Trippin´ Out

I have had the opportunity to sing with different groups from an early age. My parents both played the piano when they were younger, but got away from it as adults raising five boys. There was little time and money to give for music lessons or a piano so my involvement with music was limited to the new youth choir at Citadel Square Baptist Church.  

I was about ten when John Hutto came to our church. I had some previous exposure to music lessons in school but only once a week when the teacher came to our school. She was shared with the other schools in our district. Once a year we had a variety show to display our talents and I got my first chance to be showcased in a round of square dancing. I forgot the steps and since then I have had a reluctance to be involved with dancing of any sort. I´m sure that impacted my social life significantly.  

Vocal music is, has been, and will always be the glue in my life that provides me interaction with others.  

I connected with my very first community theater production in the late ´80s. I had no idea what I was going to be involved with, but I was convinced I could do what I had seen so many others do. I was in for a big shock. I not only didn´t get the singing part I wanted; I was expected to dance in the role that I was assigned. Yes, I could have left that night without a part in the play, but that would have been failure to me. Long story short, the choreographer managed to get the director to minimize my dance moves to a bare minimum. I wasn´t going to be billed as a song and dance man for that show. 

Over the course of the next few years, I had the chance to appear in ¨Hello Dolly¨ with Robert Ivey as the director/choreographer and ¨Blood Brothers¨ with Linda Walker as the choreographer. I view both of these shows as lifetime memories simply to have had any part in them. I know that both these notable professionals were stressed to the limit while trying to chronic left foot syndrome. That notwithstanding, they let me stay in the show and dance through my scenes with far less movement than they had intended. 

Again, stardom or the chance to play Vegas had slipped off the stage. 

I guess at this time in my life I have to be satisfied with being an ordinary guy who will just shuffle across the boards and sing for my supper instead of tripping over the lights.  

Fantastic. 

~ David Joyner 

The Secret Life of Pets

I had very few pets when I was growing up. I could probably count them all on one hand. My mother couldn't stand any animals in her home. “Animals belong outside,” she would say, “Not in our home where I have to clean up after them.” My dad's family always had animals in their home - at least a dog or two.

My father never asked my mom if he was thinking about getting a pet. He’d just show up after work with a shoebox or some sort of container and inside would be the cutest pet. My mom would just shake her head.

What else could she do now?

The damage was done. She would just reinforce what she had already preached, “I'm not taking lead. Feed and water it. If it dies it's your fault!”

I was around five years old when we started getting these precious creatures. My first was a small turtle - the ones where the turtle shells were hand-painted. Mine had beautiful hand-painted flowers on it and my name. Let's not forget about the turtle's home. A clear acrylic kidney-shaped dish with a glorious tropical island in the middle with an elegant palm tree.

I'm sure this turtle was one happy fella. As to how long the turtle lived, I had no idea. I do remember feeding it lettuce - at least once.

The next pet I remember (I was about eight years old) was a vibrant blue parakeet. I named it “Tweety.” Creative, huh? I loved my Tweety. Trained him how to sit on my shoulder and drink coffee out of my coffee cup. Trained him to talk - not many words but a few.

He had a small bell that he carried in his beak and if anyone touched the bell, he would peck you till you bled. He trained me very well. I learned not to touch the bell.

I let him fly free in my bedroom during the night and in the mornings, he would wake me up by pulling on my covers. After Tweety passed away - no more parakeets for me - it was just so painful losing him. There would never be another Tweety.

I was around 11 when Heidi, my black and white rabbit, came into our lives. Boring! She let me hold and pet her but that was just about it! My mother was happiest with this pet because her cage was outside, far away from our home. And, yes, I did feed her more than once.

Then, dad brought me home a duck – A DUCK! Now, at the time, we were living in a third-floor apartment. What do you do with a duck in a third-floor apartment? And, why a duck? I remember it was close to Easter and most kids were getting baby chicks that were dyed pink, blue, or green. But my dad brought me a baby duck! Yep! You can just imagine how excited my mom was about the duck... his home was a cardboard box. (But it wasn’t outside...)

One afternoon, right after I had gotten in from school, I decided to take the duck out for fresh air - or JUST AIR! Let me remind you again... we lived in a third-floor walkup. Our back door opened up onto a fire escape with a small landing no more than three or four feet.

Picture this - me taking my little duck out on the landing, opening the box, the duck comes out and immediately takes a dive off of the third-floor fire escape.

All the way down to the ground. What did I expect? The duck to just sit there breathing in the fresh air? Who was the dumbest? Me or the duck?

Yes, the duck survived! Me, on the other hand, I had a heart attack; I, too, survived.

But, needless to say, we got rid of the duck. Sent him to a better “earthly” home. If I had just kept him, I'm sure I would have sent him to his “heavenly” home.

Now that I look back on all my experiences with animals, it's a pretty good thing my momma said no to pets in our home.

In this case, it wasn't father knows best. It was definitely mother knows best.

~ Jeannie Joyner

The Eyes Have It

Nostalgia is a thing. I’m not going to lie. Looking back is something we all do at one time or another just to figure out what´s ahead. (Maybe that’s future nostalgia?) It might sound contradictory, but in hindsight, it makes all the sense in the world. 

From introductory relationships with your grandparents to the building blocks of time with our parents to finally starting a life with someone whom you never saw coming... From our childhood to our school days and then into early adulthood, we can find ourselves enamored by someone and then, finally, in love with that one and only. I can’t help but reflect on all those moments when I felt love wrapped up in the glance of one of God’s angels. 

Many of you have heard of the first meeting between my wife and myself, but for those who haven’t... It happened on a bright Tuesday morning in September 1963 – the first day of my sophomore year in high school.  

Only God could have planned our meeting so perfectly.  

She and her cousins had moved during the summer from the city (Downtown Charleston) to West Ashley. While I was harassing her cousin, she came over to ask him a question and then left to rejoin her new neighborhood friends while waiting for the first bell.  

With his admonition still in my mind, I processed through the day’s classes till fourth-period Algebra. There, sitting toward the back of the class, was the same beautiful girl who had smiled at me earlier that morning through the most incredible green eyes I had ever seen. I could write volumes of pages between here and there. But I won’t bore you with the romantic minutia. 

Suffice it to say, I still am made weak in the knees when she smiles at me with that twinkle in her eyes. 

The years passed; we married; I was drafted and processed to Vietnam. Between my first and second deployments, my wife and I spent about five months in California until my next assignment came. It was during that time we received word that our first son was due. My heart rose and fell with the news because I wouldn’t be back in time for his birth. I had to satisfy myself with the reality of our friends being in place with our families when the time arrived for his birth.   

John was delivered after many long hours and he still had enormous obstacles to overcome. He came home after two months in the ICU with countless years of hard work ahead to achieve “normalcy.” He was not deterred. One of those moments came after several medical procedures and the efforts of medical professionals whose care and concern brought him to the fitting of his first pair of glasses.   

Fast forward... 

He was five when we took him to the optometrist to see how his newly prescribed glasses fit. He clung to his mom while the technician worked the frames to hug John's tiny face. We had seen the development of his eyes over the years from dark orbs dilated to let in as much vision as they could to the pretty pair of olive-brown eyes that lit up when he was able to visualize images along with everyone else. Nothing could have prepared me for that moment when his glasses fell perfectly in place. He turned to the sound of my voice and saw me fifteen feet away. He saw clearly enough to wonder why his dad was crying. A real sight for sore eyes. 

You may be able to appreciate how life came into view for John starting with those glasses.   

Fast forward again...   

To almost ten years to the birth of our second son, Brandon, and an era of constant bright-eyed experiences for our family. 

The moments surrounding Brandon’s arrival were remarkably more normal and positive than those his brother had experienced. With John’s first visit to see his mom and his new brother, there came another milestone. John was allowed to sit in the bedside chair and hold his brother. His eyes were not big enough to take in Brandon, metaphorically speaking. He  marveled at how small his brother was, the size of his feet and hands, the whiteness of his hair and the blue of his eyes. The smile on John's face during that moment is a forever treasure.   

The bond between them has only grown. It became a long line of special moments because everything Brandon saw John do became a goal for him to achieve. As Brandon aged, John’s daily lessons and his treatments only provided Brandon with other examples for him to imitate.  He wanted to be just like his big brother.  

John’s swim lessons morphed into lessons for him. John’s homework was duplicated from a differing angle. John´s positive study regimen led Brandon to approach his lessons with a positive bent. 

Brandon couldn’t see any obstacle too big because he saw his brother challenging himself to do everything he was presented with. His eyes were opened to do what others would find daunting.  

He practiced John’s homework from the other side of the desk (literally learning to read and write up-side-down). He practiced piano while John took lessons in the music department at Charleston Southern. He auditioned for movie roles with his brother and had the good fortune to interact with several actors and actresses before setting his own direction.   

I could go on and on...  

Because both Jeannie and I are so very proud of both our boys. God has richly blessed our family and continues to open our eyes to the richness of those blessings. The truth of the matter is, I wouldn’t have been blessed with all this without my incredible wife, John and Brandon’s mother. Seem apropos for this week, right? 

To all our dear friends, to our beloved family and to you, our loyal followers, we wish you the happiest of Mothers’ Days. We hope you see all the blessings that are yours to behold. 

~ David Joyner 

A Little Door-Key

Lost keys!

They can make or break your day. Especially if it's not just a lost house key or a shed key. A key to your stupid luggage even… It would upset me enough to spend $15 replacing that kind of key. It's so annoying.

It's such a sinking feeling when you realize you've just had your keys and then you realize that they're no longer in your hand. 

You're at a store, finished with your shopping, and you're rifling through your pockets -- to no avail -- while heading out to your vehicle. You think to yourself, "I knew I had to have them 'cause I dropped them on the ground before I entered the store. You go up to the clerk in the store and check to see if anyone might have turned in a set of keys." Nope! No such luck. That's just great. You're soon in a puddle of tears in the parking lot while everyone stares at you wondering why you stopped taking your medication…

No matter what kind of mood you were in before, now you are in a lousy mood because you ask yourself how you could be that stupid. 

Now… when I lose a key, I do it up right. That's right folks. I've lost my car keys with the house key on the same key ring. More times than I care to admit.

Last time mine went missing? It was a real doozy… we're talking about a $300 key. Imagine all the time (and money) that it takes to replace that!

I was out for an afternoon of errands and I couldn't find my keys. I just knew I had them. I knew I had my keys and phone when I entered the store. 

My husband whispers to me, "Go retrace your steps through the store. You go one way I'll go the other…"

Down the side aisles, down the middle aisles, down the back aisles. No luck. 

Did someone find them and forget to turn them in? What would they want with my keys? 

Darn!

I think to myself, "Someone found them, kept them, and they are out in the parking lot now, punching the key fob hoping to locate your car so they can steal it. Great!"

So I rush back to the front of the store to make sure my car is still where I left it…

Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! It's there.

I guess I'm going home using my husband's keys because now I'm hungry, tired and mad… at myself. 

Back home, I'm pacing the floor carving a hole in the carpet from all the back and forth as I consider my next move.

Maybe someone found my keys and hadn't had a chance to turn them into the office. 

I call. 

No answer. 

Dang it! 

You know someone is there but they must be too busy to answer the phone. 

Let me try once more. Someone answers. Success!

"What do your keys look like?"

I describe them to her. One is a Mickey Mouse key, the other is the key for my car.

No keys turned in? 

Crap! 

This sweet voice says, "Give me your name and number. I'm the one who goes through the store at the end of the day and if your keys are here, I'll call you!"

Her voice is so sweet and assuring.

"If those keys are here, I'll find them for you! But you have to wait until 8:30 PM tonight when the store closes for me to check everything."

So I'm up around wondering how I could have been so stupid and careless. 8 PM! My goodness, so long to have to wait before I know for sure if I'll get my keys back!

I hear a phone ringing in the distance. What time is it? Oh no! It's 8:30 PM and she was to call at 8:30 PM. 

I sprint down the hall to catch it before it stops…

Ringing… 

Almost there…

Ringing…

I click the green button on my cell…

Too late. I missed that call. And the store's CLOSED. 

Shall I try to call them back? YOU BETCHA!

But I'm sure they won't answer after hours! Give it a shot. Someone picks up! 

"Consuela?" I asked.

"This is she," she said. 

"This is Jeannie. Sorry, I missed your call but I'm calling back about my keys. Did anyone turn them into you?"

"They sure did," she said, "and I'll be here bright and early in the morning so you can come and get them."

At that moment, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Then I said to her, "If you don't mind me asking where did they find them?"

"Well," she said, "they found them inside a laundry basket down the laundry aisle."

Inside a laundry basket? How in the world did they get inside a laundry basket? Heaven only knows because I don't even remember looking at laundry baskets. But lucky for me, this lady was looking through the laundry baskets, found them, and turned them in! 

Oh, happy day!

I think… I need to do something to repay this sweet lady. So, off we went to the donut shop…. Krispy Kreme, of course… for a dozen donuts and a little present for her.

Have you ever met someone and felt like you've known them forever? Well, that's how I felt about this sweet lady. She didn't have to take the time to call me about my keys but she did. 

So many times people just don't want to go the extra mile or even be bothered with someone else's problems. I would rather find the good; each of us should be a blessing to someone every day. 

I know this lady was a blessing to me. She just as easily could have dumped those keys in her drawer and not called me back at all - but she didn't. She took the time for me and was a blessing to me. 
Won't you be a blessing in someone else's life today?

~ Jeannie Joyner

One Plus One Equals Two

It is possibly the same in your home as it is in ours that each year, we find ourselves watching more than our share of television. It is that time of year when Hollywood deigns to impress the viewing public with the spectacle of the Oscars. We are all encouraged to be impressed by the choices for the multitude of categories, from Best Picture to Film Editing, all sorted out by the powers that be in the world of movies, et al. 

In our home, the season takes on a special importance that other homes might not enjoy because our son is a member of the industry via his chosen profession(s). Not only do we get the full-blown immersion into the lists of all sorts of award-winners but also into those that didn’t get away because there is an abundance of tv/cable/streaming channels and services ready to show todays' audiences just what they missed by being too young to have viewed the ancient winners when first presented. Even if we hadn’t been alive to see the films when they originally came out, rest assured that we have, in fact, seen every single winner of “Best Picture” since the beginning of The Academy’s (the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) award existence, all 92 years of them. We also get to do the same as the members of the Academy by voting in all the ventures, except in our case, we cast two votes, one for our favorites as well as one for the selections we think will win, as a course of the real voting process. At the end of the night when all the stars have paraded across the stage, we take a tally and get the opportunity to see how the voting went and who the winners of our straw poll are. 

Our great good fortune in this enterprise is that we win. That is, my wife and I both win. The specialty categories for the parents of those involved in the exercise I´ve described above are only obvious to other parents watching their children operate in their fields of expertise. The following are a few: Best Offspring in a Lead Role, Best Offspring in a Supporting Role, Best Direction of a Group of Friends, Best Result from a Bad Situation, etc. Of course, these are not the real categories you will see the night the awards are presented, but these are the ones that my wife and I conjure up as both our sons go through the motions and festivities of that evening. 

It is a challenge to fill out the ballots Brandon provides because his mother and I will not have seen very many of the films listed. Further, we will not know many of the categories offered. So, we fill in the forms with the same level of understanding used by unnumbered students on tests given in schools across the country daily. At the end of the night, the scores are announced and, as usual, my wife and I will fail miserably while both our sons will have scored well. Brandon has a near-perfect record of winning with near-perfect scores. 

To many, this might seem inconsequential, but the study involved is a large part of a professional writer's craft. It is the viewing, the reading, and the communications with others in their field that empowers actors, writers, and directors to excel and rise to the top of the heap. We have looked on through the years as Brandon has received numerous recognitions for his work. It is thrilling to watch him as he regales his friends with his informed opinion after they have spent the time to see the movie of choice for the week. He gives a rundown of the text, the camera work, the director’s design, the script content, and a multiplicity of other aspects of the project. With each factor reviewed, he then gives the overall evaluation of the film. That opinion is rendered for all who might want to see the film from the avid fan to the once-a-year attendee.  

It would be improper to claim anything other than satisfaction and a certain amount of pride when I get into answering the inevitable questions from family, friends and acquaintances, “What are the boys up to?" and “What are they into nowadays?” While the details may vary slightly per category, both Jeannie and I have the same finalists for Offspring in a Starring Role. Bet your ballot reveals the same as ours! 

~ David Joyner

Rub-A-Dub-Dub

Neighbors! Sometimes we get good ones—sometimes “so-so” ones! We feel really blessed when we have neighbors that we can call on no matter what the situation. Now those are good neighbors. 

We had found those kinds of neighbors when we moved into a second-floor apartment after our son, John was born. We loved our spacious apartment. It had a great deck out back that overlooked a green space. We would all gather outback and exchange pleasantries and check on each other and exchange news of the day. 

Linda, my upstairs neighbor, was an interior designer who worked for a well-known showroom downtown and had a son just a little younger than our son and they loved to play together. Another neighbor was a doctor and his wife. So, between those two, our conversations were very interesting. Then there was a new couple who had just moved in downstairs and we had not had a chance to introduce ourselves. 

We all loved to get together for parties and this apartment was perfect for smaller gatherings. We decided to call our friends and invite them over to kick back, relax and eat! 

I had cooked all day. Made everything from scratch and I just wanted to enjoy food and conversation with my friends. 

As the evening progressed, someone suggested we go out on the back deck for some fresh air. Sounded like a good idea to me. But it was getting late, so I suggested that we be quiet on the deck because some of my neighbors may have already gone to bed... 

We opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out into the cool evening breeze. We were chatting quietly when we thought we heard singing. 

Singing? 

Where would it be coming from? We all gathered at the rail and peered down into the direction where the “music” was coming from and there was a light on in the bathroom window below. 

Yes, I said bathroom window... below. I guess I never paid attention to the fact that our deck was right over our new neighbors' bathroom. 

There in the bathroom shower and right in our line of sight were two rather plump figures, both in shower caps, washing each other's backs, and singing at the top of their lungs! 

“Rub-a-dub-dub, two men in a tub.” 

And, so, like the mature adults we were, we started to giggle. 

The man and his wife were showering together and having a good ole time. I’m still not sure why he had on a shower cap, but, hey—whatever floats your boat in the “Rub-A-Dub-Tub!” 

We all stood there observing the sailors as they enjoyed their evening until we couldn’t hold back our laughter anymore. 

We all scurried inside and closed the door as quietly as we could and then we exploded into laughter. 

Let’s face it—it really was funny and so unexpected—it was the highlight of our evening. What started out as an unremarkable evening turned out to be one of our most memorable evenings. 

When I think of all the parties that we have had over these many years, this one is right at the top of the LIST! 

Rub-a-dub-dub, 

Three men in a tub, 

And who do you think they be? 

The butcher, the baker, 

The candlestick maker, 

And all of them out to sea. 

~ Jeannie Joyner

A Work of Art

This blog is the first one of the New Year, so Happy New Year to all of you who are reading this! Having my son as the editor in chief of these blogs (ramblings as Brandon might refer to them) is both good and not-so-good. He tirelessly performs all of these tasks that his mother and I have convinced ourselves that we can’t do because of the technology involved (Thank you, Kristen, for being the fingers to his drive). Trying to complete this task is a struggle for Jeannie and me. She feels like she is imparting a part of her soul when she is writing these. And, being the private person that she is, she finds it hard to put the words to paper that satisfy her. Those of us who have read all of her blogs find them completely refreshing and fun. I, on the other hand, have the problem of being too long-winded. So, thank you, Brandon and Kristen, for accepting the task of editing my “task.”

What do you see in a pile of random stuff that in and of itself appears to be of little use or value? Things like a bucket of mud, a batch of assorted sized sticks, scraps of wood too small to build something with, measures of cloth that remain from multiple usages—all these things and more in the hands of someone with vision and understanding become works of art. These works become valued by others for their beauty that originated from that very vision and understanding.

I have had the life-long blessing of being married to Jeannie—an artist of remarkable talent. From the beginning of our relationship, her ability to transform the ordinary into a masterpiece has always been amazing to me. Like most people, I have my own concept of art. That’s all well and good, except that it takes a dramatic amount of time for the image in my mind to become reality. This is in contrast to my wife’s incredible ability to almost instantly see and create that work of art.

I love the beauty my wife creates, both in life and in her artwork. It’s amazing to see what Jeannie can do for dinner when she looks in the pantry and pulls out just a few items to make a grand dinner for the family. This talent undeniably translates to her use of paint and fabric and all of the other mediums that she works with. Having been with her since we were teenagers, I’ve had the pleasure of being witness to many projects throughout the years.

My memories of her first pieces of art go back to us working with young people in the churches we’ve attended. Getting a young person to exhibit what they feel by utilizing the materials given to them is most gratifying when they complete that shoe-shine box out of mere scraps of wood or turn a sand dollar into a beautiful Christmas ornament after having dyed it in tea or coffee or present their parents with a very special painting that is “hand-done” on a simple piece of cloth.

I cannot remember what got us into the very first shop, but one of our acquaintances saw something that Jeannie had created and asked her if she couldn’t replicate those things for her boutique. This led to our involvement with many art shops and stores. And thus, Designs from Our House (and our ceramics venture) was birthed.

She took sewing during middle and high school and developed a deep love for her own designs and sported them throughout her formative years. When John and Brandon came along, she continued this craft, making beautiful smocks to lederhosen, Halloween costumes, and everything in between. Jeannie continued creating clothes and costumes for all of the church productions.

The first time that I can remember a costume other than for church was for Little Shop of Horrors when she painted a bloodied tooth on the back of my dentist’s smock. She also did my costumes for the other

5 characters that I played in that show which led to her involvement with Midtown Theater as the Costume Designer/Wardrobe Mistress at Footlight Players. She’s created so many dazzling and colorful arrays of clothing fit for any Broadway production, I can’t even remember them all (Into the Woods, RENT, Forever Plaid, Charleston Southern University’s lyric theater productions, the College of Charleston Madrigal Dinners, and all of Brandon’s shows; productions from just a one-man show to a stage full of 50 plus performers).

There was one time a request was made for an extravagant 60th birthday celebration for a much “Larger Than Life” birthday present (12x12x8 feet). Not to mention the Living Models for various events around Charleston, for the Charleston Food & Wine Festivals-- a table girl with Seashells, a Fountain Dress girl with Cocktails, among others-- A Martini Boy bathtub, a living installation of the Son of Man for an event at the Gibbes Museum of Art, and many more.

I can go on and on about my wife’s floral arranging abilities which have flourished for many years not only in the church but also at many weddings in and out of town as well as demonstrating her talents at The Greenery Florist downtown. One cannot look around our home without seeing her fingerprints in literally everything in our house, from table cloths and drapes to pillows and chairs and plates and glasses and ornaments galore.

And so, Such & Such was the natural progression of sharing her talents, her designs, her ideas, and her art with the entire world via the internet. I love her art so much, as do her family and friends, that we couldn’t just keep it to ourselves. And she loves to share it with everyone. From Los Angeles to Chicago, Ohio to Kentucky, Washington State to Florida. Her art is enjoyed by all of U.S.

Our very first meeting was far too short, but the most satisfying part of that meeting was looking into her green eyes and watching them sparkle. That has never changed. You hear all the platitudes about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. Couple that with the eyes are the window to the soul. I think that’s what thrills me when I see something that she has finished for the first time or the hundredth time. Every single piece is a hand-painted, new and beautiful creation. The ability to translate what she sees to the gift that you might receive is the key to why I not only love her art but also why I love her. If you ever have the chance to engage her in conversation about what she does, you’ll find that same thrill that I did from that very first moment.

~ David Joyner

Second Verse, Same As the First

It was December of 1989. We had just been ravaged by the worst hurricane of the century, Hurricane Hugo. Now, dreaming of a white Christmas, we got it... snow had begun to fall all around Charleston. The church bells rang out on Sunday, December 24th—Christmas Eve, and the snow was deep enough that all the meteorologists were mandating that everyone stay home and off the unsafe roads.

This was all well and good, except that we as a family were very involved in our church’s programs. Immediately, we wondered what was going to happen for the broadcast that Sunday morning. (Citadel Square, with its formerly mono-lithic steeple, as it was knocked down in the hurricane). While we were contemplating this problem, a call came in from our associate pastor and our choir director wondering if we were going to make it to church that morning.

We thought they were just trying to get a head count for the cameras, but it turns out that they were trying to make sure we would have a program at all for that morning rather than having to do a “re-run.”

At the time, we lived on James Island and it became obvious to us that we had two problems getting to church—they both came in the form of a bridge; one over the Wappoo Creek and the other over the Ashley River. After a moment's consideration, we decided we would try.

Thinking that would end the call, a second question came: “Do you think Brandon would like to sing on T.V. this morning?”

Being proud parents, we had no hesitation in saying, “Yes!”

We didn’t have any idea that “our young star” was not yet ready for prime time. This was the first time that he had been presented with the idea of being on T.V. They were asking if he could sing “Away in a Manger” for the morning service; that and one or two carols would be all the music for Christmas Day.

To calm our son’s quasi-fears of “being on T.V.”, Jim Long (the associate pastor) said he would be standing up there with Brandon the whole time.

Brandon huffed and puffed in true 9-year-old diva form and in his singular statement said, “I only know the first verse to ‘Away in a Manger.’”

Jim’s reply was, “Good! He can sing the first verse twice.”

And now, it was simply a matter of getting there.

While snow isn’t an issue for those in the North East, a tiny “popcorn” convection seems to put the town out of commission. So, you can only imagine what a blizzard would do to the driving habits of Charlestonians. The slight incline to the Wappoo Cut Bridge was made even more treacherous by it being frozen over by the ice and snow; a true manifestation of the sign: “Bridge ices before road.” The Ashley would prove to be much less of a struggle once the other bridge was crossed. We slowly inched along, but finally arriving at the church, we scurried inside, shaking the flurries off our rarely used winter coats.

While it was simply a flick of the switch for all those waiting to enjoy their Sunday morning service broadcast from home, we discovered that there were a few more unexpected hurdles to overcome once we arrived at Citadel Square.

With a smattering of people in the pews that morning, we were tasked with finding someone familiar enough to operate the equipment for the communications tower, transmission and T.V. camera. Securing the services of one, Will Haselden, to provided his master skills of all three: transmission handling between local television station and church, connecting the transmission to that electronics equipment and manning the T.V. camera during the service, we were technically readied to be “live on air.”

All of the members of the congregation were moved up to the choir loft because we were so few in number and we needed to “fill it out.” Now, with all “talent in place,” the countdown to go time commenced...

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

And... Will signaled to us to begin transmission.

Pastor Jim opened us up in a prayer of thanksgiving and we were ready to spread joy and cheer right into the homes of all who were tuned in!

When it was Brandon’s time to sing, Jim led him over to the piano and as promised stood by his side. With Pat at the piano and Brandon dressed to the nines in his bright red sports jacket, white shirt and Christmas plaid pants, he was ready to sing to the heavens (and to the viewers at home)!

He sang:

“Away in a manger, No crib for His bed The little Lord Jesus Laid down His sweet head The stars in the bright sky Looked down where He lay The little Lord Jesus Asleep on the hay.”

While everyone might have expected to hear about “Cattle lowing...” and so on...

What was heard was not the second verse... it was just the same as the first! Again, Brandon sang: “Away in a manger, no crib for His bed, the little Lord Jesus... Asleep on the hay.” Well, at that point, no

one in the church nor at home were asleep, but instead was chuckling while applauding. He had done it. While it was definitely his first televised performance, it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

And, even though the service was abridged, due to the myriad of unforeseen circumstances, its memory lives long in our hearts.

Needles, Needles Everywhere

I guess most families have Christmas traditions and my family’s tradition is picking out the perfect Christmas tree!

When my 2 sons were younger, we would always go to a tree farm to cut down our Christmas tree. That was so much fun. We would dress in our warm clothes and comfortable shoes and head out to one of the farms, generally on Johns Island, Ravenel or Wadmalaw Island.

This “trip” took most of the day because we had to wander the grounds to make sure we had the best tree they had to offer. It had to be a very tall tree—and it had to be a full tree. I remember one year we purchased a thinner tree and NO ONE was happy.

It also had to be fresh—losing no needles as we pulled and tugged on each branch to see how many needles would come off in our hands.

Looking back on my childhood, that was not exactly how my parents handled Christmas tree shopping. Some years, we would go to a local Christmas tree lot and pick out a tree. (But never over 7-feet as our apartment could only handle a 7-footer.) Other years, if my parents couldn’t afford it, my dad would go somewhere in the woods to cut a tree.

Any idea what most look for when they are in the woods searching for a tree? Me neither!

One particular Christmas, the tree he brought home was sad, to say the least...

Yes, it was 7-feet tall, but that tree was sooooo sparce. It wasn’t as bad as a “Charlie Brown Tree” but not far from it. All my mom could do was just stand there, staring at the tree that my father was so proud of, and not say a word.

Now we didn’t have a Christmas tree stand, so my dad made us one from 2 pieces of wood in the shape of an “X” and nailed it to the bottom of the tree.

Some of you may be familiar with that kind of stand... Maybe not! Anyway, you can probably see where this story is headed...

Mom got out all the Christmas decorations and began decorating the tree. We had a lot of ornaments that resembled “Christopher Radko” ornaments, but we didn’t own a real “Radko.” They were all ornaments that looked like the German-made ones—but they were all very inexpensive. And then she started with the tinsel—one strand at a time!

NO ONE ELSE could help!

If you didn’t decorate with one tinsel strand at a time, you couldn’t help. She worked on this for hours and hours... (and hours)…

The tree topper was placed on top and finally the beautiful, “colorful” tree skirt—an old white sheet that was supposed to resemble snow. But the sight was beautiful to me—even with its sparce branches, its homemade tree skirt and homemade tree stand.

Remember what I said about the tree stand?

In the shape of an “X” nailed to the bottom of the tree... That’s right folks!

So, the tree had no water supply, which meant in a day or 2 that the tree would begin to dry out—and dry out it did.

A few days after we had completed decorating the tree, I heard a strange sound. And this happened every time I came in the front door... “What is that sound?” I asked my mom. It sounded like a rain storm. We just couldn’t figure it out. A few more days passed and still that strange sound—every time I opened the front door.

I walked over to where I thought the sound was coming from and grabbed a hold of the tree branch. All of the needles on that branch came off in my hand.

When I went to take a closer look at the tree, to my amazement, it was void of almost all of its needles. The only things left on the tree were ornaments and thousands of strands of tinsel. What we had heard were all the needles raining down on the presents and sheet under the tree making the sound like fallen rain.

So, the week before Christmas there was not one needle left on this tree. THE TREE WAS DEAD. All we could do was giggle at the situation (and every time we passed by that dead tree).

We took the tree down the day after New Year's and there was not a single needle remaining on it nor under it. Boy, were we embarrassed to carry it out and put it on the curb!

And so... we hope that you and your family share memories and traditions that you look forward to each year. It’s not the presents that are important during this most special, sacred time of the year, but the time we spend together making those unforgettable memories that fill our hearts with joy and laughter.

Out of all the trees we’ve decorated, ask me which tree I remember the most?!?!?

The Family Jewels

I know a lot but not really some. I have a lot of cousins, aunts, and uncles that I enjoy seeing. We don’t really have it on both sides of the family, just one. It’s Dad’s side of the family (my Dad’s mom’s side of the family, I think... well, it’s his dad’s dad’s side)…

We get up early in the morning to drive up. We normally go to Columbia in South Carolina. It’s not a park, it’s at a church... like a church... it’s the church hall. Church gets out... at 12, but then we stay ‘till like 2 or 3 to visit and eat. It’s like church food, a pot-luck—where everyone brings something and it’s GOOD. Sometimes we bring broccoli casserole or black-eyed peas, it just depends. There’s a lot of different foods. My favorite thing there is the chicken and macaroni and cheese... sometimes rice, different kinds of desserts... chocolate—chocolate cake!

When I was a young kid, I used to play with my cousins—not really running around inside—sometimes we were outside, but it was very hot so we would stay inside most of the time, just kinda talking, but now we don’t really do that anymore... just kinda stand and talk with the adults. We also used to sing church music but we don’t do that anymore either. I used to love singing with the family, many good songs. I loved to sing with them.

Now, I just stay inside and talk and watch the family. I enjoy seeing my aunts and everyone comes up to talk to me. There’s a talk, not exactly like a meeting, but talks about life and how everyone is. It’s like celebrating birthdays if someone passes on or not here and sometimes anniversaries. That sort of thing.

We count [guess] how many candies in the jar and if you guess it right then you win and get to take the candy, but I’ve never won. So, I’m not real sure... but Dad says you do. And... we play BINGO! We put nickels, well not money, but sour candies [Sweet Tarts] on the words (instead of the numbers) under the letters. If you win, then you get a prize. There are different ones [prizes]. Then it [BINGO] starts up again... we play several times... maybe two or more.

After all the activities, we have to clean up and put all the tables and chairs back. I was sad leaving and was very tired by the time we headed home from the fun, but still had a good time while I was there.

~ John Joyner

Let's A-Do the Twist!

Parents have the task of being parents from the birth of their children until they (the parents) pass away at a ripe old age. That’s the perfect order of things. The perfect order of things usually applies only to books and movies and imaginations. That being said – we must deal with the realities of everyday life as they occur. Those “realities” differ greatly with the age of our children.

The behavior of our children is foremost on our minds throughout their lives but it’s must important during their formative years. It is imperative during the early stages that we are responsible for the social education of children. I’m talking about the way they act in and around others when we are in public venues such as school, or theater, or church. We try to emphasize the need for stillness and quietness and attentiveness that society expects when attending those places.

While we parents are still learning all the nuances of public interaction, our children are paying attention to their own wants and desires and give little heed to what we are trying to teach them about those “nuances.”

Now that you are completely bored with what we who have children already know, let me tell you how the need for those perfect behaviors conflicted with our commitment to our choir on Sunday mornings.

Both Jeannie and I have sung in choir since we were in our mid-teens. That said, after our son John had graduated from the church nursery and was going to be attending “big” church, it was necessary to find a way to make sure that he had a place to sit where we could watch him during the services. He couldn’t stay in the choir loft for the lack of enough space for the singers much less a place for him to play while we were singing.

We finally decided that we would alternate Sundays sitting with John in the congregation so as to give him the needed example to show what was expected of him and how to behave when sitting there by himself at a later age. We approached our choir director with our decision. He was insistent that there must be another solution and made it his mission to convince us of that thought. The problem became known to others in the choir and resulted in the offer of the aid of the husband of one of the sopranos. She spoke to her husband and he agreed to be John’s “keeper” during the Sunday services. We were very happy and hopeful that this was the answer to our dilemma.

From the first Sunday after we allowed John to go with Mr. Tommy into the service without us, we were anxious to have the solution work for all of us. Luckily, all involved had had enough time up to this point to become friends. We were satisfied that Mr. Tommy could handle the situation without any problem. Our major concern dealt with the unknown factor – John. Each Sunday we paid more attention to the interaction between John and our friend than we did to the service.

Sunday after Sunday we watched as John settled in next to Mr. Tommy and went from wide awake to sleeping and snoring which would elicit chuckles from those around him until Tommy would give John a little poke in the ribs or shake his arm to rouse him from his slumber. (He hadn’t begun to appreciate preaching at that point.)

After service, we would collect John from Tommy’s care and try to admonish him for not realizing that his snoring might remind the pastor that his sermon might have had the same effect on some of the older parishioners. Tommy would jump to John’s defense and remind us that he was in good hands.

A few Sundays later, we were taken aback when we saw Tommy get up during the sermon and, with John in hand, leave the sanctuary. After service was over, we hurried to find them both to see what problem John had caused that led them to leave during the service. Tommy assured us that it was a simple trip to the restroom and we had no reason to fret. The explanation satisfied for the moment even though there seemed to be some secret that John and Mr. Tommy were sharing and keeping from John’s curious parents.

A number of Sundays passed before the same sort of incident reoccurred. This time, however, we were satisfied with the same explanation even though it was not offered. It became a real curiosity after several more weeks of the same event.

We were particularly interested when Tommy’s wife began to laugh when we expressed our concerns that we did not have all the facts. This became a dead give-a-way that there was much more to the story than we were being told. This time when we approached Mr. Tommy & John after church, it was obvious to Mr. Tommy that we were no longer satisfied with the previously stated reason for departing the service.

With a great deal of laughter, he imparted the truth to us... John had been used.

Mr. Tommy would pinch him on the leg, causing him to squirm, making it obvious to others that something was up. He would then lean over to John, whisper in his ear... and they would get up to leave the service. When pressed for the details of the whispered communication, we found out that John was being bribed to give Mr. Tommy a reason to depart.

It seems that all it took for John to become a willing participant was the offer of a hamburger, fries & Coke from the Burger King just a few blocks away. All of this so that Mr. Tommy wouldn’t be bored in church. John found great sport & joined the laughter when all of us knew then what had been going on.

The unfortunate upshot of all of this activity as relates to John’s younger brother, Brandon, was that he got to sit in church with John when he was old enough and they both behaved beautifully during the service. Brandon never received an offer of that kind of opportunity (aka “bribe”) for his good behavior.

Both John and Brandon learned and are still well-versed in how to behave. John does enjoy the telling of the tale and Brandon learned a few tricks from Mr. Tommy.

There are times now when I have to nudge John to wake him during service because he also sings in the choir; at least he’s closer now! (And sometimes he has to elbow me...) But, thank you, Lord, for a minister whose sermons are a pleasure to listen to

A Nightmare On My Street

It had been about a year since we had moved to our new location on James Island. The cul-de-sac where we resided had begun development shortly before we moved there. Even so, the area was chock full of kids.  It took no time for Brandon to develop friendships and a following. These young people were very smart, somewhat athletic, others were academically inclined, and all of them were admired by their parents for their combined talents.  

The “Gilmore Gang” (I’m the only one that ever called them that) played, laughed, ran around, and enjoyed each other. It was not unusual for some or all of these young people to be in, at, or around our house any time of the day or evening. It was a parents’ joy to watch their kids be a real part of the neighborhood.  

It seemed obvious to me and his mother that more often than not, Brandon was in charge of the activities that “The Gillmore Gang” happened to be involved in. One of the pivotal moments as relates to his leadership ability came during October. 

My work schedule didn’t allow me to be home during the late afternoon and evening, so it was more apparent to Brandon’s mother that he had something going on due to his absence from the house and the area out front where she could see him most often. This went on for a few days until one evening Brandon came in to announce that they had it all done, they had it finished, it was “ready!” 

His mother and I looked at each other like, “OK, what might that be?” 

Brandon answered, “Our Halloween Haunted House!” 

So, of course, the set of questions came to mind: “Where was this haunted house? What did they use to build this? Who assisted with this haunted house? And (the parent’s last question), who paid for it?” 

The answer to all of these questions became moot when we were led by our young genius behind the house out onto a trail into the woods that brought us to the moment of presentation. Brandon had stopped us to wait until everything was prepared while all of his actors got in place. At just the right moment, Brandon took his role as tour guide and let us into their haunted house. 

We were led, with eyes closed, to the first location where we stopped in front of the remains of an old abandoned car. No sooner had we the chance to realize what we were looking at that the hood flew open to reveal a ghoulishly costumed actor growling at us and relishing our obvious horror.  

All of us were laughing and beginning to realize that we were getting much more than we anticipated. We continued through the woods with the underbrush seeming to pull at us the sides of the path until we almost stumbled into/onto the next tableau where we were abruptly presented with the resident ‘Vampire’ resting in his coffin hidden in the carefully dug grave right in the middle of the narrow walkway. 

The early evening darkness was perfect for the well-lit and well-orchestrated scenes that Brandon and his friends had meticulously constructed. After our tour was finished, we were grilled to find out exactly what we thought; what needed to be changed; did we like it; did we think the kids in the neighborhood would respond well; etc., etc. I wasn’t there to hear the other parents voice their opinions, but since the ‘gang’ immediately began to call all their friends who lived close by, and many who didn’t, to come and visit their masterpiece, it became obvious that everyone was taken with this event. Our only question was that of how much to charge for the admission. A quarter was their decision and garnered them what they deemed to be a profit after several days of tours through the ‘haunted pathway’. 

Brandon still has the hand drawn/written diagram for the event and, like many his age, he has put that memory on the shelf in his very creative mind. That doesn’t stop the rest of us who toured their wonderful event from reliving our joy and our pride. All that resulted from the realization that our children had progressed in their development to the stage of being in charge of the outcome of their thinking rather than waiting for their parents telling them how to evaluate events. In short – they had grown up and we got to see that moment 

It’s hard for me to write all this and not reek of the tendency to brag on my child for his part in this, and the many times since, but that is what we long for and revel in – the successful growth and happiness of our children. 

I can’t help myself. 

I hope the rest of you parents have those moments in your memories that brighten your days and lighten the heaviness of the world.   

Shaft and Bolts

There are reasons why our parents tell us—don't play in the street, don’t' throw rocks, don’t splash in the mud puddles, don’t go barefooted—don't, don’t, don’t! 

My goodness! So, many “don’ts.” 

Did we ever really pay attention to all the “don’ts?!” Nah... 

I still went barefooted and almost cut my toe off, splashed in the mud puddles and got ringworms (Ouch! Those sessions with the doctor freezing my foot were NOT pleasant!), and was hit in the eye with a rock. This list does not stop here. As kids, we had to learn our lessons by doing, but as parents we wanted our children to avoid all of those unpleasantries. 

I know my parents must have felt like they were wasting their time and breath. Still, the “don’ts” continued to come.  

My cousins, David and Derald, were very close. David was born first, then me, and then Derald; we were all one year apart. We lived close enough for us all to develop that special cousin bond.  

They loved the outdoors, so they were always outside. They did things like target practice with bb guns, riding horses, and playing in the pond located on their property. Oh, and let’s not forget, shooting bows and arrows. 

David had been practicing with his new bow and arrows and his mom had given him the necessary “don’t” warnings. Shooting the arrow straight up in the air was probably one of these warnings that my aunt did not give him. It must be safe enough to do this, right?! 

He grabbed his bow, and out David went to target shoot. I guess he just wanted to see how far into space he could shoot an arrow. So, he pointed the arrow toward the sky and let it fly!  

In the meantime, Derald had come outside to watch his brother. Well, everyone knows that if you shoot an arrow up into space, then it had to come down somewhere. And come down it did. Right into Derald’s head, sticking up in his scalp! OUCH! 

Without thinking, Derald grabbed the arrow and jerked it out of his head. And, when he did, blood started spurting everywhere. They both yelled for their dad, my uncle Willie. He ran from the house and when he saw all the blood, he threw Derald into the car and headed for the hospital for treatment. Within a few hours, they patched him up and sent him back home.  

Did Derald tattle on his brother? Did his mom and dad ever know that he was shot in the head with an arrow with a nail in it? No. And, never! 

As far as I know, Uncle Willie thought he was punctured with a nail while climbing a tree. 

As parents of two boys, my husband and I had many similar situations. And, no matter how many times we said “don’t” they “did” anyway. It’s just life, isn’t it? We had to learn to roll with the punches. 

Our children, in most instances, were going to do it their way no matter what advice we gave them. We had to sit back and watch as they made mistakes and sometimes that was the hardest thing we could do. 

Our boys are men now and we have a new set of worries. 

Oh, my—will the worries never end?! 

Making Mom Hoppy

My mom was a prissy lady – always fixing her hair, putting on her make-up, and making sure her clothes were perfectly matched; and she made sure that I went by the rules! 

You know them– can't wear white after Labor Day; ladies—no hats after 5 in the afternoon.  And God forbid you should go ‘potty’ without turning on the faucet so no one would hear you. Those were the ‘rules’ I’m talking about.  

My dad was a “man’s man.” He loved fishing, hunting, and the occasional drink with the guys. Even killing an alligator wasn’t unknown to him. You get the point. He was forever coming home with something weird for my mom to prepare – squirrel, all kinds of fish, venison, crab, duck, and shellfish, frequently lobster and shrimp. She would make him do all the prep-work and she would reluctantly prepare the dishes involved. Most of them I ate and most of them were delicious.  

One evening, after a long day out with his drinking buddies, my father came home and handed my mom a bag with something in it. She looked in the bag and was shocked to find—to her surprise—frog legs!  

“Oh, my goodness, Frankie! I am not gonna fix those things. That’s disgusting!” 

So, after they exchanged a few choice words, my mom turned around with the bag in hand and headed for the kitchen. I heard the rattling of pots and pans and before you know it, the sound of sizzling in a pan. 

It was just a little while later that my mom called my dad to come eat. He sat down at the table where she had placed a heaping helping of those frog legs. Within a few bites, he was in “frog leg” heaven. He cleaned that plate like it was his last supper, licking his fingers as he went. 

We watched him till the very last bite and without saying a word, my mom walked to the table, picked up the pan, walked to the trash can, popped the lid open by the foot pedal, and dropped the pan right in the trash. She just turned around and gave Dad that look.  

She didn’t utter a word. 

He didn’t utter a word. 

I didn’t utter a word. 

NO – we did not remove the pan from the trash. We just let that one go! For, we both had the feeling that if we took it from the trash, Mom just might use it on Dad. 

Did my dad ever bring home another frog leg surprise in a bag like that? Not on your life (or more precisely, his life)! 

Not saying that he didn’t bring home other bags of surprises but frog legs were certainly not among them. 

Those frying pans can get expensive! 

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

My memories of high school are not all pleasant ones for me, so at the point that I finally found that person whom I considered a true friend, I felt very blessed. Her name was Cyndy, or “Cyd," as my boyfriend called her.  We had become inseparable since our sophomore year at St. Andrew’s High School. 

Cyd was always full of mischief. I, on the other hand, was the shy, NICE ONE! She was always trying to get me into trouble with her shenanigans and usually blamed everything on me. Imagine that! 

Remember, I was the shy, NICE ONE. 

Besides being in class at school together, we attended church, went to the beach, cooked, traveled, and sang in the choir, but my favorite was being invited to enjoy “sleep-overs” together. You should have seen her bedroom. It was phenomenal. It was painted lavender with all matching gorgeous accessories. 

Can you imagine? What teenager was allowed to decorate in whatever color they wanted? Hers was the coolest room... EVER! 

Sleep-overs didn’t happen often but, oh what fun when they did. 

Cyd, on this particular evening, said she wanted to play a joke on her parents. So, she insisted that I take part. Understand, I would never have thought about doing some of these things because... 

I was the shy, NICE ONE! 

Cyd said, “Jeannie, let’s go through the house and see what we can do.” 

I reluctantly followed her lead, knowing that it was not a good idea, but did it because she was my best friend.  

We opened the refrigerator door and with magic markers in hand, we drew character faces on each egg in the egg crate. 

Butter anyone? Coins were squished down into the sticks of butter and then smoothed over to make it appear that the butter had not been touched. See how mean Cyd was? Someone could have swallowed or choked on a coin. I tried to talk her out of this one. No luck! 

Remember, I was the shy, NICE ONE! 

We proceeded down the hall to her parent’s bedroom door where we took numbers of umbrellas, opened them, and placed them in front of their door. We had the umbrellas stacked and braced to the ceiling. Imagine their surprise the next morning trying to escape! 

On another occasion, Cyd had convinced her father that she was a responsible driver. He would loan us his car after the usual instructions on “how to behave and to always be careful.” With radio blasting (after pulling out of the driveway), we headed out for our joy ride to the Patio Drive-In Restaurant with the glassed disk jockey booth on the roof. 

Remember how you could call in song requests? We would call in before leaving home. And, most likely your song wouldn’t play until much later in the evening, but it sure was fun to hear your name announced on the radio. (This was the time before cellphones, guys!  Anyone remember that?) Those were the days, my friend.  

Later on in the evening, Cyd was giving me a ride home and she had to pull into our driveway between two brick columns. Usually, it was wide enough for a truck to get through. But I guess that night, the columns must have scooted together. So, as she attempted to go through, she pulled the metal trim completely off the car door. No other part of the car door was damaged. She managed to fit that molding back in place with no one the wiser. That just goes to show what a fabulous driver she was, right?! 

Did she tell her dad? Well, my lips are sealed! 

We had dozens of adventures as best friends and it’s nice to reminisce about those “I remember when” stories because they still put smiles on our faces. 

Even though we don’t see each other very often, when we do get together, it’s like no time has passed at all. We still stick our tongues out at each other and make crazy faces. 

I guess she does bring out the devil in me. But that can’t be right?! 

Remember... I'm the shy, NICE ONE! 

Do you Yahoo?

Being a young person in Charleston, South Carolina, in the sixties, it was not unusual on Sunday to be in church. Of course, everybody I went to school with pretty much did too. It became a part of our education both during the week and on Sundays.  

After graduating high school, I started college at the Baptist College of Charleston which is now called Charleston Southern University. In the first years that it was open, it was quite a different education because all of us were required to have certain religion classes as part of our curriculum. The small enrollment also led to classes we all attended simultaneously. It was a new school and that was the way they did it. As a result, there were things that stuck in my memory from the education gained there.  

Skip ahead several years to a Sunday sitting in the Baptist church of our choice (I say that so that you understand exactly how this might have happened). In our sister churches of the more traditional type, you had a very specific liturgy. It was read, and quoted, and responded to in very specific order depending on the season. In the Baptist church we had a lot of traditions, but the sermon on Sunday was one developed by the pastor. The topic of the sermon was usually a result of his daily experiences or divine inspiration. 

On this particular Sunday we were sitting in church listening to the sermon when I began to pick up on the theme of the message. It took me back to certain of my religion classes at the Baptist college. We had Dr. Carpenter as our primary religion teacher. He taught both the Old Testament and New Testament and a good many classes in between. He was very specific and well educated as relates to the translations of the Bible. 

As he took us particularly through the Old Testament and the relationship between God and the people of God, he taught how in those days, not so long ago, that the name of God was so sacred that it was forbidden to be spoken in public. Not only that, it was to a young Baptist student in an Old Testament class kind of hard to say because of the way that it was spelled. The name of God from the Old Testament was Yhwh. That was spoken as Yahweh and pronounced yah – way. Simple enough. I had never heard it before in all of my Sunday school classes and all the sermons that I had heard up to that point.  

But I digress. 

Back to the particular Sunday in question. We had gotten through the general business of the service and had come to the sermon. The pastor began to reach the heart of his tome when he alluded to the personal relationship between the sinner and his God. I immediately went back in my mind to Dr. Carpenter delivering the lessons that spoke of the same topic. Having no idea which way the pastor was going I was looking around in the sanctuary at the faces of people listening to the message. 

I saw people in one form of alertness or another; some inspecting the backs of their eyelids while others were completely involved and young people passing notes back and forth and others enjoying a quick look at somebody across the room. Yet, others were trying to figure out what they were going to do after they got out of church. All those sorts of things were part of what I observed. I was in the choir and our choir was seated in the front of the sanctuary facing the congregation. We had a firsthand view of the pastor and could not only clearly hear everything he had to say, but we could see the intensity with which it was being said. You got all of the inflection in voice and the gesturing that went with the passion that he was using to deliver this sermon. 

So, we're all listening and out of the quiet, I heard something that I really wasn't quite sure I heard. It piqued my interest and I turned and I looked around and saw that I was not the only one looking around to see if someone else had heard what we thought we had heard. And if they heard what I thought I heard what did they think about what they thought they had heard, or about what we both heard. 

It became obvious very quickly that the pastor had the undivided attention of all the attendees. The intensity of his speech was matched with the intensity of each person’s focus. In the front of the choir loft was the daughter of our minister of music. She faced her dad sitting on the front pew as was the custom so that he'd be ready to direct music at the appropriate time. Before we could discern what had been said, the pastor had reached another point of fever pitch and exclaimed again the words for which his sermon would be forever remembered. 

“The unspoken name of God almighty, the name known only to the holy men of the synagogue was YAHOO!” 

With as much resolve as each of us could muster, we stifled the immediate impulse to laugh. That’s not to say that snickering couldn’t be heard. It was a very strong undercurrent. Before we knew it, the pastor repeated the statement. At this point, laughter began which ended the sermon. 

It was all our Minister of Music could do to salvage the moment by coming to the pulpit and directing everyone to pick up their hymnal and turn to the final hymn for the service. His daughter barely managed to sing the verses for laughing between the words like many of the rest. 

Many of us lingered then to talk about the sermon and the service and even now it is part of conversations between lifelong friends. 

I’m sure some apologized to the pastor for their behavior, but it is remembered today with great fondness and chuckles. I am also convinced that many more faithful will always “cheerfully" remember the lesson from that Sunday’s sermon. 

Forever will we remember the name of... Yahoo? 

~ Jeannie Joyner

First Rate Cookie Monster

How many of you parents have a child who waits till the very last minute to do a project or write a paper, etc.? I have a son just like that. A procrastinator! 

One of the most trying times for me was an instance in elementary school when he came to me and said that he needed an original cookie recipe to enter in the Coastal Carolina Fair—and he needed it the next morning. It was 10:30 PM! 

He was always a very smart child—Principal's List, SAIL Program, etc., so why didn't he finish his projects on time?  

“Brandon,” I said, “are you kidding me? It's late! No grocery stores are open, and you have to come up with an “original” recipe? And take it to school in the morning? What were you thinking?” At that point, I should have gone to bed and left him to explain to his teacher why his assignment was not complete. “We’re going into the kitchen, looking through the cabinets to see what we can come up with, and you’re going to stay awake until it is finished! Understand?”  

Plundering through the pantry, we came up with a few ingredients. Now we had to put this “original” recipe together and pray that it would be edible.  

 So, nearing midnight, Brandon started. This is the recipe that he invented: 

Chip and Spice Cookies 

Ingredients: 

2 c Flour  

1 Stick of Butter 

1 c Sugar 

2 Eggs 

1 tsp Vanilla 

½ tsp Baking Soda 

¼ tsp Cinnamon 

¼ tsp Nutmeg 

1 c Milk Chocolate Chips (He used Toll House Morsels.) 

Walnuts (optional) 

Raisins (optional) 

Directions: 

1- Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

2- Put all ingredients (except chips, nuts, and raisins) in a food processor and pulse. (Remember, it’s the middle of the night, so the faster to finish, the better!)  

3- Stir in the chips, nuts, and raisins by hand (so as not to break apart). 

4- Drop teaspoons full of dough on a cookie sheet sprayed with non-stick spray (Bakers Joy or something comparable). 

5- Bake 8 to 10 minutes.  

6- Remove promptly.

After all this, he waited for the cookies to cool, packed them up, and this assignment was complete. After a few hours' sleep, he took his “original” cookie recipe and headed off to school.  

A couple of days later, Brandon was notified that his recipe had won a blue ribbon at the fair! Imagine that!  

You've heard the expression that a recipe was made with love!? Well, I can assure you this was NOT!  

But there was some satisfaction in knowing that Brandon had won that blue ribbon. So, yes. We hopped in the car, headed to the fair to view his cookies AND his blue ribbon on display.  

As we gazed through the glass, we were both pleased at what he had accomplished, just not what it took to get there.  

“If you ever do that again you can count me out for any help,” I told him! 

That situation had a positive ending, but I wouldn't want to go through it again—not even for a blue ribbon. Do you think he learned his lesson? 

 ~ Jeannie Joyner

Speed Demon

For years I had heard how wonderful summer camp at Citadel Square Baptist Church was, but I had never been able to attend. My chance finally came as an older teen and I was asked to be a counselor. That was OK with me. 

Citadel Square was blessed with wonderful volunteers who planned and executed all the events and activities for the week-long summer camp. This group of dedicated adults had made the camp a very memorable experience - one with wonderful food, first-rate arts and crafts, well-organized bible study, and fun and fabulous fellowship – and one the young people would remember for a lifetime. EVERYONE hated for the week to end. 

Since I was still in school and held down a job, I was only able to attend camp for part of the week. My friend Reid, myself, and Dr. J.C. Murphy (the camp pastor) all had to get back to Charleston for other obligations. So, late Saturday evening we all climbed into Dr. Murphy’s car and headed back. 

Dr. Murphy told Reid and I that it would be very late before we could head home because he had a message to share with the youth during the Saturday evening Bible study. That was fine with us. MORE time to spend at camp. 

After Dr. Murphy finished his message, we three hopped into the car and headed out. The roads from Cheraw, S.C., to Charleston were all “back roads” - 35 to 45 mph – so travel was slow and tedious. And it was... Dark, Dark, Dark! We were bored! 

Dr. Murphy turned on the radio and we were chillin’. As we traveled those back roads... Well, let’s just say the speed limits were much too slow and without paying attention, we were exceeding them.  

Who would think that in the middle of the night, out in the “boonies", on lonely back-roads, when everyone SHOULD be asleep, that we would have a problem with the police? 

Guess what? Out of the blue (blue lights, that is), we saw flashing lights. And we weren’t stopped on the railroad tracks like the scene from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Nope, we were actually being pulled. It might have been better if it had been Aliens. 

“Oh no,” I thought, “this is just great!” 

Without hesitation, Dr. Murphy pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. The lone policeman stepped out of his car, walked up to the driver’s side window, leaned down, and asked to see Dr. Murphy’s driver’s license. Dr. Murphy reached for his wallet and then handed the information to the officer. 

The police officer checked the license and registration to make sure everything was in order. The officer looked at the pictures and then looked at Dr. Murphy. He looked back at the picture and then again at Dr. Murphy. 

Then the officer asked," Are you the pastor who is on TV every Sunday morning?” 

“Yes sir, I am,” Dr. Murphy responded. 

“Well, I watch you every week on TV and I just love your sermons,” the officer replied. 

“It’s so nice to meet you,” he said. 

With a few more pleasantries, the nice patrolman let us go without giving Dr. Murphy a ticket.  Just a little advice from the police officer – “Slow Down!” And he did! 

No, Dr. Murphy did not use his position to get out of the ticket. That was the officer’s decision. He was so excited to meet this “celebrity,” that he couldn’t justify giving Dr. Murphy a ticket even though he was speeding. 

Middle of the night, back roads of South Carolina, a police officer who “religiously” tuned into the same church every Sunday??? 

Hmmm... a higher power in control? 

What are the odds? What do you think?  

The Final Destination

I am a white-knuckle flier, as all my friends can tell you. I could be B.A. Baracus from the original A-Team. Hate it! Put me in a car for a trip any day. If I am flying somewhere, I start worrying the minute the ticket’s bought. My bad flights have always seemed to have been in March. 

Colorado Sky Trip 

The Colorado ski trip was with 2 of my cousins and some of their friends. A very happy-go-lucky group. The flight was pretty unremarkable with some minor turbulence as we headed to land at the Denver airport. We were headed to the landing strip when all of a sudden, a tailwind caught the plane and slammed us down on the tarmac. 

Did someone say whiplash? I wasn't expecting all that at all even though the pilot had warned us of the possibility of high winds. 

We spent over a week in Aspen, Vail, Winter Park (Mary Jane), Breckenridge, Beaver Creek, etc. to ski. And it was pure heaven! 

We would take 3 chair lifts to the top of some of the mountains and be the only ones at the top. It would take all day to ski down to the lodge. The snow was beautiful and thick and it was delightful—till we were ready to head to the airport to leave. 

Packed and in the cars, we had only an hour or so before our flight home. We noticed a hold-up in the traffic ahead of us. A blizzard the night before was making travel a little more difficult and with the buildup of all the new snow on the mountain, they were getting ready to close the roads!!! 

Great. We’re gonna miss our flight!

I observed some peculiar sites on the side of the road. Being from Charleston where it almost never snows, I was told what was going on. These were the cannons that they would use to shoot up to the top of the mountains to cause an avalanche in order to prevent one from happening on its own. This allowed people to travel safely through the pass through the mountains and not to have to worry about an unexpected avalanche. 

Our group must have done a lot of praying because we were the last car to get through the pass before they closed the roads. 

Can you believe it? The very last car. 

We made our flight but I am not sure how the other passengers in the plane felt about us ‘cause we sang songs, including Beach Boy’s “Good Vibrations,” etc. all the way home. 

New Jersey Trip 

The whole trip to New Jersey was very bumpy. We’d hit those “air pockets” and drop, and my stomach would be in my throat. I thought it was going to get better but actually, it only got worse. We were advised to go back to our seats (not that I ever left mine) and buckle our seat belts. 

That didn't sound good! 

The captain advised of turbulent weather. The stewardesses were trying to make everyone feel comfortable and less scared. We could get juice or drinks served to us if we wanted. So, apple juice was my choice of drink. 

I was holding my drink in my right hand when the plane started shaking so badly that David went to grab my drink so I wouldn't spill it on me. I told him that he was not to touch my drink and I would handle it! But I think I said it in a voice that sounded like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.  

David just sat there looking at me like “who is this person?” 

In reality, the only thing that was helping me through this turbulent flight was concentrating on not spilling my drink. And, if it wasn't bad enough, people started screaming in the plane. (And I can't say that they were all ladies!) Yikes! 

Yes, we landed safely. But David did have to help me walk off the plane. 

My knees were knocking! 

My heart was pounding! 

My head was aching! 

If this was supposed to be a fun trip, then leave me out next time. I could do without the fun. 

Do I fly? I figure I can do without that kind of excitement but if anyone suggests a road trip, just count me in. 

And it's not those “roads in the sky” like in Back to the Future when Doc said to Marty: “Roads? Where we’re going, we don't need roads!” Just give me the asphalt kind! 

~ Jeannie Joyner

Tales From Camp Crystal Lake

When our son, John, was young, we were always seeking new adventures—especially outdoors—nothing like exercise and fresh air.

We had checked out interesting places around South Carolina because most of the time we only had weekends for our “get-a-ways.” In searching, I discovered an area for camping around the Clarks Hill Recreation area and we decided that it would be a new experience for us, and it looked like it would be fun.

Notice that I said it “looked like” it would be fun.

Because we had never camped before, we had no camping supplies at all, so we borrowed what we needed from friends. Just the basics—a tent that would sleep three of us and a Boy Scout cooking kit. We packed our bikes, a small hibachi, cooking supplies, a few groceries, and plenty of blankets (or so I thought).

Sounds like we were going to have a wonderful weekend, right? Not even!

We hopped in the car and headed out. A few hours later we drove into the camping area and I started looking around trying to locate our site. Spotting it, we pulled our car into the parking slot.

Oh my! What have I gotten us into, I thought? All the campsites were on different levels and they all dropped off at the edges.

Small problem: Our son, John, is legally blind, and he couldn't see where the site dropped off.

We had to set up our bikes around the area like a fence so he wouldn't fall off. Besides that, all the campsite beds were made up of rock. Oh, Happy Day! Try walking on that. No bare feet here.

We unloaded the car and set up the tent as best we could. Now what?

We just sat there in the tent, on the rocks (ouch), with a few blankets spread out on the ground. Remember, I said we had borrowed the tent? That's right folks no sleeping bags or cots (bare bones)!

Do you know how many blankets one would have to spread out on the ground over the rocks to sleep comfortably? Neither do I 'cause we never reached that number.

Deciding that there must be something to entertain us here, we explored and found a beautiful lake. Bathing suits on, we decided that swimming could entertain us for an hour or two.

Relaxing right? Think again! (“Thinking” never came into play for any of this trip.)...

After being in the water for only a few minutes, we noticed that our bathing suits were turning color—red! You guys know what red means? Clay, red clay!

John was not happy, so we hopped out of the water and headed back to the bath area to shower and change. Ah, the luxury of public toilets and shower areas. They don't smell quite as fresh as they do at home, do they?

Makes you wanna go camping now, doesn't it? People with campers be thankful. Tent campers—you people have to be crazy.

Nightfall. Bored, sitting in the tent (no chairs), on top of a few blankets on top of the rocks. We ended up at the recreation area with the game room—where all the teenagers were hanging out!

We sat there watching the kids playing games until the area closed at 10 PM. We are night owls, so to us, the night was still young. We headed back to our campsite and tossed and turned all night long. And it was a long night.

Sunrise!!! Yay! We got dressed—ready for the great outdoors; at least we had sunshine and fresh air. Riding bikes, hiking, talking.

I had carried canned goods so that I could just heat up food for us. Easy, huh?

I got out the supplies and put the food together. I placed it on the hibachi to heat. So far, so good. The hibachi was sitting on top of the picnic table—obviously too close to the edge—when someone bumped the table. Everything slid off the hibachi, off the table, and down the hill. I just sat there on the bench observing the food in the pot at the bottom of the hill.

Me? Walk down the hill to collect it? Never happen!

It could stay there till “h-E-double hockey sticks” froze over for all I cared.

I just SAT there!

David looked at me. I looked back and just sat there. David continued looking at me—not saying a word.

I just sat there.

Finally, he said, “let me get that for you.”

And he climbed down the hill, collected the pot, came back up the hill, started to say something to me. And, I burst into tears.

I just sat there.

“I am going home,” I said, “Right now! Not staying one more minute.”

So, I didn't sit there any longer.

I jumped up, started tearing everything apart, and packed up. I threw everything in the car as fast as I could. I just wanted out of that campground. I knew everyone in the campground had seen what was happening and were probably getting a good laugh.

David was not going to let the weekend end like that. He knew I wasn't happy, and he was going to change that.

So, heading toward Charleston, he found a motel with a pool (sparkling clear water, no red swimsuits), a bed (comfy with no rocks), air conditioning (now I could sleep), a hairdryer (no towel drying my hair), a TV (for entertainment), a bathtub (Calgon take me away), a toilet (this bathroom actually smelled good).

Oh yes, don't forget the ice for cold drinks!

And, he took us out for a nice dinner, that I did not cook, and it stayed on top of the table.

So, ladies and gents, what seemed like it would have been a great weekend for us, turned into a very stressful one. But my sweet husband took an unpleasant situation, salvaged it, and we all went home happy!

Camping? Never again!

We don't even talk about it..

~ Jeannie Joyner