NEWNESS OF LIFE

by Danna Shirley

            I received a call from my niece, Rhonda, this week. I could hear the excitement in her voice as she related to me her first visit to church in thirty-four years. She had not attended since she was six years old and walking into the “unknown” can be pretty frightening. As she described the service, she must have seemed like that little girl again, looking around and marveling at the wonder of it all.

            As I listened, it took me back to my own experience as a visitor in this “newness of life.” I was thirty-two years old when I walked back into a church for the first time since my teens. It wasn’t the same experience that I remembered but a different denomination with a different style of worship and beliefs. It was 1980 and as I looked around the huge sanctuary, I also felt small and insignificant. When the service began, I know my eyes must have been as big as saucers as I observed the people lost in the presence of God, totally oblivious to anyone else around them. It didn’t take me long to become very comfortable in those surroundings as I also surrendered myself to God.

            Rhonda told me she understood nothing in the sermon but when the preacher gave the altar call, she expected him to say, “Now Rhonda, come on up here and receive Jesus as your Savior.” I asked her if she went up but she exclaimed, “He didn’t call my name!” I told her that she didn’t have to walk the aisle and shake the preacher’s hand to become a Christian as is often misunderstood. She could accept Jesus right there on the phone with me. She chose to wait. There is an urgency that the Holy Spirit makes known to us when the time is NOW. I prayed that Rhonda would indeed make that decision soon.   

            The next day I perused the shelves at the Christian book store looking for a book that would help Rhonda get started on a sure footing as a new creation in Christ Jesus. I bought several booklets and a devotional for new believers. I read each one for myself before mailing them on to her. It was a refreshing experience to look at the materials through eyes as a new Christian. Although I’m 25 years old in the Lord now, sometimes it’s just good to begin from the beginning . . . and return to your First Love . . . afresh and anew!

MY WEDDING DAY

by Danna Shirley

            Ronald Kline Shirley was one of those shy, intelligent, hands-on kinds of guy.  He was a high school dropout not because he couldn’t cut it but because school didn’t challenge him enough to keep his interest.  He had places to go and things to do; Alabama wasn’t the place and high school wasn’t the thing!  He received his GED with ease and worked for a hotel parking cars at night while attending trade school during the day; he rested somewhere in between.  With an education under his belt, he joined the Navy to see the world.  At age 18 he was the only ET (Electronics Technician) on his first ship, the USS Merrick.  If he had to tell the captain that some particular electronics repair couldn’t be done, on Ron’s word the captain would pull into port to get it done.

            At the same time, I was working for the Atomic Energy Commission and shared an apartment in San Pablo, California with Linda Autrey.  Ron’s ship came into dry dock for three months and he rented an apartment with five other sailors across from us, although there could be any number of guys living there at any given time. 

A couple of the sailors asked Linda and me if we would fix them a home-cooked meal if they bought the food. We fixed fried chicken with all the trimmings. After that we dated a few of them but after I met Ron, we dated each other exclusively.  Before the ship was to leave for Ron’s third tour in Viet Nam, he proposed saying that he wanted to look across the kitchen table at me every day for the rest of his life.  So what else could I do? I waited for him!

            It happened like this . . . when the ship returned to southern California after an eight-month deployment Ron got leave and hitchhiked to the Bay Area to see me.  We knew we were going to marry eventually but no plans had been made.  We had not even discussed when, where, what, or how; we only knew who.  When he arrived at my door and asked me to go to Alabama to meet his parents, I agreed and was ready to leave immediately.  He said, however, they wouldn’t understand if we traveled across country before marriage (much different than today’s couples), so we were Reno bound within hours.

            Ron got a buddy off the ship, George Fedderke, to be his witness.  Unfortunately, my best friend Cathy couldn’t take off work.  Leaving late on a Wednesday afternoon, we drove over Donner Pass through the northern Sierra Nevada Mountains.  At one point the weather was such that we had to purchase chains. Ron lay in the snow wearing only a sweater to put them on the tires.

            I was dressed in a two-piece cream colored suit (it was hard to find white in December), which my mom and I had bought in anticipation of my getting married soon.  If she’d only known I had planned to wear it to Reno, I’m sure she never would have bought it for me.  I was her third daughter to elope, even after promising that I would not follow in my sister’s footsteps. 

            We arrived in the wee hours of Thursday morning and waited for City Hall to open so we could get our wedding license.  Our next stop was a jewelry store for wedding bands and our final stop was Chapel of the Bells.  We said our vows, and with the marriage certificate signed and in hand, we drove back to the Bay Area.  It was December 19, 1968. 

            We spent one night together before Ron returned to San Diego and I to work with a plea to my boss to take two weeks off—at Christmastime—to meet Ron’s parents.  My supervisor in Visitor Control, Florence Morrison, already had a trip to Hawaii planned so my next boss up, Robert M. Geffel, relinquished his personal secretary to move over to our department and handle our work load with only two days training.  

            Friday night my parents put me on a plane to meet Ron in San Diego.  It was my very first plane ride…my “first” of a lifetime of “firsts” as Ron’s wife.  I remember crying the whole flight down.  Why?  I guess because I knew this was the beginning of leaving my parents, my safety net, my comfort zone and the only life I had ever known.  I also had the thought, “MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE???”

            Thinking about it now, I know we were very young, 20½ and almost 22, but I would elope with Ron all over again.  For thirty-four years I was just as happily married as anyone who ever had a church wedding; probably more so...

MY NIGHTLY ROUTINE

by Danna Shirley

            Does an examination of one’s bedside table reveal the type of person they are or just their daily . . . or nightly needs? 

            Of course there is my lamp, telephone, and glow-in-the-dark clock. A wicker holder is at my fingertips for my pens and pencils, a screwdriver, a lint brush, a pair of scissors, a ruler, and a magnifying glass. Beside that is a box of Kleenex for all things from the sniffles to dusting my tabletop when necessary.

            I also have my daily container of pills for a two-week stretch and my nightly pill bottles as well. On the floor beside my nightstand is a big plastic container holding my entire assortment of pill bottles that I keep in reserve until its time to fill my two-week pill box. A small hand towel lies on the corner of the nightstand to absorb the condensation from my nightly glass of water, which has been brought in from the kitchen to take my nighttime pills.

            The top drawer holds my “bedroom office” supplies:  a stapler, scotch tape, more pills that are only needed occasionally, throat lozenges, and scratch paper for writing down those thoughts and dreams that I don’t want to lose in the middle of the night.  

            In the bottom drawer are winter gloves, hats, scarves, a fanny pack, and a blood pressure machine to monitor my ups and downs.

            On the bed beside me is Petey, my Teacup Poodle, and the only male who sleeps with me. Between us are three remotes: one for the television, one for the DVD/VCR player, and one for my Tempur Pedic bed which raises and lowers the head and the foot and turns on the massage for my back and legs. Next to all of the controls are two ace bandages for wrapping my hands so they won’t fall asleep on me in the night.  On the floor next to the bed is my CPAP machine that goes over my head and up my nose so I can sleep without snoring.

            After the usual face, teeth, floss routine, I turn off the lamp and listen to the droning of the television, which I’ve been going to sleep to for thirty years. Sometime in the night I wake up to an infomercial praising their great product. I hit the ‘off’ button and hopefully go back to sleep. 

            Petey is now my alarm clock. He wakes me anytime between 5:30 and 7:00 a.m. Up we get and off to the back door where he scoots out and under the deck and appears back in a flash for his breakfast. Sometimes I go back to bed but usually when I’m awake, I’m awake, and no amount of lying in bed will give me any more rest.

            All in all, my routine can be a pretty scary thing.  How about yours?

(October 2008)

Addendum:

I have since had carpal tunnel surgery on both my wrists so I no longer sleep with my hands wrapped. Thank you Dr. Jay Saenz of Tabor Orthopedics, Bartlett, TN.

(March and December 2011)

MERRY CHRISTMAS vs. happy holidays

by Danna Shirley

What is all the controversy about? If someone tells me Happy Holidays, I respond with Merry Christmas. Its semantics—potato, potato; tomato, tomato. I am not offended with Happy Holidays and none should be offended with my Merry Christmas. We live in America, sought out and settled for religious freedom. Other religions have the freedom to exist in America because America gave it to them but JESUS CHRIST WAS HERE FIRST! So MERRY CHRISTMAS! Let freedom ring, or is it reign.

MY FIREMEN

by Danna Shirley

I was the “girl Friday” at the Ocean Springs Fire Department (MS) and was just as excited when the tone would sound as any firefighter that responded to the call. I had been a secretary all of my adult years but the fire department was not like any “office” job I had ever held. Everything was new and different; everything was on a daily, weekly, monthly, or yearly schedule and most had the potential of life or death. 

I considered myself an essential part of the workings of the department because, among my office duties, I scheduled ladder testing, hydrant flow testing, annual pumper testing, S.C.B.A. testing, turnout gear inspections, and anything else that might deal with a safety issue—for the men and the public. If any of these failed it could be detrimental to the firefighter or to the extinguishment of the fire they were fighting. 

Since I was the first woman in the department, never mind that I was in the office and not pulling hose, it took t-i-m-e for the crews to accept me, especially knowing that I was within ear shot of their conversations. I was told later that they had been informed (warned) to watch their language.

Most of them I won over pretty quickly but there were a few that were very reserved around me. One captain in particular was down right rough, gruff, and gave me a cold chill whenever I invaded his domain, which I had to do to get to the restroom. I dreaded having to approach him to discuss department business. Sometimes I would ask my chief to relay a message if I knew he was going into the dayroom. One day, after asking this favor one more time, my Fire Chief said, “You know you’re going to have to deal with this eventually, you might as well work it out now before it gets any worse.”     

The opportunity presented itself when the captain was standing outside my door going through some papers. I asked if he could come in and talk with me. Over the course of this cool conversation I discovered that he misunderstood a comment I had made about some of the firefighter’s equipment. I explained what I had meant and apologized that it had put us at odds.  It seemed to satisfy him and things began to warm up immediately, as I would make my way down the hall thereafter. I knew I had arrived when this shift played a practical joke on me. My last holdout in the department was a Firefighter named David. When he called me by my first name, instead of her, I knew I had finally been accepted by all.

Two events stand out in my mind. The first was a controlled burn that got out of control. The local wildlife preserve was burning off underbrush at the sparse end of town but unexpected winds had picked up and the fire was coming our way. At the instruction of the Fire Chief I called in our off-duty firemen. When one of them came back to Central station to get the reserve pumper, he invited me to come along. He knew he wasn’t going to be driving into the thick of things but would locate along the perimeter and wait with the reserve water tank. I could see off in the distance the black smoke hanging in the sky. I knew there were a few homes in that area and I prayed for their safety. Nothing was lost but trees and underbrush, and whatever animals that could not escape. 

The second was very emotional for me. The tone had sounded just prior to my getting off work one day so I decided to go by the scene and watch my guys at work. It turned out to be an exploded carburetor which caught a shed on fire located close to a house. The victim was severely burned on his face and hands. I hadn’t expected to see someone injured. I thought it was just a shed fire. After that I wasn’t so quick to go to any scene unless I was called upon to take something that was needed.

I understand now why the adrenaline flows when the tone goes off. Firefighters never know what situation they will face or if they will need to attempt a search and rescue. They place themselves in harms way to take victims out of harms way. 

It is funny how a job can begin as just a job, a paycheck and benefits, but very quickly it becomes a lifelong love. Even though I am no longer working with my firemen due to relocating in another state, I still keep in touch with them. They are very special to me . . . some as brothers, some as sons, all as family.