Closure

It’s been a long time since I posted, I know. I actually had some things I wanted to share with you and then, like the rest of the world, I found out about the events of this past Friday. Honestly, at that point I just became disinterested in posting pictures of our shelf elf or sharing recipes. My heart hasn’t been it.


Although I have not been glued to the television 24/7 for all the details (thank goodness for the distraction of work), I have been drawn to the stories of these children and teachers. Today, as my own form of closure on this most horrible of tragedies, I thought I would write. These reflections are sure to be disjointed and are certainly not original or insightful, as anyone with even an ounce of a soul has felt and thought the same.


Before I begin my ramblings I want to introduce you to a song I found today. It is titled "Twenty Six Names" and is by Jason Robert Brown. I would encourage you to listen. It is hauntingly simple but nonetheless heart-wrenching…a "final roll call" for these beautiful children and their teachers.


On Friday, John and I were out and about in the Nashville area doing a little Christmas shopping, each having taken off work to do so. Upon returning a phone call to his school he found out that there had been a school shooting in Connecticut and that several teachers and students had been killed. That was all we knew for a while. About an hour later, listening to a news radio station in the car, we finally heard the first report of it for ourselves. When the words "at an elementary school" came through the speakers we were horrified.


Needless to say, the mood of our shopping trip changed after that and both John and I couldn’t wait to get home and see our own children.


I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that a person, even a twenty-year-old with supposed mental issues, could walk into a school and hunt down a group of children, killing every single student in one classroom and several others in another. This was no angry young adult killing other young adults or an angry teen killing his parents, both of which are equally wrong. This was a young man who, by all accounts, purposefully chose to target children.


I know that God can heal hearts, of that I am most certain, but I wonder if parents of children who die in such a way ever get to the point where they can make it through a week or day or even a few hours without thinking back on what the last moments of their child’s life was like. Were they scared? Did they realize what was happening? Did they suffer? Did they call out for mommy or daddy? Do these thoughts ever get replaced as the first thoughts one has in the morning and the last before falling asleep at night?


Of all these beautiful children, one face stood out to me. This sweet boy reminds me so much of my own son. Even John-Heath himself said, “Hey! That looks like me,” when he caught John and me looking at some of the children’s pictures online. I feel so blessed to have my John-Heath and Ren and so saddened that other parents have lost their Benjamin…and Jessica…and Noah…and Grace…and….

Benjamin Wheeler, 6

I have also felt equally in awe of the teachers and staff at the school. True heroes –every one of them! I have never been more proud to be a teacher!


I won’t write of the cause for our grief, though thoughts are plentiful. To even mention his name on the same page as the names of those sweet children and their teachers would be most wrong.

I will also hold my thoughts on the whole gun debate. The time for that will come later, I’m sure.


Instead, I will end by saying I will cherish my own children even more and I will continue to keep in my heart and prayers the families of those that were lost. May we live a life of kindness and good works to honor them all.

What Does One Say?

I am a parent of school-aged children.  I am the wife of a school assistant principal.  I am a teacher.  And my heart is aching this evening for people just like me.  I am at a complete loss for words, except to say may God bless the families of those lost at Sandy Hook Elementary this morning.

The Passing of a Legend

What’s small potatoes to some folks can be mighty important to others.  - Sheriff Andy Taylor

With Andy Griffith’s passing Tuesday morning America lost a hero, not one simply fashioned in the image of Hollywood but rather created in the hearts of people, especially those who share a small town kinship with the beloved actor. 

With No Time for Sergeants, Murder in Texas, Matlock and a whole slew of other memorable roles in between, Andy Griffith transported us through a bevy of emotion...laughter, heartbreak, even disgust (I’m thinking Murder in Coweta County here...the one role I did not like seeing him play).  But it was his Sheriff Andy Taylor of Mayberry in The Andy Griffith Show that cemented his place in television history and in the hearts of people everywhere, including the members of my family.

On the days immediately following his death my Facebook feed was inundated with tributes to this fine man and his work.  I found posts comparing contrasting him with the likes of the “Kartrashians” (not my word, so just chill if you happen to like them) and others in this new generation of reality television to be quite humorous and, sadly, quite true. 

If I may, allow me to bird walk here for just a moment on the subject of this relatively new type of entertainment.  In the most simple of terms...Gag. Me. Now.  I’m sorry, but if I want to watch a show about a woman trying to find a husband I’ll just watch Suzanne give Mary Jo advice in an old episode of Designing Women ("Mary Jo, men do not come up and talk to a woman who's wheelin' around a 25 pound bag of dog food and a big box of Kotex!") and if I’m ever in the mood to watch a group of people survive on a deserted island the show better begin with a catchy theme song about an old millionaire couple, a professor, a movie star, and a farm girl from Kansas going on a three hour boat ride.  

Now back to Andy (hmmm...does anyone even use his last name when speaking of him?).  Of all the memorials floating around out there I think the one I like best, the one that tugs at my heartstrings the most, is this...Mayberry is a state of mind.  Maybe it’s because I’m Southern and grew up in my own version of the fictional town that I am a such a fan of the show and the actors behind its success, the reason they feel like old family friends.  

In these days where uncertainty abounds, family schedules can be chaotic at best, crime seems rampant, respect and manners become a little more rare with each passing year, and even small towns like mine grow up who doesn’t on occasion, in their most inner core, yearn for something more simple, more safe. 


When the weight of living in 2012 grows tiresome I can, with the simple push of the button, exile myself to a more gentle time, where integrity was valued, time slowed to a crawl after work and on Sundays, and pleasure could be found in the most innocent of entertainment, like peeling an apple in one long piece.


With a society that far too often seems headed straight to hell in a handbasket, I’m glad there have been people like Andy and his Sheriff Taylor, and towns like Mayberry and the people in them, to slow the trip a bit.

Though I never had the chance to meet him, he’s brought much joy to my family and me over the years and the influence of his life and his show will forever be fondly remembered.  So, don’t be too surprised should you ever call our house and are greeted with John-Heath’s favorite way to answer the phone... “Sheriff’s office.” 

Six Degrees of Davy Jones

First Whitney Houston, now Davy Jones. I know they weren’t the same age or popular during the same era but I was a fan of both. I especially loved Davy and watching him and the rest of the Monkees in reruns. That’s RERUNS, folks. I’m just shy of being old enough to have been around for the originals. Many Saturday mornings were spent watching them and often the theme song would become stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Hey, hey we’re the Monkees and people think we monkey around…

So in memory of “the cute one”, I thought I would share a connection I have to him. You know what they say about six degrees of separation, right?

In the mid-eighties (1986, I think), my husband John attended a Monkees concert at the Starwood Amphitheater in Nashville. He went with his girlfriend at the time, which was not me. I shan’t reveal her name, which was actually quite an unfortunate one. Anyway, their seats were close to the stage and when they arrived their friends, who were already there, pointed to the stage and said, “Look!”

John looks and sees Mike Nesmith (it was publicized that Nesmith would not be joining his band mates on tour) and says something really hip like, “Cool. He came!” His friend shouts back (apparently John and his girlfriend had arrived late enough that the concert was already in session), “No! Look again.”

And that’s when John notices that it is actually NOT Nesmith on stage, but instead one of his own best friends who would later serve as a groomsman in our wedding. John, again very hippily I’m sure, says, “Oh my gosh! That’s Chris O----!” You see, his friend, Chris O., could have passed for Mike’s twin, so much so that he won some contest that allowed him to take the stage with the band for a while. Which I do think is kind of cool.

And there you have it. I was practically friends with the Monkees.

RIP, Davy.


P.S. Wanna hear something else that ranks in the really cool category...Even though the 1986 tour for the Monkees was a huge financial success for Davy, Peter, and Micky you shouldn't feel sorry for Mike. It seems that Mr. Nesmith had recently inherited about a gazillion dollars from his mother's estate. His mom was a typist. Oh, and she INVENTED LIQUID PAPER!!! IN HER KITCHEN!!! IN HER BLENDER!!! Told you it was cool.

Robert Ezra Lyles, 1930 - 2011

Now here's to Uncle Robert

May his name forever stand

And always be remembered

When we eat our Easter ham.

His earthly race is over

The curtains 'round him fall

We'll carry him on to victory

On the Wabash Cannonball.

Today, my family will be saying goodbye to my father's brother-n-law, Robert Ezra Lyles, or Uncle Robert as I always called him. He and my aunt Fairdenia (1933-2000) were the ones who began the tradition of my paternal family gathering for Easter each year. As a child, a favorite moment at any family event was of Uncle Robert, a fan of the great Roy Acuff, singing The Wabash Cannonball. Sadly, in declining health for the last few years and residing in a convalescent home, he passed away this past Tuesday.

Goodbye, Uncle Robert. You will missed.

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Goodbye, Ned Ray.

I just heard that our former governor, Ned McWherter, has passed away. Governor McWherter was an effective leader who served Tennessee for two terms in the late eighties and nineties.

In the days when we considered ourselves blue dogs more than independents, I had the chance to meet him twice and thought he just seemed like a big ol' teddy bear. John had been fortunate to attend his first inaugural at the Opryland Hotel and was able to meet with him in somewhat more small group settings a couple other times, including dinner at a steakhouse once. Now, I won't say how many he had that evening but, according to my husband, the man did enjoy his steak.

Rest in peace, Ned Ray. You'll be missed.

In Memory of a Fellow G.R.I.T.S (Girl Raised in the South)

Goodbye, Julia Sugarbaker. We'll miss you.

Dixie Carter

May 25, 1939 - April 10, 2010

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Watch a classic Julia moment

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZHw7XWky_A

Shane

Remembering my nephew

Shane Harrison

Oct. 11, 1971 - Feb. 26, 1990

Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Others stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never the same.

Sophia A. Carter Heath

Can't sleep tonight. Random thoughts floating through my mind and it occurs to me that exactly 22 years ago on this very same night of the week and at nearly this same time I was spending the night at the home of my boyfriend's grandparents in Culleoka. I would marry said boyfriend that upcoming August but on this night I am sleeping in a rather large upstairs bedroom when I am awakened by a train whistle.

Granny and Papa's house was a short distance from the tracks so it wasn't such an oddity to hear a whistle - except that it was just after midnight and the train did not pass through at that hour.

I will find out at some point the next day that my grandmother, my father's mother, has passed on. Though her departure from this life and my awakening did not occur synchronously, I have always connected the two events.

Goodnight, Mammy Sophie.