Father’s Day June 16, 2013

I’ve been seeing all my friends and family posts on facebook honoring their fathers and proudly showing their photos.  Some are just their Dad, some are just that person and their Dad, and some are photos of the whole family.  I love to browse their postings and think how blessed they have been with an earthly father.

My biological father died three months before I was born.  He and my mother never married.  I was a 1946 illegitimate child of a single never wed mother.  I had the audacity to show up on a Mother’s Day.  And she told me she was in labor all day.  Finally, I gave up kicking and came out about 5 pm. 

At the age of six years, she married a man, “So you will have a father..”   I know there are some wonderful stepfathers in the world.  I’ve see them in other’s lives.  That’s all I’m going to say about that.

When I was six, (before she got married), I went to vacation Bible School at the Fudgetown (Ferges) Free Methodist Church.  We learned songs, made crafts and at the end of every day’s class had a worship session up in the sanctuary.  One day, I was painfully aware that I did not have a ‘father’.  Everybody else had one.  All my cousins had one, plus grandpas and grandmas and brothers and sisters.  I had Mom and Grandma.  I was acutely aware of my low station in life.  At six years old, at an alter at Fudgetown Free Methodist Church I gave my heart to Jesus and asked him to be my father. 

He has never failed to be just that!

He has shown me that Mom’s intentions were good 

and based on love, in that she did not abort me 

and tried to raise me with an awareness of HIM.

He has shown me that sometimes a good Gramma 

and a good Mom and Him are all you need to get a good start.

He has shown me what true and romantic love is in 

the relationship He gave me and Gary.

He holds me in His arms when I cry.

He lifts me up when I am weak.

He calms my heart when I’m in turmoil.

He gives me a song when I am sad.

He writes me love letters every day in His own Words.

He’s shown me over and over that 

‘In spite of what I WANT’, 

He is all I need.

I pray that when my Heavenly Father 

looks down today, that He is happy 

with what He sees!

Copyright 2013 Doris Grant Frey

LEGACY of NURSING

(LEGACY:  Inheritance, heritage, something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor, or from the past.   Merriam-Webster)

I'm calling this, the 'Biscuit' iris.

Well, I was texting today with my cousin/sis Sharon from Goreville.  As it happens they were in Marion, so we met at Gabby and Gramma’s for lunch (out by New Virginia) with her handsome husband Lavon.  (The boyfriend I tried to steal from her in high school, but he got away – from me – but not from her.)  Anyway the kid from Happy Hollow bought our lunch.  Thank you, Lavon.  And I got to see Dr. Roger Hendricks and Pam, talked a bit.  Now, there are some good hospital doc/nursing stories, but better save for another time.  And met another old friend, Gwen, from Grace Baptist in West Frankfort. 

Then we got to talking to the waitress (Gabby’s daughter) who knew Lavon and Sharon from working in a prior  Gabby’s restaurant, in Goreville.  Turns out she’s married to Don Stroud whose sister was Brenda Stroud McKeand.  I worked with Brenda, RN, at Herrin Hospital and Marion VA.  Brenda died Dec 21, 2010.

Brenda Stroud McKeand

Brenda was also a poet and had a small chapbook of poems published.  She wrote a poem each year for Nurses’ Day.  One year at the VA, she called me and said she wanted to talk to me about my nursing career for a poem she was going to write.  So I agreed.  We talked.  She wrote it.  Later, she actually published her book of poems.  And I’m honored that it is the very first poem in her book. 

                                                                                                                                                             

Yes, this was when all student nurses wore blue checked or striped dresses, stiff starched collars and cuffs, white aprons and, yes, white starched caps on our heads.

So, I told the waitress about knowing Brenda and we all had tears in our eyes before it was over.  The proceeds from her poem book established a nursing scholarship in her name at Johnston City High School. 

(Now, you may think I'm chasing rabbits, but, please, stay with me.)

Gary and I bought the Johnston City house on Prosperity Rd in 1994.  That fall the youngest Crain family moved in next door on the South.  So every house from us, south on Prosperity Rd., all the way to Stotlar was inhabited by a Crain family.  We joked that Mr. Kenny Crain was our Mayor.  Thought we ought to call our community Crainville instead of Boyd Knob.  His grand-daughter, Emmy Gael was a babe in arms.  Sisters, Natasha and Hannah used to play in our front field and rode sleds down our hill when it snowed and bicycles in our driveway in the summer.  Emmy Gael grew.  

Emmy Gael Crain

She used to come up to the house to talk and play with Biscuit.  Biscuit was my Y2K (remember that?) cat, all yellow with a white ring around his neck.  So when he curled up asleep he looked like a fat little biscuit.  Anyway, Emmy persevered greatly at trying to teach Biscuit how to dance.  She’d take both his front paws and lift them up and sway and sing and dance.  Biscuit allowed this, but I’m not sure I’d say he ever danced.  When we moved to Christopher in 2005, I couldn’t see Biscuit making the move.  He was a hunter, leaving back door trophies, live in the woods -  kind of cat.  I figured he’d head south to Johnston City and to his woods between Highway 57 and Prosperity Rd.  So Emmy Gael took Biscuit and kept him and loved him, as I knew she would.  When I moved back to Herrin, 2011, on Callie Court, Emmy, now all grown up and in high school, came by to visit.  She announced she was going to be a nurse.  I was so proud of her.  And tonight, May 16, 2013, she graduated from high school.

Johnston City High School

CONGRATULATIONS EMMY GAEL !!

And this year, the winner of the Brenda Stroud McKeand Nursing Scholarship is none other than my precious friend from Prosperity Road, Emmy Gale Crain.

Emmy has already earned her nursing assistant certificate and plans to go on.  

Brenda’s daughter Sherry became an RN.  

 

And Lavon and Sharon’s granddaughter, my third cousin, a 2013 Goreville HS

graduate with her own honors and scholarships,
 

 

 Alexandria, has chosen to become a nurse practitioner. 

Here is Brenda’s poem about my nursing life. 

Those of you who are nurses and knew me as such,

student and graduate, will recognize me in

Brenda’s skillful use of words.

By Brenda McKeand in

“The Summer of Riding Horses. 

About Nursing and other things.” 

Copyright 2010

The Story of a Nurse

Blue and white checked dresses;

Stiffly starched collars and cuffs;

Bright white ruffled pinafores.

Like nuns to morning chapel,

first inspection of the day.

Menial work, late classes,

cloistered lives, learning.

In the newborn nursery,

I held the tiny preemie,

the first feeding for this sad

scrap of life left by a mom

lost to addiction and pain.

Cleft lip, palate, just three pounds.

I prayed for God to assist.

thirty CC’s slid down the tube-

no distress, he’s on his way.

Three months later, he’s a son

going home with his new mom.

Billy, the chemo patient

trimming his beloved roses,

severed his infusion line.

Jokes in a blue binder;

aura of laughter and hope.

Then he gave me the binder,

saying, “It’s not fun anymore”.

Needing us to understand,

to accept his choice to die;

and pass his joke legacy

on to ourselves and others.

Jean had schizophrenia;

had not spoken in nine years.

A wasted life, one might say.

Veteran of shock treatments;

insulin and electric,

cold wet packs, group therapy.

My assignment - to sit with her,

write the experience down.

Days passé with no response.

Jean was silent; my pages blank.

When she spoke, “My name is Jean",

I understood what I had done.

I’ve since become a manager;

teacher to other nurses:

computers, standards of care,

budgets, management, leading.

Three lessons I have learned:

trust in God to guide my hands;

accept the patient’s wishes

when I don’t want him to die;

listen, Nursing’s greatest skill.

It really is a small world. 

It really is amazing how life comes full circle. 

It is invigorating to feel how much life can show you in just one day.  

So this legacy that we love is called nursing.  

And it lives on!

Copyright – 2013 – Doris Grant Frey

Memories, My Cowboy!

MEMORIES                                                                                                              May 11, 2013

Twenty three years ago today my life was changed in the most marvelous way.  

I became Mrs. Gary Frey.  

I had said I’d never find another man.  

I had said I’d never love again.  

AND I had said I’d never get married again.  

Just take it from me.  

Never say, “Never.”

This is the first picture that was taken of Gary and me.  My boss at the Veterans Hospital was expecting a baby.  Another friend was having a baby shower for her at her home in Goreville.  We were invited.  I told Gary we were going to a ‘baby shower’ and he told me, “I don’t do baby showers.  They're for women.”  I asked him would he please go because other husbands were going to be there too.  So he reluctantly said okay.  (Maybe just because it was ‘my boss.’)  This is our first picture.  Probably fall 1989.

On May 11, 1990, we were married.  Uncle Harry and Aunt Helena (that’s his uncle who married my aunt and that’s a whole  ‘nother story') and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Viola went with us to the court house in Paducah, Kentucky.  So we signed in and were told to wait.  The judge was not in yet.  So we did.  Later in walks Judge Heinz wearing, of all things, a pink sport coat.  Seems, he had already been to another wedding.  So he looks at us and says, “I hear there’s somebody wants to get married.”  And Gary said, “That’s us.”  So we went into the Judge’s chambers and got married.

This is the last picture of Gary and me.  It’s September 4, 2010.  On September 2 Gary was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS).  In his case, that translated to cancer of the bone marrow.  He died on November 21, 2010.  I will never understand how your life can change in the fleeting of a moment.  But it can and it does.  

Happy Anniversary, my Cowboy, Rest In Peace!

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey

"GODDESS OF LOVE IRIS"

It's Spring 

and 

time 

for

a

love

story!

The Kid From Vinegar Hill

They were an older couple.  I’d seen them there before.  I was having my usual Friday (after the beauty shop) routine lunch with my Aunt Delores and friend Pauline.  Steaks to order, with hot food bar, salad bar, fruits, jellos and puddings.  There were lots of deserts, plenty of choices, healthy and not.  But there’s no orange cake.  Could not believe it, no orange cake!  I threatened to stage a stand-in till some orange cake appeared, but the other diners just kind of stared at me.  The waitress said they “were out.”  Impossible!  They always have orange cake.  Well, little did I know that something bigger and better and much more important than orange cake was going to happen that Friday? 

They always sat at the same table, when I’d seen them there.  Over by the wall, a table for six, but just the two of them, side by side and not across from each other.  I guessed they chose that table so they could sit side by side; obviously you couldn’t at the rest of the tables, square, four seaters. 

But this time, we had arrived first.  I noticed them coming in the door. 

They walked around the entrance.  She was slow, slightly stooped.  He was helping, holding her arm.  He stopped and got her settled at that table before going in the line to pick up the tray, silver, plates, and to pay.  She looked disabled, a little - just not quite in touch.  Dressed neatly, but a sort of blank look, hair grayish and permed, but straying about in kind of loose frizzy curls.  He came with the tray and stuff and set everything out for her first, then himself.  He made several trips back and forth to the buffet, bringing her food, setting things about in order for her.  Then he made a trip or two for himself.  I watched them kind of over my shoulder as our meal went on.  I could see that she was feeding herself very carefully.

We finished eating first, of course.  At this point, I’m yearning in my heart to speak with this couple.  They are behind me.  I have to turn half way around to see them.  Since I’m the driver today, I ask my partners if they’re in a hurry. They say ‘not.’ 

“Okay,” I say, “I’ve got to talk to those people over there.” 

Pauline, “Oh, do you know them?” 

Me, “I’m about to.” 

Aunt Delores gives me one of those quizzical looks (what’s she up to now?). 

Pauline, in her usual trusting/anything goes manner, says simply, “Okay.”

Soon, he makes another trip to the buffet and returns.  I wait a couple minutes.  Then I go.

“Hi, I wonder if I could sit with you for just a couple of minutes.”  She looks up, not exactly confused, but certainly questioning.  He smiles, clear blue eyes, and says, “Yes, it’s okay.”   (Thinking back, I wonder if he might have even been glad to have ‘conversation’.) 

So I begin:  “Well, I don’t want to take up your time, but I collect love stories.  I don’t have to know your names or impose on your identity, but you look to me like ‘a love story’.  And I have to ask!  Because I collect love stories.”  He smiled the biggest smile, and his eyes lit up like a sunny sky.  “Yes, we do have a love story” he said.

“I don’t want to make your food get cold.  I just need to know the gist of it.  Tell me how you met.”  I direct this to her.  She looks at me, good eye contact, but her face is blank.  But I see something in her eyes, it’s almost a smile, but questioning, something desperate, like she wants to tell me, but she just can’t.  He speaks, “She can’t tell you, but I will.  She’s had a stroke.”  I smiled at her and shook my head in affirmation.  Told them I’d been a nurse and understood.  She seemed to relax.

He began, “She was in the eighth grade.  Her folks moved from West Frankfort to White Ash.”  He looks at me with raised eyebrows, a question mark. 

“Yes, of course, I know where White Ash is.”  I respond. 

He says, “I grew up in Vinegar Hill.”  Looks at me again.

“Yes, I know Vinegar Hill.  I grew up in FudgeTown.” 

He smiles and goes on.  “Well, I used to take walks up and around White Ash.  She was always out in the front yard in a swing.  I thought she was so pretty.  I was a freshman in high school.  So I’d walk up there all the time.  She’d be sitting in the swing.  She just kept getting prettier and prettier.  I said to myself, ‘I’m going to marry that girl someday’.  The next year she started high school.  We dated and we were sweethearts.” 

I interjected, “So, this was not puppy love?” 

He responds quickly, “Oh, no!  It was real true love.  It was a miracle.” 

I glance at her.  I swear she’s smiling in her eyes, gleaming, but the rest of her face refuses to cooperate.  I smile at her.  She lifts her head up and straightens her shoulders, then just slightly nodding her head.  And I know she’s smiling inside. 

“So we got married in 1950,” he said. 

I’m doing quick math and coming up with 50, no 60, well, 63 years. 

“So you are married 63 years?”

And he replies, “Yes, in August.” 

I congratulate them both and express my admiration.  He says she had the stroke three years ago, no speech since, that the doctor and therapists told him ‘no hope.’ 

But he says, “Where there’s life, there’s hope, and as long is God is in it . . .”  He pauses.

“You’re not giving up,” I finish it for him.  He nods.  (I thought he might have a tear in his eyes.  It was that kind of moment.  But, no, there were no tears.  He’s smiling again.)  I agree, “As long as God is in it.”  And I can see in her eyes that she is truly a miracle.  She must have been a beautiful little girl.  In some ways she still is.  He loves her just the same as then.  And even more!

I thank them, and leave them to their dinner. 

I walk away with a tear in my eye, but a smile in my heart.  Because they are still, really, husband and wife; somebody’s father and mother.  They are God’s creation and a wholesome witness in 2013 of His plan for a kid from Vinegar Hill and a pretty little girl from White Ash.

As I get close to the Exit door, I turn, look back and he waves.  I wave back and then I wait.  He pokes her arm and points and she turns and waves.  And I’m sure, she smiled.

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey

SWEETHEART!   

Who said, “Sweets to the sweet”?

Queen:

[Scattering flowers] Sweets to the sweet, farewell!

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife:

I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,

And not have strew'd thy grave.

          Well, it’s not really what one would think.  Actually, it comes from Shakespeare’s Hamlet.  When Hamlet’s mother, the queen, was scattering funeral flowers on the grave of Ophelia, Hamlet’s former love, she says, “Sweets to the sweet.”    Long story short, Hamlet murdered Ophelia’s father, which drove Ophelia mad, whereupon she committed suicide and Hamlet, who wass somewhat over attached to his mother, stumbles upon the funeral, ignorant of what has happened.  The queen sprinkles flowers as she murmurs, ‘Sweets to the sweet.’

          Seems somewhat strange that that string of words became a modern day description of the thrill of feeling the rush of an emotion, that of love.  Or maybe NOT ?

The Searchers:  Sweets For My Sweet

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjNiIvUEtIw

Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
Your first sweet kiss thrilled me so
Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
I'll never ever let you go

If you wanted that star that shines so brightly
To match the stardust in your eye
Darling, I would chase that bright star nightly
And try to steal it from the sky
And I would bring

Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
Your first sweet kiss thrilled me so
Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
I'll never ever let you go

If you wanted a king to keep you smilin'
I'd tell the sandman you were blue
And I'd ask him to keep that sand a-pilin'
Until your dreams had all come true
And I would bring

Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
Your first sweet kiss thrilled me so
Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
I'll never ever let you go

And if you wanted a love to last forever
Darlin' I would send my love your way
And my love'd not only last forever
But forever and a day
And I would bring

Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
Your first sweet kiss thrilled me so
Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey
I'll never ever let you go.

          But, “How sweet it is!”  Oh, that old feeling of love and trust and sometimes just winning.  Remember Jackie Gleason, prevailing over every episode with this expected and anticipated announcement.  It wasn’t a matter of if he was going to say it.  It was just when ? was he going to say it.  “How sweet it is!”

(The Honeymooners, the TV series, just in case you couldn’t remember!)

          There are other word connections to ‘Love’ and ‘Sweet’.  Like how we got the word  

                           ‘Sweetheart’.  Here’s a little unreferenced  take on ‘Sweetheart’. 

(Unreferenced means I read it on a search on the Internet and they didn’t

give any reference to substantiate the description, but it’s makes 

a good story so . . .  take it or leave it.)

          Anyway, in the old days, the heart was sort of viewed as the reflection of one’s personality.  You might be considered ‘hard-hearted’, ‘soft-hearted’, ‘heavy-hearted’, ‘light-hearted’, or even ‘cold-hearted’.  Well, the heart felt emotion of ‘love’, makes the heart beat faster and this was diagnosed as ‘swete hert’, a fast beating heart.  So, if you are in love, your heart is beating faster and thus you are a ‘sweetheart’. 

          Out of this style of reference also came the term ‘Heart throb,’ obviously the one who made your heart beat faster.  Then, eventually, that person became known as your ‘Sweetheart’.    ‘Swete hert’ is referenced in an old Middle English story, The Life of St. Cecilia (from Ms. Ashmole 43 and Ms. Cotton Tiberius E. VII).  It’s listed under Middle English phonology.  So, there really was the term ‘swete hert’.  As best I can tell from trying to read through, it was used to describe very romantic relationships.  Even then! 

Gee, who knew?

          Well, ‘Sweetheart’ as a word, has come a long way.  Along with describing the sweetheart who is your love, it is used for lots of other descriptors.  The term is used fairly loosely to describe any cute, pretty, over the top, candy, song, dance, banquet, melody, shape or even the best deal that you can find.  

It’s a sure thing for getting our attention.

                                                                                                   Bound to be pleasing.

Wasn’t there something about a Princess

 kissing a frog and he turned into a Prince?  

That last credit card with rewards was a ‘sweetheart’ of a deal.  Really?

My friend just found a picture of her childhood ‘sweetheart.’

 Sis got a sweetheart tin of chocolates.

 Did you get any of those little sweetheart candies this year? 

The ones that have all the little love messages printed on them? 

Hmmm, me neither!

There’s even a ‘Sweetheart’ award.  

(You can click on this and print it if you want to award your Sweetheart.)

Well, there is a sweet, sweet story, 

a real story with references 

(The BIBLE), 

about a heart of love. 

It belonged to a Jewish man who loved everyone. 

Wow, can you imagine trying to love everyone? 

His name was Jesus Christ. 

He taught about love. 

His life demonstrated love. 

His death and resurrection 

have given us the opportunity

to love,

to be loved 

and

to experience

His love.  

Now, that is a ‘Sweetheart’ of a deal!

Check it out, see below!

John 3:16

New King James Version (NKJV)

¹⁶ For God so loved the world

that He gave His only begotten Son,

that whoever believes in Him

should not perish

but have everlasting life.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

(A few days late, but just as sincere)

From Doris Ann

Copyright – 2013 – Doris Grant Frey

ABORTION VERSUS GUNS

ABORTION VERSUS GUNS

January 10, 2013

Legal, yes and no?

Legal, yes and no?

     It’s 2013, another year in my life and yours.  But there are some 330,000 or more tiny little human beings who already can’t, or by the end of 2013, won’t be able to say that.

     With all the talk about guns, this week a vice-presidential led committee to find a way to control guns in our nation, and with very little talk about mental health and other issues that plague our people and lead to mass murders, I think it might be helpful to start at the beginning.

Genesis 2:7  And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

Genesis 2:22  And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.

One man, one woman and they had children. 

Genesis 1:28  And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, . . .

Matthew 18:1-6   At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”  2 Then Jesus called a little child to Him, set him in the midst of them, 3 and said, “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 Whoever receives one little child like this in My name receives Me.      6 “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of offenses! For offenses must come, but woe to that man by whom the offense comes!”

Okay, GUNS versus ABORTIONS

GUNS:

Stats for 2009:  All firearm deaths  (latest update I could find, 2009)

http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/injury.htm

Number of deaths: 31,347

Deaths per 100,000 population: 10.2

ABORTIONS:

Stats for 2011

http://www.plannedparenthood.org/files/PPFA/PP_Services.pdf
Abortion Procedures:   329,445

Did you get that?

Guns                        31,347 

Abortions               329,445  (Oh, and that’s just the ones we know about?)

I mean, Did you GET IT?

Let’s start over:

THAT IS A BABY!  That is a living soul according to God. 

Psalm 139:13  For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.

Jeremiah 1:5  “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; Before you were born I sanctified you; I ordained you a prophet to the nations.”

Yeah, that is a baby in a womb!

* * * * * * * * *  * * * *  *  * * * 

But this is a baby in the amniotic sac laying in a gloved hand.

And this is how it got there. . . 

Why don’t we call this murder?

Why don’t we call this 

a 

victim?

     I was an unplanned child.  In 1946, it was not cool to be an unwed pregnant woman.  Living at home with her mother, my Mom made a decision to keep me.  My biological father died about three months before her due date.  She could have had a third trimester abortion.  I don’t know if that even, ever, entered her mind.  I doubt it.  She didn’t talk about that.  She just said that she wanted me, she loved me.  I thank God always for her loving me, keeping me, being so much a part of who I am today. 

     Because of this, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the Baptist Children’s Home at Carmi, Illinois.  Because, she could have aborted me, but she didn’t.  She, also, could have given me up for adoption.  That might/could have worked out okay, but she didn’t.  She kept me.  (AND that worked out best for me.)

     There is an alternative to abortion.  It’s called Life.  If you know an unwed pregnant mother, please let her know she has several choices.  Please, let her know about ANGEL’S COVE, a Baptist Children’s Home & Family Services agency in Mt. Vernon, IL.

http://bchfs.com/angelscove.html

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Now about the guns thing:

When do we realize that it is people who kill and if they don’t have guns, they will find another way?

When do we stop showing and telling our children that it’s okay to abort (kill) an unborn human child but not okay to kill one that’s been born?

When do we stop letting our kids play video games that reward their ego with kill points and relieve their stresses and have fun by killing?

When do we stop giving Oscars for movies about death, and the smartest criminal and the one that got away legally?

When do we put one man and one woman back into the definition of family?

When do we start asking God back into our nation, instead of passing man’s laws that keep His laws out?

W h e n  ?

Copyright – 2013 – Doris Grant Frey