#SaveOurDrumlines!

A few weeks ago, our school board and interim superintendent decided, in a cost cutting measure, not to replace two departing percussion instructors in our local high school band programs. They obviously did not truly realize the power of one of the most determined breeds of parents on the planet:  BAND PARENTS.

When the decision was first made, I have to admit that I thought that was the end of it. My first reaction was to try to figure out a way to make money so that the existing directors could at least hire some part time clinicians or even a bright graduate student. Anything to keep this program alive. I decided to donate the profits for the last two weeks of July from sales of my art at a local gift and consignment shop, The Cricket Box, to the cause. A former band kid myself, I knew how important this was. Not only to the bands, but the schools and the community as a whole.

What I did not expect was the number of new friends I would make during this process. In order to get the word out, I became Facebook friends with several people that I had heard of, but did not know personally. I have enjoyed getting to know these folks and hope to meet face to face soon. These are dynamic, interesting women who get things done.

With some determination, unification, and plain hard work, these band parents helped get the decision to eliminate the percussion positions reversed. The percussion units will have their directors, scholarships will be saved, and these band kids got a lesson in the importance of fighting for what they believe in.

As for the sale, we no longer need to #SaveOurDrumlines! The money raised will be divided equally between the band booster organizations of both schools.

Band parents rule!

Handicapped Spaces

This is a follow-up to a Facebook post I made recently about my frustration at not being able to park at one of our local hospital campuses. I went to check on my loved one and was unable to get a space in the front of the building. There was only one sign, NO blue lines, and the wheelchairs had been painted over with black paint.

A sign touted handicapped parking in the back of the building, so I drove around. I parked, got my walker out of the backseat (my scooter in the the rear of my van), and went to the door. Locked! A kind nurse's aide went to another door. That was locked as well. Unable to get my mobility devices out of my van in a "normal" space, I left in frustration.

So, this morning I went to the main campus of the hospital and spoke to a lovely man by the name of Johnny Reynolds, who is the patient representative. I began by telling him several of the positive things my husband and I had experienced at River Region (yes, there were many!). Then, I approached him about the parking problem. He agreed that it was unacceptable for handicapped individuals not being able to access ill loved ones and agreed to talk to the hospital administrator about it. He promised to follow up with a call.

A few minutes later, as I was visiting my relative (who had become so ill she required a transfer to acute care), the call did come in. The story is that there is handicapped parking in front, but there was no signage or easily visible markings. This situation is supposed to be remedied in the near future. Also, we discussed a bell or buzzer and camera for the back door so that security could "buzz" in disabled visitors. These all sound like good ideas.

I will be watching to see if action follows. Stay tuned!

Anxiety

I can't believe I am awake at 12:35 AM fretting about a doctor appointment that does not occur until August 1. 

My long term neuromuscular doc left University Medical Center. We had a great relationship and I did not mind going to see her. But, my new doc is taking getting used to. His nurse has yelled at me and made me cry. 

Seriously. 

My new doc wanted me to lose weight before I came back. I was doing well till Bill was diagnosed with cancer. Food choices for me at the hospital were extremely limited. Yes, they had low fat yogurt...with strawberries. Anaphylaxis anyone? I have since gotten back on track, but I don't know if I can lose enough in the next 2 1/2 weeks to show the kind of progress he is expecting. 

Another concern is that I think he is going to take me off the steroids that have given me a greatly improved quality of life for the past 12 years. I know there are downsides to these, but I will take quality of life over quantity any day. He wants to put me on a stimulant that I have tried before. I did not like the way I felt on this drug. It made my reflux worse, caused sleeplessness ( like I need more of that!) and just made me jittery. 

Neuromuscular doctors are in short supply. The one I see is the only one I know of in Central Mississippi. I hate feeling like I have no choice. 

I know I have to get a handle on this. Explore and see if do have any options. If not, I have to find some effective way to deal with this situation. 

Wish me luck. 

Memories of a Band Kid

Little did I know when I passed the test making me eligible to take band in 6th grade, how far that clarinet would take me, both in music and in life. 

The first time the tiny band at Warrenton Elementary played a "tune" that actually sounded like something was one of the coolest moments I can remember. I was part of that tune and boy was I proud!

At Warren Central in 8th grade, I was a part of a much larger band. All of the 8th graders from all of the elementary schools, playing tunes together. This was even more cool and I was even more proud! 

That Spring, I tried out for "Big Blue" the nickname of the award winning High School band. I remember receiving my acceptance letter in the mail and screaming for joy when I found out I had "made it."

The first time I sat in the band hall and played with all the band kids from 9th through 12th grades, I was completely blown away. I was one of hundreds of kids, playing the same tune. Proud does not even begin to describe the feeling I had that day. I was completely blown away.

Band taught me lessons that helped in other areas of music. I was also a "choir kid" and I could count and sight read better than many of my choir peers, thanks to having taken band for three years prior to joining choir.

Most of all, however, being in band taught me life lessons that are still with me today. Be punctual. Respect others. Be part of the team. Work hard. Don't make excuses. Together, we could do anything. If we failed classes, we could lose our opportunity to play in the band until we pulled our grades up. And, if we got into real trouble, we could be kicked out of band for good. Very few band kids were willing to risk that.

I received a full tuition scholarship to Hinds by being in the band. Finances were tight and that scholarship helped me and my family. When I got to Mississippi College, health concerns and time restraints finally made me put my clarinet in its case for good.

When administrations decide not to fund band (all arts really!) programs, I have to wonder if they are truly counting the costs. They may save money in the short term, but what are they sacrificing long term?

Is it worth it?

Independence Day

I have always enjoyed American History. But, until I visited Philadelphia, Pennsylvania recently, it had never really "come to life" for me. 

Something about seeing the place where the signing of the Declaration of Independence occurred held me in thrall. As I caressed the landing outside the doorway into the signing room, I could not help but wonder at the thought of our Founding Fathers resting their hands there.

We take so much for granted these days. It is easy to look at the pristine portraits of the time, not really understanding the risks the signers took when they put their names on this historic document. Richard Stockton of New Jersey was imprisoned and the damage to his health hastened his early death at age 50. William Hooper of North Carolina contracted malaria while on the run from British troops which destroyed his health for the rest of his short 48 years. Arthur Middleton, Edward Rutledge, and Thomas Heyward of South Carolina were imprisoned, leaving families having to beg for help from friends. George Walton of Georgia was captured by the British after being shot and was held for years.

The signers not only put themselves at risk, but their families as well. Francis Hopkins' (New York) wife was 60 years old when imprisoned for 2 years in primitive conditions during the War. Abraham Clark's (New York) sons were imprisoned. Signers families often had to move frequently to avoid capture.

Most signers had property damaged and destroyed, and many were financially ruined, such as Thomas Nelson, Jr. (Virginia), from using their own funds to support the war effort.

So, this 4th of July, take a few minutes to read the Declaration of Independence. Better yet, check out this book and learn more about the signers for yourself.

Artist's Block

I realize that in times of stress and exhaustion, art has to take a backseat for awhile. That is normal. But, it can be very hard to get back into a creative spirit once life is getting back to normal. 

So, I bring out my "positive self talk" and work to end the creative drought.

Things I say to myself:

1. This creative drought is normal under the circumstances and will not last forever.

2. Everything I paint does not have to be a masterpiece. Just getting color on paper is important and therapeutic.


3. it is OK to paint just for myself. To paint what I want to paint regardless of how anyone else might receive it.

4. For better or worse, I AM an artist, and I always will be. 

 

Broken and Spilled Out

Every week, I ask our preacher at Hermanville to send me his next sermon topic and scripture reference. Because the special music is right before the sermon, I try to "match" the song to what the message is going to be.

This week's scripture reference was Luke 7: 36-50, the story of the woman who poured out an entire container of an expensive and precious perfume on the feet on Jesus, washed His feet with her tears, and dried them with her hair.

I almost cried when I saw what the sermon was going to be about. I have wanted to sing Steve Green's "Broken and Spilled Out" for years, but never had the opportunity. Today I did.

This song epitomizes that way that I have felt for years. I wanted to be truly "used" and "used up" for Jesus. But, there wasn't time. That was someone else's  job. Or, I simply felt like I was intruding. But, I don't have that feeling anymore. The things I have to give are being used, broken, and spilled out. Poured at His feet.

Lord continue to let me be broken, spilled out, and used up for Thee.

The Post

I can't believe I am actually writing this. I did not think the day would ever come when I would consider not renewing my daily subscription to the Vicksburg, (formerly Evening) Post.

But, the truth is, by the time the printed paper arrives, most of it is old news. I have already seen most of what is in the paper on TV, Facebook, or somewhere else online. When I was traveling, I discovered that I could get my comics, Dear Abby, Dr. Wallace, and the obituaries online for free. I am terrible at crossword puzzles and I can't even begin to do the Sudoku. I'm not looking to buy anything in the classifieds. I don't usually agree with the editorials. About the only things I might miss are the "Old Post Files" and the crime report. If a picture of me or one of my loved ones is in it, someone will usually cut it out and send it to me.

I would continue to take the Sunday paper so I can see who is getting married and read whatever Gordon Cotton writes. I like the Parade magazine and the big, full color comic section.

Between traveling and having a sick husband, I have not really read the paper since April. I don't miss it nearly as much as I thought I would. And, instead of struggling to read newsprint, I am getting more books read.

So, I am going to try saying goodbye to my daily "Post" when this month is over. Will I miss it?

Stay tuned.

The "C" Word

When I entered my husband's hospital room that Thursday morning, I could tell immediately. The biopsy news was not good. The doctor had made a very late round after I had left for the evening and given my husband the news.

The tumor is malignant. Bill has cancer. My lifelong non-smoking, non-drinking, clean living husband has lung cancer.

This all actually started with kidney stones. After 5 grueling, pain filled hours sitting in the ER waiting room, Bill was finally taken back and a CT scan taken to look for the stones. The stones showed up as expected. A spot on his right lung also showed up. Not expected. 

I have often heard people diagnosed with cancer remark that after they heard the "C" word, their brains immediately shut down. They simply were unable to process anything beyond this information. For this reason, people going to a doctor to receive biopsy results are advised to bring someone with them to ask questions, write down pertinent information, etc.

I was not even the patient and I felt like I had been hit upside the head with a baseball bat. The word "cancer", coming from my husband's mouth, changed our lives. Probably forever.

Fortunately, further tests show that there is only one tumor and surgery is scheduled to remove part of his lung.  It is not going to be an easy ride (for either of us!), but Bill's chances are good. 

Thanks to the "blessing" of kidney stones.

Mr. Junior

His real name was James Otto Hearn, Junior. As a child, I was taught to respect my elders and would never have dared call an adult by his or her first name. So, to avoid confusion with his daddy, I called the younger Mr. Hearn "Mr. Junior."

The Hearn family ran a small store on the corner of 61 South and Redbone Road. Hearn's Store was more than just a place to pick up snacks or groceries. It was a place for a small crew of retired men to sit in the back and shoot the breeze. Mr. Hullum, Mr. York, and Mr. Lofton were usually there just waiting for someone to pick on. One of their favorite "targets" was my mama, Betty Nelson.

Now don't get me wrong. This picking was all in good fun, never cruel or hateful. And my mama could give as good as she got. Mama would walk in Hearn's Store, usually with one of her toy Pomeranian dogs in tow. These men loved to pick on my mama about her dogs. I don't think they even classified a Pomeranian  as a "real" dog. I had to smile thinking about how glad my mama, James B Lofton, Mr. Hullum, and Mr. York were to see Mr. Junior arrive in Heaven last night.

I can still remember the first time we walked into Hearn's Store in 1968. Mr. Junior introduced me to his young sons "Sam" and "Tater." I had no idea that these were not their real names until years later. Hard to believe ol' "Tater" aka Jay is a grandfather himself now.

I remember eating hoop cheese from Mr. Junior's deli case. It is still the best cheese I have ever eaten. Hoop cheese from anywhere else is just not the same. Mr. Junior had a glass fronted candy counter and we would stand in front of it for what seemed like forever, trying to decide which kind of candy bar we wanted. My mama had a charge account with Mr. Junior, and would tell him to "Charge it please, and thank you very much" when she had her selections on the counter. Mama was an only child, but she told me on more than one occasion that Mr. Junior was like the brother she never had.

Even though I had not seen Mr. Junior in a number of years, I still found myself tearing up when I heard of his passing. He was a constant presence during my growing up years. I don't remember him ever getting impatient or upset with me, no matter how long it took me to decide whether I wanted a Hershey Bar with Almonds or a Zero Bar that day. If I wanted a Coke, he would tell me where to reach in the refrigerator case to get the coldest one. Sometimes I could even coax him into cutting me a sliver of hoop cheese to nibble on before he wrapped up the rest.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Junior. You will be missed.

Vacation Top 10

Too tired for a lengthy travelogue, I decided to just list and picture my top 10 things about the great road trip of 2013.

10. Breakfast with Teresa's cousins in North Carolina, including these amazing homemade scones!

 

 9. Seeing where Superman lives! Metropolis, Illinois.

 

 8. Tulips! My favorite flower was blooming everywhere. 

 7.  The Jefferson Memorial. This place still takes my breath away. 

  

 6. The Vietnam Memorial and this statue in particular.

 5. Christ Church, Philadelphia, PA, where Benjamin Franklin and George Washington attended services.

 4. Cherry trees! Especially with loved ones posed underneath them. 

 

 3.  Arlington. Breathtaking and absolutely humbling.

 

 2. Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed.

1. Spending time with family and dear friends. Priceless!

Karen & Teresa’s (hopefully!) Excellent Adventure

On Friday, April 19th, my college roommate and long time friend, Teresa, and I will be setting off on an adventure. We are taking a two week driving trip that will take us from Nashville, to Asheville, to DC, to Philadelphia, Akron, and Pittsburgh PA, then to Cleveland Ohio and Metropolis, Illinois.

We know at the outset that we will not be able to do EVERYTHING we would like to do. We would need a LOT more time and a LOT more money for that. But, we are prioritizing, and hope to see the things that are most important to us. Teresa, whose father was shot down in Vietnam when she was four, wants to see the memorial finally created for those killed in this conflict. I want to visit with my sister-in-law and her family who live in Akron, near the Amish country we hope to explore.

I would never be able to make a trip like this if it were not for Teresa. She does the “heavy lifting.” Calling herself the “Master Packer”, she totes the luggage from van to hotel room and back, somehow making sure everything fits. She does much of the driving, allowing me to take re-energizing naps on the road. She lets me off at doors and chases down my walker if the wind catches it and it goes careening across a parking lot.

When I asked for prayer for our journey Sunday morning in church,a comment was made by someone (the preacher!) hoping that Washington DC will still be the same when we leave it. With two crazy, middle-aged women out for adventure, there is just no telling!

Chick-fil-A

I think I may be one of the only people in Vicksburg who is not particularly looking forward to the opening of the new Chick-fil-A. Their restaurants are usually clean and their employees are more professional than most I have encountered in the fast food business. I will probably go to this one if my husband or a friend really wants to eat there. My feelings about Chick-fil-A are definitely mixed for a number of reasons, not all of which I will go into in this post.

One of my main beefs (pardon the pun) with this Chick-fil-A is the location. I have seen the way traffic backs up into the street at the ones in Clinton and Jackson during rush times or special promotions. Hall's Ferry is already a busy street and getting out of businesses that don't have a traffic light is difficult enough already. I am wondering if I will be able to get in and out of the parking lot to see my financial adviser at Edward Jones. Another concern I have is wondering if the parking allotted for Chick-fil-A will be adequate or will they have to spill over and take parking area away from Caffe Paradiso, Yanni's, and Orange Leaf Yogurt. As a frequent visitor to some of these establishments, will my handicapped parking spaces be taken up by the overflow generated by Chick-fil-A?

I am hoping that the city has some ideas for dealing with potential issues that come up, but I have to admit, I am not holding my breath. At any rate, I will probably be in another part of town supporting our locally owned places by eating at Martin's, Toney's, Goldie's, and Billy's. 

For the most part, I'll let other folks "Eat more Chikin."

Hermanville Squirrel Revival

Easter was just about to get underway at Hermanville United Methodist Church. The preacher, Charles Pope, was robed and ready, and church pianist, Daphne Bruce, was about to begin the prelude. Then, she noticed what looked like wood shavings on the keys of the highest octave. Karen Sanders, the music director, went to find something to clean the offending substance from the keys and signaled to Charles that there was a 
piano emergency.

Suddenly, Daphne gave a squeal and out from under the piano darted a squirrel! Karen soon echoed that squeal as the rodent ran past her sandaled feet doing laps around the piano. Soon, others came over to see what could be done about getting rid of our uninvited guest. Unable to find a way out near the piano, our squirrel ran down the aisle as if his tail was on fire. He ran to a front window, and unable to exit, he headed back towards the piano!

“If that squirrel runs up my pant leg like in the Mississippi Squirrel Revival, I am out the door!” declared Daphne who was shaking like the last leaf on an  Autumn tree. Karen agreed that she would not be far behind. Much to the church’s chagrin, the squirrel ran BACK into the piano. Some of our braver church members opened the piano and there was another squirrel, obviously deceased, laid out over the strings. One of our stalwart gentlemen, Harald, graciously disposed of the poor thing, while we tried to get the other squirrel to come back out.  We had probably scared the poor thing with our squealing and carrying on, so he was not budging.

 It looked as if our squirrel guest was determined to stay for the service, so it was decided that the Easter hymns would be sung a cappella. Karen, gingerly, with one eye always on the piano, made her way to her chair on the platform. Daphne took a seat in the back of the church, far away from the piano. Charles took his position behind the pulpit.

And, without further ado, the Easter 2013 service at Hermanville United Methodist Church was ready to begin.

The Birthday

My Daddy and my Father-in-Law had several things in common. One of these was a March 28th birthday. 

After Daddy bought his place on Thompson Lake, the birthday was celebrated there unless the weather was really awful. Daddy had built a pavilion, picnic tables, and a pier. It was the perfect place to have a party.

My father-in-law was on the shy side and did not often attend social gatherings, unless they were hosted and attended by his immediate family. Birthdays at the lake were an exception. I think Mr. Sanders liked the fact that there was no need for a lot of conversation. Many guests were happy just to sit and watch the water, or walk out on the pier and enjoy the fresh air. 

Today will be the first "birthday" without either Dad. I have to admit, it still does not seem quite "real." The lake place has been sold. I am not making the "bunny" cake, crafted from two round layers, decorated with icing, coconut, jelly bean eyes, and licorice whiskers. No hamburgers are cooking on Daddy's grill, tantalizing us with their aroma, as we put fixings on the table. I would be lying if I said that I was not sad today. But, I am thankful for memories of the good times I was able to share with both of my Dads on their special day. 

Dragnet

When I was a child, one of my favorite TV shows was Dragnet. I thought Joe Friday was the coolest thing on legs. I loved his slick monologues and the one-line "zingers" he was able to pull off without batting an eye. Joe Friday never cracked under pressure, never had a hair out of place, and never, ever, lost his cool. 

I also became a fan of his later series, Adam 12, with the adorable Kent McCord and  Emergency!. I particularly found it fascinating that he was on such good terms with ex-wife, torch singer Julie London, that he not only hired her for Emergency!, but her second husband, jazz musician, Bobby Troup, as well.

Watching these three series, I noticed that Jack Webb used many of his actors in all three series, as well as in the 1950's incarnation of Dragnet that I recently found on Netflix and hope to watch soon. Once an actor was on Webb's good list, he or she was set with regular guest roles for years. Sometimes a guest star from Dragnet, would be tapped for a regular or starring role in another Webb series. I admire Webb's loyalty.

My husband and I are re-watching all 98 color episodes of Dragnet. Even after all these years, Joe Friday is still the coolest thing on legs.

And that's a fact.

Progress

Yesterday, I took a shopping trip over to Catherine's Plus Sizes store. I have been recording everything I eat and trying to be more mindful of my food intake over the past couple of months. I have not been weighing, just paying attention to what I put in my mouth and how my clothes feel. And, I have held my own pretty well,  despite the two steroid tapers that made me extremely hungry for a couple of weeks. 

Last time I went to Catherine's in February, I wore a 3X shirt and a 2X pant. I decided to be optimistic and try on 2X blouses with my 2X pants this time. I was shocked to find them both too large! I ended up with a 1X top and a 1X pant! Needless to say, this made me quite happy. 

So, I continue on this path. When I look in my mirror, I honestly don't see much progress. But, according to the tags, I must be making some. I just have to keep it up. 

Creative Lull

I am in a bit of a creative lull right now, as far as art goes. I just can't seem to get inspired on a regular basis. I have flashes here and there, but nothing steady like in the past. 

I still hesitate to really call myself an "artist." I do OK for someone only in it since 2009. I will never be a Walter Anderson or Wyatt Waters. But, I do enjoy what I do and make enough to (almost!) support my habit and give something to charities. 

Not being able to really see a pencil sketch both limits and frees me. I see lovely flowers painted from detailed sketches. I don't particularly want to do these. But, painting totally freehand flowers does present other challenges. Alas, even the most beautiful flowers are not much inspiration these days.

I don't want to do what everyone else is doing. I don't want to do what is trendy. I want to create my own art, primarily from my own imagination. But, sometimes, that imagination fails me. I am hoping that this is just a result of still grieving, having been ill for several weeks, and just being tired.  I post to groups on Flickr for feedback, but even this can be somewhat stressful as I tend to want to do what "pleases" my peers, instead of following my heart. 

I am sure that inspiration will, once again, return. 

I wish it would get a move on. 

Grace

No one would ever accuse Grace of being a beauty queen. Prematurely gray, with cat eye glasses, a chubby build, and a no-nonsense attitude, she was often the subject of unkind mocking. The kind of cruelty that teenagers are often known for. But, I loved her. She was a combination of teacher, mentor, surrogate mom, and friend to me. 

Grace was the second person to really recognize that I could sing. The first was Barbara Weaver, who heard me singing with the radio, and who promptly marched me into Miss Reno's room to try out for her choir. I liked to sing, but did not realize I had a gift until Grace told me I did. Grace pushed me to sing solos, to try out for honor choirs, and to consider making music my major in college. She taught a music theory class when I was a high school senior.  That class made my first semester of college theory a relative breeze. 

When I graduated with my master's degree in vocal performance, married, and moved back to Vicksburg, I became Grace's substitute teacher. I gave voice lessons after school, helped chaperone choir trips, and began to see a different side of "Miss Reno." As a peer and friend, I saw how much she really cared about her students. She worried about a student in an abusive relationship with her boyfriend. The one who came from a "very broken" home. The boy who was so talented, but had no money to go to college. 

After a few hellish years of having to keep large study halls full of extremely difficult kids, Grace retired from public school teaching. She also taught piano and was the choir director for her church, so music continued to be part of her life. Then she got a job that turned out to be perfect for her. 

Grace became a travel agent. I don't remember every seeing her as happy as she was when she was helping someone plan a trip, or better yet, returning from one of her own. She was like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. After her last, difficult years at school, it did my heart good to see her so happy. 

Several months ago, my husband was out taking photographs in Cedar Hill Cemetery for findagrave.com. He happened upon the spot where Grace was buried, but there was no permanent marker there. We made plans to remedy that situation, and Mr. Cockrell at Vicksburg Monument helped us match her stone to the ones of her parents. Simple, but elegant. 

I think Grace would like it. 

Cookie Time!

You all know what kind of cookies I am talking about. 

GIRL SCOUT COOKIES! 

Mine were delivered yesterday by my own personal Girl Scout. Right into my sugar starved (one would think!) hands. 

I have done pretty well with my more mindful eating this year. Even on the large dose steroids I have been taking on and off for almost a month, I have still lost a few pounds. But, I gave myself permission to enjoy this "once a year" treat. For me, this is the "guilt-free" eating of a WHOLE sleeve of Thin Mints. I grab the whole sleeve, my Diet Coke (Oh the irony!) and sit down in front of some mindless TV. Then, after gobbling the first two or three, I slowly savor the rest. 

The rest have been portioned out into small amounts and put in the freezer for more sensible consumption later. But, there is nothing quite like that very first taste of Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies every year.