Trinity in the Sixties

As executor of my Mother's estate, I have taken on the responsibility of compiling and copying her pictures for the rest of my family. My father was a shutterbug. He took way too many pictures and kept even the under-exposed and over-exposed and double-exposed. ones. This week I ran across some slides he took at our church, Trinity United Methodist, in the mid-sixties. (Check back, I may have some more to add.)

Cleve Burton, Gene Stewart, and I were great friends and fellow MYFers at Trinity. One year we attended Camp Glisson together. We made several other great friends there, including famous song-writer-to-be Pat Alger (Unanswered Prayers, The Thunder Rolls, and many more) and had a great week. Our pastor for the week -- they weren't yet calling this person the "theologian in residence" -- was Bill Landis. Bill had a remarkable ability to connect with teens and we all grew spiritually under his leadership that week. When we came back to Rome we wanted to bring Bill Landis to Trinity and talked my Dad into inviting Bill to lead a "Youth Activities Week". So the next summer this sign went up on the front lawn.

This is Miss Lottie Duncan in the mid-sixties. She was church secretary when my Dad first came to Trinity. She was a wonderful woman who lived in the neighborhood, now gone, between 5th Avenue and Second Avenue that is now largely parking areas for the hospital and the Barron Stadium/Tennis complex. Here she stands in our then unpaved parking lot. The little door behind her was the entrance through which most folks entered the church; few used the front entrance. That doorway is still there but little used now. The Sunday school rooms behind the two windows you see have since been replaced by a very nice and large rear entrance with attached porch, steps and handicapped ramp. 

Easter at Trinity 1964. The interior at Trinity has had two major makeovers since this picture was taken.

This picture was taken before the choir loft was enlarged in the mid sixties. As you can see there was a wide door into the main hall from the sanctuary to the left of the much smaller choir loft.

All of these interior pictures and Sunday school pictures (below) are from Easter 1964.

Who can ID these folks?

Who can ID these folks? The teacher is Christine White. The little boy seated second from left is Thom Holt and the little girl standing at the left is Karen Candler Tucker.

IDs?

Who can ID these folks? The lady on the right looks like Merle Evans.

Who can ID these folks? The girl at the right end of the front row is
my fourth sister, Deborah Ruth Shaw Lewis (Debi)

The little guy , in the white sport coat on the front row is my little brother, David Baird Shaw.

That is my fifth sister Sharlyn Beth Shaw in the white dress next to the Nina Burton in yellow. Kathy Ergle is in the light blue dress immediately behind Beth. Susan Stewart is in blue directly behind Nina. Please comment if you can ID any others.

Mrs. Chastine Parker taught Sunday school for decades and was dearly loved at Trinity.

Front seated at left is Michael Burton then Carolyn Looney Burton. I think Susie Latimer is seated second from right. George Barton is standing at the right end.

Discuss the Holy Books

In 2000 I got to play Tevye in Rome Little Theatre's production of Fiddler on the Roof. Oh, how I relished that experience. 

The cast of RLT's 2000 production of Fiddler on the Roof, back when my beard was brown.

During the years around the turn of the century the arts in Rome had a wonderful cheerleader whose name was Sam Peller. I did not know him well but met him several times and at least twice was the beneficiary of his kind reviews in letters to the editor of the Rome News Tribune. 

Mr. Peller and his wife were also acquaintances of my Mother, I think through the Rome Area Writers group. Anyway my mother saw this piece of art that he created and bought it! That's right, ladies and gents, my frugal Mother, the daughter of the depression, who rarely bought anything besides staples outside of Rome's thrift stores, paid good American money for a piece of artwork. 

And I always loved it, because it reminds me of the man who said nice things about my performances in Shenandoah and Fiddler on the Roof and it reminds me of these lines from one of my very favorites roles:

...If I were rich, I'd have the time that I lack

To sit in the synagogue and pray

And maybe have a seat by the Eastern wall

And I'd discuss the holy books with the learned men, 

    seven hours every day

And that would be the sweetest thing of all...

-Tevye, from Fiddler on the Roof  

Now I am executor of my Mother's estate and last week my siblings and I distributed part of the estate, and this artwork was my first choice in the "Wall Stuff" category. I haven't decided yet where I'll hang it. But is is one of only a few items I was really hoping that I'd get to keep of Mother's belongings. Now the piece will also remind me of Mother.

Maybe some of my friends knew Mr. Peller. Here is Mr' Peller's obituary from the Daniel's Funeral Home website:

Mr. Sam Peller, 94, of Rome, GA, passed away at his residence early Saturday, December 15, 2012.

Mr. Peller was born July 5, 1918 in New York City where he spent most of his life until moving South in 1991. He was preceded in death by his beloved wife of 70 years, Rose Goodman Peller. Survivors include his children, Mrs. Nancy (and Bruce) Matzner of Great Neck, Long Island, and Dr. Jeffrey (and Shelly) Peller of Rome, Georgia. Survivors also include grandchildren Adam Peller of Asheville, NC; Rachel Peller of Atlanta, GA; Andrew (and LeeRay Costa) Matzner of Roanoke, VA; Gregg (and Jennifer) Matzner of Philadelphia, PA; and great grandchildren, Tallulah, Dahlia, and Naomi Matzner. 

Although trained as a commercial artist, Mr. Peller spent his working years in the diamond industry, initially as a diamond cutter and then as a diamond broker. He maintained his artistic interests and creativity throughout his life, and he never lost his desire to sell, gift or donate his various pieces of artwork. 

Mr. Peller was an active member of the Diamond Dealers' Club in NYC, B'nai B'rith, and Rodeph Sholom Congregation in Rome. For many years, Mr. and Mrs. Peller, and later just Sam, hosted a weekly Jewish study group in their home with interfaith community members. Mr. Peller was an avid lover and supporter of the fine arts in Rome, with opera and and classical music his two favorites. In past years, he was known to have written numerous letters to the editor of the Rome News Tribune singing the praises of local artists and performers and urging support and attendance at many plays, concerts and recitals. He frequently praised local talent as being comparable to the performers on Broadway or at Lincoln Center. 

Funeral services, led by Rabbi Judith Beiner, were held graveside, Sunday, December 16th, 1:00 PM, at the Jewish Cemetery on Mt. Aventine. The family will receive friends at the residence, 206 Sherwood Road, following the funeral service. Friends are invited to join the family as they observe the shiva (mourning) period, Monday through Thursday evenings this week, at the home of Jeffrey and Shelly Peller.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be sent to Rodeph Sholom Congregation, P.O. Box 425, Rome, GA 30162-0425, or to your favorite arts organization. Daniels Funeral Home has charge of the arrangements. 

Covid Day 6: Negative for now!

I woke with a headache at three or so and was awake for an hour or so, brushed my teeth to try to rid my mouth of the foul taste that has been the most obvious side effect of the drug cocktail, but got back to sleep till seven thirty. I took my last dose of Paxlovid (Yay!) then went back to sleep again till Sheila called at nearly ten, I think. She suggested I go ahead and take another Covid test:

Negative!

So we breakfasted on our egg frittatas, salsa, greek yogurt, toast, and coffee.  I showered. Traded my pajamas for real pants for the first time since last Saturday. Masked up (N-95) and walked across the street to the moving sale of our dear neighbor Joan Ledbetter. And interacted in-person with two or three folks besides Sheila for a few minutes. Lordy, it's hot out there folks!

Let's review:

Thanks to a real American president who puts country first and who put professionals in charge of health policy, I am twice vaccinated, twice boosted, and had available to me the exact antiviral medication that the President is now taking. Also I have a primary physician (Dr. Anandita Arora) who was willing to return my call on a Sunday, advise me,  and prescribe that medicine immediately to get right after the virus. As a result I was feeling better by the next morning. And five days of quarantine later I am back in the real world. The illness that has killed millions was (so far) a very distasteful (literally and figuratively) minor inconvenience for me.

Of course, at seventy-five, I've got to remain vigilant. There is a small possibility (2 to 9%) of a "rebound" infection.  And even more rarely a serious reinfection. But how fortunate I have been to escape infection for two and a half years till these things were available to me. 

Not all have been so lucky. One among those close to me is the talented 23 year-old who died early in the pandemic (July 3, 2020). A young man just beginning adulthood who had been my student when he was a fourth grader. How unfair that this old geezer lives and he doesn't. Shayne, I pledge to you that I will speak out as long as I breathe to see that our republic is never again in the hands of an ego-maniac who would put his own vanity above the common good.

Covid Day 5: Tomorrow I test - Fingers Crossed!

Sheila and I allow ourselves the indulgence of one Healthy Choice Fudge Bar daily. 
They come in a box of a dozen or so from Sam's. They count as three Weight Watchers points.  
Since my quarantine began, some days, if I'm good, Sheila lets me have a second. 
For a few minutes scrumptious chocolatey delirium overwhelms the disgusting Covid-meds metallic yuckyiness while it soothes my throat and tickles my fancy. 

I slept longer than I have slept all week! Yay! I woke right at six, just in time to replenish my body with 300 mg of nirmatrelvir and 100 mg of ritonavir, whose combined efforts are fighting the Covid-virus for me and simultaneously producing a vile 24/7 metallic taste in my mouth that can only temporarily be banished by Sheila's wonderful cooking or the magic of Healthy Choice Fudge Bars. That dose of meds this morning leaves only two more -- tonight and tomorrow morning. Hallelujah! I hope the yuck disappears soon after. I plan to take a Covid test tomorrow sometime. I think the standard is to test negative (once with regular test or twice with the home test) before leaving quarantine. 

Could I actually sing in the choir on Sunday -- only one week after my diagnosis? Considering all the hospitalizations, intubations, and deaths this virus has brought to the world the last three years that seems almost miraculous. 

My new MacBook, that I purchased from the Apple Store weeks ago, should finally arrive today. The machine I am tapping this out on is seven years old, seriously overloaded with data, and crashing on me often. I will be very relieved to have the new one with all my pictures and programs and writings and recordings and videos safely ensconced in new equipment.

Breaking news: President Biden has been diagnosed with Covid this morning and he has been prescribed the very same treatment as mine. That reassures me for both of us: that I really do have the best treatment available and that our president may recover as well as I have. This president came into office determined to get America vaccinated and to help everyone be better protected against the pandemic. A disease that previously was killing septuagenarians like us right and left is (so far) a fairly minor aggravation to Joe Biden and Terrell Shaw because of those nationally available vaccines and boosters.  

Best wishes for a quick and uneventful recovery, Mr. President! (And I hope you don't have the yucky taste side effect!) We need you. Thank you for your stubborn refusal to put politics over the good of the republic and the planet. Thank you for restoring honor and principle to our executive branch and to our foreign relations. If the American republic survives you will be one of the key reasons.

More Breaking News: The macBook arrived about 1 p.m. Yay!

I have a lot of work waiting to do to get the new 'puter loaded up with all my programs and important files from the old one. I am gonna try not to crowd it with unnecessary stuff. 

Covid Day 4: Covid Ain't Nothin'*

Covid ain't nothin'.*

Well, the range finally came today, and Covid-Boy here, all masked and sanitized and distanced was tasked with installing it. That would have been a five minute task, except. That's right, the folks who were late delivering the stove that was defective were even later delivering its replacement, and failed to include the little flange called a "UL Strain Relief" Right! There was definitely NO STRAIN RELIEF with that stove!!!! 

After several hours including a Sheila trip to Lowes to try and find something that would work and my very frustrating phone calls to Whirlpool's No-Helpline, I just did it my way. Lord help us.

I guess it did take my mind off Covid for a while. 

Things are about the same today. Bad taste in mouth. General aches and pain. Minor congestion. Occasional cough. But, overall, still counting my blessings. Only three more doses of that awful/wonderful medicine to take.

Y'all keep my siblings in your prayers, especially my youngest sister Beth. 

When I think of Beth this is close to the image that comes to mind. She is my littlest sister. This picture was taken at our parsonage in Ellijay, GA (1958-1962)

This one from 1958 might be even closer. L-R: David, Carol, "Terry", Hercules (in my lap), Beth, & Debi. In front of Mama Shaw's aluminum Christmas tree.

My Covid is a walk in the park compared to Beth's travails of late. She has had several small strokes, still fights Crohns, and now has clots in her heart that must be dealt with. Today she endured a torturous two hour MRI. We await results of that to know what next steps will be.

The stove saga did get me -- carefully-- out of the bedroom for a while. Sheila tested negative again today. I hope our efforts with the stove didn't expose her. We tried to be careful. I'm back in my cell now. Sheila used that new stove to fix up some delicious baked salmon with broccoli and corn-on-the-cob which she brought upstairs with a side tangy lemon/yogurt dressing and a big bowl of fresh cantaloupe and left for me on the table outside my door. Yum!

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* For this ol' boy who is double-vaxxed and double-boosted and has had good luck and good doctors and an amazing wife.

Old Leaves: K-I-S-S & Amazing Grace

This is a terrible anniversary, but I am also blessed by this memory of my mother. She only lived eleven days more after this, but I am thankful for the time I had with her during those stressful days. On this date a year ago my sister Joan went by Mother's house and found her there, unresponsive. She had had a stroke. Here is what I wrote a day later about the hours that followed.

-----------------------------

July 21, 2021

Mother and Me about 1949.

Dear friends and family,

My heart abounds with love and joy at the outpourling of prayers, love and concern for my Mother today. I am sleep deprived and tired but would like to update you. She is 98 years old and just had a stroke and I am trying to be realistic; I know that things can change very quickly at this point for anyone at mother's age, or anyone with her assortment of illnesses and injuries, especially a stroke. BUT the improvement today seems at this point almost miraculous.

As I drove home from Erlanger Hospital in the wee hours of this morning I never expected to again hear a recognizable version of the voice that I have heard and loved, I suppose, since hearing it muffled by amniotic fluid. But after a successful thrombectomy - a procedure just introduced in 2015 - mother this afternoon recorded, with my sister Joan's help, a very brief, but cogent message to her friends and loved ones, somewhat hoarse and strained, IN THAT BELOVED VOICE. She tired quickly and went back to sleep soon after --- but she SPOKE PLAINLY.

Out of yesterday's stress and fear and indecision and chaos came two stories that I will cherish for whatever time I have left on this earth:

In the ER at Floyd Hospital my sister Joan and I stood at Mother's right side and tried to comfort and reassure her. She was restrained to protect the connections of her body to the necessary protective and diagnostic devices. Mother was very agitated. She grabbed at our hands. She pulled - HARD - on my shirt as I leaned over to caress her hair. She started repeating a single very slurred word. We new she desperately wanted us to understand her but we couldn't. "ussh" "ussh" "ussh" "ussh". We could not understand her! Finally she said , hoarsely but plainly, "K - I - S - S, ussh!" She wanted to kiss and be kissed. We obliged.

A good bit later she had once again gotten very frantic. It was absolutely heart-breaking to see her so distraught and unable to communicate. Suddenly I remembered that it is said that sometimes folks who can't respond to spoken words CAN respond to music, so I just started singing "Amazing Grace". Mother immediately. in a coarse and slurred voice I would never have recognized as the sweet voice of my mother, began singing WITH me. ALL five verses (including my favorite that folks often skip "The Lord has promised good to me, his word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be, as long as life endures." Joan and Lyn and Steve and Sheila joined with some harmony. Then we sang "Love Lifted Me". Then "How Great Thou Art". Then "Great Is Thy Faithfulness". When the EMTs came to take her off in an ambulance for the trip to Chattanooga (weather precluded the preferred Life-Flight) she was still reciting that song's wonderful words "...there is no shadow of turning with Thee..." (The phrase is based on James 1:17.)

I would have given $1000 on the spot to have gotten to ride in that ambulance to provide a loving hand for her to hold, but I am thankful that my wonderful wife reminded her that God would be in the ambulance with her. I hope that eased the wild ride that followed for her.

Thank you all again for your friendship and for your love and concern for my Mother and for me and our family.

-Terrell

for (the original) Grandshaw

As I endure my quarantine for Covid I am perusing old digital files on my overloaded seven year olf MacBook. 

I'm not sure how old Lillian was when she wrote this note to my father who died not quite two years before she was born. She loved to hear me talk about her grandfather. I have told her how much of him I see in her. He would indeed have loved this kid! How he would have loved to have seen one of her dance recitals at Rome City Auditorium in the early nineties. Or any of her plays, from that gosh awful monstrosity they did at Rome Middle to her glorious triumphs in Bye Bye Birdie, Hairspray, and 9 to 5. And I guarantee you, he would have been there to stand with her in troubles too. 

We get to celebrate her birthday in just a week's time.

 

for GrandShaw
I Love you!
I wish that I could talk to you right now!
I wish I could see you!
from Lillian

I Love you!

Covid Day 3

Day three started at 5:30 a.m. That means that I had slept for more than five and a half hours; I'm not sure how mach more. I awoke for the usual reason and after a trip to the little room I worked on the NYT Spelling Bee for a while and wrote some on my blog and Facebook breaking at six to take my morning Covid drugs. The anniversaries of the next few weeks have Mother on my mind, of course, so I spent some time thinking and writing about that, but still managed to go back to sleep for a couple of hours till Sheila woke me at about 10:30 to say she'd have breakfast in a few minutes.

I’m doing great and definitely being spoiled rotten by Sheila. Still I AM under house arrest in my bedroom. 

Last night Sheila gave me a one hour reprieve!

Good behavior, I reckon.

She covered every thing in the kitchen with plastic.

She sprayed/wiped every thing with sanitizer.

She made me sanitize myself and mask up tightly. 

Then I was actually allowed to come downstairs! 

I was instructed from far across the room to sit at the end nearest the stairs at the plastic-covered kitchen table on a sanitizable stool. She sat on the far end of the couch at the far end of the den. 

And we watched the latest episode of Better Call Saul “together”.  

Other than that, I see Sheila only when she sticks her masked face into the bedroom to announce that my meal is on the table by the door. Or occasionally when I stick my head out and she is at the head of the stairs twenty feet away. 

Last night we compared our daily NYT Spelling Bee results via telephone from our separate bedrooms — our most intimate moment since Sunday morning. Between us we got all the words. 

Lowes has complicated things a bit. We bought a new range from them in June. They delivered it and I unpacked it to attach the power supply line and put it into place when we reallized it had been damaged. Evidently it had been dropped hard on the right rear corner/foot, which was badly bent, and making the stove-top cattywhompered (and also chipping the enamel). So we reboxed it and took it back. Lowes was very accomodating but did not have another in stock. SO I reattached the power supply to the old stove so we could use the stove top (the oven doesn't work, hence the need for a new range). The old stove has served us well. We bought it used from Bambi Waters who was getting a new one over twenty years ago. It had a design flaw that we came to dislike. The heating element in the oven attached at the back and had no support at the front, so over time it tended to sag at the front. You had to be careful taking pans from a hot oven not to touch the hot element.

Well we kept calling to see if the new range had come, and finally last week we were told it was here in Rome but could not be delivered till Sunday (church day!) between eight and eight! Then we assured it would be at the house between noon and eight Sunday. Sunday morning about three was when I realized I had a "cold" and later that morning took the Covid test and began my quarantine. But before I talked to my doctor I did manage, masked, to disconnect the old stove again and remove the power supply so it could be used with the new one. They did not come on Sunday. They did not come on Monday. It is still not here at noon on Tuesday. 

That paragraph will explain the inventive "egg muffins" on my plate in the attached picture. 

I love my breakfast, which is the same ninety percent of the time or more: egg frittatas (about half regular egg and half egg white with chopped whatever-veggies-are-available and a chopped piece of Canadian bacon) with salsa and plain Greek yogurt and coffee to drink. 

Since Sheila had no way to cook our usual breakfast of egg frittatas, she mixed the eggs and veggies as usual but poured them into a muffin pan and cooked them in the toaster oven the last two mornings. They are still a treat. 

I feel pretty good and very lucky. The drug cocktail leaves a bad taste in my mouth constantly now but it has surely improved things in every other way. And, as the yucky drug and the delicious breakfast illustrate, I can still taste!

I Never Liked Phone Calls, But...

Mother loved looking through the monthly "Chatbooks" that we brought her
with 30 pictures of our grandchildren from the month before. 

I never liked phone calls for "just visiting". It seemed to me that it made for strained conversations and awkward silences. My mother was a little the same way. But somehow, during her last few years, I learned to enjoy our phone calls. 

As Mother's memory began to fade a bit, I decided she needed someone to check on her daily.  At first several years ago, we seven siblings worked out a routine: we would each call one day a week. Somehow that did not work out. Eventually I decided that since I was the one who lives in Rome and have pretty good health and mobility, I would try to drop by to see Mother daily. My two Rome area siblings also visited her regularly. And the out-of-town siblings as often as they could. Of course there would be days when life would intervene and I couldn't make it to her house; then I would call. I missed very few days -- either visiting or calling -- the rest of her life. 

When we were out of town the calls were easiest. The change of time zones on our California trips, especially, gave me an opportunity to call Mother. It was my routine to walk for an hour or more each morning in California. Since our internal clocks are on Georgia time when we first arrive there, I wake up early -- great time for a walk. Early morning in California is mid morning in Georgia so it became a daily habit to call Mother while I walked the hills of Vista, California, and report to her on her great-granddaughters' doings and to hear from her about the doings in Rome. I really enjoyed that. And those experiences made us more comfortable, I think, with "just visiting" calls back in Rome on those days when  other obligations kept me from visiting her in person.

A year ago today was such a day. It was a Monday. Our annual two/three day Matthews Family Reunion was being held at our house. I was working to have the place ready for our guests. I had repainted the Little Tykes playset and all of the yard furniture.  I had hung a wooden baby swing. The cousins would arrive the next day. I had been over to Mother's on Sunday, the day before, for a nice visit and I'd taken a picture of her with the huge hibiscus bloom. 

So today I'd just call. We had a nearly fifteen minute, or maybe even longer, conversation. She seemed fine. She was very interested to hear what I'd been doing in the yard and about the cousins who were coming in. I think we mentioned the fiftieth wedding anniversary party the girls were planning for Sheila and me in less than three weeks. And, of course the expectation she'd see my daughters and granddaughters in a few days, including -- for the first time -- her namesake, Ruth Irmgard Carlin.

I would talk or read or sing or pray, or otherwise try to communicate with Mother many times over the next eleven days -- and I treasure those eleven days -- but that breezy telephone call was the last "normal" conversation I would ever have with my mother.

Covid Day 2

This blog really serves two purposes for me. It is, as the name may imply, a safety valve where I can express my heartfelt and sometimes vehement opinions without directly confronting folks I love. But it has also become something of a public journal of my day-to-day life.  This entry is mainly to help myself remember the course of this virus:

After my morning diagnosis yesterday the symptoms worsened during the day and night. I slept very little last night. I was really miserable. I felt very congested. My temperature was normal every time I checked it, but I felt HOT. I was headachy and a little woozy when I stood up. If I managed to to sleep at all I was soon awakened for another trip to the restroom. Dr. Arora had told me to drink lots of liquids and I have obeyed. 

The medicine prescribed is a five-day, two-drug cocktail of two nirma trelvir and one ritonavir tablets twice a day. I took the first dose as soon as I got 'em yesterday afternoon. I noticed no improvement in symptoms, as a matter of fact I continued to feel worse during the night.  I addition I have had an unpleasant metallic taste in my mouth during the night (a side-effect of the medicine Dr. Arora had told me about). I took my morning dose at six this morning and saw marked improvement in symptoms all day. I just took another dose at six p.m. 

I even managed to get a little work done today: I notified the folks at Chickamauga library that I would have to reschedule, and got out an e-mail to my co-workers about my illness. I was pleased that The folks at Chickamauga got right back to me with a rescheduled date, and thank heavens it fits in my calendar. I have never performed at that library before and I hated to lose that opportunity.

Despite the unpleasant extra taste that I think is a side effect of the medicine, I have been pleasantly surprised that I have so-far kept my beloved sense of taste. Sheila brings me delicious meals. I ate them and mildly enjoyed them but was too miserable yesterday and at breakfast this morning to really appreciate them properly. But the hamburger she fixed me tonight was delicious! I can still taste!

Sheila suggested I bring a comfortable armchair and ottoman into the bedroom, so I write this on  a MacBook atop a lap-desk ensconced in a soft upholstered chair. I have slept a little during the day today. And told Sheila I would sleep now (after supper) but now am wide awake. Maybe I can sleep an hour or so before "Better Call Saul" comes on tonight; Can't miss that.

I feel almost guilty writing about these things since several of my six siblings are dealing with worse health issues right now. And just think: this monstrous virus has killed millions, including one beloved former student of mine, and several relatives or friends of my friends. As I have mentioned more than once the last two days, I have many blessings to count.

Flowers for Mother --- One Year Ago Today.

One year ago today I visited my Mother at her home on Rollingwood and noticed that one of the giant hibiscuses was blooming. Mother walked out with me to see it and I snapped her picture. It turned out to be the last picture of her before her stroke the next day, and we lost her only 13 days after this picture was taken.

Way back the previous fall I bought four woebegone hibiscus plants off the garden center bargain racks at Lowes for a dollar each. There was virtually no green left on them, but I decided to gamble four bucks on the chance they'd sprout again in the spring... and, how about that, they did! 

And they are blooming again now. How I'd love to show Mother.

Rude Awakening

I woke about three this morning and realized that I felt rotten. Stuffed up nose, headachy, kinda hot. I haven't had a cold since sometime before March 11, 2020, but best I could remember, that's what this felt like. I woke again a couple of times before Sheila did, still feeling bad. We decided, just to be on the safe side I should take a Covid Test -- even though I'd just taken one last Tuesday.

I have had uncounted Covid tests during the last two years. Since I visited my Mother almost daily for the first year and a half of the pandemic, and since I still visit senior centers for storytelling frequently, I try to be very careful. 

Sheila helped me set up the test. I showered while we waited the fifteen minutes for results. I was confident this would be another negative result. 

Sheila informed me, even before I finished showering that our next week (hopefully only that) will be very different than we had expected. Tomorrow the Matthews cousins were to begin arriving at our house for a three-day family reunion. Our reunion last year was interrupted when Mother had a her stroke, so we were really looking forward to being with some of our favorite folks for a few days. Thursday, I would be visiting a new audience, the folks at Chickamauga's public library. 

Not now. All because of that second line in the little plastic window below:

From what I have read my period of maximum contagion probably began Friday and will continue through Tuesday or Wednesday. My wonderful medical doctor, Anandita Arora at Harbin Family Practice, took time from her family -- I could hear a child in the background -- on a Sunday to call me, advise me, and prescribe the latest combo of medical magic to help my already fully vaccinated and boosted immune system fight off the virus. I will quarantine in one part of the house while Sheila stays in another. Sheila and I mask up when she (Bless her!) brings me food, meds, and occasional goodies and places them on a small table set up for that purpose at my bedroom door. Y'all pray that she avoids the infection.

So far so good: I feel a little hot. When I stand I feel a little woozy and headachy. My dose is stuffed up. My eyes burn a little. I'm drinking lots of liquids as directed, so I'm keeping a well-worn path to that little room. I'm back to washing my hands over and over. 

At seventy-five I know I have to take this very seriously and I am. But I am in pretty good shape for such an old geezer. I am confident that the vaccines and boosters have me as ready as possible, and I have excellent medical care. 

Meanwhile if you were with me in the last few days, especially on Friday or Saturday, get yourself tested if you have any symptoms at all. 

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Here are the places I remember going the last few days:

• I think it is highly unlikely that I was contagious on Wednesday. That was the day I told stories at the Rockmart and Cedartown libraries. (Thank goodness this is July and we have no Wednesday night choir practice this month.)
• Thursday I told stories at the Rome Library
• Thursday  I stopped by an estate sale in Armuchee (I was masked).
• Friday I told stories at Foundation Camp at Georgia Highlands. 
• Friday I stopped by the estate sale in Armuchee again (I did NOT mask this time! Ugh.)
• Saturday I walked through Home Depot -- mostly the outdoor plant area.
• Saturday I walked quickly through TJ Maxx
• I was in and out of Arrowhead several times, but I dealt only with animals; I do not think I came in contact with any other humans while I was there.

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Later note: about 9 p.m. --a pretty miserable day. Still mainly clogged, hot, and headachy. I slept for a couple of hours. Laid around half-listening to podcasts most of the day. Worthless.

Sheila tested negative, but she'll need to test again -- may not have gotten far enough along. She ran through the Walgreen's drive-thru to pick up my medicine and called in a good supper from Jerusalem Grill and drove through to pick that up. I ate it all, but wasn't much interested in food to be truthful. 

Hope I can sleep tonight.

I know I have waxed eloquent on the beauty, kind heart, and brilliance of Sheila Ann Matthews Shaw, but may I reiterate: I am a fortunate man.

Ratify the ERA!

 In the seventies Sheila and I were active in the Rome chapter of the National Organization for Women (N.O.W.) We participated in some marches in support of the Equal Rights Amendment. This si a banner we created for one of those marches. I think we tacked it to some wooden posts so two people could carry it upright down the street. I ran across it today while looking for something-else in a closet and decided to take a picture. I wonder if we have a picture of us with it from back in the day?

To get a picture of the 9'x3' sign I placed it on the hallway floor, then climbed the stairs and held the camera through the ballusters to take the picture below.

Oldest Tree East of the Rockies!

How did I miss this story from 2019? There is a tree in North Carolina that was hundreds of years old at the time of Christ. I tiny core has been drilled from it that records the floods and droughts of recorded history perfectly and so gives scientists a mighty trustworthy record of rainfall for the last two millennia. Click the picture to read the story from Newsweek.

Silver Tea Service

Sometime early in 1962, after it was announced that Daddy would be assigned to Trinity Methodist Church in a mid-year series of church assignments necitated by a death and a jurisdictional appointment, the folks at Watkins Memorial in Ellijay presented my parents with a beautiful Silver Tea Service as a parting gift.  

Foundation Camp 2022

 I had a great time with the young men at Foundation Camp at Georgia Highlands. I told my tall tale "Yellowtail" about my pet Copperhead. And I showed off two great snakes to have around the yard: a Corn Snake aka Red Rat Snake and an Eastern King Snake. I am on a one-man crusade to convince folks to give up their fear and loathing of these beautiful and valuable and harmless critters. Many thanks to 100 Black Men and Georgia Highlands College for sponsoring this great camp program.

Here are some pictures posted by the camp director, Dr. Jon Hershey:

The Corn Snake prized by farmers for his rodent control skills. 

Some say he gets his name from hanging around corn cribs to hunt mice. 

Others say his belly looks like Indian corn. 

The Eastern King Snake is just as good at rodent control and has this added benefit: he is immune to the venom of pit vipers and can kill and eat them!

Susannahmelon

My daughter and son-in-law have established a strange family tradition; all Carlin babies must be swaddled in melon pants. Susannah is the third celebrant of this sacrament. Perhaps it's an homage to her Granny's obsession with the fruit?

Susannah seems happy with her watermelon pants. July 10, 2022

Ruth was less happy when it was her turn! July 4, 2020

Clementine pioneered the design. September 30, 2018

Barbarism

Deciding to have an abortion is a decision that should rest with the woman (or little girl in this case) with her doctor and whoever else she trusts to help her decide and certainly NOT with the likes of Samuel Alito or Clarence Thomas or Neil Gorsuch or Bret Kavanaugh or Amy Barrett or John Roberts. Shame on all who would take that right away from my daughters and granddaughters. To force birth on a ten-year-old victim of rape is barbaric.

Click on the picture to read Jennifer Rubin's column regarding this.

Why I am a United Methodist

A small hand-carved plaque featuring the
Cross and Flame symbol of the United Methodist Church.

I hesitate to write a post like this. You see, I know what a rank sinner I am. But I also know that I am not alone; all churches are made up, by definition, of sinners!

I grew up in the The Methodist Church, then in the late sixties our denomination joined with the Evangelical United Brethren to become the United Methodist Church. We are a connectional denomination rather than a congregational denomination. At one time there was a United Methodist Church in every county in the United States. Together our large denomination sponsors many worldwide, regional, state, and local missions. I have been a part of this denomination since birth -- both of my parents were United Methodist pastors! -- and I plan to continue to be a United Methodist the rest of my life. 

What a wonderful influence on my life my church has been!

• Of course my parents' sermons and witness were a great influence.

• The Sunday School teachers and Vacation Bible Schools at Antioch and Mackville and Midway and Sunnyside and Watkins Memorial and Trinity taught and inspired me.

• I attended Camp Glisson eight times in seven years as a kid and teen --- Holy Dirt! That great ministry of many decades is the result of strong connectional ties of many congregations working together.

• Sheila and I have belonged to our local congregation, Trinity UMC, for over fifty years now! We have been blessed by a wide variety UMC pastors James Sanders, Scobie Branson, David Naglee, Paul Hanna, George Freeman, David Campbell, Nanci Hicks, and many others.

• Our daughters were baptized here and sang in Cherub, Children's and Youth choirs. They each attended Camp Glisson as well.

• Almost every Christmas eve I spend some reverent time standing quietly in Trinity's nativity scene contemplating Jesus' humble birth and what he has meant to the world, but much more personally to me and mine.

• From its inception our denomination has had a strong social commitment. The early Methodists opposed slavery, accepted women into ministry, and sought to minister to all.

• When disaster strikes anywhere in the world, we know our United Methodist Church, through its wonderful connectional ministries, will be on the scene with relief for suffering people.

You may have heard that in this divisive age even our "united" denomination is divided. It breaks my heart that some, even some that I dearly love, want to break away from our denomination. Some want to move toward a more congregational structure. Some are worried that the denomination will become more inclusive than they want.

I will stay.

If you are without a church home, come visit us. [Especially if you sing tenor!] You will hear strong scripture-based sermons. If you are like me you will be convicted by them and inspired to be a better person. You will hear good music. You will have opportunities to be in mission. And you will be among a very loving group of admitted sinners, seeking to more perfectly love God and each other.
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In this article some other North Georgia Methodists express why they are United Methodists.

Let's Make Sure Rome's "Central Park" is in the Master Plan!

This would be a great time for friends of Rome's "Central Park" to contact the city's parks and rec department about the parks master plan they are working on.

Here's the comment form for the master plan ---

I certainly want to promote sensitive development of walking and bike trails, boardwalks, and wildlife viewing stations in the city's Burwell Creek, Burwell Forest, and City Duck pond -- connecting the beautiful Jackson Hill trails to Ridge Ferry Park and the Riverwalk trail system. There should be space for a little parking and trailheads off Riverside Parkway near the tracks as well as off Dogwood at the Duck Pond and off Vaughn Road near where the chipper equipment is now located.

With this new master plan, I hope our dream of a "Central Park" will finally begin to take shape! 

An article about the Master Plan fro today's Rome News...