Thursday, August 29, 2013

Journal - August 29, 2013

Journal - As published in the White River Current - Thursday August 29, 2013 We spend our years as a tale that is told. This verse of scripture from the Old Testament book of Psalms (90:9b, KJV) has long intrigued me. Every life is different and everyone has a story of their own to tell. My great grandmother kept a journal for twenty years, from 1890 to 1910. I have a copy, thanks to the effort of my mother in preserving this document. My sister had a diary that she wrote in every day and kept hidden in her chest of drawers. I knew about it and, after a search, found it and was reading some of the juicy entries when my mother caught me and gave me a good paddling. More recently, when I have remarked to Steve about something that occurred several years ago, he would say to me “write that down.” I wish that I had honored that request more diligently. It would be great if everyone kept a record of their life. Some of the entries in my great GM’s journal are very brief (about the weather, etc.) while others are somewhat humorous. Births are recorded (my mother in 1901) and deaths (her husband, who she called Mr. Mac, and she says “what will be do, what will we do?). Those were difficult days but we know about them because of my GGM. Her name was Tabitha, but everyone called her “Aunt T.” The title of “uncle” or “aunt” was still very common even when I was growing up. It was applied to older adults quite often even though some of them were only in their fifties. My granddad’s name was Lucas, but to everyone else he was “Uncle Luke.” Other community residents were Aunt Lou, Aunt Sally, Uncle Lynn and Uncle Ed (actually my real uncle but everyone called him “Uncle”) to name a few. Sorry, I’m getting away from the subject matter, but, hey!! This is what I do. I ramble. Back to the scripture verse at the top. The part about spending our years as a tale that is told is only found in the King James Version of the Bible (if I am wrong, please let me know.) This psalm, which is attributed to Moses, is actually a prayer. It is widely used at funerals as part of the scripture text. Now I don’t want to get morbid here, but we might as well face it. It’s coming, someday, to every one of us. You know. The big “D”. As certain as taxes, the saying goes. In the past, when I was more active, I was called on to play the piano or organ for funeral services at various churches and funeral home chapels in Calico Rock and other cities. I wish I had kept a record (journal) and these probably would amount to several hundred services, on some occasions three or four times a week. I admit that I became somewhat desensitized to the situations but now, in my old age, I think about it a lot. Several columns back, I wrote a little piece about “September Song.” One of the verses refers to the days dwindling down to a “precious few.” Another way of putting it is that when we get old, like me, we are close to the “last chapter” of our journal. How will it all end? We aren’t sure but I had a friend that told me he would like to live to be 110 years and be shot by a jealous husband. I assured him that wouldn’t happen. Oh, he might live to be 110, but forget the jealous husband part. However, when the final curtain falls, I would like to be as ready as possible. I’m giving some thought about my funeral service. I have some music selected, some pallbearers picked out and I want the minister to use Psalm 90 as the text for his eulogy. Most people would rather not discuss these things, so if I have offended anyone, I apologize. I’ll be more upbeat when I see you in two weeks when the topic will be “food.” Bye for now.

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