Wednesday's Warrior~"And The Goblin's Will Getcha If You Don't Watch Out!"

     I love to hear ghost stories and love telling them, although I'm the biggest scardy cat around. When I was a kid, I still remember the cold, dark, autumn nights quite vividly. In the evenings, we sat by the warm fire, telling stories, listening to every creak and crack of the house, eyes wide open, half expecting some big monster to jump out and eat us where we stood. I recall my Auntie Helen reading this poem with such premeditated cold-blooded-ness, that it would curl our hair. We hung on every word. She spoke slowly and deliberately so that every one of them reached our little ears and scared us half to death! This poem, written by James Whitcomb Riley, encouraging children to obey their parents and teachers, help their loved ones, and care for the poor and disadvantaged, will make you think twice before closing your eyes tonite.

     And now that I have children of my own, I fully intend on carrying on my Auntie's tradition. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not....*gulp*....afraid.

                                       LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

 by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

 

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;

The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;

The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.

 

ITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,

An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;

An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun

A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,

An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you

If you

Don't

Watch

Out!

 

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--

An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,

An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!

An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,

An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you

If you

Don't

Watch

Out!

 

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,

An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;

An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,

She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you

If you

Don't

Watch

Out!

 

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,

An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!

An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,

An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--

You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,

An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,

An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you

If you

Don't

Watch

Out!

Wednesday's Warrior~"The Sullivan Brothers"

     Last night, in search of an exciting story to tell the kids, I came across one that I've heard before, but again brought it to life around our household as part of a homeschool project that I've decided to take on...the story of "The Sullivan Brothers."
    If there were ever a course of heartbreaking events, that would merit a monumental tragic story, it would be the story of the Sullivan Brothers-Albert, Francis, Joseph, George and Madison, ages 20-27, from Waterloo, Iowa, who bravely joined the U.S. Navy in 1942, after being inspired to take action and fight for their country after Pearl Harbor in 1941. The brothers enlisted, but they did so under one condition: that they would be allowed to serve together on the same ship under the motto "We stick together." For some reason, Navy policy against numerous family members serving together was ignored and the Sullivan brothers were allowed to serve on the USS Juneau. 

     On November 13th, 1942, The USS Juneau was bombed and sunk by a Japanese sub during the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, and the five brothers all perished in the watery depths of the Pacific. This was the greatest military loss for one American family in WWII. The US Navy commissioned a ship to be named in honor of the fallen brothers...USS The Sullivans.
     The story doesn't end there. History has it that another ship, the USS Helena, and her officers were skeptical that anyone had survived the sinking of the Juneau and didn't want to expose their already wounded ship to the still lurking Japanese sub. Approximately 100 of Juneau's crew did in fact survive the attack of their sinking ship, but were left in the water. Believe it or not, because of lack of immediate reporting of the incident and a mix up of paperwork, it was not until days later that headquarters realized that a search had never been conducted and at that time an aircraft was sent to search the area.
    It was too late however, for most of the crew, who were mortally wounded and were exposed to the elements, hunger, thirst and repeated shark attacks. A full eight days after the bombing, ten survivors were found. The survivors reported that Francis, Madison, and Joseph died instantly, and Al drowned the next day. George, the oldest, was left alone, mortally wounded, clinging to life afloat a small raft in shark infested Pacific waters for four to five days. The men could hear him moaning, crying out "Al, are you there? Frank...where are you? Red...Matt, please answer me!? Apparently he drifted on, hypothermic and delirious, slowly going mad from grief at the loss of his brothers, eventually going over the side of the raft, never to be seen or heard from again.
    At home, after letters stopped from the Sullivan boys, their parents grew worried. On January 12th, 1943, three men approached their front door and said "I have some news for you about your boys." Thomas, the boy's father nervously asked "Which one?" The naval officer answered "All five."

      It is believed that George Sullivan still haunts the vessel that carries his family name and he still wanders the ship searching for his lost brothers. The most paranormal activity on this ship occurred in the late 80's after the ship was moved from PA to Buffalo, NY. Many unexplained events have happened on the ship including a wrench and paint can flying across the room, sounds of whispers and men playing cards, hazy apparitions, sometimes five in number and once a security guard was even knocked unconscious. 
     As we continued to read about the USS The Sullivans this morning, the kids and I decided that we would go there. We were on the edge of our seats as we read the story and legends of this magnificent ship and the dreadful circumstances that befell it. Apparently, a man named Eddie Kirkwood was a security guard there for many years and I was curious to see if he was still there. I wanted to talk to him. I called the Buffalo and Erie County Naval and Military Park and asked if he still worked there and they hung up on me without a word. I called again, and got the same response. It was very strange to me.
    The story of the Sullivan brothers is unbelievably touching and incredibly interesting, and one whose family motto was "We stick together." We can learn from this family, who lived and died together in unity. There is so much more to this astonishing story of family togetherness and bravery that takes you right into the scene. You can find that here:
http://www.homeofheroes.com/brotherhood/sullivans.html

     I did find this movie online about the brothers if you are interested in learning more about them:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mBssrsmuW1A

     To see USS The Sullivans and two other historic ships, USS Little Rock and USS Croaker in Buffalo, NY, you can go to the website here:
http://www.buffalonavalpark.org/

   

Wednesday's Warrior~"Appreciate The Life You Have Right Now"

     Being ungrateful is a horrible habit to start and a hard one to break. I know, because for the past few months, I've been feeling agitated and ungrateful and have had an attitude to match. I've even expressed these sour feelings when the words "I hate this house" came out of my thankless mouth one day. I've played these lines over and over in my head: "The house is a continuous mess, (and way to small!) the kids don't listen, my husband is grouchy and unappreciative, the laundry is piled, I'm tired of scrimping and on and on."
     Last week, as I was picking up in the kitchen, I heard some mortifying words come from my twelve year old. "We need a new house. I hate this one."
     "What? You hate this house? How dare you say that? How could you be so thankless?" I thought silently. But I only said "Please don't say that." I knew what I had done.
     A few days ago, I sold a sewing machine to a woman who came to the front door with a huge grin on her face. "I am so jealous!" She wailed. "Just look at this place! Your house is so nice and the kids have so much room to run in the yard. I wish we lived in the country." I remained silent as she went on about how nice everything was. She was absolutely right. I felt guilty as charged: thanklessness in the first degree.
      After she left, on the Q-t, I locked the bathroom door and made it a point to take five minutes and evaluate my life. What was so wrong? Where did the "old me" go? My thoughts were as follows: I have a husband who:
Works.

Doesn't drink.

Doesn't smoke.

Doesn't gamble.

Doesn't like other chicks.

I really needed to be thankful for that.

Hmmm....What else?

I'm not sick.

I have kids that are healthy.

I have wheels and freedom.

I can grow my own food.

I have great friends who love and help me.

My parents are still alive.

I can buy anything, anything at all, if I really want it bad enough.

God loves me.

"OK, but my house is messy and small and nobody listens." 

                                    

"OK...I think I will."

Wednesday's Warrior~"Why I Try And Forget My Cell"

    You are out to lunch with a friend, and in mid sentence, Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" invades your zone. Frantically, the person that you were in an intense conversation with, starts digging towards the noise, staring for a moment at the small screen before starting an entirely new conversation with someone else while you stare in bewilderment. Did this really just happen? It takes a moment before you realize that you have been majorly dissed. After a few moments, you hear "Oh, where were we? John didn't know what to make for dinner and Sara couldn't find her ipod charger. Did you say your grandmother was dying? I'm so sorry."
                 
           How the hellzo (I made that word up) did we EVER get so detached?

     Speaking of detached. Walking in the woods with the kids, pretending to look at the leaves, wishing she could check facebook. Cell phone rings. (thank God...escape. She doesn't want to be in the darn woods anyway...too many bugs) Kids let out a sigh of cantankerous rebellion. "Mommy will be just a minute." (Ignoring everything around her but the phone call) Walks away into the trees, finger in one ear, cell on the other, oblivious to everything around her. 5 minutes later, turns around only to yell at bickering kids. Back to cell. 15 minutes later, kids are sullen and annoyed. "What is the problem here? Can't mommy take a simple phone call?"
                                         
                                                 Fun = over.
                                                                         
                                                 I've done it.

                                     I don't want to be that mom.

   They ring in the middle of sermons, recitals and reunions. They pierce the air in the glorious silence of the morning, permeate the evening sunset and seep into the hours in between. All around us, the emergency calls come in...in cars, parking lots and grocery stores with children, who are in desperate competition with the latest apparatus, dragging on the sleeves of parents who have no time to spare, teens in tow, texting and tweeting obsessively not once questioning their utter unhappiness.

                       Why are we so desperately trying to escape reality?

                                      What are we running from?

     What to pull out for dinner, missing soccer shoes, car pool locations and when will you be home's? The one sided conversations are loud and crystal clear as if the two folks on the phone were the only two in existence. In a way, I wish they were...on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific.

     But what would happen if we tuned out distractions and tuned in to the present moment? Really listened to our children. Looked at someone in the eye and really connected. Said our prayers and really focused on what we were saying. Were sincere in our sympathetic responses to the latest tragedy. Shut the world out for a day. Would things be OK? Would the people trying in desperation to connect survive the rejection?

                                 Things will be OK. They will survive.

     Dad will make dinner, daughter will find the missing shoe, the boss will call someone else in and the dog will get a bone. We live in a world where time and space as we know it will soon fade away and the moments that could have been will gently float away with them. I wonder if we will still be so disconnected at our last breath that we won't even recognize the bitterness of it all. Kids will be grown, others will be deceased, dreams gone, our lives hollow and flat with hardened hearts like stones. Every so often I start to see the bad fruits of disconnect in my own life and I have to run away from it for all I'm worth. Run back to my family and my dreams, not to be swept away by fickle, obscure fads and trends that will all rot in the ground anyway.

 Do you want to be free? I sometimes do and it is why I try and forget my cell.

                                       Permanent ways to get radical:

                    .

       
 
   
   

Wednesday's Warrior~"Don't Despise The Days Of Small Beginnings"

     "Don't despise the days of small beginnings." I try and think of these words often because it's an easy thing to do. It was what I was thinking of today as I was dragging through my hours of what for certain were ones of many small beginnings.
     Small beginnings come with hard work and sometimes little help, pain with no gain, brilliant ideas and little resources, humble budgets with plentiful defeats and questioning looks with little encouragement. Have you ever enthusiastically announced something just to have it shot down with misunderstanding or doubt? We've all been there.
     Small beginnings can feel like things will always be the way they are right now, never progressing or changing, but anything good takes time and patience to grow
     Recently, we had the chance to see The Tribute Quartet, a well known Southern Gospel Band from Tennessee. Their harmonies were beautiful, moving, and very tight. That's not something that happened overnight.
     Our family got to sit on the left side of the stage because the church was so packed with people and we got there a little late. We could see right up close to an act that took years, if not decades to come into being. We were impressed at the level of professionalism, the vocal range of the singers and the little antics that took time and practice to execute. It was well worth the gander.
     Earlier today, we were looking at pictures of when the kids were a few years smaller. It gave me a brutal reminder of how quickly things pass and of what was and is now gone. All of the kids were little. I was worn looking, heavier and remember feeling like the sleepless nights would never end. I remember the sarcastic remarks and displeased looks that started to come along after the words,"We're gonna have another baby!". Sometimes it almost felt like a crime. I look back on those early days with satisfaction, knowing that it was what I wanted for my life and I stuck it out. It was (is) hard, but all good things are.
    Loretta has a little somethin' to say about that:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMzSYyjNb74
    Sometimes, I want to try and skip over the little things to get to the prize, but I have remember that whether it's growing blueberry bushes, raising respectful children, getting an education, losing weight, patiently waiting for a baby, or praying for an answer, it all takes plenty of time and grit.
     For everything worth while, there is a small beginning. Today I need to remind myself to embrace and tend to my small beginnings, because they too, will soon be gone. Going, going. gone...*poof*
                                                       Stacey