WET PAINT

© 2012 Danna Shirley

Why do we believe the experts when they say there are four billion galaxies . . .

          but won’t trust a sign that says “WET PAINT?”

Is it because there’s no way we can count four billion galaxies . . .

but we can touch the wall to see if the paint is wet?

Is it curiosity that leads us to stretch out our finger . . .

or lack of faith to believe what’s right before our eyes?

OR . . . is it just plain rebellion that no one is looking . . .

and no one will ever know what we did . . .

and we absolutely need to know if that paint is still wet?

WHY do we need to know?

BECAUSE WE WANT TO TAKE DOWN THAT BLASTED SIGN!!!

We Didn't Have the GREEN THING Back in Our Day

Unknown--via e-mail message (no green thing)

In the line at the store, the young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."

The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

She was right. Our generation didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or
sisters, not always brand-new.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we had one TV or radio in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric appliances to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new one, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away a disposable when it got dull.  

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back in our day?

WATKINS BANKING COMPANY

by Danna Shirley

            In 1978 Ron and I were living in a little town called Demopolis.  Kristen was seven and Russ was eighteen months.  Ron worked for the Alabama Power Company and I was a stay-at-home mom until it became necessary for that additional income.   

            I searched the paper for a secretarial position and found an ad for temporary employment at the Watkins Banking Company in Faunsdale, Alabama.  Faunsdale is about fifteen miles from Demopolis and in the 2000 census it had a population of eighty-seven.  It had been a booming railroad town at one time.  The current mayor was also a checker at the Piggly Wiggly in Uniontown, Alabama.

            My employer was the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).  Watkins Banking Company, established in 1891, was in receivership (July 1978) and closing its doors forever. Why receivership?  Well, it seems the bank was purchased by someone who used it to finance his own personal business and gave loans to his friends and associates as well.  These were out-of-state people who could have cared less about Faunsdale or Watkins Banking Company or paying their debts.   

(Faunsdale Plantation near Faunsdale)

            My co-worker, Biddie Lawrence, had been an employee at the bank and was allowed to remain under the direction of the FDIC.  The first few months were busy as we closed the accounts of the locals and sold the current loans to other banks.  Letters were written to customers to retrieve their personal papers from the vault.  It was a sad demise to go through the process of burial of this fine old establishment.

            One of the former presidents of the bank had been employed there during the 1930’s.  He was the town’s mayor, notary, life insurance salesman, and took care of any important business for the townspeople.  Every piece of paper he ever touched was stored in a back room.  Interestingly, the carbon copy of his reply was typed on the back of the letter he was answering.  He was a conscientious recycler before we ever knew of the term. 

            My duties were to go through these old musty files and destroy anything not related to bank business.  I found life insurance policies dating back thirty and forty years.  Since there was no internet for research in 1978, a letter was written to every company to learn if the policy was still in effect.  Most of them had not only expired but the company itself was out of business.  These policies were beautifully handwritten in calligraphy and the cover was like artwork.  They represented a history of the residents of Faunsdale and it pained me to destroy them.  The FDIC had no heart for family, lineage, ancestors, or descendants.  Just close the bank and move on to the next assignment.

            When I reached the files of insurance correspondence, I noticed the letterheads changed.  As the company aged, the letterhead moved from horse and buggies to Model A’s, coupes, sedans, and right up into the 40’s and 50’s.  The company building also changed from one-story to two, to three or would expand from a small building to a city block.  I didn’t have the heart to destroy these magnificent images so I cut off the letterheads, kept them in a file, and then disposed of the letter.

            Shortly into this project, I became curious as to why all of this paperwork was saved at the bank so I started to read some of the letters.  One of the families had a daughter in a mental institution and the correspondence back and forth between her father and the doctors was heartbreaking.  This was so personal and confidential that I couldn’t just toss these letters into a trash can so I cut them up into little pieces with the paper cutter (no shredders either in those days).

            During my lunch hour I would explore Main Street, which was just one block long with most of the buildings having already been abandoned.  Nothing was locked so I entered one of the store fronts to find a piano that had fallen through the floor.  I also found an old travel trunk that had a corner chewed through by the local mice.  Down the block on the bank’s side was a little grocery store where I could purchase a sandwich and a soda. 

            Eventually all transactions at the bank slowed down and Biddie and I dragged through the day at a snail’s pace while we waited for the next non-existent customer to come through the door.  There were only two outstanding loans remaining and their owners made a payment once a month.  At this point our supervisor allowed us to do anything we wanted just to pass the time.

            After doing our nails, reading books, and getting to know each other quite well, we started putting together jigsaw puzzles.  The counter at the bank had a slant with a ledge at the bottom so it was the perfect place for laying out the pieces.  I brought in the most difficult puzzles with the most pieces that I could find.  After we had completed three or so of these, our supervisor finally proclaimed his work was done at Watkins Banking Company.  The last two loans would be moved.

            And so ended the most touching job I ever had . . . learning the history, triumph and tragedy, of a small southern community; and the most boring job I ever had . . . reading, manicuring my nails, doing jigsaw puzzles . . . and getting paid for it.

    

   Faunsdale Plantation is a historic plantation near Faunsdale, AL. The slave quarters on the property are among the most significant examples of slave housing in Marengo County and are among the last remaining examples in the State of Alabama. The house was added to the National Register of Historic Places on 13 July 1993 as a part of a multiple property submission, “Plantation Houses of the Alabama Canebrake and Their Associated Outbuildings.” Faunsdale Plantation is one of the few large plantations in Alabama where detailed slave records were recorded and managed to survive as part of the historical record.

VISION OF HEAVEN

by Aaron Shirley

I was talking to my son about an online interview I had watched of a neurosurgeon (Eben Alexander, III) that had gone to heaven. He was in a coma and came back to write a book about his vision--PROOF OF HEAVEN.  Aaron said he'd also had a confirmation vision of heaven that was very vivid. I asked him to write about it for me. This is what he shared . . .

I was picking a guitar and singing with my eyes closed. It was not just regular picking but I was playing with such skill and beauty. Better than anything I've heard on earth. And it wasn't notes or a song I had memorized or been practicing. It was all spontaneous as the Spirit led, as if I was in full surrender and the Holy Spirit was flowing thru my fingers and vocal cords in an act of pure worship.

My voice was so angelic it was startling. Out flowed utterances of true praise. An overwhelming sense of peace, joy, and love commanded the atmosphere and at that moment I realized I was in heaven. I now better understand that we are created as instruments of praise.

As I lifted up my eyes at the last verse, I'm in an incorruptible resurrected body. I look around and consume sights, sounds, and smells on a level indescribable on this plain. I see that I'm sitting on a stump or something like it with guitar in hand. Kristen [sister] is across from me sitting on the ground with a beautiful countenance--perfect peace. There are others around that I couldn't identify but I'm sure it was all of us, the whole family, even generations past. This happened so fast yet it was overflowing with details, emotions, knowings.

We were gathered under a large magnificent tree set on a hillside overlooking a beautiful flowing river, bright and clear as crystal. I assume these to be the River of Life and the Tree of Life. Everything was so rich and full of color. The sky even glorified God with its pinks, and blues, and purples--full of life!

Then suddenly I awoke. The awesome God-given joy, peace, and love remaining on me, then lingering, then dissipating to a level I experience in this fallen world. Oh, how I long for the resurrection! Not to say we can't have perfect peace, joy, and love here on earth. 

With God all things are possible thru the power of the Holy Spirit. But I don't think we'll experience these to the extent and level that we will in heaven once our redemption is complete. Maybe I'm wrong, but maybe we can! Maybe if we fully surrender ourselves, immerse ourselves in the Word, pray without ceasing, walk continually in the Spirit sensitive to His leading, maybe we can have a "transfiguration" experience here on earth.

Lord, help us to do this and be pleasing in Your sight!