THEIR ANNIVERSARY IS STILL GOLDEN

Mama and Daddy married October 17, 1937 in Silsbee, TX.  The old house was there for many years – across from the cemetery – south of Highway 327.  Last time I passed by it was still there – although renovated.  

They met the year before they married and soon began to write back and forth – as folks tended to do as telephones not always available.  Their letters were polite at first, progressed to romantic to downright steamy.  One comment by my dad made me laugh.  He referred to the moonlight in my Mom’s hair.  I can not imagine the crusty old couple I came to know and love ever thinking such thoughts.  

Dad lived at home with his parents in Old Nona – south of Kountze and Mom lived with her Mom and siblings in Silsbee.  They decided to make it a permanent union and did so – with a honeymoon in Lake Charles, Louisiana.  

The home I live in they  purchased along with five acres of land from Mr. Pitts for $1,000 in 1938.  He used his new found cash to move to California and train as a diesel mechanic.  The original home was smaller and was located on the highway.  It was moved to its current location in 1955 following eminent domain by the county.  Another bedroom and den was added.  My early memories of sliding in the halls, straining to reach the light switch in the bathroom reminds me of the certainty of growth.  

The family grew – my brother was born in 1942 and my sister in 1945.  I followed during the last years of President Truman’s administration – in 1951. Daddy worked in the Hardin County tax office and later was elected as Hardin County Tax Assessor. Mama wrote for the Beaumont Enterprise as a local correspondent.  She was paid by the inch.  I won’t touch that.  My parents created a comfortable home for us.  The wooded acres prime property for children with imaginations.  My friends and I often played in the maze of brush and trees – pretended to be on some far away island in search of hidden treasure.  

In 1962 my sister wanted to honor Mama and Daddy with a surprise 25th wedding anniversary.  She did her best to keep it a secret but in the end I believe the cat got out of the bag.  Nevertheless, everyone seemed to enjoy the festivities as the black and white photos indicate.  

By the time Mama and Daddy’s 50th wedding anniversary arrived in 1987 I was living in Houston but worked with my sister and brother to honor our parents and did so in style.  The First Baptist church was the back drop and friends, family attended.  A lovely cake as created by Grace Roberts was the show case of the event.  My niece and a second cousin served punch.  Photos were taken and gifts opened.  

The day was sunny – and all the more so as my dad’s only living sibling Aunt Flora Mae attended.  She and her son Johnny drove over from Conroe – posed for photos.  My cousin Vickie, her husband David and Mama’s brother Thomas also attended.  Other friends filled the church.  It was an honor to witness long time friends reconnecting, most likely for the last time.  Their hugs sincerely and deeply felt.  

Just as I soon grew to reach the light switch in the bath room so did life make us all stretch and grow.  Within two years my Aunt Flora Mae had died.  Her son Johnny followed in 1992.  Mama died in 2000 and Daddy in 2002.  Had Mama lived a few more months they would celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary.  Would have?  So many would haves in our lives.  

Life also gives one wisdom – sage reasoning – often acquired through a variety of experiences.  I look at my parents’ photos from that 50th anniversary and remember.  The shadows crept over the church and the wind picked up. Leaves were scattered and crunched beneath my feet.  I remembered when my friends and I would hunt for hidden treasure in the woods.  We did not have to look far.  My parents were waiting at the house.  Mom had cooked a hot meal and Dad would have a joke or two to tell my friends.   My parents were the treasure and I did not realize it.  

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MAMA AND DADDY!

THE SMILE, THE HEARTBREAK, THE SHATTERED LEGACY

Last week-end my nephew and his wife welcomed their second daughter into this world.  Her last name is Bean.  She is the great-granddaughter of Willie and Eloise Bean who purchased five acres of land and a home shortly after their marriage in 1937.  

My parents raised three children in a home on the land – which fronts Highway 69.  Dad planted and harvested a handsome garden year after year.  Mama created many a tasty meal from the vegetables which the land produced.  As the progeny grew up and left the nest- grandchildren filled the old home.  Family celebrations continued.  Mama made an Easter bunny cake, many a yummy meal for Christmas and Thanksgiving.  Birthdays were celebrated as were anniversaries until age caught up with Mama and Daddy.

 Mom passed in 2000 and Daddy in 2002.  The halls became eerily quiet and the celebrations ceased.  My brother and his progeny had moved next door in 1995 – and stayed.  He build the spacious home and created a haven for his family.  We shared boundaries and tended to look out for one in an abstract manner.  My sister-in-law’s indifference to any family rituals in evidence for years.  My sister and I tried to continue family celebrations but to no avail.  She moved in 2004 to New Mexico and for all intents and purposes the long held celebrations of Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc. all but ignored.  The family I knew ceased to exist.

My brother was diagnosed with cancer in 2007 and lived until 2012.  I knew it was a very bad omen for me, for the Bean legacy on Highway 69 when he passed.  The out of control progeny of my brother had taken hold of a world my parents’ believed was secure.  

I have already blogged re: the acre of land and the home my brother built.  He wanted me to own but never told me and I out of the goodness of my heart did not wish my sister-in-law to believe she was going to be chucked out.  The facts are often too grim when one considers how quickly she would chuck me out if she could.

 Her children certainly do not care – starting with the oldest who has stated he would like the one acre and the home to my niece who has attacked me with a lead pipe, filed no trespassing charges against me which involves land I foolishly signed back over to Mama Enabler Ellen.  The aforementioned Christopher lives in Oklahoma and is a Chaplain.  He is in charge of the finances and the abusive, manipulative niece appears to be running the sale of the acre of land and the home.

Sorry is not the word I would use.  To say it is less than sorry is being charitable.  

The land which my parents’ worked so hard to preserve, to purchase has been posted on some site looking like a white trash lived there.  Mattresses in the back yard, a pile of junk in the family room my brother once sat in and watched hours of football.   His legacy is mixed.  His progeny do not care about him in the least and have no problem show casing him in a negative light.  

Their disrespect for their dad, the Beans obvious for years.  My brother had been gone for several years and still no tombstone.  It was only when I contacted the funeral home who contacted the US Army my brother allocated a tombstone. It rests beside Mama and Daddy and Daddy’s parents at Hooks Cemetery.   It is a way to honor a man who deserved honor.  

I found bag after bag of discarded family photographs dumped into a trash bin.  My Mama’s published diary which she began to write when she was 13 until she was 81 tossed into a trash, awaited pick up by city services.  The Hardin County History Book which is out of print and valuable also thrown away.  My dad’s birth certificate met the same fate.  Thank God all were salvaged.  I don’t know what was destroyed but I know I did save some items.  

We seek to keep a connection with our blood kin.  In some cases that is not possible and so I find this is the case with my brother’s progeny.  I kept remembering the adorable children who fought to sit on my lap. I remember their excitement when I walked into a room.  I cherish those memories.  I might as well as I do not intend to have any connection with them.  I have decided to shake the dust off my feet and go to the next village.  

I pray for them but I can not be involved with them again.  I have taken their abuse and indifference long enough.  My nephew can smile as he holds a new baby named Bean.  She represents the future.  It is hoped photographs of her will not find their way into a garbage bin and her memory  not soiled by indifferent, ingratitude and a shameful greed.  

There is no law against hoping. 

NELMA LOIS THORNTON

Fourteen years ago today Kountze lost a great citizen.  She was a native, both her parents lived and died here.  She was a fine person, a giving soul who always had a smile on her face and never met a stranger.  She was always chic and beautifully groomed and when not traveling the world  she worked in a variety of fields.

At one time she worked in the Hardin County Tax Office for my dad.  She was a trained nurse and a hairdresser which was easy to see as her hair always stylish.  She was active in the community, frequently volunteered her time.  

She never wrote a  book, never graced the cover of a magazine nor did she call attention to herself.  She was modest yet unforgettable.  

When I learned she had passed, the next day after 9/11/2001 I stopped and remembered the vibrant woman who passed among us.  She never received the acknowledgement she deserved nor did she seek it.  Those who never knew her missed more than I can say. 

I remember the time I received a post card from her while she was vacationing in London.  I was thrilled and looked forward to the future and my own plans of England and of touring the world.  It was a kind act on her part  to remember me and it was greatly appreciated.

Today  I honor the memory of Nelma Lois Thornton.  

A FRENZIED PHONE CALL LEAD TO THIS??

Three months after my brother Tom passed – a frenzied phone call from my sister-in-law Ellen shocked me and left me speechless.  She hired a surveyor to check the property lines of the land where she lived (which included a comfortable home my brother built).  Ellen’s tense voice informed me she just learned Tom had signed the acre of land and the home over to me more than a year ago.  Where was she going to live and what was going to happen to her?  She repeated those questions several times?  I told her I knew nothing of this transfer and assumed Tom was suffering from a brain tumor and thus denied not only his progeny but his wife their inheritance.  I too was bereaved and tried to put behind the years of acrimony which created its own form of grief aside .  I tried to take the high road.

 I assured Ellen she would not be homeless and experienced what one could call a mental lapse.  I signed the acre and home back to her.  I have lived to regret it many times and never more than the recent past.  Ellen has been ill and now lives with her daughter in Beaumont.  She does not plan to live in Kountze again and has plans to sell the home.  This has distressed me for a number of reasons – I live next door and what will become of the timber, the little bit of heaven my brother worked hard to create?  What will happen to all the family archives, photos, historical documents?  It is more than obvious my brother’s wife and progeny do not care one little bit about their ancestry.

 I have learned not only is my brother dead but any hope of a family is as well.  I have found negatives  photos in the rubbish and an assortment of items which should not have been tossed.  I noted a truck in front of the home on Monday and stopped to see what was happening?  My niece’s paramour emerged from the home and stated he, Robin and Chris were busy boxing, preparing to empty the house.  They had boxes filled with photos, etc.   for me. My niece was sitting on the floor – her son in a chair.  The air was tense as such meetings tend to be.  I reminded her of my generous act when I signed the land back to Ellen.  She replied it was the right thing to do.  I replied Tom would not want the land to be sold.  That must have been his idea to sign it to me?

 When I was asked what would I have done with the land I replied I would have allowed Ellen to live there as long as she wanted.  At that point my niece Robin yelled that I would have left them out and demanded I leave.  She also threatened to call the police and report I was trespassing.  Excuse me but what insanity is this?  Me – the aunt, sister and sister-in-law who generously transferred the land back to the surly sister-in-law?  My deeds of kindness ignored and in its place the surly and vile actions of an ungrateful, devious seed of my brother.  I left but made certain I would not allow such behavior to be ignored.  Later a Kountze cop arrived at my front door with a trespassing report.  I explained the situation and knew the evil which entered my family so many years ago continued to spread like a virus.  The darkness I felt in the late summer air nothing compared to the darkness which covered my soul.  I knew there was no turning back.  I knew the adorable children who use to sit on my knee were gone and in their place unrecognizable villains. 

The next day I began to sort through the boxes of photos, papers.  It was sad to see so many family photos, so much of family history deemed unimportant.  Photos of Ellen as a baby stood in a pile of other photos – some bent, some like new.  Nothing was sacred in the land of narcissist.  My mother’s diary – written from the time she was 13 til she was 81 was among the items tossed away.  Hardin County History book another casualty to the selfish tribes.  My task is clear – to make copies – share with those who appreciate how awesome history is.

 My sister wants photos of Grandpa and Grandma Bean’s home.  Other stellar tributes have caught her fancy – Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary photos, the kids when small and as they grew, cousins on a creek bank, aunts and uncles as they sat and talked of life so many years ago.  My brother’s stint in the US Army is chronicled in photos.  He appeared happy and at ease with his fellow soldiers.  He did not know what life held for him.  I felt a touch of sadness for the young man who could not forecast his future would not live up to his expectations or his potential.  It would include his out of control daughter who threatened her aunt, of a grandson who is on probation and has little direction, of a wife and progeny who do not and did not respect him, cherish him or appreciation his sacrifice and care.  They viewed him as a sperm donor and a financial landfall.  They had and have contempt for the Beans and their varied and creditable history.  It is disgusting.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA BEAN

On this date in the year 1881 my Grandma Bean was born in Tyler County, TX.  She was one of four girls and three boys born to the Gant family.  My memories of her are crystallized – unforgettable.

 Her world would be considered small and uneventful but for those who had the pleasure of meeting her – their world would be enriched.  She met and married my Grandpa Bean around the turn of the 20th century.  They lived the majority of their married life in Old Nona – south of Kountze.

 The couple raised vegetables, fruits, chickens and four children.  At one point their home was a boarding house.  Being the youngest of 20 grandchildren I missed out on Grandma’s fabled chicken and dumplings but I do recall her home made taffy.  She was an excellent seamstress, knew how to work the land and create the best of what God provided.

Their life was simple – water from a well, went years without electricity in their home.   Her home made jelly won many a blue ribbon – at local and state fairs which includes Dallas.  I can recall Grandma would collect rain water in a barrel to wash her hair. She swore by it – her hair was brown with few grey hairs well into her 80’s.

 She loved people and people loved her and she empathized with those who suffered.  My Grandpa was alleged to have stated “If there is a funeral within a mile of her, she will be there crying, even if she does not know anybody.” That says a thousand words about her.

 She never wrote a book, went to New York City, discovered a cure for a dreaded disease.  She did however instill in those who knew and loved her a sense of well being.  She left this earth on August 25, 1968 – a Sunday.  I can still feel the shadows close in on me that day.  Death had robbed the earth of someone who had a Mona Lisa smile.

 I remember her today.  She made so many smile the way seeing a red head with freckles makes one smile.  She was a treasure.  She left her legacy of excellence on all of us and for that I am grateful.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA BEAN.

MAMA MEETS THE BIRDS AND MORE THAN A FEW BEES!

Aunt Nuni died on her 92nd birthday in March 2014.  She was laid to rest next to my uncle in the scenic rural setting near Huntsville, TX.  The day was sunny but windy. Leaves blew in the winds which March often brings.  Attending her funeral brought back to memory a story my Mom had shared, that being the day Aunt Nuni was born.

 Back then, where babies came from left to the imagination. Often the introduction and explanation of a new family member created more questions than answers. My Mom recalled that March day in 1922 with vivid clarity.  She was playing outside with her doll whom she lovingly placed in a doll buggy.  My grandmother asked if she would like to go to the neighbor’s to play with their daughter?  Mom replied that she did and off she went.  As she pushed the buggy down the sidewalk little did she know how soon her world would change.  As a six year old she had seen many changes in her young life but with my grandmother’s recent marriage – life seemed to settle down.

 Later that day – Mom returned home only to find a beautiful baby had taken up residence.  Mama could not phantom where she came from or who had brought her?  She asked her parents the obvious questions and was told the stark had brought her.  Mama wasn’t too sure but she thought the stark was a big bird who kept visiting the neighborhood.  Her little mind raced but not as fast as her legs as she went outside and peered into the sky.  She wondered if the stark was still in the neighborhood?  She wondered if he would come back with more babies?  She also feared.

 Her fears real as four years before her older brother Sanford had died from diphtheria.  She remembered one day he was in his bed and the next day he was gone.  She didn’t know where.  Her questions resulted in such answers as he was on a vacation to he was in heaven.  She was just two years old but asked as best she could if she could visit him or would he be returning?  The emotional trauma this caused my Mom would explain her concern as to her sister’s safety.  Mama remembered holding Natalie’s (or Nuni as she would be called) fat little hand in case the stark changed his mind.  After all the stark could have been the one who stole her brother?  Mama remembered begging her parents to nail the windows shut and lock all the doors at night.  

By the time my aunt and uncle were born Mama figured out the stark had nothing to do with their arrival.  Mama often said “Children should be provided information when they are ready for the responsibility of the information.”  In this high tech world I see a danger in access to so much too soon.  I see cruelty in withholding information that a beloved brother had died as well.  There must be a balance – tempered by wisdom and a clarity on conscience.  

My aunt did grow up, faced a world war, married and had three children who have produced children and grandchildren.  My aunt was described by many as beautiful and she was.  She was also an excellent cook and many looked forward to family gatherings just to sample her cuisine.  

Aunt Lillian is the only aunt I have left.  Mama died in 2000 as did Uncle Johnny.  My grandmother died in 1985 and her second husband John Dinan many years before.  When I think of them, of memories from so long ago I have to realize I have been given a gift – which must be passed on and cherished – and thus I will honor their memories.  

DOING THE WRONG THING FOR THE RIGHT REASON

How often we have heard the saying doing the wrong thing for the right reason?  If we live long enough not only will we hear this saying we will live this saying.  I am learning this to be true.  

My brother was diagnosed with cancer in 2007 with the instructions he was to return for a check up in 2011.  He did keep close tabs on his liver and blood work and everything was clear.  He was active and made the world a better place through care and attention to and for others.

When he passed on July 4th, 2012 the world lost a star who forged his own path.  The community has a big hole in it which has yet to be filled.  The Beans have a stellar history of its own.  My grandparents moved to Kountze from Tyler county in 1910.  They raised their kids in Old Nona and all four went their own separate ways.

 My dad chose to stay in Kountze, marry a girl from Silsbee.  They purchased five acres which included a home in 1937.  Together the couple created a nice home for themselves and their three children, my brother Tom, my sister Linda and of course the last of the bunch – me.  Mama and Daddy lived in the home til death intervened.

My brother, sister and I inherited land which included Highway 69 frontage and acreage in Old Nona where the homestead had been.  As I had always rented when I lived in Houston my parents wanted me to inherit the home.  My brother had moved next door to the north and build a nice home for his brood.  After my brother died in 2012 – my sister-in-law had the land surveyed.  It was at that time a bombshell entered my life. My brother had signed over his land which included the home he had built, to me on September 23, 2011.  I never knew and was shocked to put it mildly.

 I knew my brother would never have cut his children out of their inheritance.  The frontage property is the best of the two sections he owned.  I can only explain my actions as foolish and due to bereavement.  On Halloween 2012 I signed the land back to my sister-in-law.  I tried to do the right thing – took into consideration my brother had a brain tumor when he signed the Warranty paperwork.  I did the wrong thing for the right reason.

/ I have lived to regret that impulsive behavior.  My sister-in-law continued to live in the home along with her grandson.  Within the past few months she has been ill and her future uncertain.  She moved in with her daughter in Beaumont.  She wants to sell the land I foolishly signed back to her.  My brother was not off mark when he signed the land to me.  Had I to do it over again – I would.  If I knew H.G. Wells I would climb into his time machine and never sign the document.  I would accept the land as a blessing and rent the home and earn an income.

89 Instead my brother’s progeny, his widow determined to shed themselves of every heritage, every tribute to a hard working, pioneer family. All they can see is money.  That is all that truly matters to them.  To say I am upset would be an understatement.  To state I am physically ill would be too kind.  We have all heard the saying that blood is thicker than water.  In my case, the so called family I have is on Plavix.  They show no respect for my family nor for me.  They have in actuality flipped off Willie, Eloise, Tom, Linda, Cheryl and every Bean whose shadow we feel when days are long and moments are quiet.  

THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE

I can recall visiting an art gallery in London and noticed one of the masterpieces was tilted.  I mentioned this to a museum employee.  The problem was soon corrected.  Too bad our medical situation in this country is not so easily rectified.

We are living longer and thus will require more health care.  Some can afford the high cost of staying healthy while a good many live on the edge and can barely afford generic meds.  From a friend I learned a widow – injured her ankle on July 4th, 2015.  She was taken to a local hospital for an x-ray and the diagnosis was as she feared – the ankle was broken.  Unfortunately for her the hospital would not set the injury as she does not have insurance.  She has been suffering with this painful situation for two months.  There is something wrong with this picture.

Another single mom who has two sons enrolled in college and has herself recently attended college – needs female surgery.  She can not afford the cost so she too endures with the help of high powered pain meds and grit and determination.  She is postponing something which could cause many problems for her down the road.  There is something wrong with this picture.  

We live in a high tech world with more bells and whistles than Carter has pills.  Situations as I have described should not be.  It is wrong.  For those who are in the 1% bracket – the banal comment may be why don’t these folks have insurance?  The response is – they don’t have the money heard from many quarters.  There is little empathy from the deep pockets.  Their idea to let them eat cake shows yet again there is something wrong with this picture.  

We must learn to care for one another, to have each other’s backs.  We are our brother’s keeper and we should follow the Golden Rule of doing unto others what we would do for ourselves. 

AUGUST 24-25, 1968 THE WEEK-END I WILL NEVER FORGET

Somethings stay in our memories as a permanent reminder that events can unfold and create new situations.  Such was the case the week-end of August 24th and 25th, 1968.

 The 24th was a Saturday – and as all August days tend to be – sticky hot and humid.  My parents and I drove to the Galveston area to visit my Uncle JD, my dad’s older brother.  Uncle JD was in the hospital in Galveston – after he had experienced another break down.  He was a sweetheart whose positive attitude warmed the heart of everyone he met.

 We had planned to spend the night at Uncle JD’s home in Hitchcock – which was a family ritual anytime we were in the area.  My dad and Uncle JD were very close and that bond would fill many a void in their lives.  When we arrived at my uncle’s home – a quiet stillness greeted us.  Dad knew the location of house key- information provided by my uncle.  The three of us went inside and sat down at the kitchen table.  The house was spotless which always amazed me as I came from a home of border line hoarders.

 Mom poured cold water for us to drink.  I remember looking outside at the back yard and noted there were no shadows which meant it was noon time.  We were still sipping our drinks when the sound of a car screeching and a door slammed disrupted our few moments of peace.  The back door flew open and in burst Aunt Katherine.  Her face was flushed in red and she angrily screamed at us demanded, ” who did we think we were – coming into her home?”

 My dad explained Jay as he called his brother had given permission for us to do so.  My aunt remarked, “JD was not there and we could not stay there.  She was going back to Galveston to be with him and we needed to go.”  Her behavior was so obnoxious it shocked us but we soon left.  Mom offered to wash up but my aunt said she would do that.

 As we drove to Galveston and the hospital dad asked us not to mention what had happened as it would upset Jay.  We were too stunned to say much. When we arrived at the hospital Uncle JD welcomed us, hardy hugs and hand shakes all around.  My uncle mentioned there was a cafeteria on site which had pretty good food.  We opted to enjoy lunch with him and shared booths and tables as my cousin Mary Catherine – Uncle JD’s daughter was visiting.  My surly Aunt Katherine was also present.  I shared a booth with her.  Following small talk she looked at my breast and said, “her grand daughter’s breast are bigger than yours.”  Her crude comments were shocking and I can recall I responded as best I could as a 16 year old.

 Later my Uncle JD asked where we were going to stay the night and I responded I did not know?  He asked why didn’t I know?  I again said I did not know?  He looked over his shoulder, knew something was up and nodded.  Later cousin Mary Catherine invited my parents and I to spend the night with her at her Galveston home.  She knew daddy and Uncle JD wanted to spend time together and she respected that.

 That afternoon we drove to her two story home near the beach and benefited from her hospitality and kindness.  I stayed in the room with her two children – Marty and Sherry – small children then.  They were both thrilled and excited I was there and I can remember Marty asking me to carry him and hold him.  He was so cute.

 Late that night – the 24th August 1968 after everyone had retired for the evening my Aunt Katherine arrived.  She entered her grandchildren’s room and hugged them but her joy soon left her face once she saw me.  Her bitter comments as to why I was there were rebuffed by her daughter who told her mom that was enough.  My aunt piped down but I could hear her mumble under her breath, “those Beans.”

 The next day we visited my Uncle again – apparently without incident.  By the middle of that Sunday afternoon August 25th, 1968 we headed back to Kountze.  Dad decided we needed to check on Mama – my grandmother who was in a nursing home in Nederland, TX.  “It won’t be too much out of our way,” he remarked.

 By dusk we arrived at the home – located on Twin City Highway.  It was after visiting hours however we knew many of the nurses by name as my grandmother had been a resident for four years.  When the head nurse saw us she asked my dad if she could see him in her office? My mom and I stood outside – in the dark hallway.  It was a moment I will not forget as dad emerged from the nurse’s office and informed us that Grandma had died that day.  Died – what a word.  It meant our weekly visits on Sunday afternoon after church would never happen again.  It meant the Grandma I remembered would not be a part of my life any more.  Dad was dry eyed but I wept.

 When we arrived in Kountze my brother was on site – cleaning his bedroom.  Guests would be coming he replied.  We asked why he wasn’t at work?  Virgie Lack had called him and asked where we were?  Pace Funeral home had tried to contact us.  We were out of pocket – driving back to Kountze.  Remember – this was before cell phones, text messages, modern technology we take for granted.

For the first time in my life my Grandma Bean was not on this earth as I went to sleep and faced August 26, 1968.  Families arrived, food and fellowship and a funeral which saw more tears.  The days were hot, sticky and sad.  My Uncle JD did not attend as he was still in the hospital.

 I had already told my parents of my Aunt’s continued ill behavior and remarked I did not wish to be around her again.  They remarked she was not the person they knew and she must be upset about JD?  At the time my personal experience with life was minimal.  I now view her behavior as that of an angry, uneducated, emotionally immature woman who saw me as an easy target.  These events – now 47 years in the past are as much a part of my DNA as colors which bleed into each other in the wash.  Once done – there is no return.  The whites and the reds are not a good combination.

 The year 1968 was a very unhappy year for me.  Dad lost his re-election bid for another term as Hardin Co. tax assessor.  I tried out for cheerleader again and lost.  The Fabs personal lives were a mess. My grandmother died.  Within a few days of Grandma’s funeral school began.  I felt traumatized by life and longed for a world where peace and love which so many preached truly existed.

 My uncle JD did visit one more time.  He and my dad went to the cemetery and shared a moment of grief at their parents’ graves.  Within a  month Uncle JD would pass away from a massive heart attack.  I only saw Aunt Katherine one more time after his funeral – when she visited my grandparents’ now vacant home.  My aunt died in 1977.  My parents and brother attended her service.  I did not.  As far as I was concerned she had died years before.  So many have.  I am the only one who was present that week-end who can recall these events.  My parents are gone as is my brother.   Mary Catherine died last year and her son Marty in 2011.

 When I think of these events and realize the importance they played in my life I have to wonder what would the world have been like if circumstances were different?  Would my life have been unrecognizable?  Would the year 1968 bring some memories of happiness instead of sadness?  Viewing the past through the present is a waste of time – as the past is what it is.  It is a reflection, an image, which fades and recedes.  If we can learn valuable lessons without too many battle scars all the better?  We benefit as a person, as a whole person if we can achieve that.  

MEMORIES OF KATRINA REFUGEES TEN YEARS LATER

This month is the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina – the devastating storm which struck Eastern Louisiana and Western Mississippi with such force the life style of many was forever changed.  Images of refugees at the Super Dome, of high water, desperate folks who faced the onslaught of a massive storm etched in my mind.  Images of an inept mayor who called New Orleans chocolate city added fuel to the already flaming fire of fear and frustration.  One young man grabbed a school bus and as many folks as could and headed west on I 10 for Houston and the Astrodome.  I admired his spunk and determination. Many found temporary refuge at the Astrodome or Ford Park in Beaumont.  The scenes were surreal.  Many fled west – some landed in Kountze.  The count I heard was 400 souls who found a warm bed or cot in the confines of church gyms.  Others stayed in local hotels.  The population of Kountze grew those few weeks.  The community opened their hearts and pockets to the displaced citizens of Louisiana and Mississippi.   I can recall a donation box was placed in front of the Methodist church and was soon filled with diapers, products which many could use and needed.  Daily meals were served to the refugees by the staff at the Methodist church.  A family of 40 found their temporary home to be satisfactory.  They even made friends with local citizens.  One couple got married during their stay in Kountze – as their wedding in Louisiana could not take place.  The scenes were surreal.  My feelings regarding the Katrina refugees mixed.  I saw first hand ingratitude as well as a sense of humility.  I will focus on two situations I know happened, one I witnessed first hand.  One family which consisted of a couple and an elderly dad stayed at the Super Eight Hotel.  She was a school principal and the family tooled around Kountze in a snazzy, green Jag.  A local family offered the use of their spacious, two story home to the displaced Mississippi family whose home was underwater.  The kind gesture was brushed aside as the home had electrical issues. The homeowner was incredulous as the home had recently been rewired.  Another incident will stay in my memory.  A neighbor kindly offered the use of her home to a family from New Orleans who was staying at a church.  They had no home to return to.  As they stood in the front lawn and looked at the home – I heard the family remark to the local pastor the home was not good enough for them to live in.  Excuse me but what?  You are living in a church gym, sleeping on a cot and you turn your nose up at a kind and generous offer.  This was an insult and deeply hurt the homeowner whose son had died less than a month before.  Before too many more stinging rebukes occurred Hurricane Rita sent everyone scurrying.  The refugees were gone and the folks of Hardin County had to contend with massive clean up efforts and their own sense of loss.  Thank God I fared better than most.  My home was not hit by tornadoes which danced around my property and felled many pines.  Ten years later  the memories come flooding back just as surely as I knew they would.  I never heard from the school principal and her family again.  The other family was never seen again.  The family of 40 kept in touch with their Kountze mentors and a true bond exists.  The home which the family stated was not good enough  is currently the home of a retired teacher and does a better than average job of providing a home for her and her pets.  The community slowly returned to its pre-Rita status.  A few blue roofs still exist – tattered now by 10 years of brutal Texas weather.  Three years after Rita – Hurricane Ike hit Texas and reminded us all again how much we take for granted.  Electricity is an everyday norm for us until we don’t have it.  I was without electricity for 12 days following Rita and 10 days following Ike.  Our Emergency Management Coordinator has stated Kountze will no longer be a refuge city as we are just too close to the coast.  Hopefully we will not face another hurricane anytime soon.  If we do – may we remember lessons which Hurricanes Katrina, Rita and Ike taught us.  Hopefully New Orleans will never forget those harsh lessons either.