FORGIVEN and BAPTIZED

© Danna Shirley

         My husband and I lived in Japan for five years. We had base privileges for everything but our housing; as civilians, we had to live in the “cho” (neighborhood).

         Most of the Navy wives taught Conversational English to the Japanese and at some point in time, I had heard each of them make the comment, “Oh, I have to get home to teach a class in fifteen minutes.” Often there was annoyance in their tone. I didn’t want to develop that attitude toward teaching so I had no desire to take on any students. 

         I remember on one of my trips home to visit family in California, I was asked, “And what do you do with your time in Japan?” A sense of guilt washed over me as I answered almost ashamed, “Nothing!” 

         On the flight back to Japan I began to bargain with God. I told Him, “OK, if You want me to teach English to the Japanese, then they’ll have to come to my house and knock on my door and ask me!” I thought I was being pretty safe with that approach.

         God has such a sense of humor…THEY DID!!! I was home only a few days when a Japanese neighbor who worked in a Muscular Dystrophy hospital in Kawatana where we lived, knocked on my door and asked if I would be willing to come to the hospital to have Conversational English lessons with one of her patients. 

         Nobuyuki had been employed in the hotel industry in England as a young man so he already knew English. When his illness became debilitating, he returned to Japan and eventually had to reside in this hospital. He was now wheelchair bound and only had the use of his right hand, which operated his chair. All other life functions had to be done for him.

         During our lessons Nobu would choose a subject and we would discuss it. If I used any word that he didn’t recognize, I would define it at length. He was especially interested in understanding our “slang.” Americans automatically know what is meant when using a slang term so I was a bit challenged to find English words to define English words. How would you explain: like water off a duck’s back, handy as a pocket on a shirt, that’s about the size of it, ace in the hole, it’s up in the air, a shot in the dark, etc.

         One serious subject Nobu wanted to discuss was the issue of abortion. Since I am pro-life, I had brought some printed materials and pictures with me from the states. I took these to the hospital for our next lesson, not realizing until I arrived that he was personally involved with this issue and was under great conviction by the Holy Spirit.

         I learned he had advised some friends to abort their baby because they were not married and would “lose face” if the pregnancy was discovered. Now that counsel was weighing heavily on his conscience. I was so glad I learned of this before showing him the materials I had brought, which would have overwhelmed him with even more guilt and remorse.

         The approach I took was to share the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. Knowing that the Japanese people believe in many gods, I told Nobu that my God was a God of forgiveness. I wrote the word SIN on the board, then took a piece of paper and covered it. I explained that we can try to cover our sin under our own power but it will always be there; just under the surface. I then lifted the paper to expose the word again and exclaimed, "But my God forgives sin completely, as far as the east is from the west, as deep as the depths of the sea, and as high as the sky."  (Psalm 103:10-12)         I then erased the word sin and Nobu’s eyes got as big as saucers. He smiled happily from ear to ear. He understood and saw that there was hope for him in Jesus Christ.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)

He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love, in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins.”  (Colossians 1:13-14)

“Jesus said… ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through Me.’ ” (John 14:6)  “Nor is there salvation in any other, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)

         Nobu wanted forgiveness but I knew there was more explaining to do about salvation! I introduced him to a Japanese pastor who could guide him through the culture of their many gods and disciple him to forsake all others and cling only to Jesus. I planted, Pastor Sasaki watered, God made the increase. It was not long afterward that I received an invitation to Nobu’s baptism.

         What made this so exceptional was that it would have been expedient and totally understandable to sprinkle Nobu with water in a ceremony on the hospital grounds. After all, he could not move, but Nobu wanted to be baptized “as his Lord and Savior” had done, by immersion. This procedure required setting up a privacy tent on the beach so that his clothes could be changed afterward. Gallons of fresh water and a nurse from the hospital had to be in attendance to bathe the salt water from his body and redress him. A type of hammock was needed to lay him in and two strong souls to carry him in and out of the water.

         When the day arrived, many of the local Christians we knew, both Japanese and American, were invited to enjoy this special occasion with Nobu. A potluck dinner was set up in the pavilion. When the time came, we all marched down to the water’s edge to witness this extraordinary baptism. Spontaneous singing and praise broke out as Nobu was lifted out of the water. 

         The ceremony took on a special significance for me. I had watched many baptisms in U.S. churches and even one in a swimming pool; however, I had never been baptized by immersion myself since I had been sprinkled as a child in the Methodist church and considered myself already baptized. As I began to see and appreciate the extent to which Nobu was willing to go to be baptized “as his Lord,” I thought that I, too, should be baptized by immersion.

         The next time the base chapel announced a baptism service, I was included. We were to go to the waterfalls and enjoy a picnic afterward. It was April, in Japan, and the waterfalls were raging with snow melting off the mountains. There were five of us baptized that day all freezing with chattering teeth under the thunder of the most beautiful falls imaginable. 

         My baptism by immersion is very special to me. It’s remarkable that it took a Japanese man in a country across the world to bring it to pass.

"Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”  (Rom 6:4)

         Our English lessons continued for three years and Nobu and I became good friends.  He is a strong Christian to this day.

CHECKBOOK ~ A DIRTY WORD

© Danna Shirley

            I was not a spendthrift, I was not extravagant, I did not squander my husband's paycheck, but I cringed every time he asked me for the balance in our checkbook.  Then a lengthy conversation would follow with me defending every purchase I made and every dollar I spent.  He couldn’t understand where all the money was going.  What was so ironic to me was that I felt he was the one doing all the frivolous spending. 

            On what, you might ask?  Well, he worked hard all week and insisted he needed a night out to unwind so every Friday was date night.  It was my responsibility to find a babysitter for our three children while he chose the restaurant.  It was a toss up what movie we would watch.  The babysitter: $8.00; the restaurant: $12.00; the movie & popcorn: $7.00 for a total of $25 every week (1986)!  It made date night an expense that I felt we couldn’t afford. 

            Finding a babysitter every week was a chore in itself because the girls quickly went from wanting to earn a little money to dating and then I would have to find another sitter.  Eating out was the only part I liked; usually Shanghai for Chinese or Cuco’s for Mexican or Aunt Jenny’s for seafood.  For the movie we would go from comedy to blood and guts; from a PG rating to an R rating depending on who won the toss.  I did reach the point of saying, “I can’t stand the gore anymore!  Please, no more R rated movies!”  He graciously agreed. 

            I know some wives would kill for a date night but after a year or so of seeing our checkbook balance dwindle, it was not special to me any more.  I remember praying and praying, “Oh, God, release me from the responsibility of this checkbook!”  I knew if my husband asked me one more time for the balance, I was going to throw the book at him!  Well, that day finally arrived but instead of me throwing the checkbook at him, he had the audacity to ask me to give it up—he would pay the bills and handle the finances from now on and give me an allowance!

            “WHAT!!!” I protested!  “A–a–a–n  ALLOW—ANCE!” I stuttered.  I could hardly find the words to voice my disapproval.  All I could see was that I was being cut off from the checkbook.  After twenty minutes or so of conflict resolution, God spoke to me in His still, small voice, as only He can, “Isn't this what you prayed for!  Why are you upset?”  With these words hitting my spirit I calmed down, smiled, and sat back amused.  Yes, this was what I had prayed for--to be released from having to defend myself about the finances.

            Unfortunately, my husband's idea of an allowance wasn’t at all the amount that I needed to run the household.  He was only considering food in the budget while I knew our needs stretched far beyond that.  I asked him to accompany me to the grocery store for food and Wal-Mart for other incidentals.  I made sure that his wants and needs were included on my list.  Of course, on these particular trips, I needed simply everything . . . milk, bread, flour, sugar, tea, coffee, cereal, meat, vegetables, fruit, etc., etc. and at Wal-Mart I needed simply everything . . . deodorant, razor blades, shaving cream, shampoo, toothpaste, toilet paper, etc., etc.  I wanted this shopping spree to give him a good education of just how much I really spent on a weekly basis.

            With all the input now available, he sat down with calculator in hand to work miracles with the checkbook.  After handling the finances for only one month, he announced that date night was being cancelled until further notice . . . we couldn’t afford it! 

            Eventually the kids grew up,  my husband got raises and I went to work,  the bills got paid and we had some breathing room with the checkbook, Friday night out was reinstated, and date night became very special to us!

FAMILY HISTORY

© Danna Shirley

The most endearing project I have ever undertaken is to write a biography of my father who passed away in March of 2010. He was 89 and the hero of all who knew him, family and friends alike.

    At the purchase of a new video camera and a few trips to Napa, CA in 2005, 2006, and 2007, I was able to capture my parents on video relating their life stories. Last Christmas my sister asked me to write a story about Daddy carving the violin he made in high school. When I realized all I had were a few details and some pictures of him holding this precious family heirloom, I wished I had done more to capture its history—his history. One story about the violin was not enough. A book was in order. As I approached this task, I added mother’s life to it because who was Daddy without Mother? They married on Christmas day 1941 and were together 68 years . . . Howard Eurbie and Elsie (Daugherty) Goines.

    I was so grateful I had ten recordings from which to draw this biography. I have childhood stories of stealing watermelons, his military service (WWII), his employment, their move from Arkansas to California in 1946, his hobby of Model A restoration and all the pictures, awards, trophies, and ribbons that went with them. I also obtained stories from friends who worked with him in his shop learning all about cars; stories the family would have never known.

    In subsequent trips to Napa my mother graciously allowed me to snoop into every nook and cranny, every drawer, file, closet, and box to gather whatever else I could find to include into this labor of love. I found his wedding suit in a garment bag with a 29” waist and buttons instead of a zipper. I’d never seen it before; never knew it even hung in the closet. 

    I have transcribed his life onto almost 400 pages and inserted stills of him telling funny stories into the text. It is an added blessing to see the face that went with the hysteria when he laughed so hard he could barely tell about the corn cob fight in his grandpa’s barn.

    As I approach the end of this project, I realize there are many gaps of his life I failed to ask and now it is too late. The purpose of this letter is to encourage each of you to take the time and opportunity to glean your family history from those who are still with you, who still have their rich memories of life. I am also keeping a journal of “cute sayings” by my granddaughters, like Emma telling us at age four, “Jesus lives in the red and we live in the black.”

    Don’t regret someday saying, “I wish I had asked Mom while she was still alive,” or “I wish I had recorded Grandpa before he got Alzheimer’s.” Another word of encouragement is to journal your own life . . . while you still remember it.

    I also learned from a retired librarian that two copies of your family history should be sent to the Library of Congress for safekeeping. Not only is it your history but it provides U.S. history as well when you share incidents of your ancestor’s lives. These copies will never get lost or destroyed or be forgotten in the attic of an old home.

"At most, living memory endures for a hundred years or so.

Thereafter, even the barest outline of the past is forgotten,

unless it is recorded in writing . . ." 

John Morris in Londinium: London in the Roman Empire

BRAIN FREEZE

©Danna Shirley

Writing assignment

The elevator opened and a stranger entered. My brain instantly started gathering data about this well-dressed, matronly woman being led by a seeing-eye dog. She had that familiar smell of powder and paint and perfume. She asked me to punch the fourth floor and I did. Then my eyes trailed down to the German Shepherd beside her. I had had a fear of large dogs since my childhood and this one brought a brain freeze to my attention.

            I was taken back to the tree swing in Grandpa’s back yard. Oskar, the dog next door, had always been there, observing, but never bothering or attempting to approach in any way. Then on one particular visit, for some reason he was running along the fence and barking wildly as I was twisting and twirling in the swing. Maybe the merry-go-round motion was the problem. I stopped and watched him more closely.

Grandpa and Mr. Limply both bounced out their back doors at once to see what all the commotion was about. They arrived just in time to watch Oskar jump the fence and run straight for me. I froze. Was I doing something wrong?

            He leapt up and pushed me out of the swing. I fell over backwards and my leg got caught in the rope. He grabbed the rope in his mouth and started winding the swing around and around as a drug along the ground skinning my back and getting dirt and leaves in my hair.

            Mr. Limply ran for the swing to stop Oskar and Grandpa grabbed me up in his arms and held me tightly. I was crying, not hurt but scared. We never understood why Oskar lunged at me except maybe to play because it looked like fun to him, too. From then on I was very leery of big dogs.

            I stared down at this large dog now confined so closely in my space. His owner was speaking quietly and calmly saying, “Its okay, Max. We’ll be home soon and I’ll give you a good meal for being so patient with me today.” She stood so gracefully and confidently with her protector. He turned and looked up at me, then put his head under my hand and I gently stroked his ears; my first touch of a dog since childhood.

            The elevator opened and a friend exited. I felt protected now, too, living in this building. I hoped to see them again.

Writing prompt for class: "The elevator opens and a stranger enters. Your brain instantly starts gathering data about this . . . "

LEFT BEHIND

© by Danna Shirley 

I never flew on an airplane until I married at age 20. My first flight ever was to join Ron in Southern California and then fly to Alabama to meet his family for the first time.

As a Navy wife it was one adventure after another which began in California where we met in 1968, then to Reno to get married J. One year later we were off to Bermuda for shore duty, then to Maryland for NESEP Prep School, then to Mississippi for four years at Ole Miss. We left there in 1974 with an Engineering degree and our sweet Kristen born February 27, 1971. Our next move was to Florida for flight school, back to California aboard the U.S.S. Constellation and then to Bremerton, Washington when the ship went into drydock. Our next move was to the Philippines for shore duty where we took home our blond-haired, blue-eyed little Filipino, Russell, born on February 7, 1977.

When we returned from the P.I., Ron received a medical separation from the Navy and we went home to Montgomery, Alabama. Employment with Alabama Power took us to Demopolis; then back to Montgomery for more education at which point our third child, Aaron, was born September 15, 1980 and college plans were dismissed.

Ron’s next employment took us to New Jersey in December 1980 with the AEGIS Program then back to Pascagoula, Mississippi where he worked for three Naval Contractors at Ingalls Shipbuilding from 1981 to 1992.

His knowledge and expertise with AEGIS sent us to Japan from 1992 until 1997 and then right back to Ingalls Shipbuilding. We lived on the MS Gulf Coast until Ron’s death in 2003—which was my first experience of really being left behind and totally alone. I stayed in the house we built together for a year and a half and then moved to Tennessee in 2004 when my daughter said it wasn’t good for me to be alone. I agreed!

The point of this testimony of travel is to relate that I was always on the move. I was never the one who was left behind. I always had the option of looking forward to my next destination, my next community, my next neighborhood and friends. There was sorrow, of course, when I left behind good friends but always there was the expectation of a new adventure ahead.

I’m pretty much settled where I will probably spend the rest of my days. When I see friends move on now, I’m the one left behind. I am finally experiencing the loss they must have felt when I moved on. It is a sad thing. Will I ever see them again? Will we ever have that close relationship we had in Mississippi, in Washington, in the Philippines, in Japan, in Tennessee? Maybe not this side of heaven but I wouldn’t change one thing about my life because I have made wonderful friends and memories along the way.

All of our relationships and moves mean nothing if we are left behind when the Lord comes. Don’t neglect the most important relationship you will ever have—with GOD and the most important move you will ever make—to HEAVEN. 

DON’T BE LEFT BEHIND!

John 3:16

ADDENDUM J

Here I go thinking my life is finally settled. Now I’m on the move again (2013) but I’m used to it. Actually, when I realized I had another move ahead of me, my feet began to “itch” and my mind began to mentally downsize and start packing.

Unfortunately, this move is to be caregiver to my family in California. My mother at 93 is living alone, my sister, Paula, has an autoimmune disease that leaves her in much pain, and her husband, Jerry, hasn’t fully recovered from back surgery that has left him very weak.  He has also been diagnosed with Parkinson's. Since I am a retired widow, I’m able to pick up and move when needed.

My original plan was to drive from TN to CA with my sister, Nan. We were going to stop in Arkansas and Oklahoma to see family and then do some sight-seeing along the way, but the situation in CA was getting desperate so we decided to speed up the process. Nan flew out immediately and I continued getting my house in order.

I have truly downsized beyond all expectations this time. Five weeks ago when this began, I made decisions to give away certain items and keep others. A week later I was willing to give up a little more until I finally reached the point that I could give up my books—eeck! They’ve always been like children to me but now I’ve passed them along to other good homes.

All things of value (art, antiques, jewelry) have a new home at my daughter’s. She would eventually inherit them anyway. I’ve donated 2/3 of my wardrobe to the Clothes Closet at church. Furniture and appliances have been sold. Papers I’ve held onto for years thinking I would “do something” with them have gone to the shredder. Just a few boxes, keepsakes, and some furniture remain stored in my attic and garage. I’ve rented the house to a good and trusted friend.

The only thing I won’t give up is my bed. Ron and I bought a Temper Pedic a few months before he died to help relieve his fibromyalgia pain. It has been a God-send for me and my back as well. I am happy to have moved into my granddaughter, Bella’s, bedroom with a 2-drawer file cabinet as a nightstand, my laptop and printer handy, and a private bath. What more could anyone want? When I return to Tennessee, I will consider going into a senior living facility.

I’ve learned that what was important to hold onto twenty years ago was easily released today. Traveling down life’s road farther from the beginning and nearing the end puts things into perspective. Above and beyond holding onto these material things is the most important decision in life—TO HOLD ONTO ETERNITY!

GOD BLESS YOU AND

YOUR CHOSEN DESTINATION . . .

Isaiah 55:6

Okay, one more time! I stayed in CA for two years and three months and finally "burned out" from my caregiving duties. Moved back to Tennessee in June of 2015 and stayed with my daughter until I bought a zero-lot line house in October in Cordova. I no longer feel comfortable in saying I'm now settled down for life because only God knows. I am into the next chapter and am content to stay nestled in my Savior's arms.

BEST FRIEND ~ CATHY

2012 © Danna Shirley

     Cathy is a friend. I’ve known her since ninth grade. She lived on one side of the freeway and I lived on the other; consequently, she went to DeAnza High School and I went to Richmond Union High School and of course our schools were rivals, but not us. We both cheered for our own schools when we played someone else, but when DeAnza played Richmond, Cathy sat with me. She knew more people at Richmond than I knew. I guess I could have been jealous of her popularity at my school, but I was just happy to be by her side as she introduced me to some of my own classmates. She never met a stranger and never forgot a friend. 
    Now because Cathy was bubbly and vivacious she seemed a bit strange at first. People either liked her instantly because she made them feel comfortable or they reserved their judgment; but for Cathy, she held back nothing. She was always 100% Cathy. I felt privileged to call her a close friend for she had so many.  When I say that Cathy was strange, it was in a good sense. She would do things that never occurred to me, like name her car Eleanor and her favorite chair Eunice. 

      When Eleanor had seen better days, Cathy decided it was time to pass her along to some deserving someone who would care for her as she had done. She advertised in the local shopper but no one was much interested in an old car; that is until Juan called. Although Cathy was young, she lived in a somewhat affluent neighborhood of retirees in Southern California. When Juan arrived to take Eleanor for a test drive, Cathy perched herself in the front seat beside him and went along for the ride. The neighbors thought she had been kidnapped. Calls went out to the police and to her husband, Robert. When she and Juan returned home from quite a lengthy trip, Cathy was grinning that she had made the sale. They were greeted with stares and questions from all parties. Of course, the “nosey” neighbors were lined up to hear of her ordeal at the hands of an innocent, bewildered Juan. He still bought Eleanor and departed the premises looking like he had escaped with his life. 

      Cathy wrote me of the whole incident on the arm of Eunice. She had had Eunice for as long as I can remember. She was well-worn but comfortable and her right arm was just perfect for a writing tablet. Cathy wrote many a tale in that big arm chair, mostly of her life’s adventures, and there were plenty of those.

       Like the time she went bird watching on government property and had just located a nest of baby birds when the military police chased her down and expelled her from the premises. She was so upset she joined the Audubon Society and became one of their official birdwatchers. She was assigned to this particular area of land to count the birds and make her report.

      And then there were the cats—oh, the cats! Cathy was a cat lover! I can’t begin to tell you how many she’s had over the years or what their names were but I’m sure she has a cat to this day. She would write about some particular event for each one of them; how they would chase birds or catch mice, and she made each story sound as if I was right there observing every little detail.

      I loved getting Cathy’s letters. They were entertaining but more importantly, they kept us connected, for after high school we lived coasts apart. When our lives began to be taken up with family and jobs, I didn’t notice that her letters began to fade. I finally called one day to ask how she was doing and to tell her I missed hearing about the cats and the neighbors. She told me she had had to get rid of Eunice. Her cushions were flat and her springs had sprung. She just hadn’t been able to write anymore; no place was as good as the right arm of Eunice.

      We still keep in touch but the calls and letters seem to get farther and farther apart. I miss Cathy, and Eleanor, but especially Eunice!

When my father died, Cathy wrote the following remembrance to my mother:

Dear Ma—

Quite truly you and Pa were wonderful to me. Danna and I had wheels (thank you, Pa). We had freedom—with guidance. We had moral training. We had safety. We were loved daughters. Those years are like little photographs in my mind; Pa wandering up from the garage with a mechanics rag in his hand to grab a glass of milk, Ma working on the textbook she was writing, Paula painting on her amazing eyebrows, and after Nan came home, her mothering practicality, as all of us rushed to help with David.

Though Pa has gone to meet his Maker, it’s long past time to tell how wonderful you both were. I always felt the security of being 'just' another daughter in your household. You and Pa, in the midst of the rabble of estrogen, always were a couple and you were the best of role models for much of my life. I learned to eat strawberries with Ritz crackers, popcorn with butter washed down with soda, and that married adults could bathe together on a Saturday afternoon.

Pa always stood tall. The picture of him from his service time in WWII was as much a part of my memory as its counterpoint of my own father. Though never friends except through their daughters, Pa, like my Daddy, was a member of the greatest generation; those men who went off to defend their family and country and came home with the values that allowed them and their families every opportunity they could with their hard work and solid determination. 

            As a couple of influence, you represented to this then 12-year-old that the world was a safe and happy place and that a good solid marriage was a fact of life. The hours I spent sitting in your living room reading remain bright and clear. Pa in his garage and you correcting my English are the best, most secure of days. 

Though you were always Mr. and Mrs. Goines, in my mind you were more important. I always thought of you as Ma and Pa as Danna Rae called you. Between you two and my own parents, I grew into adulthood with the best of people to emulate. And now, as those years have long passed, I carry with me the important things I learned . . . Finish the book! Now, don't say that. How to prepare strawberries. How to be married for a long time. How to have a best friend. How to make a child welcome in my home. 

With sorrow for Howard's passing and with love for all you both represented. 

TOAD SUCK, Arkansas

by Danna Shirley 

            When the Arkansas River was low, too low for travel, the Emma Belle would put in to dock and wait for deeper water. The passengers stayed on board for a time but the crew had been off dry land long enough so they quickly found the local tavern to wet their whistle. There were more than a few eruptions during these times for the town folk to get thoroughly disgruntled. They reported the crew would suck on the bottle ‘til they swelled up like toads. Hence the name Toad Suck.

            Now Capt. Jolley joined right along with the crew but not before he made sure the passengers were settled in for the night. And of course, he didn’t frequent the same pub. He had to maintain authority to keep discipline intact so he went a little farther uptown to a more genteel establishment . . . The Red Hot Garter.

            Capt. J. was more polished than the usual riverboat captain. He’d gone all the way to sixth grade due to his Aunt Polly’s pesterings. And it had paid off ’cause now he had his own boat and could navigate the river with the best of them. It was totally dark when the lights from inside the Garter beckoned him.

            “Hey, Cap’n,” yelled Dixie from the bar when he walked inside. “The usual?”

            He nodded and sat down in a secluded corner to wait for the show. Dixie had as much of a turnover with her ladies as he did with his crew. It was not a stable environment in either profession. But he was just here for the entertainment and nothing more.

            Then she appeared on stage. Beautiful, stately, majestic. Dixie delivered his drink and he gave her a questioning look. She shrugged and smiled with a twinkle in her eye and went back to her duties at the bar.

            Who was this lovely lady who sang like a nightingale? He looked at the marquee. It read:

Sweet Lily Delaney

Appearing Nightly ~ Limited Engagement

          Capt. J. was awestruck. He sat blurry-eyed, almost in a trance, mesmerized by this angelic creature. He had never once before thought of leaving the river but now the thoughts of settling down and standing on solid ground whirled around his head. He could do it. Yes, he would do it for this Sweet Lily.

            She finished her song and he motioned her to his table. She floated toward him, barely touching the wooden planks of the floor. Wait! Did he see a halo surrounding her beautiful golden locks? Boy, the mind can play tricks on a person.

            She seated herself across from him and he gave Dixie the high sign to bring two more drinks. They arrived and Lily swigged down the whole thing at once and slammed the empty mug on the table with a crude thud. Then she wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at him through crooked, rotten teeth. He grimaced and turned his head away. Yes, the mind can play terrible tricks, indeed.

            That’s when Capt. J. began sucking on the bottle ‘til he swelled up like a toad. His crew found him the next morning and carried him back to his beloved Emma Belle.

POSSUMNECK, Mississippi

© 2012 Danna Shirley

            Here she was in rural Mississippi almost out of gas and didn’t know how to get back to civilization. The sign caught her by surprise and she had to chuckle. Now what kind of place is Possumneck? Should she follow the sign and hope for a service station or make a U-turn and be glad to escape with her life? But what if she got stranded on the side of the road? It was almost dusk and that would be worse. She had seen the movie Deliverance—once! She decided to move forward. Surely the residents of Possumneck bought gas, too.

            The weather was pleasant for late summer and her convertible drive was beautiful. Green grass, tall trees, clear skies. Not at all like the smoggy, cement and steel landscape where she lived. Lilly had decided long ago that her vacations would be away from the city. She would seek out a country setting, rent a car, and just drive. But Possumneck? Well, she’d been pleased and surprised before on these adventures.

            She slowed her pace and just took in the scenery; a field of black cows grazing to her right, ponds dotted here and there with the locals fishing and waving as she drove by. Squirrels and possum; they seemed to be fearless crossing the road. It was very flat country; nothing over the next hill, it was always around the next bend.

And the trees! Oh, the trees were beautiful. Lilly liked visiting the trees most of all. Their appearance could be tall and striking, pine or oak, scrub, or covered in kudzu. Even though she’d heard kudzu was a nuisance and could ruin a landscape or a crop, she found it as beautiful as ivy ornamenting a monastery wall.

            Not too many cars drove by leaving Possumneck but each one that did raised a finger or waved a greeting as they passed. At first she thought, Do I know them? Surely not! Then she realized this was the south, these were country people, friendly, welcoming; utterly refreshing from the cold, calculating, and stony city where she lived.

Around the next bend came her first glimpse of Possumneck. It was only a mile long and yes, there was a gas station, as well as a grocery, a bank, a Feed & Seed, and a donut shop. She pulled in and turned off the ignition. Two barefoot boys in short-pant overalls greeted her chomping on a big wad of Double Bubble.

            “Hey, lady,” one asked, “yer not from ’round here, are ya?”

            Well, she’d heard that one before. “No, I’m just visiting. Do you know where I can get a bite to eat?”

            “Sure, lady,” the other answered. “We gotta Wendy’s,” he said proudly.

            “I was thinking more of a nice sit-down restaurant. Do you have one of those?”

            They both looked puzzled. Maybe they had never eaten in one before.

            “Well, ya can come home with us. We gotta nice sit-down table and mom’s a good cook. She likes havin’ comp'ny.”

            “How sweet but I couldn’t impose on your family time.”

            One of the boys opened the gas door and began pumping. “It’ll be okay—we bring strays home all the time.”

            Lilly smiled and wondered if they’d ever brought home a human stray before. “What are your names?”
            “I’m Lucius, Luke for short” said the boy pumping gas, “and that there’s Hubbard, Hub for short. I’m the oldest,” he said proudly.

            “Yeah,” said Hub. “But I’m not the baby! We gotta baby sister at home.”

            “What’s her name?”

            “She’s Henrietta, but we call her Etta for short—not Henry.”

            With the gas pumped and paid for we headed the car through town. Trusting little souls. I guess life is safer in the country. About a mile later the boys directed me to a left turn on a gravel road through a canopy of trees. I saw nothing until we exited into a plantation setting. The property was like a beautiful postcard; gently rolling pastures filled with cows, a barn, a lake, wildlife everywhere, deer, turkeys. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We pulled up to the front door of a huge, almost resort-like log cabin.

            The boys jumped out and ran inside leaving me to wonder what I should do next. In short order their mother stood on the porch wiping her hands on an apron. “Hello,” she smiled. “Come on in. I’m Mae and you got here just in time for dinner.”

            “I’m Lilly,” I replied. Now I really felt out of place. Everyone was so friendly and I felt like an intruder on this perfect setting. I hesitated until Mae came off the porch and led me inside. The cabin was picture perfect, as well. Rustic high beams, a huge mantel over the fireplace at one end of a large living area, lots of country adornment; quilt wall hangings, afghans thrown over antique rockers, oil paintings, deer heads, mounted fish, comfortable leather couches and recliners. They must entertain a good deal, I thought, to need all of this room.

Then my thoughts gravitated to the kitchen as the smells stirred my senses. Mae led me to a large country table with benches on one side and high-back chairs on the other. I could tell it was very old from the wear and smoothness of serving meals to generations of family and friends. And that’s how I felt, already a friend.

“This must be Etta,” I exclaimed as I stroked the blond head of a little girl in a highchair and sat down next to her. I had been in awe since entering the cabin and had lost the conversation Mae had been streaming at me. I finally focused and answered her. “Yes, I’m just driving around your beautiful country enjoying some leisure time away from my job.”

“Well, I’m glad the boys found you. We love havin’ comp’ny. My brother’s been helping take care of the place. He’ll be here soon. Would you like to help cut up some tomatoes and onions for the salad?”

“I’m not much of a cook,” I offered, “but I can do that.” She placed a big bowl of lettuce in front of me with a cutting board and a knife for the other ingredients. I wasn’t very fast but I was getting the job done when I heard footsteps on the porch. A tall, handsome man entered speaking the beginning of a question.

“Whose car is that out . . .” He stopped abruptly as he spied me at the table.

Mae intervened with introductions. “This is my brother, Al. Al, this is Lilly. She’ll be with us for dinner.”

“Great!” he smiled, and sat down across from me. “Here, let me help you with that.” He picked up a knife and began slicing, never taking his electric blue eyes off of me.

I smiled back. Possumneck, Mississippi . . . what a wide, wonderful place you are. 

Short story for Creative Writing Class, Bartlett Senior Center, Bartlett, TN

HOPEULIKIT, Georgia

© 2012 Danna Shirley

Short story for Creative Writing Class, Bartlett Senior Center, Bartlett, TN

Nicholas and Beatrice were dressed in their finest and arrived in their brand new 1934 Sedan to celebrate. They had driven many miles to dance the night away at the Hopeulikit Hall. For some reason this little establishment had stolen the bright lights and big city of Atlanta and the ‘in’ crowd was moving out to the country to listen and dance to the big bands of the day. Also strange was the fact that the big bands were fighting to book a weekend at the Hopeulikit. 

When they walked into the room, they understood why. It was as elegant and stylish as any New York nightclub. The chandeliers were opulent and set at just the right lighting for a romantic atmosphere of dining and dancing. Tables with fresh flowers circled the main dance area made of beautiful hard wood floors and a half balcony of tables looked down from above. The band platform was at one end of the room where soothing and melodic sounds were already being distributed to the four corners.

This was not like the wild and frenzied clubs of the Roaring 20’s but something new and pleasant. They had been there, done that, and wanted a change of pace. Maturity was setting in with the couple. As they looked around the room, it was apparent that others were seeking the same peace and serenity. Nicholas checked their belongings and they requested a table on the upper floor.

Looking out over the balcony, Bea noticed her friend, Janice, across the room walking toward a table in the corner, but the handsome man sitting there was not her husband. Bea turned her face but not her eyes as she watched the man rise and give Janice a hug and peck.

What to do; what to do. She wished she had not seen this. Should she mention it to Nick? Should she tell him they must leave before Janice saw her? This place was so out-of-the-way she must have thought they would be safe to meet here alone.

Nick lifted his glass to Bea, “To you my darling on our twelfth anniversary. May we enjoy many, many more.”

Bea smiled and clinked her glass with Nick’s. Then a realization gripped her mind. We attended Jim and Janice’s anniversary party just a few months ago, and now here she is with another man.   

Nick was speaking to her but she wasn’t listening. He touched her arm. “Would you like to dance?”

Yes, she wanted to but what if they danced too closely to their table. Bea didn’t want to take any chances to be seen by her. Then Janice would know she had gotten caught.

“Well, Bea?” Nick asked again.

She took his hand and they descended the stairs to the dance floor. She tried to lead him away from that side of the room but he kept spinning and twirling her everywhere. Finally, she was lost in the music and Nick’s arms.  

“Look, there’s someone we know.” Nick began dancing toward their table.

Bea tried to avoid eye contact but could feel her face rising pink. When they reached the corner table and she looked up, there sat Jim with his arm around his wife. The handsome man sat opposite them.

“Nick and Bea, I would like you to meet Janice’s brother, Charles. He is visiting from California and we wanted to show him this new place we found.”

Bea breathed a deep sigh of relief and smiled. “So happy to meet you, Charles. So, very, very happy!”

BUCKSNORT, Tennessee

© 2012 Danna Shirley

Jerusha were a fine country fella. Took care a his wife 'n kids. Took care a his farm 'n crops 'n  livestock. He just plain took good care a everthin’. But when he got a hankerin’ 'n felt real sorry for hisself, he just had ta make thet two mile trek to Buck’s ’cause he had the best shine in the county.

No matter Maribelle gave him the ol’ evil-eye. He’d pay fer thet later he knew. Boy, she were like a hound dog on a hunt 'n could tell when he were restless. She knew what were comin’ 'n didn’t miss a lick in lettin’ him hear 'bout it neither . . . afore and after. Thet was all well 'n good but he could handle Maribelle. Right now he were out the door 'n on his way to Buck’s for a snort. It were just a plain have-to sometime when a man had his fill; when he had ta drown his regrets afore he could get back on track.

Jerusha Jacob Dixon were thirty-five year old 'n been married most half his life. He loved Maribelle 'n she loved him but marriage were marriage. He had good kids, too, boys Ethan 'n Daniel, 'n his precious little Gracie were the apple a his eye. He’d ne'er abuse ’em but still had ta get away from ’em e'er now 'n then.

Now Maribelle were good with the crafts, makin' quilts 'n such. They could count on a few extra pennies from folks traveling through ta the east . . . or the west. She hung them quilts on the porch 'n them city folk were plum amazed at her handiwork. Jerusha were right proud.

Now Buck were a no-account fella but he were good ta get soused with . . . a roarin’ two-fisted drinker 'n if need be, he’d cry in his shine right along with ya. E'er so often he’d say somethin’ weighty that’d make ya feel a bit better’n when ya first come. It were puzzlin’ how he could be so worthless 'n be so handy at the same time. Ta-night Jerusha were hoping Buck would hit the nail on the head fer him.


“Hey, there, ol’ Buck,” Jerusha yelled out afore walkin' inta camp. Ever’body knew better than to surprise Buck; they’d be gettin’ a surprise ’emselves with some buckshot in their behind.

“Thet you, there, Jerusha?” Buck yelled back.

“I come a callin’ fer some shine 'n some words.”

“Then come ahead on.”

Jerusha made his way over ta the well-worn log 'n sat, his elbows on his knees 'n his head hung low. Buck handed him a tin cup of shine 'n waited.

“So, what words ya wantin’ ta hear, there, Jerusha?”

“I want ya ta say my life ain’t been wasted. Thet I got somethin’ to live fer.”

“Somethin’ to live fer? A course ya got somethin’ to live fer! Just look at me. I got no family, no wife nor kids. I live in the woods 'n only get comp’ny when they’s a wantin’ some shine. Nobody loves me, not like that there Maribelle a yor’n. Yer not thinkin’ a doin’ somethin’ stupid, air ya?”

“Justa thinkin’.”

“Well, let me hep ya out. If yer thinkin’ ’bout leavin’, that’s a mighty fine thot. Mighty fine! Yes sir! Ya pack up yer duds 'n move on down the road. I’ll be a goin’ o'er ta comfert yer Maribelle 'n take real good care a her . . . 'n them young’uns, too. Ya don’t have ta worry ’bout nothin’. I kin live right nice in thet there cabin a yor’n 'n other things, too, iffin ya knows what I mean?”

“Now, you just hold on right there, ol’ Buck.” Jerusha stood 'n threw his tin cup on the ground. He had fire in his eyes now, just like his belly. “Yer not touchin’ nothin’ thet’s mine!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, ya just wait 'n see!”

“No, you wait ya ol' scoundrel! I’m a goin’ home 'n yer ne'er gonna see me agin, 'n ya better not e'er come ’round my place, neither!”

“Thet so?”

“Yer darn right thet’s so!” Jerusha stomped off in the dark fussin’ 'n fumin’ thet thet there ol’ shiner would e'er think ’bout touchin’ his Maribelle.

The first mile home give him thinkin’ time ’bout what just took place. By the end a the second mile he were smilin’ 'n almost racin’ ta get home ta his Maribelle. There she stood on the porch 'round them quilts with her hands on her hips just awaitin’ ta light inta him. He took the steps two atta time, grabbed her inta his arms, 'n laid one salacious smack on them beautiful lips. He picked her up 'n carried her inta the house with her holdin’ on fer dear life.

Yep, that’s right. Ol’ Buck had hit the nail right on the head agin.  

FRANTIC

© 2012 by Danna

I was frantic. Susan told me to find some ‘jingle jangles’ for the club meeting. What the heck did she mean by ‘jingle jangles?’ The only thing I could think of were those Mardi Gras beads that people throw off the floats down in New Orleans. Why did we need beads for the club meeting anyway? Were we going to do some arts and crafts?

I hurried down town to my little two block business district and hit the Trash and Treasures. “Hi, Wilma. Do you have any Mardi Gras beads?

“Mardi Gras was last week. I doubt it but you can look around.”

I walked through all the clutter that a good flea market would collect, dust and all, but nothing that jingled or jangled. I walked out their back door, across the shared parking lot to the local grocery, and in through the back door. Everything was strange. I could smell new carpet and paint and . . . hey, where did that wall come from? Something was very wrong.

“Scotty, what’s up with this wall?” I asked a dimly lit room.

A very confused man in a business suit answered, “We’re not open yet. How did you get in here?”

“Through the back door as usual.”

 He stood and ushered me to the front door. “We’ll be open Monday. Come back then.”

 “But who are you?”

 He handed me his business card. It read, Joe Johnson, Atty

“What happened to Scotty?” I asked. He just smiled and shut the door. I heard him lock it behind me.

Now what? I started walking and asked the first person I saw if I could borrow their car to go find some Mardi Gras beads. The club meeting would start at three o’clock and time was running out. I drove downtown Oakland. Where do I begin? Oakland is a vast sea of hills punctuated with tall buildings and very little parking.

Before I took another step I decided I would call Susan and make absolutely sure what she meant by ‘jingle jangles.’ Of course I didn’t have her phone number so I thought I would stop by my old office building and look it up. I parked in one of those parking garages that’s ten stories high and had to walk a few blocks.

Now what? Where was my old office? I peeked in and asked the gal at the front desk, “Where is Visitor Control?”

A nice young . . . very young . . . how old was I now? . . . Ugh . . . answered, “They moved.”

“Where to?”

“You can’t get there from here.”

“What!”

“May I help you?” she f-i-n-a-l-l-y offered.

“Can I borrow your phone book?”

She handed over a very thick, very heavy yellow book and I began flipping through pages. Susan? What was her last name again? Hammond? No. Harmon? No. Hamner? Yes, that’s it. Hamner! I found the H’s. The print was so small. I must get new glasses soon, I thought.

H-a, H-a-c, H-a-i . . . “WHAT?” I blurted out. “Continued in next book . . .” 

I looked up and little miss office efficiency was staring at me. I wanted to throw the book at her! I found my composure, though, and smiled. “Sorry, I just realized they won’t have her cell phone listed in here anyway.”

Now what? I looked at my watch. It was already three-thirty. I might as well go home. I turned around in a dark hallway and panic gripped me. Where did I park?  I don’t remember where I parked!!!

Did I come up this hallway from that direction? Or maybe it was down that way? Think, Danna . . . think! I walked through the automatic doors. What was this street? Now was I on the south side or the north side of the building? South! So I must have parked on the north side? I walked down the block and turned the corner. It was all uphill. Did I walk downhill from the parking garage? Oh, God, help me. I can’t remember. Everything was so familiar when I arrived and now it was a foggy mess.

Alright. I’ll start walking. Something will look familiar soon. Oh, my hips hurt. I should have stayed in better shape.

A hoard of teenagers in school uniforms with backpacks rushed by me. I stopped one of the girls and asked, “Where did I park?”

She gave me this curious but sympathetic look. “What does it look like?”

“What does what look like?”

“Your car. What kind of car do you have?”

“I don’t remember. It was borrowed.” A rush of heat and adrenalin went through me. I was FRANTIC!

School children continued to flow down the hill as I trudged upward. It was getting dark. Where are those ‘jingle jangles’ anyway? I’ve lost my purse. Where are those car keys?

I heard something. Petey was shaking himself awake and his collar was jingling jangling. I turned over to pet his soft, curly, white hair.

It was six-thirty in the morning. Time to get up and get ready for Writing Class.

Sidenote:

1. We had just discussed Mardi Gras in writing class two weeks earlier, hence the beads.
2. Scott’s family owned a grocery store in MS when we lived there and my daughter dated him a few times.
3. Across the parking lot from the grocery was a little junk shop.
4. I don’t know how I got from MS to Oakland, CA but I lived there when I first married in 1968.
5. My first job was in Visitor Control in the Security Division of the Atomic Energy Commission (now the Dept of Energy) in Berkeley, CA.
6. I went to school with Susan from kindergarten through high school. 
7. My granddaughter wears a uniform to school every day and hates it.
8. Petey sleeps in his little bed on top of my bed every night. When he wakes, he stretches and shakes his body and his ID jingles against his collar.

DREAMS ARE STRANGE, AREN'T THEY?
SO TRUE!