MOTHERS
Tho' kindly disposed t'ward the bravest of the brave,
And ne'er once quoting chapter and verse . . . .
their life was lived as an open book
They could chastise a child with a simple look;
And then look kindly upon the lowliest knave.
Unselfishly, of their time, themselves, they gave;
Their own personal welfare they oft' forsook;
For their immediate needs, 'twas precious little they took;
Determined, the life-path for their children to pave.
Unflagging nurturers; they discharged their debt,
Oft without sufficient means.
Themselves unpaid; Their duty met;
Their place was earned with royalty's Queens.
Themselves denied by earth these things;
Heaven compensed with angel's wings.
END

Family,
Here the holiday season is upon us once again. Get ready for a week of turkey sandwiches and the tree up and on with Christmas shopping . . . . If you're lucky . . . . And what if you're not so lucky?
LOIS SMITH MILLER
Raymond, my youngest brother, was born November 30, 1950, less than a month before Christmas. Mama, Daddy and the family were living out near Aunt Alta in the Thonotosassa area. Mama was just home with Raymond when Daddy had to go into the hospital for surgery. He was laid up for six weeks, unable to work. I was married to my first husband who was gone with the military. My allotment for the kids was snarled up, and I hadn't gotten any money for September through December. Aunt Alta's family was having as hard a time as we were.
I went to the Red Cross, and they gave me ten dollars. Social Services gave me another ten for Mama and Daddy. The church in Thonotosassa collected groceries for all of us. Jaeb's Store gave us some more. What they collected filled up the whole back porch of Mama's house. They didn't give us any meat, so Mama killed a big buck rabbit that Wesley had raised, and she fixed that for Christmas dinner. I cashed the last two savings bonds that I had to buy gifts for my family, and I think Aunt Alta made some things for hers. We all had Christmas dinner at Mama's, and there was enough left over for supper that night and on into the following week.
The day after Christmas my allotment check came in.
...the rest of the story...I had remembered that I was eight when Mama (Alta Ruth Burdett) made Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear for me. I was born in 1942, eight years before Raymond, Aunt Isabelle's youngest child, was born. Now, drawing from Gerry's memory that Mama and Jim sat up making Gladly, the donkey and the elephant on Christmas Eve so that we would have something for Christmas, that "when we were kids I remember going to Aunt Isabelle's for Christmas dinner. We must not have had much to eat, so we ate there".... and having Lois' memories of that Christmas when she "thought Aunt Alta had made some things for hers", I realize what those handmade gifts were. Mama must have felt downcast that she had nothing but little stuffed animals to give us, but here Gladly is more than fifty years later, and many years worth of other gifts are gone and forgotten. Love truly does endure....Merry Christmas to all who visit here. Virginia
"To say that we were poor would be missing the point of our Darby days entirely. In things that really mattered, we were some of the richest kids I've ever known; and all due to the behind-the-scenes endeavors of our Grandmother Nellie." (And Aunt Isabelle and my mom, Alta, and special aunts and uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters and a big loving family)
Thanksgiving, 2002 Happy holidays folks, Bill

MOTHER

We siblings so bount’fully blest,

Foundations laid, our life-paths set,

Ere Mother received eternal rest.

Her charge to us so fully met;

And how this debt to her repay?

Her "grands" we mould exact same way.

Mother she was; simple nature’s fact,

Tho’ immeasurably so much more.

We make with her unspoken pact:

To teach our own this family lore.

Less will tarnish, but not her name;

We curse ourselves with eternal shame.

Unflagging nurturer--

she discharged her debt,

Oft without sufficient means.

Herself unpaid; her duty met;

Her place was earned with royalty’s Queens.

Unjustly denied by earth these things;

Heaven compensed with angel’s wings.

............................................

MOM'S MARKER

Received the news that our Grandmother Nellie had left us for the final time. That big heart of hers had finally and forever given up the struggle. No one but the most crass individual would think about business at a time like that. But our mom, as I recall, had been appointed executor of Grandma Nellie's estate. Unfortunately, our mom had already given up the struggle herself before the estate for Grandma had been settled. To make a long story short, Mom's kids fell heir to Mom's estate.

Mom's estate, here again as I recall, consisted solely of her inheritance from Grandmother Nellie's estate. My six siblings and I received around $50.00 dollars each. If my math serves, that would be one seventh of one twelfth (Mom and her eleven siblings) or around a total valuation of $4200.00 net for Grandmother's estate.
Sister Virginia and I wondered where our $50.00 apiece could be put to the best advantage. Our mom's grave still didn't have a marker. Jim and I had seen to it that Mom had a decent burial. But this one final thing stuck in both Virginia's and my craw. No marker. Fifty dollars apiece windfall for all seven of us kids. Hmm . . .

Virginia and I decided to just see about this. One grave marker for our mom coming up. I suggested that we, Virginia and I, call the other siblings and give all who could afford it the opportunity to contribute. We knew that some of the immediate family were having a difficult time back then. Some of the siblings were raising young families and money was short. I was both single and employed then and suggested that I both could and would be willing to make up any shortfall. And I didn't ever want to be in the position of facing either Mom or Grandmother Nellie and having to explain why I wasn't willing to take up the slack, especially with my lack of obligations and my good income back then.

We, Virginia and I, formed a committee of two and designed a marker for Mom. We had a rose included on the marker because the yellow rose was Mom's favorite flower. We got no dissenting votes from any of the other five siblings. The marker was prepared according to our specifications, a granite base, and a rose in bas-relief on the marker itself. And I've yet to hear any negative comments on this from any of the extended family either. Actually, we did hear some rather flattering comments about our choices. And this has been since 1957.

Thanks again, Grandmother Nellie. And yes, I do see your fine hand prints all over this. And you let me blather on all of these years, telling people how Virginia and I were the ones who arranged all of this. We've grown older and a bit more perceptive now. Just exactly who established an estate in the first place? And who taught Mom, who in turn taught us, to react in the manner we did? Thank you. Thank you very much, Grandma, and what a legacy to try to live up to!

IN THEIR PRESENCE

On God's green earth there occur people, places, things, in whose presence one feels somehow compelled to kick their behavior up a notch; to somehow behave just a bit better than is their usual wont. My Mom was such a presence. As an early-twenties young man, I was going through the "scrounge" phase of my life. All the trappings: motorcycles, booze, a "raunchy" girlfriend. Mom had somehow heard about my girlfriend and we were invited over. This "Motorcycle Mama" with her raunchy talk, her raunchy actions, went through an immediate and strange metamorphosis. She became a lady. She watched her language; she deferred to my mom whenever Mom spoke or needed anything. This "lady" would sit and willing and lovingly brush Mom's long hair and talk with Mom and listen when Mom talked. I'd never seen this person act this way before and never saw her act this way again.
I worked with this maintenance foreman for several years. Bruce Card's mom was also such a presence. She never curled a lip, never elevated her nose, never an arched eyebrow, never called anyone down about their words or actions in her presence; she didn't have to. People just magically and strangely behaved well in her presence.
A lady, in the truest sense of the word, was a Canadian-American who had been a music director for a school district in Canada. She could teach a person to sing a new song in English, French, the language didn't matter. She seemingly had infinite patience. A person could be butchering this lady's native tongue, French, and this lady would never raise her voice, never grow impatient, never give up on bringing out the best in a person. This lady could slow the tempo of a song, change key and also sing the song at the new slower tempo and in the changed key while also playing the piano in this new format. I can't approach doing even one of these things, much less all four at the same time. A beautiful, talented, helpful, angelic-voiced, patient, elderly lady.
Mt. Rushmore causes people to talk in hushed tones, to show respect. And it's just a sculpture. But it's more than just that. People somehow know this. Their actions, their tone of voice, their choice of words show this. It really is just a sculpture. . . . . and yet, so much more . . . .
And then there was this lady I never met. I only heard about her from a family member. "Border Collie, Female, Spayed" Her name was Angel.

END

LIVING ON GRANDMA NELLIE'S FARM AT DARBY, FLORIDA

In regard to Grandma Burdette's 1925 Buick Coupe, I remember that Mart, Jim, & I--Bill--(Norman Franks may have been with us, but I'm not sure of this) drove Grandma's car on the shore of one of the local ponds. While trying to get the car un-stuck, we managed to break one of the rear axles. This, to the best of my recollection, fairly well finished any useful life for the car due to non-availability of parts. I don't remember the ultimate disposition of the car. One other thing, the Buick had some sort of vacuum-assisted fuel pump or fuel delivery system. What brings the unusual fuel system to mind was octagon soap being used to seal a leak in the vacuum tank under the car's hood. This must have been circa 1947-48.

I also remember one of the steel-wheeled Fordson tractors being there under the Mulberry tree in the front yard near the gate. I don't remember the tractor ever running during the time we were there. There was a 55 gallon drum of tractor fuel there. Dad would siphon the fuel and mix with gasoline for the old panel delivery truck he drove. There was an old mechanical stump puller there also. I don't remember anyone ever putting it to use. I do have vivid memories of the wild blackberry bramble to the south and slightly east of the log barn on the place. We picked blackberries from the bramble and mulberries from the front yard tree and Mom would make cobblers for us. We also caught fish from a sinkhole to the north of the house and across the north pasture near that giant (as my childhood memory saw it Magnolia tree. We also caught bass, perch, bream and catfish from the pond through the woods further north on the 60 acres. Favorite memory: The fish were biting so rapidly on one occasion that one of the girls, I think it was Reatha or possibly Martha Nell scrambling to catch a fish that had flopped off the hook and got finned in the derriere by another fish being pulled in before they could capture flopper # 1.

I also remember that the one-room school house was a little closer that 2 miles from Grandma's house, consequently we got brown as little Indians (Mom's words) from walking to school and back. Mom also made the observation that our calf muscles got hard as rocks from all of that walking. This would have been on the route for the syrup bucket lunch pail saga. Mrs. Bellamy, wife of Doug Bellamy, "Uncle Doug" to the current Bellamy Brothers singers would have been our bus driver if we could have made the case for Grandma's house being 2 miles or further from the school house. Speaking of the Bellamy Brothers, Martha Nell was in the neighborhood years later and went by to see Mrs. Bellamy, mother to the singers who were Ruth Bellamy's cousins. Ruth was the school bus driver's daughter. See? Anyhow, as Martha Nell was walking up to the house, the hounds started barking as hounds are wont to do. Mrs. Bellamy called to her sons and asked who was coming. One or the other of the sons said that it was probably just one of their fans wanting an autograph. Martha Nell, ever the tactful one, told this impertinent young man that "I didn't come to see you BOYS, I came to see your mom." These BOYS are known all over the western hemisphere for their music. 'Nuff said.

Other than two of the Sessoms brothers (lived right across the dirt road from the school house) marrying two of the Sinkfield sisters, that's about it in re: Grandma's 1925 Buick. There's actually more but it's late and I'm going to bed. Good night and love ya', Oh, did I forget to mention the two catfish, so little they could be fried and eaten, bones and all, the two buttermilk biscuits and the glass of milk I had for breakfast one time because that was all there was. Remind me to tell you about that sometime.