Angie's Hula-hoop, Pogo Stick, and Stilts

 Since "National Walk-on -Stilts' Day" is Monday, July 27, I couldn't resist writing about my sister's stilts built by my father.

                      As a kid, my sister pursued activities to exemplify her personal best. She thrived on pushing herself to the highest level possible in these activities.

                When Angie was around seven or eight years of age, a hula-hoop craze was in full swing. She set her heart on having a hula-hoop for herself. My parents gave us gifts on our birthdays and at Christmas, but if we wanted a “big item” at a time other those special occasions, saving up for it was the order of the day for us.

                Angie seemed to always have more than one piggy bank, so I don’t recall that cash flow was ever her problem. Even as a toddler, she loved money; so to discourage her from getting into the “egg money" box – actually it was a cigar box – my mother placed a lifelike plastic spider in the box. At that time in her life, Angie had arachnophobia. As a result, my mother, the non-combative, but creative disciplinarian, found an effective deterrent to prevent Angie from pilfering through the money earned from selling the eggs. Bottom line, Angie would most assuredly conserve enough cash for the much-coveted hula-hoop.

                Since money was no object for Angie, the real obstacle for getting the longed for hula-hoop was location and distance. Angie had to get to a store that sold hula-hoops. Finally, the Saturday arrived when we would deliver eggs to the Stillwater Hatchery on Highway 51 east of Stillwater, Oklahoma. Most important for Angie, we would get a rare trip to the TG&Y downtown store in Stillwater. I recall accompanying Angie to the toy aisle so she could select a hula-hoop. Even though I was approaching my teen years, my excitement and anticipation for Angie’s purchase were unbounded. I knew how much this concentric plaything meant to Angie. She had a brief opportunity to use one at school and was convinced it was something she could master. Angie tried several of the available hula-hoops, finally, choosing an orange one that made a sound with each rotation. As I stood next to her at the check-out stand, I figured by that evening she would be setting and breaking “personal best” records on her new hula-hoop. Of course, she did.

                Then Angie set her sights on a pogo stick. It was close enough to Christmas for her to add that to her list. The pogo stick was one of her “big” gifts. My parents budgeted at Christmas and stuck with the figure. The photograph below showed Angie’s delight upon receiving one. Once again, as soon as she could, she took the pogo stick outside and began practicing so she could “bounce” for several minutes without stopping. As her family, we enjoyed watching her and encouraged her in her endeavor.

Angie in her new coat from Grandpa and Grandma Smith looks
ready to start bouncing. Notice the silver aluminum Christmas
tree with the pink ornaments.

                The set of stilts required Dad’s help. As soon as he knew that she wanted a pair, Dad began constructing them for her. In no time, Angie was upon them, parading across the front yard. She enjoyed many hours of walking fun with them. We hope to find them as we clean buildings at the farm since Dad, as a kid who survived the Great Depression, never threw anything away.

                Dad’s Depressionistic slant on economics prompted him to buy our first bicycles used from Roy Hurt's store in Fairfax. The old, beat-up, but good Schwinn bicycle is the only bike I ever owned. As soon as Angie could ride the used one that Dad bought for her, she set her sights on saving money for a brand new one, which she did,
              Mother and Dad reared us to celebrate any family success, rejoicing with each other over even small, personal victories. For this reason, we continue to work together and share elation over the smallest success on Dad’s behalf and with his care. Dad had no way to know the impact and power the stilts he built and the time he spent sitting with me as we watched Angie walk on them would have many years later in his latter years.
              Angie encouraged, almost pushed, me to submit my first manuscript to a periodical. This blog probably would have no readers had Angie not insisted that she post it weekly on FaceBook. Jokingly, usually when bailing me out of a situation with the cattle or 1,001 other things, Angie has frequently quoted from the King James Version the last part of Proverbs 17:17, with her own twist,  "A sister is born for adversity."  How true this has proven to be in our relationship!
                  “Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble.”

  Proverbs 17:17 (The Message)

“How wonderful, how beautiful, when brothers and sisters get along!”

Psalm 133:1 (The Message)

Grandma Gates Wouldn't Turn Around or Wait

Crossing the Flooded Creek

                One of the most prominent statues in my childhood was the Pioneer Woman located in Ponca City, Oklahoma, the largest city closest to our farm. The statue to honor all  women who were instrumental in settling this area was decided by a contest for sculptors. As a teenager, I always enjoyed looking at the many entries for the competition that remain on display in the Woolaroc Museum, near Bartlesville, Oklahoma.

                For a long time, I have known that our family has its own pioneer women with nerves of steel and an unwavering determination. One of those women was Rosa Jarrell Rainey, my maternal great-grandmother. I have written several blog postings about her. A posting about her fording the Red River was published on October 5, 2014.

                In 1989, while on a family vacation in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, we visited Abundant Memories Village. As we wandered through the exhibits of yesteryear, Dad spotted the buggy in the photograph below. I was treated to a retelling of an event in the life of his mother, Mamie Irene Tripp Gates.

                In the late 1920s, my grandma traveled into town in a buggy similar to the one featured in the photograph. Old Fancy, the family’s trusted bay mare pulled the buggy. My father described the buggy as a “two-seated, black buggy with shafts and a buggy top that could be pulled up in case of rain.” Dad said the term “two-seater” derived from the seat accommodating two adults. He quickly added that several little children could fit on the seat.

This is the buggy in the museum that prompted Dad to retell
 the story of Grandma Gates fording the flooded creek. Dad
 noted the buggy top that could be pulled up to provide 
protection from a rain shower.

According to Dad, Grandma had Herbie, the baby at that time, and Martha, who was around four years old, with her. Grandma was not just having a “day out”, but was getting her groceries for her family of nine, that included her husband, Edmund, Sr. and the seven children that were at home at that time.

                Grandma had gotten all the items on her list and had loaded the groceries and two “babies,” as Dad referred to Herb and Martha. Perhaps that was how Grandma told the story. It had rained heavily between the time Grandma had crossed the creek near the Belford School earlier in the day and when she was returning. (The creek runs south of Wayne Mitchell’s farm in the Big Bend community. In those days, it was known as the Betts Place since it was owned by Eloise Betts Mitchell’s family.)

                People were waiting for the creek to go down before trying to cross it. The creek was flooded, around four feet deep. Grandma approached the creek in her buggy and was cautioned to wait. Her reply was, “I have to get home.” Evidently, she had not heard the much-used warning of the 21^st century, “Turn around. Don’t drown.”

                Grandma signaled to Old Fancy, and the bay horse obediently plunged into the swollen, muddy creek waters. The small buggy washed sideways as the floodwater surged dangerously into and through the buggy, soaking the groceries. Faithful, strong Fancy pulled the drenched buggy through the flooded creek, assuring the safe arrival onto the west bank of Grandma, the two little ones, and the even damp groceries.

                I like to think that determination remains a part of her descendents’ DNA. (Some call it stubbornness, whereas others refer to this characteristic with the term “bull-headed.) Often this "bulldog tenacity," a favorite phrase of my father's, results from facing a difficult situation and deciding to tackle it fiercely with all our resources. Our sense of responsibility, an unachieved goal, or the resistance to admit failure drives us to press ahead to complete a project or accomplish a seemingly impossible task.

                Many times I have experienced knowing what I needed to do. Then I have found myself praying, “Lord, it seems this is what you want me to do. Help me, Lord, help me.”

                The Lord has always been faithful to strengthen me, enabling me to accomplish something far beyond my capabilities and in spite of my fear. Only He is worthy of praise for the favorable outcome.

After completing this posting, Psalm 124:1, 4-5 persisted in my thoughts. Here are the verses that pervaded my mind: "If it had not been the Lord who was on our side,...Then the waters would have overwhelmed us, The stream would have gone over our soul; Then the swollen waters would have gone over our soul."

Setting the Family "Recipe" Record Straight

July 12, 2015 is National Pecan Pie Day so it seemed the appropriate time to correct a family recipe error.

Giving Credit Where Credit is Due

                Every Thanksgiving and Christmas when I was growing up, my maternal grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, baked pecan pies with pecans we had picked up from under our trees. Usually Grandpa, Calvin Callcayah Smith, had cracked them. Many times my sister and I were called on to “pick out” the pecan goodies to insure there were no shells. My mother had an aversion to even the slightest sliver of pecan shell in her baking.

                Grandma always used the recipe she referred to as “Daisy’s Pecan Pie Recipe.” Her older sister, Daisy Dean Rainey Rice, had given the recipe to her. People who sampled the pecan pie raved about how delicious it was. It had the perfect filling. The pie’s show-stopping, prize-winning appearance made it a favorite of many.

                When the faculty of Woodland Elementary School, where I taught third grade, elected to compile a cookbook as a fund-raiser, the pecan pie recipe seemed like an obvious choice. I copied the recipe from the recipe card below along with a further clarification since most cookbook readers would not have the baking experience that Aunt Daisy did.

The original recipe from my mother’s recipe collection written by Aunt Daisy.

Mother added this explanation: Beat eggs slightly, then mix in syrup, vanilla,

flour, and sugar. Add pecans. Pour into a pie shell. Bake at 350 degrees for

30-45 minutes.

                 How surprised I was when visiting Rosemary Goad Dilbeck, one of Aunt Daisy’s granddaughters, to learn she had given the above recipe to her grandma. Rosie said her grandma tasted a pecan pie made by Rosie and immediately asked for her recipe since she could taste the difference. Rosie said the main difference is the tablespoon of flour and her choice of syrup. Rosie used Griffins Maple Syrup, a made-in-Oklahoma product.

                When Grandma tasted her big sister’s pie, she promptly requested a copy of her recipe. Notice Aunt Daisy just entitled the recipe “Pecan Pie.” She did sign her name at the bottom but in no way claimed the recipe as her own. Aunt Daisy may have told my grandma that Rosie gave her the recipe. Let’s set the record straight. The above recipe originated with Rosie, a second cousin, who dearly loved her great-aunt, my grandma

                Grandma and Rosie made so many memories together.  One cherished memory was when Grandma and Grandpa went to Falls Creek as sponsors with the Big Bend Baptist Church with Rosie as a teenage camper. Grandma picked out Rosie to help her prepare some of the meals which Rosie loved to do. Rosie said the most delicious dessert they fixed was a blue plum cobbler. She and Grandma had to prop a 2” X 4” board against the cabin’s oven door to hold it closed during baking!

                I recall fun times of Rosie living in the Big Bend. Rosie and her children, Tim and Shella Dean aka “Sissy,” dropped by to visit periodically. Even though I was older than they were, we shared laughs and enjoyed spending time together.

Rosie’s hard work and generosity continues today. When her mother, Hazel Rice Goad Guthrie, celebrated her 100^th birthday, I stayed with my father who was unable to attend while Angie, my sister, took Mother to her cousin’s milestone party. Rosemary specifically sent ample amounts of food for Dad and me. Let’s just say, she still is a great cook and much-loved cousin.

Finally, if you have the Woodland Elementary School Cookbook published in 2000, you may want to correct the pecan pie recipe attributed to Aunt Daisy. Now you know the recipe really originated with Rosemary Goad Dilbeck.

School photograph of Rosie from the collection
of Gladys Rainey Smith, my maternal grandma.

Day Lilies Planted Fifty Years Ago

The Life of a Day Lily

                Both of my grandmothers grew day lilies in their flowerbeds. They seemed to thrive on tending their perrenials. I haven’t inherited a green thumb from either of them, but I can appreciate the beauty of flowers.

Last year, my brother-in-law took care to transplant the day lilies from the area where my maternal grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, had planted them over fifty years ago. He worked the soil and then put down wood chips in an attempt to ease the demand in caring for the flowerbeds. His effort certainly paid off for me since the bulk of my time is in caring for my elderly father. So this summer I took special notice of the day lilies as they bloomed.

One of my maternal grandmother's day lilies
 blooming.

              I grabbed my camera and photographed some of them as they bloomed. The next morning when I passed the bed where the day lilies had been transplanted, I noticed that the gorgeous flower I had photographed the day before was in a wilted state. 

Notice the wilted day lily in the background. 

 Instantly, scriptures popped into my mind. The passage in Psalm 103:15-16 states, As for man, his days are like grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourishes. For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, And its place remembers it no more.

                Even with the impact of medical research and the lengthening of life expectancy, the life span of a human seems brief. My father who recently celebrated his 96^th birthday, asked my mother when he was in his early 90s, “Where have all the years gone?”

                No matter how long we live, after just a few years of living, the rapidity with which life steamrolls along, leaves us dizzy from the ride. Sometimes years feel more like seconds.

                The day lilies blooming, living, and dying afforded a stark picture of life.  As the Bible says, the brevity of life is illustrated with the short existence of the grass. In Psalm  90:5 written by Moses, we read, “In the morning they are like grass which grows up: In the morning it flourishes and grows up; In the evening it is cut down and withers.

                Coupled with the difficulties and trials of life, the blatant truth is recorded in Job 14:1-2, Man who is born of woman Is of few days and full of trouble. He comes forth like a flower and fades away;

                That passage oozes with despair and a fatalistic tone, describing precisely what I witnessed from the day lilies. However, God did not intend it that way. It was an admonishment to live with the end in mind. In fact, Moses also wrote in Psalm 90:12 Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

                When we see a beautifully exquisite flower designed by our Creator, we realize that we have only today to live God’s purpose for us, fulfilling His desire for our lives. Yet when we glance and view the sadly wilted day lily blossom, let us see it as a reminder from nature that our lives will someday end.   

The pertinent question becomes, “How do we do that?” In all honesty, all humans are in rebellion on some level.  The prophet Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is desperately wicked. Who can know it?” (Jeremiah   17: 9)

For this reason, Jesus came as the sacrifice for our rebellion. He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me.” (John 14:6)

Once I had someone indicate that what she needed most was knowing what God’s will was for her. In John’s gospel, Jesus gave the insight to knowing God’s will. “For my Father’s will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in Him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.” (John 6:40)

At this point, the comparison with my grandmas’ day lilies breaks down, because for humans, Jesus reminded Martha that whoever believes in Him will rise again. Then He specifically asked her about her own belief system.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26)

If we have that life-altering belief about which Jesus questioned Martha, then we should follow Paul’s admonition in Ephesians 4:23. “Be made new in the attitude of your minds.”

Let’s bloom and flourish as the beautiful day lilies, allowing His attitude to permeate our interactions, knowing our days are brief on the earth, with eternal life promised to us who have their belief, not in what we can accomplish, but in the sacrifice He gave for us.