rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the tag “Memories”

My Flag is Still Flying

Memories can evoke a wide variety of thoughts. They have a way of inducing our mind back to a time when life was simpler, or so we believe. A statement by an old friend or an old photo can stir emotions and reverberate up and down your spine, from the bottom to the top, eventually reaching the frontal lobe. It is this part of the brain that suggests we look back on our life and of those who made it possible. Thus, it is very appropriate on this Veteran’s Day that we remind ourselves of those events of years past and of those who still serve.

None could have made it more possible than the veterans of military service. I think of my father, J.C. Morrison, who did not enter military service in WWII, but served in a civilian capacity at Dow Chemical in Freeport, Texas. I think of my Father-in-Law, Lucious Maddux, serving in a construction battalion in the South Pacific, better known as SeaBees. I think of my uncle Homer Morrison, who served in the U.S. Army in the European forces. He served throughout the war effort without a scratch only to be killed in a tornado six months after the war’s end. These three individuals served in different parts of the world yet with the same goals in mind. Freedom! There are countless numbers of veterans who served and many lost their lives. You know someone who did. I pay tribute to your friends, acquaintances, family members and to you for that service.

And I think of those from my home town who served and those who lost their lives during the Vietnam War. From Palestine, Tx:

1LT JAMES CHRISTOPHER BECKER, CAPT TONIE LEE ENGLAND Jr., PFC JAMES AUBREY HULSEY, PFC DONALD RAY JOHNSON, PFC EARL DAWSON LAWRENCE, PO3 AMON FRANKLIN MOORE Jr., CWO TERRELL LEE RAWLINSON, 2LT JAMES TUCKER STOVALL, LCPL ROGER ALLEN THOMPSON, SP4 THOMAS DARRELL WILLIAMSON.

“Young men, most around my age or younger, who fought for our freedoms and as I have said in “My Flag is Flying, is Yours?” took my place. Had I been born only a few years later, I would have been in Vietnam. With each news report of casualties, I hurt. I lost shipmates, classmates and family members. My country was at war.

Today, I feel humbled each time I see or hear of any veteran who passes from this life. Yet, Vietnam holds a special place in my heart, not because I served, but because someone else did and I know that person took my place.”

Take a moment today and remind yourselves of the heroic actions of our military men and women. They deserve the honor and respect. And to those who are serving today, my hat’s off to you. God Bless and thank you.

Is It Christmas Yet?

Ever have that feeling about not wanting to get up in the morning? One day this past week, it was my desire to stay in bed a little longer than usual. But we have animals to take care of and they usually do not want to stay in bed. The dogs in the kennels do not seem to mind the cold or that it finally warmed up.  And the chickens could care less. They are ready no matter what. The humans, not so much! So out of the warm bed I arise. I stumble to the kitchen, turn the switch on for the coffee pot, (the “Rancherette” is sweet enough to prepare the ingredients the night before), put on my long johns and make ready to placate the aforementioned animals.  I do insist on having a steaming cup of coffee before I brave the elements.

Having a touch of the “I don’t wanna’s” this morning, I slowly began to move around. I am feeling the effects of a cold I contracted from a recent chicken show we attended in Shawnee, Oklahoma.  Then, the “Rancherette” comes bouncing from the bedroom full of vim and vigor. She wonders, “How are you feeling?” I mumble “OK”. Probably, not too convincingly I might add.

So after my jolt of caffeine, I make my way to the dog kennels. Recently, the morning temps fell down into the upper teens, and with that, their water dishes turn to ice. This was my first clue that winter is approaching. With the dogs fed, ice in their water broken and fully attended to, I turn my attention to appeasing the chickens. Ever try to appease a chicken? Good luck with that. The “Rancherette” usually comes along to save the day. She definitely knows how to appease a chicken. She is in the chicken appeasement business. I’m not sure but I think they understand the “bach,bach,bach” of my voice and I am convinced they really know what the “Rancherette” says. I am pretty sure she understands what they say, too. Me? I don’t think so. Now when it comes to the dogs, I am much more enlightened by their “voices”. I fully understand them. I speak dog, fluently. I practice every day. However, one could possibly acquire some of the characteristics of these fine feathered fowl (maybe osmosis).  For example, I catch myself crowing on occasion. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is until they crow in return. Scary!

For those of you who do not know, the “Rancherette” raises show chickens. Silkies and Bantam Cochins are her favorite breeds.Both breeds are also very funny birds. Most of these birds have names, such as Mick (after Mick Jagger) Bella, Cowboy, Cowgirl, Smoky Bear, Miss Peggy, (she has a peg leg) and so on. Thus one can become attached. (Her name shall remain anonymous).

However, when it comes to our kennel dogs, that’s another story. They are retired show dogs, from the Standard Poodle line, living out their retirement days. Apollo, Ty, Denali, Grendel, Prada, Andora, Stella, and so on. They all have a very extended name, fitting the royalty of the breed, but way to much for this post.Then there is Alfie, a hitchhiking female Airedale. “nuff, said.

.So I am up and “at’em” this morning. This Christmas Eve, Eve! Got all my presents wrapped for the “Rancherette” and placed in a conspicuous space where she cannot miss them and this in turn tempts her a bit. No shaking the packages or X-rays allowed. This is premeditated on my part. Now that the gifting is completed (and a day early, I might add), I turn my attention to checking my social media pages.

I see numerous and varied accounts of people and their activities on social media pages. Hidden among the many postings, I see some with treasured memories of years past. For others it brings sadness and a dread this time of year. Still others delight in the many celebratory events of Christmas.

I see posts from a varied assortment of people, from my friends and others I do not know. First and foremost are the many varied posts from all of the chicken friends on social media. There is a considerable amount of “chicken speak” in these posts. (i.e., the “Rancherette”) I have not yet learned much of that language.

Then others are depicted wrapping Christmas gifts and sharing their experiences. Some are wondering if other family members will make it home for Christmas. Some are showing the results of a toy-drive for kids. There are pictures of children sharing their love through homemade Christmas gifts with nursing home residents. Some use the social media pages to outline their Christmas list. (Personally, I’m not sure this works well, but give them credit for ingenuity) Let me know if it does.

I see posts of young children sitting on the lap of Santa, some crying, some in awe and others readily sounding off their wish list. Obviously, they have all been good, wink, wink!

I see posts describing recipes for Christmas Delights and I admit they all look inviting. These are very interesting.

Then there are still a few who either challenge the presidential election results or laud the outcome. To these very involved people, I say, Merry Christmas to both groups.

The closer it gets to Christmas, the more posts we see about the event. Not all will be about a religious phenomenon and yet it is my opinion that it was never about a secular circumstance. It was and always will be a celebration of the birth of Christ, whether one chooses to believe that or not.

I find it fascinating that our animals depend on us for their survival while many humans do not depend on God for anything. In their own way, these animals say thanks every day, a tail wag here and a “bach,bach, there. Would it not be great if the human race could acknowledge a better understanding of peace and joy on this earth?

I grant you that we live in a free society and thus are completely free to agree or disagree. However, I for one am proud to say I believe the Biblical account of the Christ Child born for the salvation of mankind.

Thus I can say unequivocally,

Merry Christmas.

Lest We Forget

Mother’s Day is almost upon us. This is a day set aside to honor mothers. Not every woman is a mother, thus, not every woman is afforded the opportunity to celebrate this day as a mother. Perhaps the choice was not theirs. Perhaps it was. It is not an inconsequential decision. For whatever reason, they should still be celebrated for who they are, and I for one, choose to honor them as well.

I no longer have my mother with me today. My biological parents were killed in a tornado in 1946. For the first six years of my life, I enjoyed all the benefits of being an older sibling. I was well fed, clothed properly, maybe not exactly fashionable, but clean. I was treated well, had a bed to sleep in and as I recall, an ice cream cone every once in a while. To the best of my memory and from all accounts of my childhood, my mother was a wonderful mother. It was a good life, until tragedy struck this young family; a tornado destroyed all semblances of the J.C. Morrison family, killing my mother, father, brother, and an uncle. I was the only survivor.

As I write this, I have in my hand my 1st grade report card from 1946. It describes the academic grades for my first year in school. Just so you will know, my average grade for the year was an A-, but who is keeping score. However, the front of this card is not the story. On the back, there are lines for parents to sign after each six weeks period. And at the bottom, it says I was promoted to the second grade. The first two lines are signed by my mother, Mrs. J.C. (Mae B.) Morrison while the middle two lines are blank.

The last two lines are signed by my mother, Mrs. N.R. (“BB”) Robertson.  Curiosity got you. yet?  “BB”, as she was called, was Mae B.’s sister. She became my adopted mother. She was the loving, caring mother who raised me. Even in my rebellious times, she continued to love and care for me and she disciplined me, obviously. Ever have a peach limb across your bare legs? Trust me, that was love. That is what mothers do, love their children.

I am sure I must have been a handful at times. Recalling, a stupid decision I once made when I was thirty-seven years old, she flat out asked me, “Son, when are you going to grow up?” I was thirty-seven years old!

She has long passed from this life to her rewards. It is amazing how I never dwell on all the times we disagreed and the times I surely must have disappointed her. Yet her love for me never wavered. I think of all the people who no longer have the presence of a mother in their life. There surely must be good memories you can recall. I hope so. I am blessed to have had two mothers in my life. Mae B. and BB.

I choose to celebrate Mother’s Day, for both my mothers, for the mother of my children, for those who have given me grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and for my wife and her daughter, my stepdaughter.

I lose count of all the mothers I know, but mothers, know this, you are a gift from God. Lest We Forget, thank you, Father, for the mothers in my life.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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