Archive for the ‘Being ME’ Category

Giving thanks for photography – capturing the moments of our lives.

November 11th, 2017 Comments off

Clark Burrow escorted me in our High School Homecoming procession. Earlene Brown and Sammy Spencer were next in line.

Ah yes, I remember it just as if it were, well . . . fifty three years ago!

Today’s moment of thanks-giving is for photography  and the pleasure it provides in linking us to the past.

Who do we thank for inventing the camera?

Alexander Wolcott invented the first camera and was patented in 1840. However, the principle of making pictures was created by Joseph Nicephore Niepce.

 In 1826 Charles and Vincent Chevalier in Paris created the first camera that could take photos.

Then in 1827, the Frenchman Joseph Niepce managed to make a photographic image.

Wouldn’t those guys be shocked and delighted at how far we have come in photography?

“Hey, Mr. Wolcott, we can take pictures with our telephones!  “

“No kidding? Uh, what’s a telephone?”

(Mr. Bell didn’t invent the phone until 1876.)

My Tree

October 26th, 2016 Comments off


I guess I was a weird kind of kid to claim a tree as mine, but I did.  When Daddy  planted a scrawny start to a  tree in our front yard, for some reason I decided it was my tree. Why I thought it belonged to me, I don’t know; but I do know that I loved that little nothing of a tree and took pride in its growth,  measuring myself by standing beside it.  As you can see in this picture, it had outgrown me by the time I went to college. 

We had 3/4 of an acre of land to the side and back of the house, but the front yard was tiny and sat very close to Burrow Street.  If Daddy  told me he  thought it was going to be too big for the small yard, I didn’t give it much thought. If he  mentioned that the large leaves were creating extra work for him, I disregarded it. If he said he might cut it down, I didn’t believe him. So I was in for a big shock when I came home from ASU one weekend and the front yard looked different.  Where was my tree?  How could my tree just disappear?  

An ugly stump remained where my slender, beautiful  tree had stood.

 The odd thing is, I don’t remember much more about the incident.  It seems I have blocked it from my memory.  I am sure, however, that  I was terribly upset and disappointed.  I am also sure that Daddy was sorry, but could not understand my attachment to a tree.  I doubt if any one understood.   Maybe I don’t even understand it myself, except it was a living thing and I had watched it grow.  I had compared myself to it for years and I thought it would be around forever.  I was wrong in assuming it was mine when it was really Daddy’s, and Daddy had to look at the big picture not the small one.  It would have been nice if he had talked with me first, but then as I said, maybe he did and I didn’t listen.

I forgave my daddy for cutting down the tree because I realized it was not really mine,  but it still hurt.   Now that I’m a homeowner I have had to remove trees from my place and I never wanted to do it,  but like daddy I did what I felt I had to do. I had to look at the bigger picture too.

Birth Announcement

October 26th, 2016 1 comment

Oct. 26, the announcement card of my birth will be 69 years old. Say,that card is getting old!

Yeah, it shows its age, has some wrinkles and is a bit img540dated,  but look, it still has a cheerful message and . . . it is still being read!  (I’m sure you are picking up on my analogy.)

Holding the keepsake/relic in my hand, I think of that young couple who gave me life. I’m glad to know that after having had five previous births, that they were still celebrating when they had the sixth.

Interestingly, Bill, who was born two thousand miles away, a year earlier on the 25th of October, had the very same announcement card.  I imagine, since it was during the war years, that the selection was limited and that is why my mother in Arkansas and Bill’s mother in California chose the same sweet little card to send to family and friends.

It was made by Hallmark,  and as everyone knows, that meant our mothers  had cared enough, to send the very best.’

Daddy Still Offering Comfort

July 17th, 2015 Comments off

May 17, 2012

It was a college essay test.  There was a format with three or four questions to be included.  I decided to write about humor in teaching and preaching. It was written in my mind, but I started to panic because I couldn’t find the sheet of questions. I ran frantically from one place to the next searching, searching, searching.

Don’t you hate dreams like that?

The only good thing about the dream was that I saw my Daddy.  I yelled, “Hi Daddy!” He looked my way and smiled, I knew I would see him later.

In my dream it wasn’t strange at all that Daddy was as young as I was.  It was wonderful to see him. I’ve dreamed of my father twice lately and I think I know why.  He was the prayer warrior of the family, the one we called to pray when we needed God’s help.

Our family is in mourning for my nephew who passed. Through my dreams I am reminded that we never lose those we can remember, and our hope is that we will be together in eternity.  Daddy’s image of renewed youth and vitality reassures me of this Blessed Hope.

June 8th, 2015 Comments off

Photo on 2011-11-01 at 21.49 #4I was so excited about being featured on Melissa Turner Kirk’s website, that I forgot to write about it!

She has a cool blog about all kinds of art expressions.  Today she featured some of my sketches.  I hope you will take time to check out her blog and see my part. 

Be sure to enlarge the screen and to turn up the sound, to fully appreciate Melissa’s presentation.

Noise in the Night Rattles the ‘Marm from sleep

April 30th, 2015 1 comment

Photo on 2013-12-19 at 09.56 #2In the middle of the night I heard a loud noise. I grabbed the little flashlight by my bed and started making the rounds. Nothing was amiss. hmmmm

Then I remembered that my friend LaVonne in her late 80’s started hearing loud crashing noises in the night that startled her terribly.  She told her doctor and he said it wasn’t anything to worry about even tho’  it is called ‘brain explosion or exploding head.’

Wikipedia says:

Exploding head syndrome is a form of hypnagogic auditory hallucination and is a rare and relatively undocumented parasomnia event in which the subject experiences a loud bang in their head similar to a bomb exploding, a gun going off, a clash of cymbals, ringing, or any other form of loud, indecipherable noise that seems to originate from inside the head.

 This noise usually happens at the onset of sleep or within an hour or two of falling asleep, but is not necessarily the result of a dream. Although the sound is perceived as extremely loud, it is usually not accompanied by pain. Attacks appear to change in number over time, with several attacks happening in a space of days or weeks, followed by months of remission. Sufferers often feel a sense of fear and anxiety before and after an attack, accompanied by elevated heart rate. Attacks may also be accompanied by perceived flashes of light (when perceived on their own, known as a “visual sleep start”) or difficulty in breathing. The condition is also known as “auditory sleep starts”. The associated symptoms are varied, but the benign nature of the condition is emphasized and neither extensive investigation nor treatment are indicated. Sufferers may experience an inability to vocalize any sound, or mild forms of sleep paralysis during an attack. There is no known treatment.

So, in the darkness of night I assumed I would just have to live with it, the way LaVonne had. Disconcerting thought.

Maybe not . . . This morning I gazed at my bedroom wall, what’s missing?

AHA!  Behind a bookshelf I saw the decoration that had slid down the wall and crashed in the night.  Sigh of relief! Thank the Lord, I have not added another quirk,you know I have plenty already!

Being Too Colorful Gives Me a Headache

April 2nd, 2015 Comments off

Mary Taylor – A Methodist Church?

April 2nd, 2015 Comments off

What a surprise to learn there is a church sharing my name.  Mary Taylor Memorial United Methodist church in Milford, CT.

Their website  states:

Mary Taylor Memorial UMC is part of the second largest Protestant  denomination in the United States – the United Methodist Church.

Spread across the country with great ethnic diversity, the UMC is a “large tent” that includes people with a wide range of understandings and what joins us together is a commitment to grow in grace and in the
knowledge of God and a further commitment to serve our sisters and brothers, whoever they may be, in the name of Jesus Christ.

Mary Taylor Methodists are heirs of John Wesley, the spiritual father of two of Wesley’s watchwords on differences of opinion are reflected in our life together.  One is, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity, ” meaning that though we may not agree on all things, we are united in our belief in God’s abundant love and grace and seek to ground our life together in that love.  In a similar vein, Wesley spoke of this uniting love when he said, “If your heart is as my heart, give me your hand.”

The United Methodist Church is not a “creedal” church, which is to say that there is not one particular creed or formula of faith to which one must agree in order to become a member.  At Mary Taylor Memorial, we recognize that people are at all stages of their Christian journey.  We invite all to find a spiritual “home base” in our church community.

I wrote an email to the church to ask for information about the Mary Taylor for whom it was named.  As of yet I haven’t received an answer.  I hope I do.  I am quite curious about her.

“We Are Seven” – Thank you Mr. Wordsworth, now I get it.

February 26th, 2015 Comments off

Photo on 2015-01-19 at 13.24 #2My sister Martha would have been 86 years old today.  She passed into the next life New year’s Eve’ 2014.

It is very hard to think of her as gone because she was a big part of my life, much bigger than I’m sure she realized. 

The poem by Wordsworth, “We Are Seven” is about a little girl who insisted that ‘we are seven’ when referring to her siblings, although two were deceased.

This poem resonates with me more fully now, for we are seven too.  The first to leave was Betty Carolyn, who passed at the age of 8 months.  She was the third of the seven.  With Martha’s passing that means we have lost two, but I, like the little girl, am more committed than ever to the fact that we were, are, and always will be  . . . seven!

 Location doesn’t have anything to do with it.




Delicate beauty or a mug type of gal?

February 5th, 2015 Comments off

10262193_823195294384468_724942834680053673_nThis is so classy, so lovely, so delicate.  

It reminds me of  women who are always perfectly groomed, every hair in place, everything matching to perfection,  so pretty.

Alas, I am not one of them. 

Wonder if I have time enough to change?  

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