head to the hospital.

I remember like yesterday, a little later, driving down Cedar Avenue in the dark, my beautiful courageous Sheila hissing through another contraction beside me, and thinking: “Our lives are about to be forever changed.” We pulled off of Second Avenue/Martha Berry (what do you call that little section of road) to park at the emergency entrance to Floyd Hospital. We made our way across the parking lot, pausing often for Sheila to hug a car hood while she dealt with the next contraction. 

Once into the labor and delivery rooms I witnessed the sweet bravery of Sheila Matthews Shaw as she worked to birth a baby, a process correctly labelled "labor". Brannon Shaw was born at 3:31 the next morning. I was privileged to hold her and bathe her with warm water. 

I slept on the floor for a couple of hours once we got into a room, then had to rise and leave my beloved new baby and Sheila, to drive along city streets blurred by tears of joy, wonder, and exhaustion to meet our dear friend Cotton Franklin at the house, so we could finally get that upstairs straight enough for the carpet layers to do their job bright and early of the fourth of August 1983. (Thank you Cotton wherever you are!) 

On this special day, 34 years later, Brannon is sharing a honeymoon, camping in the Rockies, with the son she has now joined to our little family, John Carlin. 

What a blessing to our lives Brannon has been.

Happy Birthday and unending love to our first baby, Brannon Ruth Shaw Carlin.

(This slide show is a decade old now!)

Brannon Shaw Slideshow

Miscellaneous pictures from the Life of Brannon Shaw born 24 years ago tonight.

YOUTUBE.COM

Gleaning Facebook: Shrimpy on Love

 "Love is like riding or speaking French; if you don't learn it young it's hard to get the trick of it later."

- Hugh "Shrimpy" MacClare on Downton Abbey

Comments

David Marlin Rains I disagree. The older you get the easier it gets to learn love.
Alice Jeffries Keel Well now I am divided
Terrell Shaw David, the quote I heard on Downton Abbey tonight made me think of a few children I taught who came from unloving homes. Love requires trust. If one has never experienced a trustworthy relationship in childhood, it's a hard row to hoe later on to establish loving relationships. Not impossible, but hard.
Claudia Kennedy Years ago, I read about a study done on infants raised in orphanages in Romania who were only fed, not loved or touched, only diapered, and fed and left alone, They did not develop the nerve endings which gave the pleasure signal to the brain, so they shunned touch, especially on their torsos. So, I do think it's hard to learn to love later, after having experienced neglect. Does anyone know more about this interesting subject of Terrell’s?

John Paul Schulz I like that one

Claudia Kennedy A follow up on our conversation from a report on Romanian Orphans twenty years after their experience. “The brain is dependent on experience to develop normally,” he said. “What happens in situations of neglect, such as kids raised in institutions, is that the experiences are lacking. So the brain is sort of in a holding pattern saying, ‘Okay, so where’s the experience? Where’s the experience? Where’s the experience?’ And when the experience fails to occur, those circuits either fail to develop or they develop in an atypical fashion — and the result is, in a sense, the mis-wiring of circuits.”

An Unscheduled Feast

Your reporter eating a samosa.

OK. It was scheduled. And had been for weeks.

But I had planned to be disciplined, or at least moderate. In the end I rationalized that I had had no February Feast. I was, until last evening, one feast short on my 12 Feasts a Year schedule!

When Nancy joined our faculty last year I enjoyed talking with her about her heritage. She's from New Jersey and she is a Sikh. Her husband is from India. I wanted to know about her traditionally arranged marriage. The results of that practice seems to add credence to my oft-cited principles of love. Certainly the obvious love of this young couple does.

Jagdeep, Avi, Nancy.

Why are there so many Sikhs named Singh? Does she know anyone who practices that strange (to non-Sikhs) tradition of wearing a dagger, for heaven's sake? One of our students, a Sikh, wears a turban of sorts. I wanted to know about that custom.

But, being me, I was most interested in the food!

I had discovered Punjabi food in 1968-69. My Asbury College (now Asbury University) roommate, Solomon Lasoi, was a Kenyan. Through him I became acquainted with a Sikh couple from Kenya who were studying at the University of Kentucky in nearby Lexington. And they invited Solomon and me to dinner with them at their home.

Terrell, Solomon, and Mr. Singh, May 1969.

I am always delighted to discover new culinary delights and was not disappointed. The curried chicken and rice and attendant dishes were delicious. I wish I had been keeping a journal at that time so that I could remember the meal in more detail. Ever since then I have been interesed in having another Indian meal.

So I found occasional opportunities to suggest that Nancy should bring a Punjabi dish to the next faculty pot luck. She replied that instead she and Jagdeep planned to have Sheila and me as their guests for a real Indian meal at their house.

The occasion of the first birthday of their son, Avi, served as the occasion for a big celebration for a host of their friends, relatives, and co-workers, including us, last night.

What a feast!

Samosas.

My absolute favorite, but an item that may have included my usual alloted Weight Watcher points for an entire day, were the appetizers. They are called samosas. It is a large triangular deep-fried stuffed pastry. The crunchy crust is fairly bursting with a spicy concoction of potatoes and spices and onions and who-knows-what. Yum!

Soaking up this audacious sauce are chunks of chicken breast.

The main dish was Butter Chicken -- small chunks of chicken breast swimming in a spicy reddish-orange sauce, served over basmati rice. This dish seemed very similar to what I had eaten in Lexington FORTY years ago.

I think the chicken should have been served over the rice. Since I am dieting I went light on the rice.

Side dishes included spicy creamed spinach dotted with small cubes of cheese...

I really liked the creamed spinach. (My mother will be proud.)

and, yes, spicy chickpeas.

Chickpea dish.

A thin tasty yogurt sauce was available to top any or all of these dishes, perhaps to moderate the bite of the hot spices. Quartered flatbread, itself spinkled with spices, provided a way to sop the soupy residue of deliciousness when the fork had done all it could.

Flatbread.

What a wonderful treat.

Avi enjoying his birthday cake. I couldn't resist posting this. How well I remember those days with my toddlers!

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Comments from my Facebook link to this post:

Janice Shaw Crouse
So proud of you for the lifestyle -- good for you!!

Rhonda Ingram Bramlette
I just read your blog and the pictures and descriptions have made me want to throw my calorie count for the day right out the window!! Looks wonderful! I have never had anything like those dishes but I would certainly like to try some. Thanks for sharing.

Christie Hufstedler Boyd
It reminds me of the foods we had in the Republic of Georgia in 1992 on the Georgia to Georgia exchange. Elaina and Valentine came and lived with us for 6 months. The food she cooked was heavenly! Makes me want to make Elaina's stuffed grape leaves. They are to die for and nothing like what is on the olive bar at Kroger! Cabbage leaves are just as good.

Warren Lathem
Terry, finally something we can agree on: FOOD! Thanks for sharing. I know we agree much more than we disagree and I believe in your constitutional (I am a constructionist) right to be wrong!

Joan Shaw Turrentine
That was a very interesting blogpost! And the photos were mouth-watering.

PTSW - The Lamp

I read a Sara Teasdale poem tonight, and, naturally, thought of this one. Sheila recited this for me at our wedding on August 8, 1971.

The Lamp

If I can bear your love like a lamp before me,
When I go down the long steep Road of Darkness,
I shall not fear the everlasting shadows,
Nor cry in terror.

If I can find out God, then I shall find Him,
If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly,
Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me,
A lamp in darkness.

~Sara Teasdale

I am a fortunate man.

Click on PTSW below to see other posts about poetry

38 Years and Counting...

Here we are again at January 23. I never write that date without thinking of a joyously received "Yes!" that I have reveled in every day since that date in 1971.

You can read more about it here and at other links from that post.

37 Years!

I knew when we started out from Wilmore, Kentucky, that I would take an unscheduled side trip around Fort Mountain along the way to Atlanta. I wanted to ask a question. I wanted the right answer. I needed a little help and I thought the sound of Holly Creek splashing down the mountain, the smell of green pines, the majesty of the Cohutta...
We walked among the giant pines. She rested against one and I leaned in to kiss her, and asked my question.

She gave the right answer! Just one word expressed unreservedly, enthusiastically, beautifully.

That was 37 years ago today.


January 23!

I wrote about it, briefly, two years ago.

Sunday Seven: I promise you - A Small Kidney Stone is Someone Else's Kidney Stone.

I have been experiencing the joys of hosting a Kidney Stone for the last several weeks. I didn't know the name of my guest till he kidney-punched me a week ago Saturday. He got in another hard punch last Sunday then just peppered me with light stuff for a few days. Thursday he hid out and until about four yesterday I decided he had left the house. But up he popped and gave me the hardest jolt yet. I walked bent for several hours, popping pain pills. I'd write a line or two of my post about Gary (below) then walk from one end of the house to another bent at the waist and listing several degrees to port (to continue my love of scrambled metaphor). Finally we jumped in the car and visited Immediate Care where a sweet little nurse stung my rear with a hefty dose of some modern magic. Twenty minutes later the pain was gone. It is still gone, but the stone remains and makes himself known in less dramatic ways.

Maybe you are wondering how I'm gonna get a Sunday Seven out of this. Well, folks, I am one thankful guy and at least seven times blessed this cool October morning!

1. I am thankful for Sheila. I can't imagine how lonesome it would be and what additional pain it would make to undergo debilitating pain without a life partner standing by. Sheila took time she couldn't really afford to represent both of us at Gary's funeral on Thursday. She has kept me supplied with delicious chicken/potato soup and corn muffins. She drives her moaning husband back and forth to hospital/doctor/immediate care. She walks the floors with me. She strokes my brow and seems to genuinely love someone who cannot possibly be very attractive right now.

2. I am thankful that I live in 2007. Can you imagine enduring kidney stone pain with no access to medical care. No pain reliever. No idea of an ending other than death. I can imagine a primitive person begging for death after a few hours!

3. I am thankful for the internet. Despite all the junk out there, a person can pretty quickly get a basic education on most any topic, including kidney stones.

4. I am thankful for the love and concern of my two daughters, my mother, and other family members who have called to check on me and cheer me from afar.

5. I am thankful for that magic shot in the tush. I forgot to ask the magician which spell he used with that slender wand.

6. I am thankful for the prayers, calls, and well wishes from so many church, school, family, and internet friends. I'll note one special friend, Mr. Wint Barton, who took the time for an encouraging call.

7. I suspect you all, wherever you are, will hear my deafening thank yous and hallelujahs when I finally get to see my unwelcome 4mm guest!

These are real pictures of relatives of my guest. They are not always so spiky, but ouch! No wonder that thing is hard to get outta there. It may be dug in.
(from another blog.)

It is our choices.

As someone who has made a maddening variety of poor choices and a few excellent ones, my favorite quotation from the Harry Potter series is when Harry has worried that he is at heart a Slitherin rather than a true Griffindor, and Dumbledore says

"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."

-Albus Dumbledore

I expect Brannon, my lovely eldest, to comment with her ever ready:
"Pop's on his rant again." :-)

I have before ranted about choices here and here.

PTSW: Jenny Kissed Me / The Lamp

A Poem to Start the Week

My mother recited this poem the other day as she, a couple of my siblings, and I sat around the table. I hadn't thought of it in years. One of my blogging sisters has beaten me to the punch by posting this at her blog. But, what the heck, I'll post it too. I've had some Jenny-kisses, literal and figural, in my life, haven't you?

Jenny Kissed Me

Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me.

-- by Leigh Hunt

That poem reminds me a little of the more serious poem Sheila recited to me during our wedding ceremony, 36 years ago. Since I got busy and skipped a PTSW last Monday, I'll give a twofer today:

The Lamp

If I can bear your love like a lamp before me,
When I go down the long steep Road of Darkness,
I shall not fear the everlasting shadows,
Nor cry in terror.

If I can find out God, then I shall find Him,
If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly,
Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me,
A lamp in darkness.

~Sara Teasdale

Yes, I recited one of my own poems to her that day: Wedding Song
Another of my sister's has posted poetry this week. Check out Daddy's Roses.

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The series of posts, A Poem to Start the Week, is my little anthology of poetry, many of which I have used with my students in elementary schools during 27 years of teaching.

Previous Poems to Start the Week:
Loveliest of Trees
Flax-Golden Tales
The Dinosaurs Are Not All Dead
Owl Pellets
Mummy Slept Late
Just My Size
The Kindest Things I Know
Miles to Go
Love that Brother
Oh, Frabjous Day!

Other Posts about Children's Literature:

The Lion's Paw top kid's OOP book!
Harry
Aslan is Dead!
Multiplying People, Rice, and Readers
A Teacher's Life

You can read some of my own efforts at poetry here.
And then there's Alien Invasion.

A weblog dedicated to Poetry for Children.
Watch Sonja Cole's reviews of children's books at Bookwink.com.