Houston

My last blog was a tribute to LaMoine Hamilton, who passed away in July, 2014.  I think of her often.

We moved to Houston in July, 1991.  We moved into a small house on 11 acres (some of that was the bluff) which backed up to the Big Piney River.  It was a "long ways down" to the river, but our two boys made the trek often. 

We added on a large bedroom with bath and bay window looking toward the river.  We also added a deck to that bedroom.  The boys were able to each have a small bedroom in the small house.

It's bittersweet to think about this.  The boys were 10 and 12 when we moved there.  Now, I know that it was very hard to make this move from Plato.

We sold that house in the fall of 2003 after buying one in Cape Fair, MO, in the summer of 2002.  We did not move until May of 2003.  From October until May, we lived in a one-room apartment near Licking.  When Phil retired in May and school was out shortly afterward, we moved on.

Houston is very dear to me.  The school.  The people.  The town.  Mostly the people.  I will always love it.

While we were there the momentous things that happened were both boys leaving for college, both getting married.  My sister-in-law Kay and my mother-in-law Eulah going on to Heavenly rewards.

My dream of being a principal became a reality.  A reality that wasn't always what I had hoped it would be.

It was there that we first met Rachel and Mandy, both lovely girls, who are now the mothers to 4 children each.  Mandy is expecting number five.  They have blessed our lives.

I miss those days, but it's a good life.  Yesterday was our 42nd anniversary, and although I'm pretty sick with a cold, I wouldn't trade my life for anything else.  Praise be to our Lord.

Lamoine, Sitting at the Feet of Jesus

My friend Lamoine went to heaven today . . . 32 days from when she was told she had Stage 4 cancer.  What a lady!  Some of her friends called her their "First Lady."

This is what I wrote to her after I learned of her illness.

Lamoine,

 I am proud to call you my friend, but you are so much more to me.  Although, you have not been close to me in proximity the last few years, you are always close in my heart.  You are a Christian sister, a role model, and a mentor.

 I see you, as I write, in your khaki slacks, a button-down shirt neatly tucked in, hair permed and styled, and a ready smile.  You have had your oatmeal, you have made a list and checked in twice (in your mind) and you are ready to make a difference to every one you meet this day, first the children you love to teach, but also the adults you will encounter.

 Now, you are sitting with a group of colleagues.  I hear your quiet, slow drawl.  The conversation takes an argumentative direction or, perhaps, one of gossip.  You, Lamoine, sit quietly and your silence speaks volumes to me.  I learn that I do not always have to defend my friends or my Lord with my mouth.  My character matters more.

 I observe you as you are sitting at a table (so many evenings) taking money at a ballgame. I become aware that you are there to meet and greet and perhaps be a positive influence for the Lord.  You once told me, “I told Ed I would get them to church and he could preach the Word.”

 I hear you talking about your sons Doug and Phil, their families, your grandchild Paige, and the others that followed.  You love your family and grandchildren with a sacrificial love. 

I see you in a hotel room we shared when attending a conference, meticulously checking your clothing in the mirror.  I smile broadly as I recall the story you told me about once getting in the car to go to church.  That’s when Ed asked you if you were going to go in your slip.  Yes, even my friend Lamoine “got in a hurry” at times. 

Still in the hotel room, I remember the coffee you delivered to me in bed when you learned the night before that my husband woke me that way every morning.  Definitely not a morning person myself, I was so amazed that you would do this for me.

I reflect upon the great lady you are and I am again smiling at the stories you told me about your family heritage, the doctor, the land, the farmer, and I chuckle again.  You were your daddy’s “boy” on the farm.  You adapted so well from being a “tomboy” to a pastor’s wife. 

 Now, I see you in technology workshops, always the learner and the teacher.  After persevering to learn everything you could about the computer, you taught others.  I distinctly remember you teaching me about the digital camera . . . taking, cropping, and arranging pictures into a slide show.  You told me how you made a family slide show with music.  I also remember our technology teacher saying, “If Lamoine can learn this, the rest of you can,” since you were one of the oldest in the camp. 

 There’s my friend LaMoine again, with a colleague, presenting a workshop to parents on the subject she loved, READING.  You are passing around a box of chocolates saying something like this, “Good books are like chocolate.  They look different on the outside, but they have great surprises on the inside.”  That presentation should have been taken on the road.

Aha!  There you are wearing the teacher of the year vest from Walmart.  How proudly you represent our school and teachers everywhere.  How proud we are of you!!

 You are a lady in your dress, demeanor, and your character. You represent your savior, your family, your husband, your church, your friends, your home, and your community with dignity and honor.

“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.  Phil. 1:3”

 You are my dear and beloved friend.

 Rose

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bob Gibson, Tim McCarver, Bob Uecker, Ken Boyer, Julian Javier, Curt Boyer, Lou Brock, Mike Shannon . . .

Those names came out of my memory from the mid to late 60's.  Surprise!
I was a big Cardinals' fan due to the influence of my brother Glen, who was very interested in their game.  We listened to games on the car radio a lot.  Anyone else remember that? 

I became an addict.  I would actually keep score during a game.  I knew all the players and lots of players from other teams.  Yep, Lou Brock could steal those bases now!  

When I left for college, I lost baseball and discovered people.  I fell in love with the game of tennis and played for hours at a time.  I continued this until after I was married.  Tennis remained in my life for awhile but I lost tennis. 

I played intramural basketball in college, and I was lousy.  I wasn't good at anything but free throws.  I once won a tournament making 22/25 shots.  My claim to fame.  haha 

I loved Field Hockey in a class I had. 

I played horse shoes with my elderly neighbor and with my brothers at home.

I read a lot and didn't feel I was really a tomboy.  But I practiced hitting balls to my brother so much that I could place them where he wanted them to go.

I played on a softball team after we were married, at Plato.

When Phil met me, he thought I was a jock.  So he told me the other day.  Not true.  Just loved sports.

Also loved card games.  Love interaction.

Places We've Lived and a Few Other Things

While I was vacuuming a few minutes ago, I thought, "Wow, we've lived here 61/2 years.  That's a record for us in the last 10 years!  Then, I started thinking about all the places we've lived and recording it is more fun than vacuuming!  BREAK TIME!

Phil and I met in June, 1973, and were married in Dec. 1973.  For about six weeks we lived in my little apartment in the back of a house at Lynchburg.
I loved to watch the sunsets there!  Next door lived a little girl whom I taught in kindergarten, Toni Sue Coomes, who is now my very grown up Facebook friend.  The sunset looked like it happened right on their farm!

Next, we moved down a gravel road (same one as Vaughans, Tracys, Messengers, and Penleys) into a trailer owned by a man named Kenneth Royster.  We had a flat yard (a commodity I've come to appreciate). 

This was the first place Stacy and Stephen visited us for three months.  Here, one of my most horrible memories is getting up in the morning and finding a dead mouse that had been roasted in the toaster.  Phil had eaten toast and gone to work.  I wouldn't touch that creature, but Stephen who was about six would climb up on a chair and look at it all day long.  When Phil came home, he took the toaster apart and cleaned it, because we were too poor to buy anything.  I "swore" never to eat out of "that side" of the toaster again. I'm pretty positive I kept my word --yep!

Another memory I have is being so sick, both of us, with the flu at once.  Kenny and Carol came over and risked getting the flu, and our trailer was a mess.  I remember that. 

We could walk through a field and make a long trip down a hill to the banks of Roubidoux.  I remember sitting on a rock and catching one blue gill after another.  Now, that's fishing!

Place number three probably happened by the next summer.  We moved into what Phil called "Uncle Frank's house."  It was an old, old house.  Cecil Benson had owned it, and Phil's brother Kenny had bought it.  He and Phil put in a new FLOOR and a new linoleum before we moved in.  We had no furniture, so Phil went looking in Mtn. Grove where he worked at a Richard's Brothers Grocery Store.  He found a couch, chair, refrigerator, bed, and washer and dryer and more for $500.  We probably borrowed that.   Stace and Steve slept in the old upstairs which had a bare wood floor, and I'm talking boards.  Phil's mom bought some big pieces of carpet so they could have a space at opposite ends of the upstairs.  Phil shot through a packrat hole and we never saw the pack rat again, but I knew I had married a crazy man.

(For some of my friends on Facebook:  Pam, Penny, Jessica, Diane Barnes, Dee Dee Connelly, and others, you were a bunch of beautiful little girls running around the town with Stacy.  I was in a lot of trouble that summer for not letting her be gone from home too long at a time.  Schoolteacher me. I was supposedly the only one who had those rules?  I doubt that now.

READ THIS PARAGRAPH IF YOU READ NO OTHER.  At this time, Phil and I decided we needed to move our church membership from Roby and go to Plato Baptist where we lived where we felt they needed us most.  We weren't all that mature, but we hit upon a wise fact!  At this time, we were squeezing every penny, and I'm not exaggerating.  We were borrowing money for plane tickets for the kids and paying it back all year, and doing it again the next year.  Our  groceries were exactly what we needed and nothing more.  We paid cheap rent, child support, and that's about it.
But we made a decision.  WE DECIDED TO TITHE ON OUR INCOME--10%.  We decided to do it at the beginning of the month, 'cause God said, "Try me and prove me in this area in His word."  I'm pretty sure we didn't have the faith to think this would work and then we would be in financial straits by the end of the month.  THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN; IT WAS A MIRACLE.  HE MET ALL OUR NEEDS.  I'll never forget that, never, never, never.

Since then, we've tithed our 10 percent, and God has blessed us unbelievably in many areas of our lives, including financially.  Although it took years of hard work to accomplish a lot of things, we saw God's hand almost immediately.  We, who started with nothing but responsibilities, saw God make it possible for us to buy a house . . . a nice little three bed home very well built.  It is the one Bill and Laura own now, and Bill, Kay, and Laura have made it into a beautiful place.

As for us, we bought it from a man and wife who had six children.  It was "a mess."  And the biggest blessing you can imagine!!!!!!
We had a friend from school redo the hardwood floors but they were pretty scarred up.  It was dirty, yes.  The yard had sprouts and rocks.  Phil did a lot of work on that yard.  We were there for two or three years, and we would've been a lot longer if my dad hadn't gotten a wild hair to move to Texas County.  We sold him the house on impulse.    He moved back to Ripley County after a couple years to be near his parents.

In this home Stacy and Stephen had their own rooms, and Stacy spent quite a bit of time with the girls up the road.  Steve seemed to be a loner or there just weren't as many guys around.

When we sold the house, we had some profit.  We rented an old farmhouse with a separate building with an outhouse.  We bought some land and started having a house built by a carpenter, Elwin Tracy, who worked by the hour!  What a blessing, and what a strong house he built.  This was in the fall, and it didn't get finished until the next April. 

Meanwhile, Josh was born.  Two days later the house we were renting, while waiting for the new house to be built, burned and we lost all our stuff.  (The new babe and we were at my parents).  The Plato community rallied and took such good care of us.  We stayed with my parents for six weeks and Phil's for six weeks and then we moved our new baby into the new house.  It was April and I think the 100 dogwoods around our house on a two acre lot were in bloom.

We lived there for 12 years.  The boys had Bo, the dog, and Arrow, the cat.  They had trails in the woods nearby and lots of fun there.  Stacy and Stephen spent time there as well.  It was there that we woke up one night to see a skunk in our bedroom.  That's another story!

Jordan was born and was brought home there.   Grandpa George Hall, Stephen, and Josh were sitting on the front porch waiting for him to get home. 

In 1991, we decided to move to Houston, MO.  I had left Plato Schools and started teaching in Houston, and we loved the community.  The boys had good friends and a good education there.  We lived above the Big Piney River and could see some of it.  We had 11 acres and four or 5 to mow.  Those boys know how to mow, don't let anybody tell you otherwise!

In 2003, Phil and I retired and moved to Cape Fair.  We lived there when Hannah, Reagan Rose, Sophie, and Judah were born.  We had a wonderful lake view but I pushed until we moved closer to grandchildren.  We had some wonderful times there and in the First Baptist Church of Cape Fair.

So we moved here to Ozark.  Both Phil and I believe that is what God did in order to help with grandkids, because then two little boys, the lights of our lives, Levi and Jackson were born, and we cared for them in our home quite a bit.  (Yes, God just moved them to IN, as he moved Jordan's fam to Mt, but He's the boss, and He knows what's best).

Now, that's the somewhat, not so interesting, story of our residences.  I could've made each more interesting by taking them one by one.  However, I wanted to just get it down.  I don't proofread and I don't rewrite.  Better to write something quickly than nothing at all, I guess.

New Normal for Rose and Phil

Hmmmm.  My last post was in December, 2009.  How can that be?

We are starting a new normal around here.  Our son Jordan and family moved to Montana 5 years ago.  We have lived in Ozark over 6 years where we have been hands-on grandparents to Josh and Rachel's kids who are now 10, 8, 5, and 3.  A week ago they moved to Camby, IN, near Indianapolis to "plant" a church.

So what are we doing--just us--like we started out over 39 years ago? We are just fine.  Phil is hanging my new popping poppy canvas over the couch.  We are expecting new carpet in the next two or three weeks.
We are moving some long-time "blue" pictures to the computer room, as we call it.

We continue to find small toys tucked away here and there and are putting some away for when the grandkids visit.

We are looking forward to having our granddaughter Maddie visit the last week of July and the Hall reunion on Aug. 3.

It is our plan to meet Jordan and Mandy (Reagan Rose, Judah, and Baby Piper) somewhere in the next couple months--maybe in Denver. 

God is so good to us.  We are appreciating our home, our yard, our church, the wonderful people that make up our church, and looking forward to taking care of "life." 

My blogs may be boring, but I plan to do some again!

Remember, Jesus loves you!

The Stars Fell From the Sky

THE STARS FELL FROM THE SKY!

I love my grandchildren more than all the stars in the sky. That's what I tell them, and that's what I mean! That's a lot, a whole bunch! When I say I love them more than all the stars in the sky, I'm not talking about just the number of star although that's an awesome number. I'm also thinking about the brightness of the stars on a very clear, cold night. I'm picturing the beauty of the stars above Table Rock Lake where I was on the top of the world looking down on God's amazing and wonderful creation. I'm remembering the stars near the creek where I grew up and had the blessing of looking at the stars, most of my growing up years, with no artificial lights to dim them.

When I ponder on the beauty of the stars, I am taken back to the time the "stars fell out of the sky."

It was awesome, spectacular, unbelievable, and very frightening. It was November 17, 1966,
when my mom was cooking breakfast prior to daylight. She noticed "sparks" out the window and thought the house might be on fire. Instead, it was soon apparent that stars were zipping by the dozens at a very fast speed and all at once from the sky. Was the world coming to an end? What was this?


My dad insisted that I run to my grandparents' house slightly less than a quarter of a mile "across the creek" and wake them, because whatever this was, they wouldn't ever see it again.


What an absolutely terrifying trip, over the footlog, and across the way. Again, I say, it appeared to me that every star in the sky was falling and at a fast speed. (I'll never see it again). By the time I got Grandpa and Grandma woke up, alas, the show had stopped, and the world was still turning.



We soon found out, via the radio, that this was a magnificent meteor shower. I looked it up on the internet and found that the "November 17, 1966 Leonid Meteor Shower was the largest meteor shower in our lifetime with a reported 150,000 meteors entering our atmosphere every hour, that's over 40 per second."




That was was one of the most memorable moments of my life and I wanted to record it. God is such an awesome God. I'm thankful I'm a child of His, and that when the world ends as scripturally defined, I am ready. I am happy to have seen this spectacular God event, and I am so blessed to love my sons and daughters-in-law and grandchildren more than all the stars in the sky!!!!!

Once Upon A Creek

Oh, the creek. My thoughts. My dreams. The clear, quiet rippling water with its crawdads and minnows. The loud roar of a small creek during a flood. The calm, clear high water after the flood.

The creek was. I didn't give it a lot of thought. But I "thought" many, many hours while staring into the clear ripples. Sitting on the gravel near the creek, I dreamed the dreams young girls dream. It was "my" place. There was just enough of a creekbank so that I could hide behind it and not be seen from the house. The creek coud be so PEACEFUL. (And let me tell you, I can skip rocks with the best of them from the practice I had while"thinking").

Our house was basically in a valley but sitting on a small knoll. When the creek "got out of its banks," as small streams do very quickly with heavy rains, I was, when I was small, afraid it would come up and wash away our house. It always stopped just short of the knoll, not that far away. Before the creek escaped its boundaries, it was a roaring train, taking with it everything in its path. We watched trees washing down that body of swelling water. We threw in sticks to watch them bounce down the creek. A "flood" was great reason for excitement, and nature gives the best!

There were many times when the creek spilled from its banks and filled the field almost up to our house. The most memorable time for me is when the tractor and wagon were sitting in the field. The water isn't that swift once it's out of the banks but it still carries a bit of power.
My dad asked one of my brothers to wade down to the tractor and unfasten the wagon, for he feared a log would catch it and carry the whole thing down the stream. The wagon was unhooked, and lo and behold, it went floating down the field and creek. Whoopee!

The creek didn't have a bridge to wash out, and it always filled up with fresh, loose gravel in the crossing. My dad would figure out the best way to ford the creek by finding where it was most solid. The interesting part was when visitors, usually relatives from afar, came across the creek, they inevitably sunk into the fresh gravel and sand, and out came the tractor to the rescue.

There were, of course, times when that little creek became such a monster that nobody could cross it. It had a footlog. The footlog was a large tree that had been felled across the creek. It was fastened with a log chain to a tree or roots at the high bank. At the lower bank, on the opposite side, I think it was loosely tied. Above it, from one tree to another, was a strong rusty cable that one could hold onto while crossing the footlog. That cable was literally a lifeline.
I was terrified of crossing the creek especially when the waters below were swirling and angry from flooding. "Don't look down. Don't look down."

We needed to traverse the creek to go to school, so the footlog was a daily experience.
In addition to the main stream, we had to cross two other branches that flowed into it . Those we could usually cross by stepping on rocks and jumping from one to another, getting our feet a little wet, at times. Those smaller tributaries could roar, also. One flowed along side of my grandparents' house. The other crossed the main road. I remember one time that first little nothing branch was high enough that Dad put a blanket over the hood and blasted through it. I was frightened!

In the spring of my 17th year, coming home from a date when all the streams were out of their banks, I convinced my boyfriend to just let me out of the car right before the third branch from the house. I knew I could go around it if I walked up the bank, found a barb-wire fence and followed it to my grandparents' house, thus avoiding the first two creeks. He didn't hesitate much that I recall! So, there I was, in total darkness, finding and holding onto a barbed fence, walking through tons of wet leaves. (I'm a brave girl)! I don't think I attempted the last footlog, and, therefore, spent the night at my grandparents' house. No way of communicating that to my parents without phones, but that's creek living.

One experience I'll never forget is one time when the footlog, which it sometimes did, washed away from the lower bank, and could not be crossed. My dad went some distance in a field further up the creek and felled a tree across the creek, so we could get to the school bus. The pool over which the log rested was clear and deep and COLD from the recent flood. I've always had ear problems and bad balance, vertigo, and a fear of falling. I did NOT want to cross that log with no cable to hold onto, but I DID want to go to school. I remember I had books and a little clear zipper purse with tangee lipstick in it. I remember falling into that COLD creek. I remember going onto my grandma's house, but I don't think I made it to school that day. By the way, the water was COLD.

Summers in the creek were something! Down the creek was a pool deep enough for swimming and playing. Summers were so hot, and the days were long. There wasn't air conditioning, surprise, surprise! I remember doing what many MO kids did, sitting under a shade tree drinking water from a pint or quart jar. But mostly, I remember the creek. Our clothesline was full of jean shorts and such all the time because my three brothers and I went to the swimmin' hole several times a day if we wanted.

The thing I remember most about swimmin' were the leaches and occasionally the snakes. I wasn't as big a fan as my brothers of the swimmin' hole because I didn't like either (snakes or leaches--and sometimes my three brothers). That's putting it mildly. First, we would splash to bring on the leaches. Then the brothers would catch them and pound them between rocks. These leaches were four or five inches long and fat with blood. They just didn't want to die. Later when I saw what they called leaches in Texas County, I couldn't believe those little short, brown mini-babies. I guess I was pretty over-careful because I don't remember ever getting one of those blood suckers on me.

The creek remains in my heart and soul, and I have memory pictures (in my mind) that I will hang onto forever. Once I sat on the banks and dreamed. Now I dream I'm sitting on the banks . . .