Tuesday, December 12, 2017

WHAT DID WE DO BEFORE . . .

Writing assignment...fill in the blank...
by Danna Shirley

In trying to answer this question, I was thinking about all of our modern conveniences and what our ancestors did before they were invented, like . . .
·     planes, trains, and automobiles
·     telephones, cell phones, and the internet
·     electric lights, central heat and air
·     washers, dryers, and refrigerators
·     and the one I always think of . . . flushing toilets and toilet paper. 😊

Image result for clipart of jesus akiane kramarikFinally, what did we do before our independence from England, and liberty and justice for all?

I was standing in church on Sunday morning worshipping God when He suddenly brought me the right answer to the right question . . .
WHAT DID I DO BEFORE . . . JESUS?

I just lived my life in sweet abandon. I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, I wasn’t promiscuous, but I also wasn’t aware of my own sin, my own lost soul, or my destination when I died.

My wake-up call came in 1980 when the Holy Spirit wooed me into the arms of my Savior and I have been resting there ever since. 

Now, the question is, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITHOUT JESUS?


Tuesday, December 5, 2017

DRESSED TO DIE FOR

by Danna Shirley
Writing assignment to use the following words in a story:
Fecund, Euphoria, Sanitize, Destiny, Cemetery

Having a fecund personality, I love attending social events and “dressing to kill” so to speak. The invitation to attend the Christmas Ball prompted shopping for a new dress, shoes, and purse. At Neiman Marcus, Angela greeted me with fawning and flattery. Just the way I like it. She guided me to my usual dressing room and surrounded me with many colors of taffeta, velvet, silk, chiffon, satin, and sequined dresses. Trying on these lovely gowns sent me into euphoria that swept across my memory of past balls and proms.
Etiquette prompted this shopping spree for I cannot wear a gown already seen by the public through photographs in newspaper and magazine articles. It just wouldn’t do. I cannot sanitize my appearance, I must flaunt it. I need to be admired and the envy of every female there while also provoking jealousy of every man who cannot be with me.
Sleeveless Sequined Silk Sweetheart Gown, RedI selected a beautiful Valentino design from Italy; sleeveless, fully sequined, silk, with a sweetheart neckline and ruffled shoulder straps. Red, of course, for Christmas, and just under $20,000, a real bargain by any standard.
Next was the salon for the full treatment; massage and facial, a salt glow, and mani-pedi. The final touch was the upsweep hairdo. The day’s activities carried me through to the evening when I dressed and donned my diamond necklace and earrings. As I looked in the mirror, my inner voice announced, “I am exquisite!” I eagerly looked forward to enter the ballroom and allow my own grace and elegance to outshine everyone else.
Giles brought the Jag around and I whisked off like Cinderella to the ball to find my Prince Charming. I am his destiny and he is mine.
I know this road like the back of my hand but in my anticipation to arrive, I didn’t notice my speed had increased around the curves and through the hills. I was singing and daydreaming of my entrance when I suddenly hit some loose gravel and began to swerve uncontrollably.
My life flashed before my eyes along with instant regrets for all of my pettiness and pride, my envy and gossipy spitefulness. How quickly these thoughts magnified and tortured me. If I live through this, I thought, I will make things right. I will be a better person.
The car finally stopped on the edge of a steep hill and I was safe. I let out a deep sigh while all the promises I had just made to myself quickly vanished as soon as they had come. I was again the envy of all at the ball.

“Didn’t she look exquisite in that stunning Valentino gown,” Sheila commented.  
“Such a shame,” added Amanda. “And to think she was just sitting there in her car when she was pushed over the cliff by that drunk driver.”  
The two friends left the cemetery arm in arm wiping the tears from their eyes.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Christmas 2017...

Image result for silhouette of baby JesusIt is so easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season and forget why we are truly celebrating. It’s not about the Christmas cards and family pictures, it’s not about the parties and formals, it’s not about the gifts and toys, and it especially is not about Santa Claus.
            The world would want us to believe all of these things are Christmas in order to keep our eyes off of the one true Christmas Gift—Jesus Christ! He came to be born for one purpose…to die for our sins. The star above His baby’s head is overshadowed by the cross that looms in His future. A cross He willingly placed Himself on for us, so that we could be forgiven and have a future with Him in heaven.
            Yes, enjoy your family and friends, the parties and gifts, but please don’t forget why we celebrate this season and remember that He died for each and every one of us…so think about giving back to someone in need just as He gave Himself for you. 
            Have a wonderful Christmas and a bright and happy 2018…   

Thursday, October 26, 2017

My Soapbox

by Danna Shirley
I recently realized I had to quit watching commentary news (from the left and the right) when my heart got so anxious and on edge from all the over-talk so that I couldn't hear anything anyone was saying due to all the interruptions, all the criticisms, the snippets of dialogue out of context, the commentaries and opinions from self-proclaimed know-it-alls. They droned on and on and on about the same thing for days until they grabbed onto the next aberrant subject to serve up on our plate for us to digest...until we experience heartburn beyond belief. 
​      ​Watching these braggarts give commentary (not news) can be destructive albeit addictive...like rubbernecking a traffic accident to get a glimpse of some gruesome detail. None of it is positive or brings about anything productive for our country. It just keeps the pot stirred up on both sides with ugliness and hate and discontent and possibly leads to more violence and more fears of racism. There are never any solutions, just more and more problems. 
      I'm thankful I saw what it was doing to me (personally) and I broke away from watching it weeks ago. I don't get anxious or upset anymore to hear the few reports that I do watch. I'm fasting the "drive-by news" and it's refreshing! 
      The peace of God now guards my heart and mind in Christ Jesus. He is in control and I don't have to know about the latest scandal.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the the peace of God which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Phil 4:6-7)

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Happy Fall Y'all fm The Smith Clinic

The Smith Clinic Newsletter, Cordova, TN

Fall is in the air! Faint, cool breezes croon through the trees, while crisp autumn air unearths an enthusiasm that seems to bring out the best in us. Just like earthly seasons, God also brings spiritual seasons into our lives. The Bible even references changes and new beginnings as seasons, symbolizing is perfect timing in the changes He makes in our lives.  

As Fall brings about shorter days, falling temperatures, and falling leaves, we also experience "Fall" in our spiritual lives. In the "falling away" of things in our lives like children leaving home, moving to a new place, or a decline in health, we must remember that it is all in preparation for new things God is bringing. Even Elijah went through such a season after his heated "summer" dealing with Ahab, Jezebel and the prophets of Baal.  After such a great victory for God, Elijah ran into the wilderness filled with fear and doubting God. He experienced a season of coolness and falling away, yet God was consistently faithful.

A beautiful tree full of beautiful green foliage can offer shelter, nourishment and shade, but only temporarily. It will eventually turn brilliant hues of crimson, gold, red and orange, offering us an amazing sight to behold - the brushstroke of genius only God can create. Those leaves will ultimately fall, leaving that beautiful tree vulnerable as it tries to survive the Winter. The tree must go through the harshest of seasons (Winter), in order to begin a new life once again, with budding blossoms fragrant and beautiful.  

As we enjoy Fall and all that it offers, may it remind us to usher in each new season of our spiritual lives with gratitude, trusting God with each unpredictable new step. We may never fully understand what God's intentions are for us, but we can rest knowing that, "For everything there is a season and a time for ever purpose under heaven."  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

INHERITANCE

by Danna Shirley
Writing assignment: Use the following words in a story:
 Aghast     Stricken     Fearful     Danger     Risk     Unsure     Panic     Afraid
I didn’t remembered meeting or even hearing of a Great-Aunt Opal on my mom’s side of the family, until I was notified that she had left me an inheritance. And now I had to travel to the boonies in south Alabama to claim the prize.  
As I drove through the small town of Cranson, I looked for the side-street and almost missed the turn due to the foliage over the rusting sign. The road was overgrown with brush and covered in weeds that scraped against the undercarriage of my car. I was stricken with fear as I crept slowly through the thicket until I reached a broken-down fence that surrounded a sagging porch and a drooping roof. The house sat back in a nest of trees giving it a ghastly appearance and a mist of gloom and doom. 
Related imageI looked at the old place with pity. Time and weather had done its job. My heart sank. “Now what am I supposed to do with, with—this thing?” I moaned out loud, disappointed that it wasn’t at all what I had hoped. The weeds and briers scratched my legs as I approached the front porch. I tried each board carefully, unsure of the rotten wood beneath my feet until I made it to the door. A wave of gratitude swept over me knowing I had risked danger and survived. I opened the door and entered a dusty and dank room. The downstairs seemed to have been untouched by human hands for several months. A musty smell attacked my nostrils and my nose crinkled at the unpleasant odor. I made my way across the living room and up the stairs. There was a bathroom to the right and a small bedroom on the left. I continued down the hall to find two more bedrooms, one held a twin bed and an old four-drawer dresser. The other was piled high with boxes, bags, furniture covered with sheets, and pictures hanging on the walls. This room would be fun to investigate.
As I passed back by the bathroom, a wave of a memory suddenly came to me. This hallway looked familiar and so did the bathroom. The claw foot tub was tickling my memory bank as I tried desperately to hold onto the vision and then it came to me. I had once taken a bath in this tub; had played in the water with plastic dishes and squirt bottles and rubber duckies. A woman had poured a glass of warm water over my head to rinse the shampoo from my baby-fine hair. I had pretended to be in a fort with my eyes barely peering over the edge. A lady knelt beside the tub wearing an apron with blue flowers on it. My mind’s eye could not go above the apron. There was no face above the blue flowers.
            “Hey?” said a angry male voice behind me.
I panicked and drew in unexpected air that caught my breath away. I gasped and choked.
“You startled me,” I replied, a little afraid as I turned around to see this stranger. It was an old man with a cane, bent over from years of laborious work. He seemed to have the same haze of doom surrounding him. “Who are you?” I asked annoyed.
            Ever so slowly he replied, “I’m the caretaker of this property and you aren’t welcome here!”
“Well, I’m here whether you like it or not,” I replied miffed at his pronouncement. “I now own this place and if you’re the caretaker, you haven’t been doing a very good job.”
He turned without a word and descended the stairs slowly as if he might fall forward with every step. I followed and when I reached the bottom, he was gone. Just gone! How could that be? He was not agile in the least. I heard no footsteps, not even a cane softly striking the floor. To the right was that musty living room still intact; to the left was an opening with darkness beyond. I went to the threshold and groped inside for a light switch. There was none. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a plain box room with no windows or doors. No little old man.
Suddenly I heard a cane softly striking the floor behind me. I turned to see the little man lift the cane and push me into the dark room. I fell, and fell, and kept falling. I vowed I would give up this house and all my inheritance just to escape descending into this darkness. The little man said I wasn’t welcome here and now I agreed wholeheartedly. Good bye, Alabama. It’s all yours!
Then I woke up!

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

The After Shock...of Loss

by Danna Shirley
This is a story of loss (house fire) but also a story of being found (free). In this day and age, maybe in any day and age, there is a desire to keep up with the Jones’s or even surpass the Jones’s in material wealth and possessions.

Then there comes a time of putting material things into perspective and examining just what is important in life and what is not. What remains after you’ve been able to let go and give it up? When your possessions don’t own or possess you anymore and you are free? It is right to hold the memories in your heart and the joy you had living those memories.
                                                  
And what remains is looking to your new normal instead of behind at the loss. To find yourself in a new chapter of life! Now your focus can be inward instead of outward. On the spiritual instead of the material. Now you can be found and fall into God’s waiting, loving arms.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
Inline image 2
BEFORE and AFTER photos 
of my sister, Paula's, home in Napa, CA, October 9, 2017
Inline image 1


Saturday, September 23, 2017

I AM JANE

The assignment was to write about a person in history that I would like to go back in time to meet. I chose Jane Austen because, as a writer myself, and seeing her works come to life through film, I would love to have known her personally. My research was done through the following website: https://janeausten.org/jane-austen-biobraphy.asp

Image result for picture of jane austenI AM JANE
by Danna Shirley
I love to read. Every book I’ve read, every sentence that has passed across my mind, I find myself rewriting in a better and more descriptive way. Plots stir in my thoughts and cry to be emblazoned on paper. Being a woman born in the eighteenth century does not deter me from the desire of my heart and that is to write.
Father’s love of learning and teaching filled our home with an extensive library. He encouraged me to pursue my creative side and supplied paper and writing tools. Reading spilled into my heart and writing overflowed the banks of my soul. With my brothers and one sister, Cassandra, the eight of us loved acting out existing plays and improvisations. I admit that’s when the heartthrob of writing really took root. I filled notebook after notebook with stories and poems. I realized then I had a novel inside me begging to be born. My early attempts were abandoned until I completed a work entitled Elinor and Marianne, which later became Sense and Sensibility
Not yet twenty, I found love circling in my heart for Tom Lefroy, a neighbor’s nephew, but his family planned his life without me and kept us apart. Alas, if I cannot have my own romance, then I shall surely write one for myself. And that’s just what I did. My first draft of Pride and Prejudice was completed in 1799.
Shortly thereafter my father retired and moved us from the only home I’d ever known. I was twenty-seven and considered a spinster, but here in Bath, I became reacquainted with a childhood friend. Mr. Harris Bigg-Wither, considering the practicality of his situation, proposed; and I, considering the sensibility of my situation, agreed to marry him. He was to inherit a sizable amount of real estate and was well off. His one negative, in my estimation, was my total indifference to him and lack of love or even fond affection. I contemplated the convenience of being provided for; however, within one day’s time, I revoked my acceptance. I could not, in good conscience, marry for money, prestige, or security but only for love.
Sadly, love was not knocking on my door and in 1805 we lost father very unexpectedly. My heart for writing had stilled and although my brothers had made good lives for themselves, mother, Cassandra, and I were left constantly moving from place to place renting out a portion of our home for income. My precious brother, Edward, gathered us under his roof and in 1809 we moved into a little cottage near him.
With my life now fully settled into a sense of security and sanctuary, my heart began to stir again bringing words and stories to the forefront. I quickly proceeded to revise previous attempts, one, of which, had been submitted for publication in 1794. Lady Susan was never published and when I approached the publisher to retrieve the copyright, he demanded I return the ten pounds which he had originally paid. Even though I was rejuvenated in my personal life, so to speak, I did not have the funds, and so Lady Susan remained idle sitting on the shelf of the shrewd Mr. Crosby.
Disappointment did not deter me and writings poured forth. My faithful brother, Henry, doubled as my literary agent and approached another London publisher, Thomas Egerton, with the manuscript for Sense and Sensibility. His agreement to publish brought my work to the public with favorable reviews and in 1811 financial success was finally brought back to my family.
Egerton, having joined with my success, published my second work of Pride and Prejudice in 1813. It was an instant success with the public and critics alike. A second printing was ordered within the year.
Mansfield Park quickly followed in 1814. Although it was received with lukewarm reviews by the critics, my faithful followers were supportive and another monetary success was received. With this fresh enthusiasm, I moved from Mr. Egerton’s favor to a more well-known publisher, John Murray, and Emma was published in 1815.
Unfortunately, at this time, the lost affluence of my brothers, Edward, James, and Frank left the family in a precarious financial position. I was determined, now, more than ever, to continue in the pursuit of my writing for its success may hinge on supporting the whole family. Precious Henry purchased the copyright for Lady Susan from Mr. Crosby in hopes of bringing it to final publication and further income.
With my writing ever before me, I had neglected my health and in early 1816 I noticed a decline in my strength and resolve. I was determined, however, to complete my work on The Elliots, which would later become Persuasion. By April of 1817 my energy was greatly exhausted and I was confined to bed. In May I was escorted to Winchester to seek medical treatment and on July 18th, 1817 I passed on taking my unfinished works with me. I was buried at Winchester Cathedral at age forty-one.
My precious siblings, Henry and Cassandra, took on the task of seeing my final completed works published. Henry also revealed to the world for the first time that I, Jane Austen, was the author of:
 Sense and Sensibility (1811)  
Pride and Prejudice (1813)  
Mansfield Park (1814)  
Emma (1815)  
Northanger Abbey (1818, posthumous)  
Persuasion (1818, posthumous)   
Lady Susan (1871, posthumous) 

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

The Lost Art of Etiquette

by Danna Shirley
Etiquette used to be taught in the home and was expected to be practiced in public. It was the proper way to behave and respond in any given situation. Sadly, etiquette has gone by the wayside and died there. My heart is saddened by how lax and lethargic we’ve become, not only as a society, but as individuals.  

The Lost Art of Parental Unity
When the parents were the head of the home, the children knew what was expected of them and knew who was in charge…and it wasn’t them. The parents taught lessons of integrity and honesty, morality and trustworthiness. Examples of television families were Father Knows Best and Make Room For Daddy, later it was Happy Days and Home Improvement. Still, the parents were respected and valued as individuals.
When did everything go topsy-turvey and programming made the children in charge and the parents portrayed as childish, ignorant, and oblivious as to what was happening in their own home. Hollywood thought they were making situation comedies but they changed a whole generation’s lifestyle and culture for the worse and for the detriment of the family today.

The Lost Art of Opening the Door
When my daughter was in college in MS, she dated a young man who would open her car door. While visiting CA, she had a date with one of her cousin’s friends. He got into the driver’s seat while she remained outside until he noticed she was waiting for him to come around and open her door. She was accustomed to being treated with respect and I, for one, was very proud that she commanded it. I wonder if that impressed the young man and helped him to change his ways. I read a comment on the web that said, Chivalry is dead. Feminism killed it. No charges were filed. Femininity is also dead. Ironically, feminism also killed it.

The Lost Art of Writing Thank-you Notes
I grew up sending thank you notes for even the smallest gift received. I taught my children to send them and my daughter is doing the same with my granddaughters. I have kept a binder of all their little thank you notes…sweet and precious. It shows respect to the giver and identifies that the gift was received and appreciated. Now, when I give a gift and don’t receive even the thought of recognition, it prompts me to never give another in the future.

The Lost Art of R.S.V.P. and Arriving on Time
As the hostess of a party, I would definitely want to know how many guests to expect in order to have enough refreshments for everyone. I would also be disappointed waiting for late arrivals before serving my guests. On the opposite side of the question, I hate to be late to a function unless I’ve had an emergency; then I would call with my apologies, easily done today with cell phones. Practice the Golden Rule.

The Lost Art of the Dinner Hour
Related imageI grew up in a household where the table was set every night with a tablecloth, plates, glasses, napkins, knives, forks, spoons, and everyone came to the table to eat and discuss the day’s events. Eventually everything changed when television was brought into our lives. Now we’ve become accustomed to eating in front of the “idiot box” or with social media at our fingertips. Re-instituting the dinner hour and eating around the table without any electronics would be a plus to bring the family back into unity and harmony.
The Lost Art of Letter Writing
Where have all the letters gone? No one writes longhand anymore. Even cursive has gone by the wayside and only printing is being taught in school. A hand-written letter has become valuable if only to preserve one’s own handwriting. Scientific research has formed a fascinating picture of exactly how old-fashioned writing can benefit our brains. 
1. You learn faster and read more quickly when you learn to write by hand.
2. You recall more and understand more deeply if you opt for a pen over a laptop.
3. You're more creative and there’s a lot less second-guessing while writing longhand.
4. Your brain will stay sharp and handwriting is a good cognitive exercise for those who are aging.
5. You'll be less distracted; writing can help calm brains made jittery by constant connectivity.

The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret
Norman Rockwell Chain of Gossip 32-Inch x 32-Inch Canvas Wall ArtGossip is a killer. It can kill reputations, relationships, self-esteem, even someone’s future. Once a person has been betrayed, it is hard to regain and restore that trust again. Being vulnerable to share one’s life is frightening and if you’ve been entrusted with a personal and emotional incident, use great wisdom and integrity in keeping that confidence. It may be your turn the next time. Practice the Golden Rule.

The Lost Art of Courtesy
Rules of kindness, courtesy, and civility always apply in all situations, even on the internet and especially in social media. Be positive. Just because you are behind a screen and seem to be anonymous and invisible does not mean you can be sarcastic and offensive. Practice the Golden Rule.
 
The Lost Art of Good Manners / Respect
1.   Stand to show respect when someone enters or leaves your home. 
2.   Be aware of others' space. Don’t cut someone off when walking in a crowd or driving in a car.
3.   Show respect to your elders. Experience leads to wisdom and wisdom should be respected.
4.   Acknowledge others entering and exiting your home. Greet them, shake hands or give a hug; don’t ignore anyone because you’re occupied on social media or watching television.
5.   Learn and remember people's names. Use it right away and pronounce it correctly.
6.   Don’t be the center of attention all the time. Give the floor to others.
7.   Politely change the subject in conversation. Learn how to interject a new topic.
8.   Don't point or stare at people. Practice the Golden Rule.
9.   Be considerate and kind to people with disabilities. Put yourself in their shoes.
10. Be a good guest. Fit into your host’s household by accepting what they offer (food, drink, etc.)
The Golden Rule was given by Jesus of Nazareth:
"So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you . . ." (Mt 7:12) 

Sunday, September 10, 2017

Ben Stein's Commentary on America

I can’t find any confirmation that this was written and recited by Ben Stein on CBS Sunday Morning, but it was sent to me as being his commentary. Whoever may have written it has great insight of the condition of America today.

My confession:
I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from, that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship celebrities and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where these celebrities came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of recent events--terrorist attacks, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK. Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school.
      
The Bible says thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave, because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.
     
Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves. Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.'

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.
Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says. 
Funny how you can send ‘jokes’ through e-mail and they spread like wildfire, but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.  
Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar, and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace. 
Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us. 
Are you laughing yet? 

Don’t sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in, do something in your own little part of it.  

My Best Regards, Honestly and Respectfully, Ben Stein

Thursday, September 7, 2017

ARCHAEOLOGY

by Danna Shirley
Writing assignment: choose an "ology"...
Although archeology is the study of the culture of ancient humans, it seems to also be akin to a vintage antique shop. I have considered myself an archeologist when I visit my sister, Paula, in Napa, CA. She is the quintessential archeologist of the family. Beginning at a very early age she took interest in family heirlooms and their history. She began collecting “collections” and for every birthday and Christmas she was given a book on some vintage item . . . clothing, glassware, jewelry, furniture; she scoured them like any archeologist at an ancient dig.

She has always been the “go-to” gal with questions from her family and friends on garage sale finds, estate sales, junk shops. When I’ve been with her on a “dig,” my first gravitational pull is toward the books. If I find something interesting and decide to buy it, she might say, “That’s too much; it’s not worth it.” In my estimation, if I want this book, I’ll pay the $2! She looks for the bargain to resell, having established zones in many antique shop corners. She even found a silver ring in a cigar box full of buttons, screws, nuts/bolts, etc. for only $3 at a yard sale.   

On one of my visits, I took the liberty of snapping several pictures of her vast collections and she told me that wasn’t all of them. I decided I wouldn’t “dig” around in her 5,000-square foot home, her seven double-car garages, or her two attics to uncover any more. Here’s what I found:
Strawberry glassware         Crocheted hot pads              Music boxes                 Dice
Rolling pins                        Monkeys                                Lenox China                Ivy
Roosters                              Milk glass                             Jewelry boxes              Marbles
Measuring cups                  Perfume bottles                     Cowboy boots             Cows
Weeping gold                      Buttons                                  Clothing labels            etc.

Besides these generic collections, she has taken into custody many of our family heirlooms for safekeeping, not that they would ever wind up in a yard sale or junk shop. These are special to all of us because they were hand-made by our parents and grandparents:
Trench art from WWII         Carvings         Model-A restoration         Smoking stand    
Hand-made quilts   etc.   

And personal items such as eye glasses, an early 20th century shaving brush and strap, old letters, cameras, a 1940s radio, a family Bible, a 1940s fur coat, sun bonnet, apron, late 1800s stereoscope, desk, a mule harness made into a mirror, etc.

Paula also buys sale items she doesn’t need . . . just in case she or a friend might need it. I wanted a new box of colored markers one day and told her I was going to Wal-Mart. She asked what I needed and sent me upstairs to her attic. OMG, she had shelves full of school supplies; pencils, tablets, crayons, binders, etc. After that I learned to go shopping at Paula’s Attic and Antique Collectibles (her business card). I also go shopping at Paula’s Boutique for many of my blouses. I am her “go-to” hand-me-down gal as well. I don’t think I’ve bought any clothes in years!

Yes, I can go to my sisters on an archaeology dig and find just about anything I want. Thank you, Paula, sweet sister of mine! ðŸ˜Š

P.S.
My sister's house burned to the ground in October 2017 from a fire that swept down into the Napa Valley. She saved a few of the family heirlooms but nothing else. It was a like a death in the family for all of us! 😒

Monday, August 7, 2017

Dinner Around the Table

By Danna Shirley
Writing assignment for Creative Writing Class...Dinner Around the Table...
            I grew up in a time when our family cooked a meal from scratch; no frozen dinners, boxes, or packages. The table was always set with a tablecloth, plates, glasses, napkins, knives, forks, and spoons, and everyone came to the table to eat and talk about their day. There were no distractions of television or radio. Dad sat at the head of the table, my sisters and I in the middle, and mom closest to the kitchen to make a few trips back for additional milk or iced tea.
Mom was a school teacher and able to be home earlier than other working mothers. She taught my sister, Nan, how to get dinner started by peeling potatoes and making a salad. As I got older, I took over the responsibility of mashing the potatoes and making the salad. It was none of those packaged salads either. I had to wash and tear the lettuce, cut up the tomatoes, strip and slice the carrots and cucumbers, and top and slice the radishes. I hated making the salad!
            Talk around the table was how everyone’s day had gone, homework questions, and what party or dance or movie was coming up on the weekend. After dinner Dad and Mom retired to the den and we did the cleanup. Nan washed, Paula dried, and I cleared the table. As we got older, our chores changed and when we got our first dishwasher, cleanup went even faster.
Image result for clipart of old televisions            Then television entered our lives and everything changed. I wanted to watch cartoons or the Three Stooges but Dad always won out with the Huntley-Brinkley Report or Walter Cronkite. The news was boring to me. Even now I can only take it for so long and then I give up.
            As the youngest I never really learned to cook except for the most basic dishes like tuna casserole, hamburgers, chicken, pork chops; nothing fancy that required more than three ingredients or a page-long recipe of instructions. One of my first meals after marriage was fried chicken. Ron was in shock as he watched me put two layers of chicken in a skillet. I was frying it just like my mother always did. He knew it would never crisp up like that but would just sit in the grease and be soggy. After that, he did a lot of the cooking, which was just fine with me.
             When our own family began to arrive, we ate in front of the television, either watching the news for us or Scooby-Doo for the children. Eventually, it was always Scooby-Doo.
As the children got older, I tried to re-institute my childhood dinner hour by setting the table and turning off the television. It was a pleasant memory for me and I hoped I could create the same atmosphere for them. Ron supported my efforts. Unfortunately, all they wanted to do was eat fast and get back to the television, Ron included.
Image result for clipart of cell phonesNow I have an empty nest. My kitchen table is piled high with sewing material and my stove barely gets used. I do a lot of fast food, microwaving, and eating on my lap in front of the television. I don’t know if this is normal for every other household or just mine. I do wish for the good ole days when families did eat dinner around the table, have conversations about their day, and just stay in touch with each other.
I don’t have to contend with the hand-held screens the kids are glued to today but I’m sure it is as much of a conflict now as television was forty years ago.