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Forrest L. Wood

I’ve heard about fellow Arkansan Forrest L. Wood for most of my life, but sadly I never had the privilege of meeting him in person. My daddy visited with him once or twice and considered it an honor. I certainly knew of Mr. Wood’s notoriety. I have seen his plaque on the Arkansas Walk of Fame in Hot Springs. I’ve heard the stories of his many noteworthy accomplishments in the fishing industry. In the early 1980’s, my high school GCE teacher, Mr. Jerry James, took my class on a field trip to tour Ranger Boats, the company Mr. Wood founded and operated for many years. Last summer, while on vacation approximately 665 miles from home, I had lunch at a restaurant on the shores of Lake Pepin in the tiny village of Pepin, Wisconsin. While chatting casually with a couple who had boated in that day to eat at the little restaurant, I spotted the man’s Ranger Boats ball cap. When he found out I was from Arkansas, he asked if I knew Forrest Wood.  It was fun to feel that connection to home from all those miles away, to smile with pride at the mention of one of Arkansas’ own.

Forrest L. Wood, a native of Flippin, Arkansas, achieved worldwide fame as the Father of the Modern Bass Boat. Most anyone in the fishing industry readily recognizes his name. According to the Encyclopedia of Arkansas, Mr. Wood began building boats in 1968 in the back of a filling station. That was the beginning of Ranger Boats, a successful business he owned and operated with his wife, Nina until 1987. More recently, Mr. Wood played a vital role in the development of an exciting new boat company, Vexus Boats, again in his hometown of Flippin.

In the late 1990’s, Mr. Wood was appointed to the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission by (then) Governor Mike Huckabee. A legend in the sports fishing industry, Mr. Wood received numerous accolades and honors in his lifetime including (to name only a few) – induction into the Arkansas Business Hall of Fame and the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame, the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Sportfishing Association of America, the Lifetime Achievement Award from the BASS Federation, and the Arkansas Outdoor Hall of Fame Legacy Award. The FLW Tournament was named in his honor. The list truly goes on and on and on…

The state of Arkansas lost an iconic legend last Saturday when he passed away at the age of 87. The news spread quickly on social media. Posts began popping up on Facebook, Twitter, and Internet news, as many friends, family members, and fans paused their busy days to stop and pay tribute to a gentleman they admired greatly. Reading through those tributes and personal stories shared this week, the true success of this legendary giant is realized.  My eyes have teared up more than once.  Here is just one example: (Please read it – it’s definitely worth your time.)

Success comes in many different forms. For some, it means material wealth, widespread fame, the achievement of goals and dreams, and a legacy that continues long after you are gone from this earth. Mr. Wood achieved all of these in his lifetime – but reading through the many tributes shared this week – it is readily apparent that he achieved much, much more. I was taught that the true success of a person is told by their character. By all evidence, Mr. Wood’s character, faith, integrity, and work ethic are his most impressive and enduring legacies. His life, a life well-lived, should be a role model for many.

He truly was a success.

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Always a Tiger

I was only eleven years old the very first time I stepped onto the campuses of Green Forest Schools. It was the fall of 1978, and I was beginning my sixth grade year…Being at a new school was scary, but I quickly made dear friends and settled in happily…

Fast forward four decades –

A week and a half ago, I finished my last day as Federal Programs Coordinator and Director of Instruction for the Green Forest School District – leaving that position to pursue another opportunity. I walked through every hall and down every sidewalk that last day with the district. My goodness! There are so many memories on every corner.

I went into the high school on the old junior high side of the building. (That’s the north side – for those of you too young to remember!) Years ago, we used to have a Pepsi machine in the hall outside the principal’s office. I don’t remember the price (maybe a dime?) – but as a student if you hurried between classes you could stop just outside the principal, Mr. Allison’s office and purchase a pop. You would put in your money and a paper cup slid down and filled with slightly cooled soda – which you had to gulp quickly to finish and get to class before the tardy bell rang. I thought it was quite a privilege!

I had to smile as I walked down that old hall. Regardless of who occupies the rooms today, for me, the classrooms at the bottom of the stairs will always be Mrs. James’ (on the left) and Mr. Fancher’s (on the right). Mrs. Taunton’s library was at the end of the hall back then. High school room 120 will always be Mr. Rose’s room in my mind. I spent four years in that room learning algebra and geometry from him. My friend, Jonie Standlee, served as high school counselor for all the years I worked for the district – but to be honest (sorry, Jonie!) she was really hanging out in my high school counselor, Mrs. Sturtz’ office all that time. Teachers, classmates, friends – everywhere I looked, I saw memories of so many special people.

Mrs. Fultz’ Home Ec. building and Mr. James’ GCE building have been moved. One is still used as classroom space – the other simply now serves as a storage building…

I fell asleep in Mr. James’ class one day – but only once! Always a jokester, he allowed my classmates to pile little broken pieces of chalk on my ear until I woke up and the pieces crashed to the floor. Lesson learned – it was the last time I fell asleep in class and I am smiling now at the memory.

Our “Class of 1985” picture is displayed on the wall just outside the teachers’ workroom. Our Senior Monument is on display outside the “Old Gym” where we survived nearly terrifying (but exciting!) dodgeball games in Mrs. Hodges’ P.E. classes.

The building we called the “new gym” when I was in school is now the “Grim Gym” in honor of Coach Fred Grim. I remember when Shane Compton played ball for Coach Grim back in the day. Now Shane is walking in Coach Grim’s footsteps, serving as boys’ basketball coach for the district.

My classmates and I graduated high school in that gym 34 years ago. Ten precious members of my family were sitting in the second row, on the floor, to the right, proudly watching me graduate. If I close my eyes I can see them sitting there. In many ways, that seems like only yesterday…..but I open my eyes knowing that four of those ten loved ones are gone now….

I headed toward elementary down the same sidewalk I walked daily as a sixth grader – our class in a straight line following Mr. George Wheeler, our teacher, to lunch. The old sidewalk isn’t used as much anymore. Back in the day, they would bus us to the cafeteria whenever it rained. Today, there is a nice covered sidewalk for students to use that follows an even shorter path.

Our old sixth grade classroom has now been remodeled into offices for the principal and the nurse, but I remember how it looked back then. Mr. Wheeler had a polished wood and glass display case in the back of the classroom with all sorts of insects and plants and rocks he had collected. He even had his tonsils preserved in a jar – displayed for all of us to see. I remember being both grossed out and fascinated.

I walked across the playground where I once met Festus Hagen (Ken Curtis). That was my first year at Green Forest, and I was so excited that a big celebrity was at our school. I knew this had to be a very cool place if a Gunsmoke actor visited! I mean really!!!

The tetherballs and basketball courts where we played back then are gone now – a building addition stands in their place – but I remember how it looked. I remember it all – both the faces and the places.

I consider it a very great honor to have had the opportunity to go back and work for my alma mater. It was truly a privilege – and one I will forever cherish.

Thank you, Green Forest Schools. Always a Tiger.

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Finding Joy in the Challenges

This afternoon, I left my office for a routine walk across campus to the elementary building. It was swelteringly hot and humid as I stepped outside, and my mind was crowded thinking about all that I needed to accomplish before the day ended. Passing the cafeteria, I headed down the sidewalk past the fenced-in playground filled with noisy, busy, happy third graders. They were climbing the jungle gym, swinging on the swings, and just having fun. As I typically do, I slowed my pace and smiled inwardly as I watched the students run and play. Just on the other side of the chainlink fence, a little boy stood beneath a tall tree, rubber ball in hand, smiling and intently looking up at the branches overhead. He took a breath, aimed carefully, and threw the ball in the air trying to throw it over the branch above him. He wasn’t successful. The ball hit a higher branch and bounced back over his head. He raced to catch it and chuckled softly as he jogged quickly back to his spot under the tree. Standing all alone and smiling expectantly, he planted his feet, took careful aim, and threw the ball again…..only to fall short once more. This time the ball missed the branch entirely, sailing underneath it and hitting the ground, then rolling further away. Laughing, he ran to pick it up and try once again. I walked on, needing to complete my errand but wishing I could stay longer to watch. When I headed back a few minutes later, I was happy to see this same child still trying to learn how to throw the ball just high enough (but not too high) to navigate successfully through those tree branches. He was still smiling and still working hard to get it right. His face shone with perspiration, enthusiasm, determination, and hope.

As I walked past him again and headed back to my office, I felt inspired by his attitude. He was faithfully working to complete a task – to practice a skill he had not yet mastered – to get better and achieve a goal. It was difficult for him – and yet he was excited. He was expecting to eventually get it right – to master the skill. He didn’t mind the failed attempts. For him, they were an enjoyable part of the process. He didn’t have to learn this task – he wanted to. He was genuinely excited and thoroughly enjoying the effort. Perhaps there is a lesson there for all of us.

Our jobs can be quite hectic at times and the demands can often be great. As we all know, life has many challenges for each of us every single day. What if we faced our tasks with that same attitude? What if we squared our shoulders, planted our feet, took a breath and tried our best – then actually smiled when things didn’t go as we had planned? What if we had the courage to laugh when we missed the mark – running to pick things up and try again? What if we saw each effort as one step closer to perhaps this time getting it right? What if we truly found joy in the process?

Wow! What a great attitude! Thank you, young man. I admire your approach! From now on, I am going to try to copy your example.

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The Old Mill

This past week, I had an appointment in Little Rock, Arkansas. As soon it was over, I headed to The Old Mill in North Little Rock to walk around, relax, and take a few pictures before starting the drive home. I first visited the Mill in the early 1980’s, when my step-grandpa drove our family over to see the beautiful spot. I was instantly enchanted! I had been by the turn to the Old Mill countless times, but I had never noticed the sign directing me to this peaceful hidden valley tucked quietly away just a mile and a half from McCain Mall’s busy shopping area. In fact, this lovely, tranquil spot is located only five miles from the bustling Arkansas State Capitol complex. How unique is that?

I love finding beautiful or historic or interesting spots to explore. Wherever you are, there are so many things to see and do – and many of them cost nothing but your time! To me, summertime – the time of year when the days are longer and sometimes a little more relaxed – is a perfect time for road trips!

When I was a child, Sunday afternoons typically meant Sunday drives. After church and then lunch (we called it dinner in the American South), we would settle into the car and spend the afternoon driving around to “see the countryside”. I love the memory of those pleasant drives – learning new roads, seeing new things, and revisiting favorite spots. It is a practice I continue, in some ways, to this day. Who knows what hidden gems can be discovered in just a 50-mile radius of our homes or travel destinations! Every place has a story. Whenever I travel anywhere – even for business or appointments, I try to find something to do to make the trip FUN. It’s something I learned from my Mother years ago. When I was a kid, I didn’t like being cooped up in the car on a long drive – so Mother and Daddy would play the billboard alphabet game with me…or Auto Bingo…or find a good spot where we could stop and go wading together – whatever they could do to make the day enjoyable. Now, whenever I travel – I am thinking about somewhere I can stop or something I can see that will bring joy to my day.

If you’ve been to the North Little Rock area and never seen The Old Mill, I encourage you to check it out on your next trip. It’s worth your time to stop by. Built in 1933, the Old Mill building was never intended to be a working grist mill. It was instead built as a tribute to remember the days of old – when grist mills were a gathering point for communities, providing services needed for settlers’ survival. Inside the rock building is an authentic iron grist mill moved to North Little Rock from the long-gone Cagle’s Mill in Pope County, Arkansas. (Cagle’s Mill operated in the 1800’s between Russellville, Arkansas and Dardenelle, Arkansas – located about where the Dardanelle Lock and Dam is now. If you’re interested – click here to see a picture of the Old Mill from the Pope County Library. A long-time Russellville restaurant is named in its honor.)

The park surrounding the mill, Pugh’s Memorial Park, is beautifully landscaped and maintained. Walking trails go down by the lake and climb the slope behind the Mill. Beautiful bridges, benches, and footpaths, sculpted from a sturdy concrete-like substance to look as if they are made from wood, are found all over the park. They are remarkably detailed and very well preserved – despite the fact that they are over 80 years old. According to the information sign displayed near the park entrance, developer Justin Matthews commissioned Dionicio Rodriguez, to create the remarkable works of art. His sculptures have survived to this day, and they are spectacular to see. No one knows the formula Senor Rodriguez developed to create the material for his works, though many have tried to figure it out. He preferred to keep it secret and hid the process from everyone – making it unfortunately now lost forever.

The Old Mill brought long-lasting notoriety to the state of Arkansas only a few years after it was completed. Director David O. Selznick featured the location in the opening credits of the 1939 Academy award-winning movie Gone With the Wind. No one knows why the location was chosen, but the Old Mill building is believed to be the only surviving structure of the movie. The Arkansas location was the site of the national unveiling of a postage stamp commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Gone With the Wind.

It was a humid, blisteringly hot afternoon when I drove over to Lakeshore Drive this week – but when I walked into the park I forgot all about the heat. It is such a beautiful, peaceful spot. I was instantly, once again, enchanted. If you’re passing through the Little Rock metropolitan area and have an extra half-hour or so, please consider driving to The OId Mill at 3800 Lakeshore Drive in North Little Rock. I really think you’ll be glad you did! Wear your walking shoes, take your camera, or a book to read, or an iced tea to sip – and spend a few minutes enjoying the lovely serenity of the park.

I hope you enjoy the pictures! I definitely had fun taking them to share with you!

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Perspective Matters

Perspective Matters

Finding the Beauty Around You!

Philippians 4:8

New International Version (NIV)

8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.

Perspective is a choice. Our attitudes, opinions, and points of view are built over time. The things we choose to place emphasis on directly impact our outlook.

For example, one of my hobbies is photography. I dearly love to find interesting and beautiful things to photograph and share with others. Whether I’m driving my car, taking a walk, or simply sitting on my patio, it is my habit to almost constantly search for great setups for pictures. I so enjoy seeing beauty and capturing it to share.

Yesterday afternoon was rainy in the Missouri Ozarks. During the late afternoon/early evening, the rain stopped and the skies cleared. The colors in the sky were spectacular, and I drove to a lake outside of town to take a few pictures as the sun sank behind the Ozark Mountains. Sunsets happen so quickly – and I was rushing to try to get a few good shots. The skies over the water were truly breathtaking, and I marveled at the beauty. When I got home, I eagerly looked through the pictures I had taken and was a little disappointed to see some of the beautiful scenes interrupted by multiple power lines I hadn’t even noticed when setting up the shots. As I said, I had been in a hurry and with all of the amazing beauty I simply had not seen the power lines until I got home. The pictures highlighted what I hadn’t even noticed – because I was so focused on the beauty around me.

I’ve heard that there are two sides to every story, and I definitely agree. We each view the world and even our daily events through our own lens (built over time by our backgrounds, our priorities, our choices, and our experiences) – and sometimes the interpretations and outcomes are amazingly different. It’s a little bit like the old “Gossip” game that has been played in classrooms and other group gatherings for years. Do you remember? Everyone stands in a circle and the leader whispers a made up “secret” into someone’s ear. That person then whispers it to the next, and the next person passes it on. The whispered secret travels quietly around the entire circle, one person at a time. The last person has to state out loud to everyone what the secret is – and it is always fun to see how the sentence has completely changed as it goes around the group.

Different interpretations of real-life situations happen as well. I remember a time several years ago when I was having lunch with a friend after church. We both mentioned that we had enjoyed the pastor’s sermon that morning and started discussing the points he had made. That’s when we realized we had each sat in the same church service but had somehow heard very different messages. Neither were incorrect – but our interpretations and personalizations of the message were very, very unique. PERSPECTIVE makes the difference!

Finding the positives, the beauty, can sometimes be difficult. When I took the pictures displayed at the top of this post, I was so delighted by the beautiful colors in the sunset blending with the brilliant red roses. I was absolutely thrilled with those shots, and I eagerly posted them for my Facebook friends to see. I laughed out loud when one friend, Vicki, asked if I had laid down on the ground to get a shot from that angle. To tell the truth, she was almost correct! (Good eye, Vicki!) I had knelt down on my knees, low on the pavement and took about 12-15 different shots before I found the angle that worked for me. I’m sure I must have looked so silly to passers by…..but I worked diligently to find the most beautiful vantage point.

Walking by at a normal viewpoint, this is that exact same spot. Go back to the second picture above. You can see this crosswalk sign behind the roses.

Finding the beauty is a challenge I strive for every day. It’s always there. Changing your perspective can change your life! Truthfully, sometimes you have to get down to look up. Sometimes you have to focus on one thing when many distractions are buzzing around you. Sometimes you even have to be willing to be a little silly!

Do the work!

It is well worth it.

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Decoration Days – Honoring Our Roots

In the American South, springtime means jonquils, hyacinths, lilacs, and roses; baby birds hatching, frogs croaking on the ponds, gardens being planted, Easter Sunrise Services, and Decoration Days at community cemeteries. Decoration Days have always been a part of my life. As a little girl, I would go to the cemetery with my Daddy the day before a Decoration Day. He would rake and clean the graves and then carry in soil to shovel and build them up. When he finished, each one would be raked free of grass, mounded up with fresh dirt, and carefully smoothed. Gravestones would be washed and gleaming and bright flower arrangements would be placed to adorn the headstones or the grave itself. It was hot work, but there were always others present carefully tending the graves of their own families, so it was a bit of a community social event as everyone worked to prepare the cemetery. It always looked so pretty when we left – everything mowed, and raked, and clean, and beautiful with flowers of all colors and shapes.

The next day (always a Sunday), we would go back after church, this time dressed up in our Sunday best. There was always a crowd – old friends, family members, and schoolmates my parents hadn’t seen since the last Decoration Day the year before. People traveled home from other towns and even other states. Everyone would walk around and look at the different graves, remembering those who were buried there and telling stories about the old days. Children would play (quietly – and outside the cemetery fence because it wasn’t respectful to run and play around the graves) and adults would eventually gather under the trees where the shade helped cool things down a bit. They would continue to talk and reminisce – and I always loved to listen to the stories they told and people they remembered.

There would be a short “Decoration Day” church service at 2:00. Some of the people gathered would go inside to attend and others would stay outdoors laughing and telling stories. I always heard that “back in the day” (before my time) there would be a potluck – a “dinner on the ground” where everyone brought food to share and picnic together. I’m sure people who were not raised with this tradition could think it strange to hold an annual community/family reunion in a cemetery – but to me it is a perfectly natural thing to do. After all, I was raised with it – and I think it’s a lovely tradition that celebrates our heritage….our roots.

I say often that we all stand on the shoulders of the people who came before us – and I mean that sincerely. Without the hard work and innovations of others from years past, we would not have our many modern conveniences and practices. Without them, we would not be able to live the lives we are living or accomplish the things that we do. Because of that, I love the days when I am able to pause, take some time, and look back at those who came before, learn from the memories and stories of others, and honor family members and friends who have left us.

The old tradition still continues. Today I traveled south with my mother to attend the Decoration Day at the cemetery where my Daddy is buried. Unlike those days in the past, we did not arrive a day early to clean and prepare the grave. The tradition of bringing in dirt to “mound up” the graves is gone. (It makes it so much harder for caretakers to mow that way.) Instead, we went out early this morning to clean and decorate the grave, then left to freshen up, have lunch, and return to visit with old friends and family. I still look forward to it every year. There are still so many stories to hear and so many wonderful memories to revisit.

I walked around the cemetery this afternoon admiring the flower arrangements and studying the names on the headstones. The ground was soft and uneven making walking slightly difficult, and the weather was hot and humid. Even more important, you have to carefully watch where you step to avoid the numerous small, almost hidden mounds of fire ants. Still, it’s pleasant to take time to pay respect and remember. Every year, I think about counting how many family members I have buried in that old cemetery. I always start this task and somehow never seem to finish. Today I counted 46 relatives and many more old neighbors or friends. I didn’t cover the entire cemetery so there are undoubtedly several I missed. Perhaps next year! I am who I am partly because of these people (even the ancestors I have never met), and I am grateful that I can take the time to honor them.

As I said earlier, Decoration Days may seem silly or strange to some, and I can understand that……but I am so thankful for this connection to my roots. This wonderful tradition links me to my past, strengthens bonds of family and friends here today, and impacts the future because of the firm foundations it provides.

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208 Steps

I put on my shoes and went out for a short walk a few minutes ago – because I wanted to measure the steps from my front door to a redbud tree just down the street. Carefully counted, there were exactly 208…..

When I was a little girl, I always knew that my birthday was coming soon when I saw the spring flowers – especially jonquils, in bloom. (We called them “Easter Flowers”.) Those bright yellow blossoms made me happy back then – and they still do. I love spring and all of its beauty….jonquils, lilacs, hyacinths, dogwoods, and redbuds. It is such a beautiful time of year! Anyone who knows me well knows that I love taking pictures – in fact they might tell you that’s an understatement! Nevertheless, in the spring I am always looking for pretty scenes or bright blossoms to photograph and share with others. It has been a hobby of mine for a long time.

This year is no exception. As I drive to and from work each day, I am eagerly searching for pretty places to stop and shoot a few pictures. I dearly love sharing beautiful or useful or enjoyable things with others. (Possibly whether they want to see them or not! I am sometimes probably too enthusiastic!)

About a week ago one of my neighbors, Sharon, messaged me and told me that there was a beautiful redbud tree she wanted me to see. She thought perhaps I might like to photograph it. I was delighted that she wanted to share the information with me, but I was very busy and didn’t have time to pay attention to the tree for a couple of days. The Ozarks are heavy with redbuds this time of year, and the landscapes are cheerful with their color. In fact, I had already taken several pictures of redbuds this spring,and I didn’t really expect this tree to be all THAT much different. I was very definitely wrong!

I finally decided to check it out one afternoon. Camera phone in hand, I started down the sidewalk. I didn’t get far before I saw a house painter sitting on an overturned bucket eating lunch in the shade of the redbud. As I walked on down the sidewalk, I was studying the tree and trying to decide what made it seem special to Sharon. Was it the shape? No, that couldn’t be it. The shape was nice – but really nothing out of the ordinary. Was it the height? I decided that probably wasn’t it either. This tree was really not any bigger than most of the other redbuds I see. Was it the color? Maybe that was it…maybe….this tree did perhaps seem a little bit brighter than most. I wasn’t really sure. As I got closer, the man eating his lunch put down his sandwich and looked at me questioningly. I smiled and told him that I was sorry to interrupt his break – that I was just there to take a few pictures of the redbud tree. He smiled and said, “Yeah, I took some pictures of it too. I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

That’s when I first noticed the trunks of the tree. They were covered in brightly colored shoots – little clusters of blooms all along the trunks and branches. It was breathtaking! I had truly never seen anything like it! I then became excited, trying to decide the best angle to photograph the beauty of this unique tree. The sun was bright, which made the lighting a little difficult. I liked the challenge, though. I was so happy to have a chance to shoot the beautiful pictures. I enjoyed every minute! That night, I had fun going through the (MANY!) different shots to select which ones I wanted to share. I was so grateful to Sharon for calling the tree to my attention. It is literally only 208 steps from my front door. (Remember, I counted!) I had already seen the tree several times this spring. It is just down the sidewalk from my house! I never noticed how unique and beautiful it was though. It was a redbud tree – and I expected it to look like a typical redbud – so even though my eyes saw it every day…I didn’t truly see it. I didn’t take the time to stop and really notice the obvious and unique beauty.

I have thought about that several times since. It makes me wonder what else I am missing – in the landscapes around me, but also in the people I encounter and the opportunities available to me every day. From now on, I am really going to try harder to see and appreciate them. I don’t want to miss the good things. I am delighted to think about what I may find.

I really hope you enjoy the pictures. I am excited to share them.

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Was it a Good Day, or Was it a Bad Day?

Actually, that day in 2003 started out as a pretty normal day. I was at home in my apartment in Springfield, Missouri. I got up that morning, had breakfast and visited with my Mother by phone. She and Daddy were planning on going to Harrison to run some errands and they were looking forward to a nice day out. Mother loved to shop, and Daddy wanted to stop by and visit his friend, Bob Myers. Daddy and Bob had been friends for years, and whenever Daddy was in Harrison he liked to stop by Tom-Bar, Inc., Bob’s business on Industrial Park Road, to say hello and catch up a bit.

Mother and Daddy were going to invite an older friend to go with them. They wanted to give her a chance to get out of the house and let her get her grocery shopping done. I had been searching for a new table lamp for my living room, and Mother mentioned that she would look to see if she could find one that fit what I was wanting. She has always loved to shop!

Daddy wasn’t much of a shopper at all, but he did like to get out and about. He enjoyed people. Since his early retirement due to his Parkinson’s disease, these days were good for him. He liked driving his truck and getting out of the house. He had gotten that truck second hand from his brother, my uncle Jerry. It was a nice one, and we all enjoyed it. In fact, when I was home, I would often ask Daddy if I could drive his truck up to Sonic to get a Coke. It was pretty sharp… and also a fun truck to drive, so I know Daddy was looking forward to a pleasant afternoon.

It looked as if was going to be a good day for all.

Just before lunch, my cell phone rang. Mother called to tell me about a lamp she had found. She was excited – she thought it was exactly what I was wanting. She said it was a tall, narrow table lamp with an antique brushed gold colored finish. It sounded perfect. I told her to buy it and I would give it a try. I was happy she had found something and so was she. She loves to help! In fact, she would make a great personal shopper!

After lunch, I was doing some computer work when my cell phone rang. I looked at the number and smiled when I saw the name “Mother” displayed on the screen. I wondered if she had found another lamp she liked better – or if this was perhaps going to be a call about a good buy she had found on a package of ground round or a 5# bag of potatoes, wondering if I might want one also. Pushing away from my desk and leaning back in my office chair to relax, take a break, and visit a bit, I flipped open my phone. Everything changed instantly when I heard a strange voice say, “Is this the daughter of John and Jean Carlon?” Jerking up in my chair, I quickly replied “Yes, what’s wrong?” The strange voice continued, “They are all right, but they’ve been in a pretty bad wreck. Your mom is hurt worse but she is awake and talking. Your dad seems to be okay. They are taking your mom and the older lady that was with them to the hospital by ambulance. The older lady seems all right – just shook up. This is Bob Myer’s daughter, Laurie. I will stay with them until you get here. I’ll keep your mom’s phone if you need to call me.”

I hung up in shock – rushing to grab my purse and put on my shoes so I could get out the door and on my way to Harrison. I’m typically pretty calm – but this hit me hard. I called my friend Kay and asked if she could ride to Arkansas with me NOW. She was wonderful – waiting outside when I drove in to pick her up. We headed for Harrison – an hour and a half away. The thing I kept thinking about was that Mother hadn’t talked to me. Since I was a little girl, she has always worked so hard to reassure and protect me. I knew absolutely that she would have asked to call me and let me know she was okay if she could at all. It would be one of her priorities. She hadn’t called.

We got to the Harrison hospital emergency room as quickly as possible and I saw Daddy sitting in the waiting room. Laurie Myers was there also, as she said she would be. She handed me Mother’s phone and purse and updated me on all that she knew. She gave me her phone number on a piece of paper and told me to call if I she could be of any more help – then she said goodbye to my dad and left. My strong, quiet, kind father was sitting in that waiting room looking so shaken and lost. The physical and emotional trauma of the accident, coupled with the fact that he had now missed a dose of his Parkinson’s medicine, had left him unable to walk or talk well. Without his medicine, his body would just sort of lock up and his voice would reduce to barely a whisper. I hugged him and asked him if he was okay. He assured me he was and whispered urgently, “Go check on Mama.” I headed for the emergency room.

Mother was definitely hurt. Her knee had hit the dash hard and broken the truck’s stereo completely in half. The knee was badly injured, and her leg was gashed so deeply it was alarming to see. She was struggling a bit to breath due to the pain of multiple broken ribs, but she smiled when she saw me. Even though her eyes definitely showed she was in pain they were bright and clear. I instantly felt reassured.

The lady with them was also glad to see me. She was lying alone in the emergency room bay, and she looked relieved when I walked in. Her injuries were not as severe. Mother was definitely the one hurt the most. The doctor discussed the details and assured me that she would be fine – it would just take time for her injuries to heal. I was so grateful.

Mother and Daddy’s pastors, Mark and Joanna Bryant had arrived at the hospital before me. They had stayed until I got there and had prayed for Mother in the ER. When I arrived, they said they were going to check on Daddy’s truck – that Mother had mentioned that she had bought a lot of groceries that day. I will never forget the Bryant’s kindness. They somehow found the lot where the truck had been towed and gathered up all the spilled groceries and other items (including my new lamp) from Mother’s shopping. They came back by the hospital to tell me they had retrieved them, and would take them back to the church so the groceries could be kept in the refrigerator until we could pick them up.

The wreck, it turned out, really was a pretty bad one. Daddy was driving west on Industrial Park Road in Harrison. Mother was sitting on the middle seat, which was set a little higher than the main bucket seats. Their friend was sitting in the bucket seat to the right. As Daddy went through the intersection of Industrial Park Road and Speer Drive, a car driving south on Speer Drive was traveling fast and ran the stop light, hitting Daddy’s truck on the front driver’s side and knocking Daddy unconscious. The hard impact turned the truck to the right, headed straight toward Vikki Hudson’s Insurance Agency. Crossing the intersection diagonally, the truck headed over a brick retaining wall and crashed down onto the parking lot below. Still moving forward, they were headed straight toward the corner of the insurance company’s brick building. Despite her injuries, Mother half stood and got her leg over Daddy’s to slam on the break and stop the truck. They were just a few inches from hitting the building head on.

I stayed at the hospital until Mother and her friend were settled into a room and as comfortable as possible for the night. They were exhausted but smiling when I left – and I felt comforted knowing they were in a room together. I took Daddy, now completely exhausted, home to get his medicine and get some rest. When I laid down that night, I finally let myself relax and think everything through. I thought about how pleasantly the day had started and about the phone call from a strange voice that abruptly changed everything. I thought about Laurie Myers Mayfield giving up her time to stay at the hospital until I arrived. Even though I had never before met her personally, I felt comforted knowing she was there with my parents and would call me if the doctors needed to speak to me or if anything happened I needed to know about. She was my lifeline that day, and I will never forget her kindness. I thought about Mark and Joanna Bryant who dropped everything and rushed to the hospital when they heard about the wreck. I thought about them going to the trouble of locating Daddy’s truck and working patiently to gather all of the items from the day’s shopping and keep them safe for Mother. They didn’t have to do that – but it meant so much that they did. I thought about the EMT’s, police, and others who worked the wreck that afternoon, caring for my parents and getting them the help they needed. I thought about Kay who rushed to be with me at the hospital and had been there to help in any way she could. Lastly and definitely most of all, I thought about the fact that my Daddy was safe at home resting and that my Mother was safe, and stable in the hospital – her body already beginning the slow process of healing so that she could come home.

The lamp Mother bought that day was slightly bent in the wreck, but the damage is difficult to see unless you examine it closely. I did keep it. In fact, it still sits in my living room today. When I look at it, I often remember that day 16 years ago.

As it turned out, that day was a very good day.

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Meals Are Important

I made one of my absolute favorite recipes for supper this evening. Many of my friends know it as my Mexican Chicken recipe, because I make it often. In truth, it’s really my Mam-ma’s. It was one of my favorite meals when I was a child – and it still is one of my favorites today. Even though I know it by heart, almost every time I prepare it I drag out my copy of the Morrilton Assembly of God cookbook and turn to page 58, middle of the page. The recipe, just as Mam-ma wrote it years ago, is there for me to follow. I always smile when I get to the sixth ingredient listed – “½ of a 43 cent package of Taco Flavored Dorito”. In case you ever stumble onto this cookbook (which is not likely!) and want to prepare Mam-ma’s Mexican Chicken – let me translate that for you… The “43-cent” means the 9¾ ounce package – and it will cost you around $3.00 today.

I was only a toddler when this old cookbook was published and sold. To have one of my own, I had to run photocopies of my Mother’s cookbook – and I’m so glad I did. The recipes are treasures – and so are the names listed inside and faces they cause me to recall. Preparing this old casserole recipe brings so many precious people and wonderful memories to my mind. It connects me to people and places that I enjoy thinking about.

Cooking is like that for me. It connects me to others in a lot of different ways. Recipes that have been passed down, meals that have been enjoyed…..they all link back to people. When I make Mexican Chicken, I think of my Mam-ma. She was a driving force in my life, and I was so blessed to have her with me for my first 21 years on this earth. Mam-ma’s recipe originally required boiling and deboning a chicken – a task I’ve never really enjoyed. This past year, I purchased the Magnolia Table cookbook. Now, I follow the “Poached Chicken Breasts” recipe on page 85 – and I am grateful to Joanna Gaines and her team for the wonderful shortcut. What a great time-saver – and another connection. I also think of many great evenings when I served this dish to different guests and we spent time around the table laughing and talking.

Several weeks ago my pastor, Billy Burris, shared a brief devotional before our communion service that has really stuck with me. He talked about the significance and the intimacy of sharing a meal with others. When we eat together, bonds of friendship and/or family ties are strengthened. He talked about the importance of making meals special – of setting the table nicely, of preparing things well, of setting aside time to listen and connect. At mealtime, he said, we become vulnerable. We serve one another. We desire to share with others that which nurtures us. Bro. Burris’ message was a good one, and I have thought of it often since. Meal time is important!

Having a meal with someone is often a game changer. Acquaintances become friends. Friendships grow closer. Family ties are strengthened. Memories are made.

I remember seeing a T.V. interview with Dr. Maya Angelou many, many years ago. Oprah Winfrey was conducting the interview and she started enthusiastically talking about the fabulous meals she had eaten at Dr. Angelou’s table. Maya Angelou smiled and stated that preparing a meal for others is a very important task – because sharing a meal is a most intimate experience. She talked about the importance of every ingredient – and how she thinks carefully about her guests and what they would like. She talked about the opportunity you have to make others feel special by preparing a meal for them. I have remembered it until this day. Meals can be important events – with joy, strengthened bonds, and treasured memories as a result. People will remember the good experience!

Here’s an example. My Mother is almost famous for her tacos. (Its because they are incredible!) She has made thousands of them through the years – and people still (routinely!) ask her to prepare them. They are really, really good! In fact, several years after my Mam-ma passed away, her husband Harry (my mother’s stepfather) called to ask a favor. Would Mother be willing to drive down to North Little Rock and make tacos for him? He was getting older, he said, and he would just love to have her tacos one more time. He mentioned that he had tried to explain to his new wife how to prepare them, but they just weren’t the same.

That next weekend, I rode with Mother down to Harry’s. We carried in all the groceries and she settled in and went to work. When she got ready to fry the tacos, Harry (who usually always sat in the den watching T.V. until the food was ready) was this time sitting at the table waiting eagerly for the delicious meal he was anticipating. Mother heated the grease and dropped the first taco in to fry. The hot grease sputtered and began to sizzle loudly. I saw Harry’s face just light up. He looked at his wife beaming and said, “There! That’s it! That’s the way they always sounded!” It makes me smile now thinking about it. Those tacos brought Harry a lot of joy that day – and we all had such fun sitting at the table eating and sharing.

Meals are important.

If you would like to try Mam-ma’s Mexican Chicken, click here for the recipe:  Mam-ma’s Mexican Chicken

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Thank you, Mrs. Turner – Teachers Make a Difference

I remember a time a few years ago when a good friend of mine, Bob Leftridge, asked me if I knew the answer to a trivia question – and thankfully I did. He chuckled when I told him the answer – and then said in his pleasant, musical drawl – “Well, that’s pretty good, but I’ll bet you can’t say your alphabet backwards!” I instantly lit up – because, in fact, I CAN say my alphabet backwards…..really….and I had been waiting many years for someone to ask!

I learned to say the alphabet first from my Mother. As a toddler, I had a little desk with all the letters of the alphabet painted around the edges. I would point at them one at a time while she would tell me the names…until I could finally identify and say them by myself. I thought it was great fun! When I turned five years old in April of 1972, kindergarten was not offered in Conway County, Arkansas public schools. I loved to learn, so Mother and Daddy enrolled me in Mrs. Reba Turner’s half-day kindergarten that fall.

I was so excited and nervous the first day of school, but Mrs. Turner quickly put us all at ease. I looked forward to going to school every day. In her kindergarten, we started every morning with a prayer – and then we said the alphabet together. Mrs. Turner had the alphabet strip neatly tacked on the wall above the chalkboard. She would lead us by walking along and touching one letter at a time with a pointer. When she got to Z, she would slowly move back up the list until we returned to the letter A. Therefore, to this day I know my alphabet forwards and backwards.

Mrs. Turner’s kindergarten was held in her home. I suspect our little school was originally a carport – but it now served beautifully as our classroom. She had a lovely space for us to learn – and a fun playground out back. She was strict but kind, always well-prepared, and conscientiously dedicated to our success. I can remember one day when one of my classmates showed us how much fun it could be to break crayons using only one hand. We watched his demonstration carefully, then excitedly dug into Mrs. Turner’s big bucket of crayons and began practicing our new skill. When Mrs. Turner saw what we were doing, she had a talk with our little group about the importance of respecting others’ property, and how we should take care of things rather than ruin them. I still remember that lesson to this day. (I truly think we broke every crayon in the bucket.)

Of all my days at Mrs. Turner’s kindergarten, one in particular has always stood out in my mind. Mother dropped me off as usual that morning and I went into our little classroom. The lights were off, and there was no one to be seen. I went up and knocked on the door that led into Mrs. Turner’s home. She came to the door, and I could tell she was a little surprised to see me. She quickly apologized for not being in our classroom to greet me and started turning on lights. She explained that every single one of my classmates would be absent that day because it was “Orientation Day” for upcoming first graders at Morrilton Elementary. Because I lived out in the country, I would attend a different school that fall and was not involved in the special day. In other words, Mrs. Turner obviously thought she had a day off – until I showed up. As it turned out – it was a wonderful morning…because I had Mrs. Turner all to myself. I sat in her lap while she read to me. We colored a picture together. We sang songs, and I got to help her straighten up our classroom. I loved every single minute! When Mother came to pick me up at lunchtime and found out that I had been the only one there all morning, she was embarrassed and apologetic. Mrs. Turner quickly and calmly assured her that it was fine – there was no reason to apologize. Years later, I would have to agree – because it provided me with a pleasant memory I cherish to this day.

Mrs. Turner’s little private kindergarten was a wonderful way to begin my many years of schooling. She started me off well on my educational path, and I am forever grateful. I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I owe her a lot.

Before she began her home kindergarten, Mrs. Turner taught all grades (1-8) together in little one-room schools. In fact, she taught my mother and my aunt in a small community known as Lords Schoolhouse. Even though Mrs. Turner grew up only about 10 miles or so from that little neighborhood, she boarded with my grandparents while she taught school there. In rural Arkansas in those days, it was the school parents’ responsibility to house the teacher. Room and board were part of the compensation teachers received. Reba Turner moved in with my grandparents and stayed until the end of the school term. Just little girls, my Mother and Aunt Helen would walk with her to school each day. They lived almost a mile from the school, so when the weather was cold or rainy the walk was a challenge. My Pap-pa bought an older used car for Mrs. Turner to drive to school. Even though it was not a great car, and from what I have heard it was often hard to start – it was still appreciated. One morning, my grandparents left home early, leaving Mrs. Turner at home with their two little girls. When it came time to leave for school, the stubborn old car once again wouldn’t start. Mrs. Turner had an idea. She and her two little students pushed the car to the edge of the drive just before it sloped sharply down to the highway. She pumped the gas pedal a few times to get it primed, then Mother and Aunt Helen worked together to give it a push and started it rolling down the incline to the road. Using that momentum, Mrs. Turner got the car started and carefully braked so that her two waiting students could catch up, get in the car, and head to school. They worked together to solve the problem – and it makes me smile to picture it in my mind.

Through the years, I have often thought about what Mrs. Turner (and others) modeled for me regarding education. When I started out as an educator, I patterned my teaching after those I had learned from myself. From their examples, I firmly believe one of the most important things a teacher can do for their students (of any age) is work to build relationships from day one. Getting to know students and letting them know you care is a critical element to their academic success. Students, just like everyone else, need to connect with someone. When they view their teacher(s) as their partner(s) in learning, their attitudes, their self-esteem, and their chances for success improve drastically. I tried to always remember that during my years spent teaching in the classroom, because it’s a great practice. I know. I learned it in kindergarten.

Mrs. Reba Turner passed away this month at the age of 86. According to her obituary, her remarkable teaching career spanned 58 years. During that time she taught approximately 2200 students.

Thank you, Mrs. Turner. You made a difference in our lives. We, your students, are forever grateful.