Re: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
On 1/23/2014 7:02 PM, Michael Jackson wrote: at least the cousins that are still alive You didn't eat the cousins yet? Go figure.
[FairfieldLife] Re: Death Watch
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Richard J. Williams wrote: On 1/23/2014 7:02 PM, Michael Jackson wrote: at least the cousins that are still alive You didn't eat the cousins yet? Go figure. OK, now that's funny. :-)
[FairfieldLife] Re: Death Watch
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, TurquoiseB wrote: --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Richard J. Williams wrote: On 1/23/2014 7:02 PM, Michael Jackson wrote: at least the cousins that are still alive You didn't eat the cousins yet? Go figure. OK, now that's funny. :-) Then again, maybe I've just been watching too much Justified and True Detective. Both series are taking me back to what it was like to grow up in the American South. The landscapes of back-country Louisiana and Kentucky are so *familiar* to me that part of me feels at home every time I see them. Even the shanty town houses are familiar. And the ways that people talk to each other, and relate...that's a real Southern thing, one that Michael captured well in his story. In Justified, you really can imagine Boyd Crowder chowing down on one of his own cousins who'd betrayed him in a drug deal.
Re: [FairfieldLife] Re: Death Watch
Thanks Barry - that is high praise coming from a writer like you. I have a ton of great and true stories from my mother's side of the family, but if I ever tried to get them published, I'd have to move to the moon - we have lots of cousins still living that would be highly offended if I told tales of their momma's and daddies - drunks and thieves become saints after death, you know. On Fri, 1/24/14, TurquoiseB turquoi...@yahoo.com wrote: Subject: [FairfieldLife] Re: Death Watch To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Date: Friday, January 24, 2014, 7:58 AM Excellent story, Michael, and beautifully told. You bring back to me so many memories of childhood in the South, and the strangely mannered (but comforting) ways that people acted there. Your descriptions of the people, always including who they're related to the way that people in the South always do, are great, as are your descriptions of the food. Sometimes the only way we can come to terms with disturbing but formative experiences like this is to try to tell the story, as best we can. I think that's what made Garrison Keillor so good at what he did...he was a great storyteller, and you could tell that much of what he related on Prairie Home Companion were tales from *his* life, told as a way of not only sharing them with others, but coming to peace with them himself. Very nice. Deep bow. --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Michael Jackson wrote: I have told some funny stories, all true, here on FFL. This one is not so funny, but nonetheless still true. This happened when I was about six years old. And it was, and still stands today as a strange experience. It was one of my first experiences of death. I suppose I might have at that time experienced the death of a pet, but I don't remember it. So maybe I was unprepared for death, not having had much experience of it, but I had never seen nor heard of a death watch. My great, great Aunt Ola was dying. I don't know what she was dying of, but she damn sure didn't want to go. And all her kin people were there, watching, waiting for her to die. (Most everyone I knew then called her ain't Oler or if she wasn't their aunt, then they just called her Oler, rhymes with roller.) Ola and her husband lived near a town in North Carolina called Marshville. Marshville would become known as the birthplace of Randy Travis and parts of the Steven Spielberg film The Color Purple would be filmed there 35 or so years in the future, but all Marshville meant to me was the place we went to see my great grandmother, and this time to watch Aunt Ola die. The community was not named Marshville because some enterprising fools had drained a swamp to build the town, but rather for a couple of wealthy benefactors named Marsh who donated a good deal of land for a community center and a couple churches back around the beginning of the 20th century. It had once been a champion area for cotton in the pre and post Civil war days, and still was devoted to agriculture here in the early 1960's. Many of my kin in the area were farmers of one sort or another. It wasn't my intention to watch Aunt Ola die, but like all kids have to, I had to do what my folks told me to do. So I found myself wandering around in a very large old A frame house watching all the adults behave in as strange a fashion as I had ever witnessed. This old house had been the nexus of many a happy gathering and many a country Sunday meal, but now it was serving as hospice. Aunt Ola was pretty old, and it seemed the entire family had gathered to watch her die. Ola Little, my mother's great aunt had been married for years to Lee Hill, but he had been dead for some years by the time his wife seemed destined to join him in the afterlife. All her kids should have been by her side, watching her go to her reward, but some were absent. For one thing, she and her daughter Velma had fallen out over the land upon which we were standing at that moment and over the house Ola was dying in. Daughter Gladys had taken care of her momma for some years at this time and was slated to receive the house and farm in Ola's will, which is why Gladys and Velma didn't get along, and the reason Velma and husband Dusty weren't there at the death watch. They did not in fact even attend the funeral. The other kids may have been there, but I really didn't know who they were. All my great aunts and Uncles were there. Brice and Cara-Lou (that we all pronounced Carry-Lou), drunkard con artist Cecil and his enabling wife Marge, philandering drunk L.W. and his gorgeous wife Fay, upright Hoyle who made a living running a tobacco vending route servicing the cigarette needs of the community through the cigarette vending machines that were ubiquitous in those
Re: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
authfrined: Wonderful piece, Michael, beautifully done. Much better than the short story he told about eating the spotted dick and the dead baby. LoL! On Thu, Jan 23, 2014 at 6:37 PM, authfri...@yahoo.com wrote: *Wonderful piece, Michael, beautifully done.* I have told some funny stories, all true, here on FFL. This one is not so funny, but nonetheless still true. This happened when I was about six years old. And it was, and still stands today as a strange experience. It was one of my first experiences of death. I suppose I might have at that time experienced the death of a pet, but I don't remember it. So maybe I was unprepared for death, not having had much experience of it, but I had never seen nor heard of a death watch. My great, great Aunt Ola was dying. I don't know what she was dying of, but she damn sure didn't want to go. And all her kin people were there, watching, waiting for her to die. (Most everyone I knew then called her ain't Oler or if she wasn't their aunt, then they just called her Oler, rhymes with roller.) Ola and her husband lived near a town in North Carolina called Marshville. Marshville would become known as the birthplace of Randy Travis and parts of the Steven Spielberg film The Color Purple would be filmed there 35 or so years in the future, but all Marshville meant to me was the place we went to see my great grandmother, and this time to watch Aunt Ola die. The community was not named Marshville because some enterprising fools had drained a swamp to build the town, but rather for a couple of wealthy benefactors named Marsh who donated a good deal of land for a community center and a couple churches back around the beginning of the 20th century. It had once been a champion area for cotton in the pre and post Civil war days, and still was devoted to agriculture here in the early 1960's. Many of my kin in the area were farmers of one sort or another. It wasn't my intention to watch Aunt Ola die, but like all kids have to, I had to do what my folks told me to do. So I found myself wandering around in a very large old A frame house watching all the adults behave in as strange a fashion as I had ever witnessed. This old house had been the nexus of many a happy gathering and many a country Sunday meal, but now it was serving as hospice. Aunt Ola was pretty old, and it seemed the entire family had gathered to watch her die. Ola Little, my mother's great aunt had been married for years to Lee Hill, but he had been dead for some years by the time his wife seemed destined to join him in the afterlife. All her kids should have been by her side, watching her go to her reward, but some were absent. For one thing, she and her daughter Velma had fallen out over the land upon which we were standing at that moment and over the house Ola was dying in. Daughter Gladys had taken care of her momma for some years at this time and was slated to receive the house and farm in Ola's will, which is why Gladys and Velma didn't get along, and the reason Velma and husband Dusty weren't there at the death watch. They did not in fact even attend the funeral. The other kids may have been there, but I really didn't know who they were. All my great aunts and Uncles were there. Brice and Cara-Lou (that we all pronounced Carry-Lou), drunkard con artist Cecil and his enabling wife Marge, philandering drunk L.W. and his gorgeous wife Fay, upright Hoyle who made a living running a tobacco vending route servicing the cigarette needs of the community through the cigarette vending machines that were ubiquitous in those days and his wife Ruth, Farmer Buren who always wore a tie or bow tie and raised gigantic hogs on a nearby farm and his wife Ethel. I don't remember but I reckon GT and Lilly were there too, GT being Ola's brother and Lilly his wife. I remember them because in later days Randy Travis would talk in interviews about going to GT's little general store when he was growing up, and after he became a famous country musician, he would always go visit with GT and Lilly whenever he went back home to the Marshville area, even after GT retired and gave up the store. The largest room in the house, the living room, had been converted to the death watch area. All the furniture had been removed and chairs, many of them provided by the local funeral home I reckon, had been placed all the way around the room against the walls so folks would have a place to set as they watched Ola kick the bucket. The room had a large fireplace with mantel in the center of one wall, and the way it was built as you faced it, there was sort of an alcove or inset just to the left of the fireplace and that was the place Ola's bed had been put. If you were on the far wall looking towards Ola with the fireplace on your right, you would not be able to see her face, unless you were standing pretty far down the wall, you could just see her torso and legs and
[FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
Om, best FFL post of January 2014. Makes you think really hard about things. I'll get back to you about this later. Actually, I have to go out and help wrap a body at a nursing home for a departed soul now. -Buck
Re: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
thank you and it is all true - good thing my kin folk don't read this forum or they would be pissed - at least the cousins that are still alive - esp L.W.'s kids - they would come after me for calling their daddy a drunk and a philanderer, but he was. On Fri, 1/24/14, authfri...@yahoo.com authfri...@yahoo.com wrote: Subject: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Date: Friday, January 24, 2014, 12:37 AM Wonderful piece, Michael, beautifully done. I have told some funny stories, all true, here on FFL. This one is not so funny, but nonetheless still true. This happened when I was about six years old. And it was, and still stands today as a strange experience. It was one of my first experiences of death. I suppose I might have at that time experienced the death of a pet, but I don't remember it. So maybe I was unprepared for death, not having had much experience of it, but I had never seen nor heard of a death watch. My great, great Aunt Ola was dying. I don't know what she was dying of, but she damn sure didn't want to go. And all her kin people were there, watching, waiting for her to die. (Most everyone I knew then called her ain't Oler or if she wasn't their aunt, then they just called her Oler, rhymes with roller.) Ola and her husband lived near a town in North Carolina called Marshville. Marshville would become known as the birthplace of Randy Travis and parts of the Steven Spielberg film The Color Purple would be filmed there 35 or so years in the future, but all Marshville meant to me was the place we went to see my great grandmother, and this time to watch Aunt Ola die. The community was not named Marshville because some enterprising fools had drained a swamp to build the town, but rather for a couple of wealthy benefactors named Marsh who donated a good deal of land for a community center and a couple churches back around the beginning of the 20th century. It had once been a champion area for cotton in the pre and post Civil war days, and still was devoted to agriculture here in the early 1960's. Many of my kin in the area were farmers of one sort or another. It wasn't my intention to watch Aunt Ola die, but like all kids have to, I had to do what my folks told me to do. So I found myself wandering around in a very large old A frame house watching all the adults behave in as strange a fashion as I had ever witnessed. This old house had been the nexus of many a happy gathering and many a country Sunday meal, but now it was serving as hospice. Aunt Ola was pretty old, and it seemed the entire family had gathered to watch her die. Ola Little, my mother's great aunt had been married for years to Lee Hill, but he had been dead for some years by the time his wife seemed destined to join him in the afterlife. All her kids should have been by her side, watching her go to her reward, but some were absent. For one thing, she and her daughter Velma had fallen out over the land upon which we were standing at that moment and over the house Ola was dying in. Daughter Gladys had taken care of her momma for some years at this time and was slated to receive the house and farm in Ola's will, which is why Gladys and Velma didn't get along, and the reason Velma and husband Dusty weren't there at the death watch. They did not in fact even attend the funeral. The other kids may have been there, but I really didn't know who they were. All my great aunts and Uncles were there. Brice and Cara-Lou (that we all pronounced Carry-Lou), drunkard con artist Cecil and his enabling wife Marge, philandering drunk L.W. and his gorgeous wife Fay, upright Hoyle who made a living running a tobacco vending route servicing the cigarette needs of the community through the cigarette vending machines that were ubiquitous in those days and his wife Ruth, Farmer Buren who always wore a tie or bow tie and raised gigantic hogs on a nearby farm and his wife Ethel. I don't remember but I reckon GT and Lilly were there too, GT being Ola's brother and Lilly his wife. I remember them because in later days Randy Travis would talk in interviews about going to GT's little general store when he was growing up, and after he became a famous country musician, he would always go visit with GT and Lilly whenever he went back home to the Marshville area, even after GT retired and gave up the store. The largest room in the house, the living room, had been converted to the death watch area. All the furniture had been removed and chairs, many of them provided by the local funeral home I reckon, had been placed all the way around the room against the walls so folks would have a place to set as they watched Ola kick the bucket. The room had a large
Re: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
spotted dick and drowned baby are both types of English puddings Subject: Re: [FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch To: Richard J. Williams FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Date: Friday, January 24, 2014, 12:43 AM Wonderful piece, Michael, beautifully done.Much better than the short story he told about eating the spotted dick and the dead baby. LoL! On Thu, Jan 23, 2014 at 6:37 PM, authfri...@yahoo.com wrote: Wonderful piece, Michael, beautifully done. I have told some funny stories, all true, here on FFL. This one is not so funny, but nonetheless still true. This happened when I was about six years old. And it was, and still stands today as a strange experience. It was one of my first experiences of death. I suppose I might have at that time experienced the death of a pet, but I don't remember it. So maybe I was unprepared for death, not having had much experience of it, but I had never seen nor heard of a death watch. My great, great Aunt Ola was dying. I don't know what she was dying of, but she damn sure didn't want to go. And all her kin people were there, watching, waiting for her to die. (Most everyone I knew then called her ain't Oler or if she wasn't their aunt, then they just called her Oler, rhymes with roller.) Ola and her husband lived near a town in North Carolina called Marshville. Marshville would become known as the birthplace of Randy Travis and parts of the Steven Spielberg film The Color Purple would be filmed there 35 or so years in the future, but all Marshville meant to me was the place we went to see my great grandmother, and this time to watch Aunt Ola die. The community was not named Marshville because some enterprising fools had drained a swamp to build the town, but rather for a couple of wealthy benefactors named Marsh who donated a good deal of land for a community center and a couple churches back around the beginning of the 20th century. It had once been a champion area for cotton in the pre and post Civil war days, and still was devoted to agriculture here in the early 1960's. Many of my kin in the area were farmers of one sort or another. It wasn't my intention to watch Aunt Ola die, but like all kids have to, I had to do what my folks told me to do. So I found myself wandering around in a very large old A frame house watching all the adults behave in as strange a fashion as I had ever witnessed. This old house had been the nexus of many a happy gathering and many a country Sunday meal, but now it was serving as hospice. Aunt Ola was pretty old, and it seemed the entire family had gathered to watch her die. Ola Little, my mother's great aunt had been married for years to Lee Hill, but he had been dead for some years by the time his wife seemed destined to join him in the afterlife. All her kids should have been by her side, watching her go to her reward, but some were absent. For one thing, she and her daughter Velma had fallen out over the land upon which we were standing at that moment and over the house Ola was dying in. Daughter Gladys had taken care of her momma for some years at this time and was slated to receive the house and farm in Ola's will, which is why Gladys and Velma didn't get along, and the reason Velma and husband Dusty weren't there at the death watch. They did not in fact even attend the funeral. The other kids may have been there, but I really didn't know who they were. All my great aunts and Uncles were there. Brice and Cara-Lou (that we all pronounced Carry-Lou), drunkard con artist Cecil and his enabling wife Marge, philandering drunk L.W. and his gorgeous wife Fay, upright Hoyle who made a living running a tobacco vending route servicing the cigarette needs of the community through the cigarette vending machines that were ubiquitous in those days and his wife Ruth, Farmer Buren who always wore a tie or bow tie and raised gigantic hogs on a nearby farm and his wife Ethel. I don't remember but I reckon GT and Lilly were there too, GT being Ola's brother and Lilly his wife. I remember them because in later days Randy Travis would talk in interviews about going to GT's little general store when he was growing up, and after he became a famous country musician, he would always go visit with GT and Lilly whenever he went back home to the Marshville area, even after GT retired and gave up the store. The largest room in the house, the living room, had been converted to the death watch area. All the furniture had been removed and chairs, many of them provided by the local funeral home I reckon, had been placed all the way around the room against the walls so folks would have a place to set as they watched Ola kick the bucket. The room had a large fireplace with mantel in the center
[FairfieldLife] RE: Death Watch
You know at the time of death a lot of support to the release of departing souls can be given if folks are sympathetic to what is spiritually going on. Sounds like those folks there down south then were just ignorant or unfamiliar with what could be done, doing their best personally in grieving and then also leaving it to the family nurses up front or hoping for the clergy to do it in the end by custom. Certainly a lot of folks are not equipped for this themselves and that is understandable. Cultural Traditions of religions are certainly formative in people's lives and being sympathetic to that can be helpful even within the particular tradition to pick out the transcendental. You kind of have to swing with what you have at hand. The Lord's Prayer probably would have been extremely helpful to that old and great auntie in her end. I have seen that. For other more spiritually cultivated, mantras and their vibrations can be good for transition and release in field effect. I had a relation who was extremely well educated, modern and scientific, professional and humanitarian in extreme ways like formulating the WIC program and getting it through Congress and other things in large concept pediatric health care in a lifetime career. In experience was with the first medical unit to come in to the Auschwitz camp after the infantry got there, on the radio hearing, “Hey, you ought to come up here and see this.. .”. After a lifetime of disciplinedc good and great works this person was terrorized in the very end by his more formative influences of early life on the Kansas prairie with larger than life ideological Christians, like MJ's Cross-roads Preacher and such. Unbelievable fear. Even this person of great science learning and great humanitarianism, The Lord's prayer worked real good with this relative getting him ready and transitioned. Remarkable really as he saw it then given the opposition of early years with some really extreme and nutty Christian Kansas compatriots of temperate Molly Hatchet. Wow for the Lord's Prayer for composing a subtle system at death for (christian) westerners. Jai Guru Devs, -Buck, meditating not uncommonly in the Death Watch Room ---In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Buck wrote: Om, best FFL post of January 2014. Makes you think really hard about things. I'll get back to you about this later. Actually, I have to go out and help wrap a body at a nursing home for a departed soul now. -Buck
[FairfieldLife] Re: Death Watch
Excellent story, Michael, and beautifully told. You bring back to me so many memories of childhood in the South, and the strangely mannered (but comforting) ways that people acted there. Your descriptions of the people, always including who they're related to the way that people in the South always do, are great, as are your descriptions of the food. Sometimes the only way we can come to terms with disturbing but formative experiences like this is to try to tell the story, as best we can. I think that's what made Garrison Keillor so good at what he did...he was a great storyteller, and you could tell that much of what he related on Prairie Home Companion were tales from *his* life, told as a way of not only sharing them with others, but coming to peace with them himself. Very nice. Deep bow. --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Michael Jackson wrote: I have told some funny stories, all true, here on FFL. This one is not so funny, but nonetheless still true. This happened when I was about six years old. And it was, and still stands today as a strange experience. It was one of my first experiences of death. I suppose I might have at that time experienced the death of a pet, but I don't remember it. So maybe I was unprepared for death, not having had much experience of it, but I had never seen nor heard of a death watch. My great, great Aunt Ola was dying. I don't know what she was dying of, but she damn sure didn't want to go. And all her kin people were there, watching, waiting for her to die. (Most everyone I knew then called her ain't Oler or if she wasn't their aunt, then they just called her Oler, rhymes with roller.) Ola and her husband lived near a town in North Carolina called Marshville. Marshville would become known as the birthplace of Randy Travis and parts of the Steven Spielberg film The Color Purple would be filmed there 35 or so years in the future, but all Marshville meant to me was the place we went to see my great grandmother, and this time to watch Aunt Ola die. The community was not named Marshville because some enterprising fools had drained a swamp to build the town, but rather for a couple of wealthy benefactors named Marsh who donated a good deal of land for a community center and a couple churches back around the beginning of the 20th century. It had once been a champion area for cotton in the pre and post Civil war days, and still was devoted to agriculture here in the early 1960's. Many of my kin in the area were farmers of one sort or another. It wasn't my intention to watch Aunt Ola die, but like all kids have to, I had to do what my folks told me to do. So I found myself wandering around in a very large old A frame house watching all the adults behave in as strange a fashion as I had ever witnessed. This old house had been the nexus of many a happy gathering and many a country Sunday meal, but now it was serving as hospice. Aunt Ola was pretty old, and it seemed the entire family had gathered to watch her die. Ola Little, my mother's great aunt had been married for years to Lee Hill, but he had been dead for some years by the time his wife seemed destined to join him in the afterlife. All her kids should have been by her side, watching her go to her reward, but some were absent. For one thing, she and her daughter Velma had fallen out over the land upon which we were standing at that moment and over the house Ola was dying in. Daughter Gladys had taken care of her momma for some years at this time and was slated to receive the house and farm in Ola's will, which is why Gladys and Velma didn't get along, and the reason Velma and husband Dusty weren't there at the death watch. They did not in fact even attend the funeral. The other kids may have been there, but I really didn't know who they were. All my great aunts and Uncles were there. Brice and Cara-Lou (that we all pronounced Carry-Lou), drunkard con artist Cecil and his enabling wife Marge, philandering drunk L.W. and his gorgeous wife Fay, upright Hoyle who made a living running a tobacco vending route servicing the cigarette needs of the community through the cigarette vending machines that were ubiquitous in those days and his wife Ruth, Farmer Buren who always wore a tie or bow tie and raised gigantic hogs on a nearby farm and his wife Ethel. I don't remember but I reckon GT and Lilly were there too, GT being Ola's brother and Lilly his wife. I remember them because in later days Randy Travis would talk in interviews about going to GT's little general store when he was growing up, and after he became a famous country musician, he would always go visit with GT and Lilly whenever he went back home to the Marshville area, even after GT retired and gave up the store. The largest room in the house, the living room, had been converted to the death watch area. All the furniture had been removed and chairs, many of them provided by the local funeral home I reckon, had been placed all the way around
