A Peek into the Past

While visiting my mother last week, I went through some wonderful memorabilia from my grandparents, including a pamphlet from my grandfather's time with the Royal Canadian Air Force, a flight log of his time in the China-Burma-India theater of World War II, and an article from the Shelby Daily Star newspaper, reprinted in the early 1980s but originally published in the 1930s.

The article contains three different bits of local news. First, a story about my grandfather D.L. Willis, who was the first person in Cleveland County to own an airplane. Of course, there was no airport at the time, so Papa had to use a field near Cherryville after the Byers field was planted in cotton. Oh, the challenges of early aviation!

The third story is about a trans-Atlantic trip by Harry Cohen and his wife to visit their native Great Britain and includes a lot of name-dropping of famous people with whom the Cohens (or their relatives) had passing encounters. The best story in the article, however, is buried in the middle. I'll transcribe it for your entertainment.

While Willis set his sights on the wild blue yonder, 17-year-old C.J. Deaton aimed at getting home to quiet, unglamorous Mooresboro again.

C.J. went star-gazing in Hollywood while friends and relatives thought he was dead.

In early 1935, C.J.--his imagination fed by the silver screen's wonders--ran away from home. He hopped freight trains and hitchhiked all the way to California. 

Back in Mooresboro, C.J.'s parents received news from Texas about the death of a boy who resembled their son.

C.J. nosed around Hollywood and saw how pictures were made. He watched James Cagney make a gangster film. 

"It was all a big fake," C.J. said as he explained his great discovery to The Star. "That part where Jimmy is thrown out of an automobile--shucks, they just used dummies for that."

His dreams shattered, C.J. went to a Los Angeles relief agency which steered him homeward. 

As C.J. worked happily in a Mooresboro cotton patch, he offered some advice to potential runaways. "Don't do it," he said. "And if you must, stay away from California. There's too many other bums out there."

C.J., wherever in this world or the next you are right now, thank you for your charming adventure. You're swell!

Which leads me to ask a question: what "great discovery" have you experienced that made you say "shucks"? What discovery caused you to lose a bit of innocence? For four-year-old me, it was learning that little people do not live in traffic lights. It was so much nicer and more comforting to believe that actual, very small people were taking care of traffic and keeping everyone safe.

Happy Anniversary, George

Twenty-five years ago today, George and I were married at St. Paul United Methodist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Twenty-five years.

Wow.

George had hair. I weighed 109 pounds. He was 21, and I was 19. I felt nervous and happy and all warm and fuzzy inside.

Neither of us can remember much about the wedding. When we watch the video, it's like we're watching actors in a movie. Who are those people?

We had no idea what we were doing.

We still have no idea what we are doing.

But we're doing it together.

Which still makes me feel nervous and happy and all warm and fuzzy inside.

A Little Vacation

Questioning my Intelligence will be back with new content next week (Wednesday).

Until then, here's an encore of one of my favorite essays I've posted here. I recently had a conversation with a mommy whose new baby #2 is challenging all her preconceptions about parenting, and she's experiencing the same baffled, "what-the-heck-is-happening-to-me?" feelings I had after Jack was born. Pride goeth before the fall. I've got none left, and I imagine her baby #2 will suck her down into the trenches with the rest of us muddling-through, prideless mothers. Welcome to the club, my friend. Welcome to the club.

Gratitude Journal #93

Today, I am grateful George successfully--and safely--completed another olympic-distance triathlon.

Today, I am grateful for Pastor Suzanne's sermon on mercy or merit. It helped me understand a lot of what I've been thinking about in the past few years.

Today, I am grateful for a dog that sits like a frog.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

...which also makes me grateful for laughter.

What are you grateful for today?

Weekly Giggle #30

Y'all are gonna get sick of my linking to Lowering the Bar, but seriously, today's post is hysterically funny. The Pentagon and CIA, both lacking in the humor department, could learn A LOT from MI6 about fighting terrorism.

Words, Words, Words about Rest

"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time." John Lubbock


What sort of rest are you planning for this summer?

Things on Thursday: The Gentle Leader

A while back, a kind reader recommended the Gentle Leader as a means of dealing with Daisy's pulling on leash. The pinch collar had worked beautifully with Hoover, but Daisy wasn't responding to it at all. Finally, I took my kind reader's advice, and what smashingly good advice it was! The Gentle Leader works beautifully! Daisy doesn't pull at all, and walks are so much more pleasant. At least for me.

Daisy, on the other hand, has a different opinion of the Gentle Leader.

Why Are You Doing This to Me?

I cannot tell if she is merely sad or both sad and furious about the strap over her nose. I think I see daggers shooting from her eyes, but she's such a sweet pup that daggers seem impossible for her. She keeps trying to rub the strap off by running the side of her muzzle through the grass. Obviously, this only serves to keep the strap in place.

She's not sensible, but she's my dog. And she will get used to the Gentle Leader. Eventually.

I had planned on having Daisy be the guest blogger this week, but George pointed out that Hoover's guest spot occurred just weeks before his diagnosis with cancer. This coincidence has both of us a bit spooked about giving Daisy a voice on the blog, especially since her ACL/luxating patella surgery is on June 21. That's just the right leg. The left can't be done for three months after that. 

In the meantime, please enjoy these two pictures taken by George recently. My picture above is a more accurate representation of her true color, but you seriously can't beat natural evening sunlight for photographing golden retrievers. She really is furry golden sunshine!

Don't Hate Me because I'm Beautiful

Should I Be Worried?