Modesty Blaise

A number of years ago my husband and I were involved in a stage play at the Footlight Theater. He had a fairly sizable role and I was a singer/dancer. He played a preacher (Imagine that!) and I played an Indian maiden -- 1 of the 4 in the show. 

Lots of research had gone into writing this script to make it fun but also as accurate as possible. It was decided to bring in a consultant from North Carolina from the Cherokee Nation Cultural Affairs Department who could help with the details and correct any discrepancies concerning the Kiawah tribe. Also, a costume designer, who was willing to take on this complicated production was hired. 

After a week or so of rehearsals it became evident that we had “too many chiefs and not enough Indians!” That was the perfect way to describe those rehearsals. 

Oh my! 

Changes took place on a regular basis which were not good if you were someone trying to memorize lines, music, or dance. There were so many discussions about how accurate certain scenes were and whether or not to change them. Did I say this was supposed to be fun? 

Well, anyway, with all the rewrites and compromises a product was finalized. At least we could “get on with it!” 

Did I mention that through all of this, directors as well as cast members could be very temperamental? I guess you didn't know that, huh? You have heard the term “temperamental artist?” Sure you have. Well it's true. I think every production that we have been in or involved with had a “temperamental artist” or “Diva.” Sometimes those people could be reasoned with, sometimes not. It's very unfortunate but at times those involved were a legend in their own minds, know what I mean? 

Let's face it, this was not Hollywood – this was Community Theater! 

I did mention that a costume designer had been hired to work with us. Measurements and sizes were taken. Costumes were constructed and brought back for the Indian maidens to try. I went into the dressing room and proceeded to try on the costume.  

Hmmm... I thought. 

Something seems funny about this tunic-like garment. 

“Jeannie,” I said to myself, “you must have this thing on wrong.” So, I try to adjust it. It would not adjust. (I've been a costume designer since high school so I was pretty sure I could figure out how to put a costume on myself.) I pulled in tug on this costume and couldn't get it to go over my left boob.  

“Na – this just isn't going to work!” I said to myself as I stared into the mirror. 

Now I wasn't ashamed of my boobs but I didn't want to put them on display either! I was not going out of the dressing room dressed like that. 

So, I took that costume off, got dressed, walked over to the costume designer, handed her the costume and I told her that I would not be wearing that outfit. 

“You didn't even let me see you in it.” She said. 

“No, no I didn't and that will not be happening.” I replied. 

“Well,” she said, “truth be known, they wouldn't have worn anything above the waist anyway.” 

I just looked at her and replied. “My pastor may come to see me in this production and for the life of me I can't see myself dancing naked on stage in front of him. Besides this is a play-- not a documentary!” 

No response from her. 

The Indian Maiden costumes were collected by her and taken back to her studio. Next time she came to fit us at rehearsal she had made us tie-dyed, t-shirts. Those shirts covered all the necessary parts so the four of us could perform and not feel self-conscious about what we were wearing. 

Too many times “artists” try to get away with certain things in the name of the Arts. Could I have done that in the name of the Arts? I think not! 

This was not National Geographic—it was a play. 

It was not a documentary – it was a community theater. 

The situation with the play has always made for interesting conversations and I have laughed about it to this day. Had I not chosen this path; I would not be laughing about it today. 

So be careful, ladies and gents, about the decisions we make in our lives. We would much rather be proud of our accomplishments rather than having to cover them up. 

Get it? Cover them up? (OK—read the blog again and then maybe you'll get it!) 

~ Jeannie Joyner

A Bad Education

Changing schools can be difficult at any age, but when you are 15 years old it can be hell. Most kids have developed lifelong friendships (their little cliques) and really don't want the “new kid” around.  

I had attended Memminger Elementary School in downtown Charleston and in 7th grade graduated and went on to Charleston High School in the 8th grade. Most of us, coming over from Memminger knew someone in high school and we didn't feel so alone.  

Unfortunately, we moved to West Ashley and I had to change schools. In the 10th grade my new school was St. Andrews Parish High School. It was a very uncomfortable situation for me. I knew NO ONE in the 10th grade. I felt really alone and we all know how pleasant and inviting high school students can be, right?  

As I watched everyone around me running over, hugging friends and getting reacquainted after a long summer vacation, everyone was laughing and talking and just enjoying seeing each other again. I really did realize how alone I was. Me – standing around feeling awkward, not wanting anyone to even look at me because I was so shy. I wouldn't have known what to say anyway.  

My cousin (whom I never expected to see) had also transferred to St. Andrews. He was older and in another class. He happened to see me and came over to where I was standing. “Thank goodness,” I thought, “Maybe he will stand here with me at least until the bell rings!” He didn't really want to be bothered with me but he did say hello and then turned around to leave with some of his friends.  

A very cute guy walked up to my cousin and asked him who I was. My cousin, who was rather rude responded with, “Don't worry. You'll never know, David.”  

Strange conversation, right?  

How did my cousin even know this guy? And why did he respond that way to him? Long story short they all went to church together at Citadel Square Baptist Church in downtown Charleston and his dad was my cousin's Sunday school teacher.  

Small world, right?  

Charleston High and St. Andrews Parish High were rival schools and when my cousin had to leave Charleston High and “crossover” to St. Andrews he was not a happy camper. David and my cousin were also rivals so when David expressed interest in getting to know me, my cousin was going to make sure he never did.  

This guy, David, was so cute and I want to get to know him whether my cousin approved or not. I knew his first name was David but what was his last name? I had to find out what his last name was. Since I was too shy, how I was I going to find out?  

Algebra class – “Birdie” McLaughlin was my teacher and – yes! - David was in my class. Now, all I would have to do is listen when the teacher was calling the roll and I would be able to find out. So, I listened... David Joyner? “Huh?” I thought, “I have never heard that name!” But I liked it... 

Jeannie Joyner... It has a nice ring to it!  

You all know how shy I was and I didn't like “any” attention. After a few days in algebra class I noticed that David had managed to change his seat and was sitting behind me. Hmmm... I thought, “how did that happen?” I wore my hair in different styles: sometimes a ponytail, sometimes braids, even Princess Leia braids (I had it before she did), etc. So, he was always messing in my hair with his pencil. I was constantly turning around to tell him to “knock it off.” Or to slap his hand away.  

That was when the teacher fussed at me - never him! Could she not see what was really happening? My face would turn red and I just wanted to hide under my desk. I had never gotten in trouble at school in my entire life and now I was. It wasn't even my fault.  

This went on for a couple of weeks and it was always me she would blame. One day “Birdie” turned around while I was fussing at David and said “I will solve this problem. Jeannie, you move to the front of the class right in front of my desk so I can keep an eye on you!”  

So, embarrassed, and with a red face, I packed up my books and planted myself in front of her.  

“Oh, my goodness,” I thought. “Here I am where everyone can see me and I know they're all snickering behind my back!” After all, the kids all knew what was really happening.  

This separation lasted for about a week and one day when I walked into algebra class and sat down at my desk still in the front of the class, there behind me was guess who? Yup - David -  and he had the biggest grin on his face.  

“Oh my goodness,” I thought. “I guess now I'm going to be expelled!” The teacher came in, started algebra class, stopped, looked at us, paused, sort of shrugged her shoulders, turned towards the blackboard and went on teaching never to say another word to the two of us for the rest of the year. 

I often wondered how I even passed algebra class that year. It's a wonder my teacher had not failed me because of all the trouble we caused in her class. Or maybe by the end of the year she had seen how David had snuck into the seat right behind me, right under her nose and she finally realized who the real culprit was?  

This was the only class that David and I ever had together. It was probably a good thing. My parents had put all their efforts into educating me. So, to find out that it could be completely destroyed by a cute boy who was distracting me every day in class, would not have made them happy with me at all.  

Fortunately for me, (and David, I hope) they grew to love him just as much as I did. After all - 52 years of married bliss and 2 sons - we had to learn something in algebra class, right?

~ Jeannie Joyner

A Shell of a Good Time

I feel so lucky to have grown up on the coast and to be able to spend time on Folly Beach, Kiawah, Isle of Palms, Sullivan's Island, Myrtle Beach, and Edisto just to name a few.

Food tastes better at the beach!

The air smells fresher at the beach!

A nap is more relaxing at the beach!

Let's face it -- a day at the beach is like a mini vacation. Walking barefoot on the soft, warm sand, sunbathing till you are so hot you just have to run and jump in the surf to cool off, pouring yourself a tall glass of sweet tea (tea like Grandma used to make), and don't forget about the shell collecting.

You would think that Charleston beaches would have no shells, but not so. I have collected shells for years and Folly is one of my favorite all-time collecting areas. I’ve found lettered olives, oyster shells, horse conchs, whelks, etc. And, I’ve never been disappointed by what I’ve collected! After emptying the bags of shells, I would put them out in the sun to dry or clean them up with a muriatic acid and water solution. Every trip to the beach was more exciting than the last.

In my childhood, I had the opportunity to spend time with my aunt and uncle at their summer house on Edisto. This particular aunt was my favorite; she was the one that would let me eat what I wanted when I wanted. So, for breakfast, ice cream was at the top of my list. Couldn't ask for a better aunt, right?

And, my uncle was the one that kept a kitchen cabinet designated for cookies and candy (at child-level)! What more could a kid want?

Activities were important to them and on those long summer days, shell art was usually planned for a couple of evenings a week. My uncle would collect all the materials -- shells, paint, electrical wiring, wood pieces, plaster of Paris, etc. We would work for hours on our designs of ashtrays, lamps, small boxes, and more. I thought our finished products were the most beautiful creations I had ever seen.

How beautiful do you think shells stuck in a blob of plaster of Paris could be?

As I think back on these “art projects,” I have to laugh. True, they were very tacky – but, it wasn't what we produced that was beautiful—it was the time we, as a family, got to spend together. Money could never buy that!

After these sessions, we would clean off the tables, put away the supplies, and put our art projects away to cure! Then, off to bed. The windows would be left open and the ocean breeze would cool the rooms as we drifted off to sleep, listening to the sound of the waves.

Such a soothing, restful sound.

I hope each of you has memories like these. Memories made with family members who took their time to make summer special—not because they had to—but, because they wanted to do something special for you!

I cherish those memories to this day.

Oh, FYI! I will be displaying my blob plaster of Paris pieces this week in a shell art showing at an exclusive Art Gallery in Charleston.

Please take this opportunity to come out and join us for this exciting event... Not!

~ Jeannie Joyner

Without a Paddle

Come sail away...

Come sail away...

Come sail away with me!

Oh goodness, how I wish all of you could have gone sailing with us on that beautiful 27-foot Catalina sailboat. This particular weekend the weather was delightful... beautiful blue skies, feathery white clouds, and just the right amount of breeze to help us “sail away” out into Charleston Harbor.

We raised the mainsail, the breeze grabbed it and, before we knew it, we were out in the harbor. The breeze felt wonderful.

On our boating outings we always packed mouth-watering lunches and today was no exception. Fried chicken, potato salad, snacks, and plenty to drink (or so we thought).

We had been sailing most of the day relaxing, sunbathing, eating, laughing-- just enjoying each other’s company until we felt it was time to head back to dock the sailboat at the marina.

As we approached the neck of the harbor, we spotted two men standing up in their boat and it looked like they were waving something in the air. “Oh.” I said, “They sure are friendly!” And we waved back.

All of a sudden, we heard a sound like we had never heard before – the sailboat came to a sudden stop as the keel sliced deep into the sandbar that we never saw until it was too late! We were dead in the water.

“So that was what those guys were trying to tell us,” I said, “too shallow!”

All the guys in the boat looked at each other with expressions on their faces like “did I do that?” like Urkel would have said.

Well, yes, they did! The girls were on their boat to relax not watch out for situations like the one we found ourselves in, right? How are we ever going to get out of this? We were really stuck!

We were spotted by two men from the US Fish and Wildlife Services as they were patrolling the area. They suggested that they take the ladies off the boat and deliver us somewhere so we can be picked up later. They gave us a lift to a bait shop near the marina where the boat was kept.

The guys-- being the Macho men that they were-- decided to go down with the ship; I mean-- they decided that they would want with the boat till the tide turned and then they would head over to pick us up.

It was a very long afternoon as we waited at the bait shop.

Meanwhile, back at the sandbar, the guys had gotten out of the boat and were in the water trying to see what they could do to lighten the load. They were trying to pry the boat loose from the sandbar. All of a sudden, with the tide having turned, the wind picked up, caught the sail, and the boat was free.

The guys, still in the water, managed to pull themselves out of the water and onto the boat... Except for one person. And, he had managed to grab a rope that was hanging over the edge. He was holding on for dear life. The boat was slicing through the water at great speed, dragging him along, and he looked like he was going to drown as all the water slapped him in his face. The guys scrambled to pull him on board. All safe. The guys said it was quite a sight to see him struggling and stay afloat.

Once off the sandbar, the guys quickly headed over to the bait shop to pick us up. Boy were we glad to see them! Hungry, tired, thirsty, and cold – by this time, we just wanted to go home.

What started out to be an unremarkable day of sailing turned out to be an adventure that we talk about to this day and will for years to come.

~ Jeannie Joyner

Song on the Fourth of July

I don't know of a single soul who does not love the Fourth of July with its picnics, patriotic music, parades, and spectacular fireworks. It's just a “feel-good” celebration, isn't it?

One of those celebrations was at our church. We always had a patriotic extravaganza the Sunday before the “Fourth” with a concert followed by a church-wide lunch of good ole hot dogs, hamburgers and all the fixins.

In 1968, this particular time, we decided we would do things a little differently. So, with the help of many people, the production “This Is My Country” was born. Written, rehearsed, performed at the (at that time, “new “) Gaillard Auditorium, it was quite a production. We had taken the production outside the walls of the church into the community—something that had not been done in the Charleston area. The result was amazing with a lot of positive feedback. It was the first time the Gaillard Auditorium had been packed to capacity.

Fast forward 20 years.

Having such fond memories of the 1968 program, it was decided to reprise “This Is My Country.” Easier said than done, right? We tossed around all the pros and cons of “why we should... why we shouldn't” and the ”shoulds” won.

We were really that crazy? Yes, we were!

It was going to be hard work. Rules and regulations were quite different than in ‘68 so we had many new hoops to jump through and a list of things that we needed to accomplish was endless.

Hopefully, our location for this event was available for the dates that we needed.

Money? We needed a lot of that, but how do we raise it?

We needed a great staff dedicated to basically giving up a year-and-a-half of their time to work on a show.

We needed a board of directors, orchestra, choir, actors, costumers, set designers, prop builders, dance instructors, lighting designers, etc., etc., etc....

Well... surprise, surprise...

Before we knew it, we had our staff, our board, our money... And all had to be very dependable and dedicated. They all had to be. We couldn't afford a weak link in the chain.

For almost two years we had numerous weekly meetings, auditions for instrumentalists and vocalists, wrote and rewrote scripts (thank you, David), gathered sponsors, designed and constructed sets and costumes, rehearsed, rehearsed and rehearsed. We were very fortunate to have some of the best talent Charleston had to offer to help make their performances a success. And a success it was!

For two nights we packed the Gaillard Auditorium with standing room only.

Performance night and our fearless leader, John Hutto, was in his element as he directed the 80-voice choir. Our orchestra, directed by Herb Day and Ashley Gardner, was superb as was the dance troupe directed by Bob Ivey. The color guard, the Washington Light Infantry, the actors, the guest choirs all had such wonderful attitudes. It was a privilege to be associated with all of those wonderful, giving, talented, performers. And a great honor to be the co-producer, alongside John Hutto, for this production.

We have many opportunities each Fourth of July to view fabulous fireworks (live or on TV). We can tune-in to spectacular performances across our nation with all the best talent money can buy. But, none of these can compare to all the joy and love that we ALL felt having accomplished a production of this magnitude in our beautiful city of Charleston. This was our gift to our church and our community on the 4th of July as we all celebrated our Independence Day..

We hope and pray that you all have a safe, happy, and healthy 4th.

And, GOD BLESS THE USA!

~ Jeannie Joyner

Nautical Nonsense

Our son, John, has always been a “fish” in the water. He was never afraid to just jump right in. That's a good thing because I've always been afraid of the water. My mother would never let me go past “ankle-deep” at the beach because she swore that I would drown.

How much fun is that when everyone else is splashing in the waves having a grand time and I'm stuck in the “shallows?” I was never allowed to go to the beach with other families either… only my mom. So, my trips to the beach were very limited.

After we married, my husband and son, John, would spend a lot of the time at the beach with me-- making up for lost time! I did not want to pass along my fear of the water to my children. We would spend the warm days at Folly Beach and go down to the Coast Guard station where there were lots of gullies. When the tide went out, these gullies were great places to relax and float. The sun would heat up the water so it would reach a glorious “spa-like” temperature.

We would spend hours in the gullies. My son has cerebral palsy and did not walk until he was three years old so to be in the water and be able to move about so freely was something he loved. On this particular day, my husband, myself and John were relaxing in the gully and all of a sudden, I could not see John. I jumped up, ran over to where I knew he had been and there beneath the water, eyes open, looking all around, he was crawling along the bottom of the gully…

Not in a hurry…

Not panicking…

Not swallowing water but holding his breath.

I reached down to grab him out of the water when my husband said, “don't touch him! Let's see what he's going to do!”

My heart was pounding in my chest. The both of us just stood there and watched… and watched! Every now and then (it seemed like an eternity to me) he would come up for air, and go right back down and continue crawling, eyes open, just looking around, as he traveled the length of the gully. That was the strangest thing we had ever seen.

But he was so happy.

We had a pool at the apartment where we lived. It had a very deep end and a shallow end of about three feet. Crawling in the gully was one thing but going into the deep end of the pool was another. At this point, John had not had any swim lessons at all. Remember I said he was a fish? Well, this particular day at the pool he decided he was going to jump right in and he did...

Into the deep end...

Couldn't touch bottom...

Grabbed a deep breath...

Slowly sank to the bottom (with eyes open) and with both feet pushed off the bottom, he came right back up to the surface. And did it all over again. So, he realized what he could do to “drown-proof” himself. It was amazing to watch.

Another time my mother was visiting us and I decided to take John over to the pool. Taking John to swim was a good idea. Taking my mother was another thing altogether. We got settled pool-side and John jumped right in and I thought my mother was gonna have a stroke. John went straight to the bottom and my mom started yelling. I tried to explain to her how John handled the deep end but without much success. She jumped up, grabbed her belongings and made a “beeline” to the apartment and said she couldn't watch that!

And she never did again.

Anytime we mentioned swimming and John in the same sentence she would make an excuse as to why she couldn't go!

We DID give our children swim lessons and we DID let them go on outings with other families but I can honestly say that every time they went without me, I could hear that little voice in the back of my head say, “Don't go past ankle-deep or you will drown!”

~ Jeannie Joyner

The Great Outdoors

I am not a person who enjoys camping!

Repeat... I am not a person who enjoys camping!

I cannot survive without my TV, AC or hairdryer. So, when it was suggested that we all go to Dewees Island to camp for the weekend, I was so excited... NOT!!! But with all our friends going then it would have to be fun, right? How many things can go wrong on one short weekend?

We all boarded the cabin cruiser and headed over to the island. I'm so experienced—did I think to take water or proper food or anything that resembled a “survival kit?” No! Surely, I could buy food somewhere. I think we ate potato chips and marshmallows the whole weekend. My cousin was smart enough to carry one of those expandable water containers so we did have enough water for everyone.

Getting off the boat: we pulled up to the shoreline. All well and good - except - jellyfish everywhere. “I'm not getting out of this boat with all these jellyfish floating everywhere,” I hollered. My sweet, “knight-in-shining-armor,” husband got out of the boat, picked me up in his arms (he now he has a bad back), and carried me to shore. He was stung three times by those annoying jellyfish... But I was fine!

Pitching the tent: what a disaster that was. We all jumped in to help but we never really completed the task. The tent was so crooked that if we had had any breeze, the tent would have blown away. It stood long enough for us to sleep in it one night but you should have seen it the next morning. Sad!

Going potty: I guess we never really thought much about where we would potty.  Nighttime came upon us and my friend said she had to use the restroom. Ha! Where? My husband told her to walk down the beach a good distance away and take care of things. There were bushes along the beach. Surely, she would find one to go behind. She walked off.

A moment later... Scream!

“What the heck was that all about?” I said. She came running down the beach toward us.

“You never told me about all the fiddler crabs, Blue Crabs, Etc that I had to deal with in the sand!” she yelled at us. “I thought for sure one was going to bite my butt!” I'm not sure if she ever went to the bathroom that weekend.

Looking for firewood: the fellows, being the macho men that they were, left to collect firewood. It was dark by now and we needed a fire. That task should be easy, right? They had been gone a while... we were wondering what had happened to them when we spotted them coming from the interior of the island.

Not much firewood I noticed.

The guys were laughing. The story goes they were walking all through the brush scouring for firewood (not seeing a tent in the distance). All of a sudden, a dog started barking and growling. The owner, not expecting to encounter anyone else on the island, threw open the tent flap to check on the dog. One small problem, the man and woman on the in the tent we're naked. And what made it worse was the bright light that was on inside the tent!

Oops!

So, you see folks, never assume anything. The guys are still laughing about that to this day.

Leaving the island: one minor problem- when we anchored the boat, we had not noticed how close we were to the shore so, when the tide turned, it left our boat high and dry. Great! We'd already collected all our gear, tent, food (junk food) and were ready to board. We put all the supplies on the sand, sat down, and stared at the boat. Did we look stupid or what? So, for the next four hours, we had to wait for the tide to come in so we could leave. So - four hours later - and with David carrying me to the boat through the jellyfish so I wouldn't get stung, we boarded.

I didn't even ask how many times he was stung... BUT I WAS FINE!

That was our last trip to Dewees Island to camp. Like I said before… I AM NOT A CAMPER! And that trip did not change my mind. So, if anyone mentions camping to me I think about all the “experiences” we had that weekend and how I'd much rather have the “experiences” of a comfortable, clean room where I can sit in bed watching TV, in the air conditioning, with a wonderful hot shower, hairdryer, and someone to clean up after me, and restaurants to cook all my meals...

Or, there is always room service.

Those memories of camping at Dewees were enough to last me a lifetime.

~ Jeannie Joyner

Tu-lips Sink Ships

Yellow has always been my favorite color. And as I got older—red. So, I fluctuate between yellow and red. No other colors come close.

As I was walking through my neighborhood one afternoon, when I was about seven or eight years old, I spotted a flower bed full of the most gorgeous yellow tulips I had ever seen. It was bad enough that yellow was my favorite color but a double-whammy—tulips were my favorite flower. I stared at this flower bed thinking, “I sure would love to have some of those flowers.”

Should I pick those tulips?

They don't belong to me!

Wouldn’t that be stealing?

Surely it would be okay, right?

Who's going to stop me?!?!

So, without giving it another thought I reach down to pick me some of the largest, brightest tulips in the flower bed. As I was gathering the tulips to make a beautiful bouquet...

I stood up, turned around, and there... standing in the doorway of the house... was the lady who had painstakingly planted and nurtured those tulips!

“Oh my goodness. I'm caught,” I thought. I could feel my face turn red because I was so embarrassed that I had been caught. “Will she go to my house and let my mama know what I had done?” I said to myself.

I just stood there—frozen.

She was staring at me and she was NOT smiling.

I was staring back at her. “What do I do? Should I just take off running?” I thought.

After we stood there staring at each other for what seemed like 10 minutes, the lady broke out in a smile!

Whew! I thought she was going to kill me!

Instead, she told me that since I'd already picked those tulips that it was okay for me to keep them. But I was never to do that again. “Yes ma'am,” I said as I scurried toward home.

All I could think about was what if she had told my mother what had I done?!?! My mother would have been too so disappointed in me. I was already disappointed in myself. What was I thinking?

A few days later, my dad was going up to work and asked if I wanted to ride with him. He made rounds to collect for the company where he worked. “Wow, that sounds fun! Yes, sir. I would love to go,” I said. So, I hopped in the car and off we went.

My dad told me that I would have to sit in the car while he met with his clients and that was okay with me. He was in this one particular house for a good while, then I spotted him walking toward the car. In his hands, he had the most gorgeous yellow tulips I'd ever seen. He got in the car, turned toward me and said, “The lady in the house just sent these to you!” I took the tulips—so pretty—I thought, but how did she know tulips were my favorite flowers or that yellow was my favorite color?

So I put the Tulips on the seat next to me and stared at them the whole way home.

Hmmm… even at my young age, all I could think about was the flowers that I had stolen out of the flower bed. How is it that I was “given” yellow tulips. Was it God's way of reminding me about what I had done? Well, if it was—it worked! Never again did I even think about stealing flowers.

It's funny how we learn valuable lessons as children and those lessons remain with us the rest of our lives. As parents, we hope we have instilled those same values in our own children and our children turn out to be fine upstanding citizens.

Oh, by the way—I work in a florist shop. And we still sell tulips—yellow tulips!

~ Jeannie Joyner

The Woman in the Window

When I was younger my mom would say to me, “When you get married and have kids, I hope they do to you what you've done to me.” And I would think, “When I get married and have kids, they will be perfect and never give me any trouble!” Haha! Haha!

Famous last words, right?

We lived in a neighborhood full of children. We all walked to school together, spent the night together, and play all day together. What more could an only child want?!? Lots of friends and so I was never lonely!

I got plenty of attention from my parents. After all, who else did they have but me!

You've heard me tell the stories of how my dad taught me to ride a bike, how my mama taught me to color in the lines, how she taught me to pick out clothes and how to match them, how to hand sew, how to bake in an Easy Bake Oven etc... etc...  etc...

Somehow all that attention was not always enough for me.

I remember one afternoon a bunch of the neighborhood kids were playing jump rope right in front of my apartment and called out to me to come join them. They were playing “double jump rope” as I called it then. My parents went outside and sat on the steps to watch us play. I loved all of these games—jump rope, dodgeball, Red Rover, etc. My turn came and I ran and jumped in the double ropes. And everything was going great... until, I missed a rope.

Me? Miss a rope? Already?

No! No way!

I thought, “Someone was not handling the rope properly.” I said, “You need to let me start over ‘cause that was NOT MY FAULT.”  Well, the kids didn't like my attitude one bit and called for the next person to take their turn. Not letting it drop, I shouted, “That is just not fair. I want another turn!”

Since my parents had witnessed my bad attitude, they politely sent me to my room. How dare they side with those kids and not with me. I'm their daughter! They should love me more! My dad gave me a stern look like-- “Okay, Missy, go now or you are punishments will only get worse.”-- I decided it was in my best interest to shut up and move.

I went to my room which was on the third floor of our apartment building. They followed me to make sure that I found my bedroom. I thought, “They don't deserve me. (Oh, how true!) How dare they do that to me and embarrass me in front of those unfair children?”

What could I do to get back at them?

Back in “ancient times” we didn't have air-conditioning and on those hot summer days we opened up all the screened windows. “Mmmm…” I thought, as I was left to think about the way I had acted.

Idea!

As I stared at the window and not giving it another thought, I ran over to the window (stomping on the floor as I ran) and let out a blood-curdling scream like I was falling out of the third-story window to the cement below. Can you imagine how my parents felt, thinking that I had fallen or jumped out of that window?

I’m alive today, so obviously they did not kill me but I thought for sure I had breathed my last breath. (And, I would have deserved it!) I NEVER did that again. I DID spend a lot of time in my room, windows closed!

So anytime MY perfect kids pulled one of those shenanigans I can still hear my mom's voice in the back of my head saying, “Gotcha! Now you know how it feels.”

Don't you hate it when your parents are always right?

~ Jeannie Joyner

It’s My Party and I’ll DIE If I Want To!

Ever think about all the friends you have made in your life? Some remain close while others come into your life and just as quickly slip away. I have been very blessed with some of the best friends imaginable. As I look back over my life, many stand out. But I'm going to talk about a couple from many years ago.

At the time, we did everything together—church, shopping, vacationing, picnics, sports, etc. We had adventure after adventure. But those stories are for another time.

During our “over-a-decade" friendship, we celebrated many birthdays. This one particular birthday, my dear, sweet, loving, kind friends decided to throw me a birthday party. And what a birthday party it was!

I don't know if any of you are like me but I'd just as soon forget my birthdays—NOT DRAW ATTENTION TO THEM. Well, between my husband, and my friends, they invited all our other friends to celebrate it. “Oh goody!” I thought, “Can't we just have a quiet dinner for the four of us?” But... no way!

Party Time! The food and beverages were delicious and we were having a grand “OLD” time. Time for the cake and ice cream. That's the best part of a birthday party, right? And the theme? All birthday parties have a theme. Oh fun! What’s the theme of this party? My party!

My friend announced that we should all go into the dining area for the cake so we all did just that. And, a box was on the table, a big box! Everyone was making a big to-do over the box. So... I was very curious why.

I mean, a cake is just a cake, right? Wrong!

My friend slowly opened the lid to this box as everyone peeped over each other to get a better look at what was being uncovered.

Cake, uncovered!

And all of a sudden it was like I was looking in a mirror. For there, on the table, in the shape of myself was... Myself in a coffin. And ugly... Oh my goodness it was ugly! Did I really look like that? It was life-sized? At least the head and the shoulders were. There was a gasp from the audience. And then... silence.

Suddenly everyone in the room burst into laughter. It was so strange-looking—this grayish, yellowish figure lying before me—helping me celebrate MY day.

For the rest of the evening... I... It... was the topic of conversation as everyone filed by to get a better look... It was like a visitation at a funeral home.

We have memories about the good old days and this is still one that we remember most fondly—especially all the time and effort they went through to make this birthday one I would never forget.

I just about died... but, I'm still talking about it, aren’t I?

Head, Shoulders, Knees and… CRABS on my Toes!

We have wonderful, beautiful beaches in Charleston.

My family would spend every weekend at one of them and oh how glorious! We go for long walks collecting shells by the bagful. Yes, Charleston beaches do you have shells—quite a collection of them—from lettered olives to horse conchs. We need to play handball for hours, listen to music or just eat, drink, and be merry.

Those were the days.

Those were not the only experiences we had at our local beaches. Somewhere not so pleasant.

One day we walked down to the mouth of the river, through the old Coast Guard Station, on Folly Beach. We waited in the water only to have a three-and-a-half-foot hammerhead shark circling around our feet. And this happened more than once! Another time, while swimming a little farther out in the water, I put my feet down to stand up... and... stepped on something. I jumped backward about 3ft only to land on that same “something” again.

Don't know what it was but it was BIG!

Another time, we were chest-deep in the waves when hundreds of fish were frantically swimming past us only to almost knock us down in their frenzy to get away from something. Not a good feeling...

I remember one fishing excursion when we were out all day and we could all we could do was laugh because we caught everything imaginable. Everything—but fish... Crabs (horseshoe and Atlantic blue), a hammerhead shark, an eel that wrestled with us for hours, and miscellaneous trash-- but NO fish!

One thing that stands out in my mind is how many crabs we could see in the shallows around the rocks and lots of crabs washing up on the sand as the waves rolled in on the beach. For some strange reason, I was the target of these crabs (or at least my toes were). It happened almost every time that I decided to go in for a swim.

I know I'm sweet, but gee whiz!

I was at the point of not wanting to go back into the water. This particular hot humid day, I decided I would take my chances and headed out for a swim, jumped into the waves and OUCH! I pulled my foot out of the water and there clinging to my little toe was a huge Atlantic blue crab. I screamed!

David came a running to help. It was quite a funny sight watching him trying to pry this huge crab from my little toe without being bitten. My toe was bleeding. All I could think of was how sharks can detect blood in the water from miles away. Crabs eating my toes and now the rest of me was going to be eaten by Jaws!

I got out of the water—FAST!

What was the solution to this dilemma? I love the beach, love the sun and love the water. What could I do?!

Ah-hah!!!  An IDEA!

I grabbed a pair of clunky tennis shoes (water shoes were not invented yet—this was in the Dark Ages). I knew the crabs could not pinch through those shoes. Everyone was turning around staring at me as I jumped into the water in my teeny-weeny bikini and the pair of BIG, CLUNKY, TACKY tennis shoes on this less than a hundred-pound girl. I didn't care!

The shoes were the solution to my problem and never again was I going to be the main course.

It's one thing to have someone I love play with my feet or tickle my toes, it's quite another to know that there is something out there with razor-sharp pincers wanting to taste one of my little toes!

~Jeannie Joyner

A Marriage Story

(Or… The Exciting  of Newlyweds and Their Crosstown Journey)

March 22nd, 1968 - what a very special time for us!

We were married at 8 p.m. on a Friday night - very simple but formal wedding by candlelight.

But that is not what I'm telling you about. It's after the ceremony that this part of the story starts.

Leaving on a Jet Plane – no -  leaving in our 1963 Chevy Bel Air with a 357 engine. If David Cousin Eddie had not attached special fireworks to the spark plug wires we might have been able to fly out of the parking lot. But that was not to be. It wasn't enough that they had a door in the car with toilet paper -  shoe polish some of which outlasted the car the rocks in the hubcaps and the rice in the AC vents added sound effects to the music of the night.

What have they done to our car?

It was all we could do to “chug-a-lug” out of the parking lot and into the service station. With a quick inspection we were able to reconnect the loose spark plug wires without igniting the fireworks under the hood. We also remove the fish from the engine block and some of the rocks from the hubcaps. Once done we were on our way.

Alone at last… or so we thought!!!

Very quickly we realized that we were being followed - not by one car dash but by three. We had no intent on having them follow us to our honeymoon destination and we knew they would not give up. So to lose them we headed out to the Navy base. When we got to the Southgate we plead with the guard to allow us to the past while stopping are pursuers.

As we sped through the base we decided to exit by the hospital gate only to find our pursuers right in front of us.

Other than give up - we did a u-turn outside the gate, headed back in and once again pleaded with the guard to hold the Chasers until we could escape. This time it was successful and we fled towards the Reynolds Avenue exit gate and hid behind the row of bars and nightclubs.

Waiting to make sure we had lost them, the door to one of the bars opened and out popped a “Saturday night regular” who encouraged everyone else in the bar to come out and congratulate us! Not a good idea. We crank the car and made a quick exit

We crept out of the lot looking at in all directions to make sure we have lost them.

Success. We had lost them.

Just one little hiccup in our rush to get out of the wedding, I had forgotten my suitcase. That meant we had to drive all the way back to my house before everyone else got there!

It was 11 miles out of town. “Step on the gas, David. We've got to beat them home!” I said. We drove up the driveway and I thought, “wonder who is here?” We walked in the house - all the lights on, all the doors open dash but no one home! A house full of people and not one remember to close the door, turn out the lights and lock up! But that was a good thing cause I had forgotten my key!

Before anyone could get back home we grab my suitcase and made our Escape all the way back down to the Holiday Inn across the street from the church.

Because our wedding was so late in the evening we had planned on spending the first night in Charleston and then leaving the next morning for our honeymoon. But we never told anyone that we would be staying at the hotel right across the street. Can you imagine what our friends would have done if they had known that?

That little short trip across the street to our hotel tickets about 2 and 1/2 hours.

~ Jeannie Joyner

Ma Shot the Sheriff

I used to drive back and forth to Walterboro, where my parents lived, almost every weekend because they wanted to babysit for my son, John. They would always say, “If you're going out or away for the weekend, please drop John off of that so we can watch him for you.” We very, very seldom had a sitter other than my parents.

This one particular day, Mama decided that she would come back to Charleston with us and spend the night. Great! We always loved having her. We gathered up everything that she needed and headed to Charleston. Well, we were a little late leaving Walterboro and we had to get back in time to pick up David, my husband, from work.

So off we go...

Trying to make up the time— the clock was ticking away—and I decided I'd go just a little faster. I had to get back to Charleston before David got off. I was barreling down the dual lane—approaching Ravenel—when I spotted a policeman going in the opposite direction. “Oh my goodness,” I thought. “I think he is going to turn around to pull me!”

I headed on down the highway—slower of course—and I looked in my rearview mirror and he was breaking!!! “I'm dead,” I thought. Never had a ticket but I think that’s going to change today!!!

If I could have found a side road that I could have turned onto or escaped down, I would have! “Really, Jeannie? This was HIS area and you don't think he would know all the little side streets and where they go? How naive can you be?”

My heart was pounding in my chest! I'm really dead! All this was going on in my head... I saw him coming up behind me... blue light flashing! Ma knew nothing except we were in a hurry to get to Charleston.

I started to pull off the road onto the right shoulder on the dirt! When I did, my mom grabbed the dash, thinking we were going to wreck, running off the road and into the ditch. “Jeannie-- what are you doing? You are scaring me!”

I said, “Mom, I think I'm being pulled by that policeman behind me and I just wanted to get away but I had nowhere to go!”

And we both just sat there waiting to see what would happen next...

The policeman got out of his car, he walked up to my window and leaned down to address the situation. And, as he leaned down into my window-- I burst out, “Well I hope you are satisfied. You have scared my mother half to death! She thought we were running off the road and we were going to have a wreck!!!”

He stood there a moment.

Then he said, “Well, I thought you were speeding but it might have been that tractor-trailer that was passing you at the same time.” Never asking me for my license or my insurance, he tipped his hat, saying “You ladies have a nice day.” He got back in his patrol car and drove away.

My mom looked at me and said, “Jeannie, there was no other traffic on the road, so there was no truck!”

I said, “I know, Mom.”

I started the car, slowly pulled out on the highway and headed for home. I was so stressed and nervous that I shook all the rest of the way home!

I was so thankful that the kind policeman decided not to ticket me. But, I don't think he knew what to say either. We were a few minutes late getting home to pick up David but at least we were safe.

Even though the policeman didn't give me a ticket, it did slow me down and made me think about leaving earlier so that I would never be in that situation again.

Oh—and did I mention—the policeman was real cute!?

~ Jeannie Joyner

Pranks for the Memories

Do you like practical jokes? I do... if I'm the one arranging them. Not so much if they’re being played on me.

Anyway, the Glowettes, the girls I sing with, went to Charlotte, North Carolina, for the weekend. We were helping Lynn at the merchandising mart set up her display to sell her t-shirts. At the time, Lynn owned a t-shirt company and she designed and produced her own line of t-shirts and they were beautiful!

While Lynn was at the merchandising mart setting up, we went to the hotel to check-in. We were putting all of our belongings into the room when I thought, “Let's play a joke on Lynn.” So... I said, ¨Let's set the room up like it belongs to someone else and then bring Lynn in thinking we've gone into the wrong room. It's no big deal going into the wrong room but if you go into the wrong room with someone in the room... that's another story.”

So... we began our “prank!”

We took pillows, blankets, etc. and set up the bed just like someone was asleep in the bed. We took all the familiar luggage and hid it in the closet leaving out all the toiletries, etc. that were unfamiliar to Lynn. We turned off all the lights in the room except for the lamp on the other side of the bed that illuminated “the body in the bed.” With everything in place, we locked up and went to meet her at the “Mart.”

We finished helping Lynn and then headed back to the hotel. Do you know how hard it is not to break on laughter knowing what is coming? Believe me... It was all I could do to stay in control.

We got to the hotel and it was imperative to have Lynn enter the room FIRST! LaDonna and I piddled with some of the luggage while Lynn opened the door. She walked in first. I walked in second. And LaDonna, third. Lynn got right to the bed not really noticing anything. Opportunity struck... I grabbed her arm and frantically whispered, “Oh my gosh! Someone is in the bed. We're in the wrong room.” I ran out of the room with LaDonna, Lynn following on our heels.

In the hallway, we burst out laughing. We couldn’t hold it in any longer. Lynn had a puzzled look on her face and then she realized what it happened. She had been pranked. And, it was a good one! I know she wanted to kill us but we did have a good laugh... All of us!

We ladies love to travel together whenever we have the opportunity whether it's for work or pleasure. And, I can tell you that we never miss an opportunity to play jokes or pranks on each other. Given the same opportunity, wouldn't you?

~ Jeannie Joyner

Tuppence a Bag

“Daddy, when I grow up I'm gonna marry YOU!” That's what I would say to my daddy all the time... because I loved him, and, in my eyes, he was my hero. I was five years old. What little girl of five wouldn't love her daddy?

I think most little girls have those “special moments” with their fathers. I was an only child and I didn't have to share my daddy with anyone so most of his free time was spent with me.

Afternoons... I would stand out in front of our house, watching patiently until I saw my daddy walking down the sidewalk. I would even run toward him as fast as I could and when I got close enough, he would stretch out his arms to the side like a tree and I would jump... jump up and grab onto his arm and he would let me swing from them like I was a monkey. I thought he must have been the strongest daddy in the world.

Special Traditions... When my daddy would leave for work in the morning, the last thing I would shout out to him was “Bring me a surprise!” And he would.

Every single day!

Every day...

After work...

Religiously...

He would go by the corner store and buy me a bag of Penny Candy.

People my age know exactly what I'm talking about. Penny Candy—every piece cost a penny. My father would fill a little brown paper bag with Squirrel Nuts, Mary Janes, Bit-O-Honey, wax lips, black cows, candy buttons, candy cigarettes, wax bottles filled with flavored water, Bazooka gum... I could go on and on. It was like Christmas!

“Where’s my surprise?” I would say to him. He would smile as he handed me a little brown paper bag. It's a wonder my mom didn't kill him because this was right before my supper and I had to eat the candy right then. Give me candy over vegetables any day!

So, as I walk through the stores that sell barrels of mixed candy (but never for a penny), I think of how my dad would lovingly take the time every afternoon to pick out my favorite sweet treats and “surprise me” with a little brown paper bag filled with “something special.”

~ Jeannie Joyner

Dr. Tooth and the Eclectic Mayhem

I started singing in the youth choir at Citadel Square Baptist Church when I was 15 years old. I loved it.

John Hutto, our mentor, was outstanding as a minister of music, always keeping things upbeat and interesting; always producing and directing beautiful Easter music, dramas and cantatas. All accompanied by glorious musicians, one standing out - May Elizabeth Cone - our organist!

John always rehearsed, rehearsed and the then rehearsed some more ‘til you could almost sing the music in your sleep. And he almost never repeated a piece of music in the same here.

He would keep us on our toes as far as directing, always telling us: “Watch me! Watch me! Because if I decide to hold a note longer or to cut you off sooner, you need to watch me for those changes.” And change things he did... But the choir members were alert and most did not have their heads buried in the music. He was all about perfection – how you entered the choir loft, opened & held your choir folder, where you sat and when you stood—you name it—he addressed it!

We were on TV every Sunday, so if the viewing audience didn't like what they saw they would call in and complain:

“Sit up in your chair.”

“Don't cross your legs.”

“Don't wiggle.”

“Don't talk.”

Rules - rules - and more rules!

One Sunday morning during the worship hour on Channel 5, John Hutto got up to direct the music. He was facing the congregation, hundreds of people in attendance, directing everyone to stand up and sing this heavenly hymn. We were all involved in singing, John directing with flailing arms, as he really put himself into the moment as he always did with the music that he loved so much, when he turned towards the choir...

Now understand this was not unusual. He would direct the congregation to stand, direct a few stanzas, turn to the choir, direct a little, and generally turn back to the congregation to finish. This morning, as he “slowly” turned toward the choir, we all noticed that he his movements were just a little different. As usual, by his orders, we all had our eyes on him.

Just at that moment... he broke out in an unusually wide grin and then we noticed it. His front tooth had fallen out and he had swallowed it. Well, one can just imagine how difficult it was for forty or so choir members to remain poised and composed. It was all the choir could do not to burst out in laughter. Because he had trained us so well, we just grinned a little on the outside while we howled with laughter ON THE INSIDE!

The TV audience thought we were filled with the Holy Spirit! Little did they know what had really happened during that hymn... And, that was good because John Hutto would have killed us if we had not been true to all of his teachings. But... we still laugh about it today ON THE OUTSIDE!

It was on that day that John Hutto gave new meaning to: “Sinking your teeth into something you love…”

 ~ Jeannie Joyner

Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Missing Siblings

My father had a tattoo on his upper arm that was hidden most of the time by the sleeve of his shirt. Back in the 50s, men would sometimes roll up even the short sleeves on a shirt. I would see the name “Ethel” tattooed on his arm and because it started with the letter “E,” I just assumed it was “Ellen,” my mother's name. As I grew older and could read, I asked him what it meant. He and my mom would just laugh and shrug it off.

When I was 12 years old, my parents decided to tell me that my father had been married before and had two children by this previous marriage. I heard what he was saying but it took me a while to really grasp what all that really meant. I had a sister and a brother!?!? That just did not seem real.

I don't know how your family was about “family gossip,” but mine was very “closed-mouthed.” One did not say anything about another family member—unless it was “good.” So, finding out information to pursue locating my siblings was almost impossible.

During our courtship, my future husband, asked about the “Ethel tattoo,” so I divulged my secret. Once we were married, he was on a mission to make my dream a reality because he knew how much I wanted to meet my siblings.

Now understand, this was not an overnight process. This took years of asking many questions with many phone calls (unbeknownst to me).

I didn't find out until years later that David had actually talked to my mother and brother’s mom, Ethel, on the phone and had gathered information from her. He also had talked to my sister who was married to a career military man, and was in the middle of a move and said it was not possible for us to meet at that time.

There were many other setbacks along the way.

Many years passed.

My cousin Gwen wanted me to meet my sister and brother as much as I did. My sister had for years met with her college suitemates at Edisto Beach. Between Gwen and my husband, they planned a reunion at Edisto Beach so my sister and I could spend the day together.

I can remember how scared I was at the time grew closer for our meeting. The suggestion was me that maybe we should speak on the phone first. So, a time was set for that conversation. The conversation between us was exciting but strange because I just didn't know what to talk about!

Can you believe that?

I was speechless! So, the both of us fumbled our way through that conversation making small talk—like how long it would take to drive from her location to Edisto Beach. The conversation only lasted a few minutes but we did settle on a time for the our first get together.

The day came for us to meet.

I must have gone through 10 outfits before I finally picked something out. I also gathered photos of family members and pictures of “our” father for her to see because I didn't know if she had ever seen a picture of him.

The drive to Edisto, which was only an hour, felt like it was forever but I made it. My cousin Gwen had already arrived and a few minutes later my sister Susan pulled up in the driveway.

I walked over to her and gave her a big hug and thought, “Hey we look like each other. She has the same smile!” And smile the rest of the day we did. I showed her pictures, we asked questions of each other, we shared memories and stories.

What a glorious day it was but everything must come to an end. And, before you knew it, I was on my drive home to Charleston.

Did I want the day to end? Absolutely not!

But we agreed that we would get together soon. We weren't going to let any more time slip away from us. After all, we were sisters! We were family.

Black, White and Blue Year’s Eve

New Year's Eve, 19-something something. Just can't remember the year.

We, along with a number of friends, decided we would all get together and go out on the town. Now you have to understand that we were not a drinking group. Along with us were a minister of music, an associate at another church and two daughters of ministers. Most of whom were Baptist!

There goes the fun! Just kidding!

There may have been a long beer or two at our table but I just don't remember. This was the kind of party where you had dinner, live music and dancing, and ringing in the new year with breakfast a little later on. We laughed and ate and listened to music till the wee hours of the morning.

We were giving our pastor's daughter a ride home so it was just the three of us in our car. Our sons had asked that we bring home something for them from the party. You know, like—hats, noisemakers, streamers and balloons!

Great. We had plenty of those since most in our group we're not carrying anything home. They politely gave us their favors to take home to our children.

We had a small car at the time. My husband and I in the front and my friend in the back - squeezed in amongst 10 or 12 - black and white balloons. I'm sure you are getting a clear picture of this and know where the story is going, right?

We start home, just casually put putting down the road - no traffic anywhere - when all of a sudden - blue lights in our rearview mirror! My husband glanced at me with questioning eyes, then glanced down at the speedometer. “What the heck?” he said. “I'm not speeding or anything. Why is he pulling me?”

Slowly we made our way over to the side of the road. In a minute, the policeman walked up to the driver side window and said, “May I see your license please?”

David asked the officer, “Why am I being pulled?”

The policeman leaned into the window just a little and said, “You have too many people in your car!” Then, realizing that he was looking at a car full of black and white balloons—paused, smiled and said, “You have a nice evening, sir.” And, walked away.

We turned around to check out the back seat and there, smiling among all those black and white balloons, was the sweet face of our pastor's daughter. I still don't know how he thought we could cram so many people in the backseat of that small car.

We went on our merry way home thankful that it wasn't something serious we were being pulled for. And, to this day when we see the preacher's daughter, we are reminded of that eventful New Year's Eve, 19-something something.

~ Jeannie Joyner

Stealing Christmas

Holiday meals! How I love holiday meals!

And I love using my best china, crystal, napkins, and silverware that I take out for these events!

Did you ever have to count these things before you would store them away until next time? I never did until one year after a party I was hosting; I noticed that a piece of my flatware was missing. Now, I have junkie, mismatched flatware that I use every day but that was my good flatware that I used when company came over. All I could think was that this piece must have gotten thrown out in the trash!

Seven Forks! Where was the 8th? Not here! Oh no!

Christmas—best China, best crystal, silver, napkins; everyone had contributed their most delicious and best ever casseroles, vegetables, desserts—so why would we not use our best?

We sat down to devour the homemade meal and we also decided that we would open one or two of our gifts. So, we pass around some of the smaller gifts for each to open. Fun. While the gift exchange was going on and we were in desert mode, I decided to start clearing and hand washing the dishes.

Wash. Dry. Stack.

Wash. Dry. Stack.

But don't put them away yet.

Count: Spoons, knives, forks.

Forks? NOT ALL ARE HERE! Only 7. Should be 8! Are you kidding me?

By the time all the dishes were washed and stacked I was missing one napkin, one fork and one salad plate. Checked trash can, checked all rooms. Nothing.

Frustration set in.

No stone was left unturned but still these items were never found.

January and we decided that we would go through the pictures on my phone just to remember the holidays. In the pictures, we were all sitting around the dinner table. There was my mother-in-law (who had dementia) with a present on her lap—something my sister-in-law had given me—and then... there in Louise's hands was my dinner napkin that she was folding. I thought, “let me go get that present and check inside the box!” I open the box and there was my napkin where she had carefully folded and placed it inside.

Caught on camera!

Never did find the fork and salad plate but I do know the only place we did not check was her purse.

One would think that counting one’s silver, China, etc. would not be necessary when families gather to celebrate on special occasions to ask but think again.

So - yes - I still stack my plates, cups, silverware, etc. as I count each piece before placing them in a special spot on the buffet. We could never say (with 100% accuracy) that it was the “Sticky Fingers” of my mother-in-law but since she passed away a few years ago nothing has gone missing. It always gives us a chuckle at the holidays as we start to take out all the “company” dishes and we have the opportunity to retell the story to the newcomers.

Like my aunt used to say to me when she would see these items stored away, “Well, Jeannie, what are you saving them for?” You know, she was right. I don't save anything anymore I would rather have all these wonderful memories to pass down to the next generation.

~Jeannie Joyner

The Gift of the Magi(c)

Many of you know that I have the good fortune of having the 24th of December as my birthday. I have been told many times that others see that more as a curse than a blessing. For too long I conceded to that opinion.

It was on my 5th birthday that I found out that very few others shared the same date nor the same month. In those days we had Channel 2´s ¨Lucky Two Ranch¨- a kid´s program that allowed birthday parties on air. December being a slow month for such made for the party to remember for a lifetime. My dad took my older brother Tommy, myself and a couple of friends over to the TV station for our local debut. My mother was at home with my brothers Ronnie and Rusty watching her “Christmas child” on TV.

We had to wait till after the trip for the actual party at home with the cake and festivities, but I was granted one gift before leaving – my new shoes.

Those of my age, the few of you left who can still see or have someone read to you, understand the significance of that sort of gift in a household with four boys.

I was really proud of those shoes – they were new and they were mine! All of that didn´t matter the moment that Tony Glen (the host) asked what I had gotten for my birthday. The lights in my eyes and the camera on me and the microphone in my face, I proudly blurted out, ¨a new pair of shoes.¨ I didn´t expect laughter from the audience or the stage hands, so when prodded for other information about gifts, I simply said, ¨That´s all.¨ At that moment, all the thrill of the occasion seemed to disappear.

Both parents expressed their mortification at my seeming lack of gratitude for the other gifts that had been given. This especially since they were separate from the Christmas presents waiting for the next morning.

I know that for the next eleven years, birthdays seemed to be lost in the holidays for me. Granted, life was full with school and church and neighborhood activities: playground sports, newspaper routes, lawnmowing appointments – and of course – more school.

Day after Labor Day blues and the first day of school 1963.

Nothing much to talk about until I saw David Strickland, one of my dad’s “notorious” Sunday School students, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. No, I had to notify as many of the guys and girls as I could to feed David´s angst at being a fish out of water.

Midway through this time of friendly greeting, I noticed an unknown but very attractive brunette coming our direction. I stopped long enough to see her whisper something to David, have a reply from him, then turn to walk back to the group she was with.

When asked for her name, David laughed and said, ¨you´ll never know¨.

That thought lingered with me all day till time for Algebra I. I walked into class and was thrilled to see HER sitting there in a row with an empty desk behind. God was smiling on me that day.

I found a new purpose in life just to come to class to sit behind her so I could hide from Mrs. McGloughlin while I did my best to make sure that THIS GIRL was totally aware of who I was and how much I wanted her in my world. As time passed, I grabbed every chance I could to be wherever she was.

The need for homework assignments led to many bike rides to her house under false pretenses. Three months felt like years. These months felt like we had known each other a lifetime.

The warm summer weather gave way to the mild chill of December.

 I got the nerve to invite her to our annual Christmas Choir program and fellowship afterward. Hearing her say, “Yes,” gave me needed confidence and determination to ask her to go steady.

Another “Yes” and my heart was soaring.      

I could not have imagined a more beautiful Christmas. I managed to find a simple charm bracelet that has become full with commemoratives for a life rich with blessings and memories that make Christmas very special for me. When this beautiful lady wears that bracelet, I will always be reminded that the spirit of Christmas is present all year… Not just late December.

Oh, Mom and Dad, thank you too.

~ David Joyner