A Beautiful Sound

Hello Team Fencepost!

I thought that when I changed jobs within my company that I would have more time for writing here. I never dreamed that working 4 longer days would leave me with even less time to write. Oh there are other things that demand my attention like 3 weddings in 3 weeks of friends and family at which my presence was expected. And then there’s birthday parties and balloon events.

My family and I have also began attending church again. Something that has long been overdue and needed by me. I have missed church. Even though I have not been completely out of step with God, I had forgotten how important it is to get that weekly fill of the spirit. I have also begun singing in the choir, something I never saw myself doing. It is a small church with a small choir, but a blessing never the less.


My Mother sang in the choir and at times I feel as if she is there with me singing right along. Certain songs that we sing, you know, the old hymns like “Old Rugged Cross” or “How Great Thou Art”, I can still hear her strong soprano voice gleefully singing each word and never missing a note. In her last few years she was unable to sing, her voice had just left her and I know that it broke her heart. But she is up there. Now singing with a “new” voice. Along with the angels. In God’s choir.

And what a beautiful sound it must be!

One day I’ll be standing beside her singing in that choir with her soprano and my whatever it is that I sing blending harmoniously. Hmmm, that gives me chill bumps just thinking about it. I’m not ready to leave this world yet, but I do look forward to that day.

I’ve heard that a lot of our now “music stars’ began singing in a church choir, including the late Whitney Houston. I’ll bet those are some of their favorite memories. Do any of you have memories of the church choir you’d like to share?

I would love to hear them!

Happy Wednesday!



Mom’s Creations

I lost my Mother 6 years ago this month and some days I miss her so much.

She was a prim and proper lady. She had rules that she followed. Things like you only wear white between Memorial Day and Labor Day. After that they were taboo. We butted heads on that one often because I LOVED my white painter’s pants. Remember those? How many of you had white painter’s pants that you wore till they were threadbare?

I have told you before of how I taught her to crochet. It was not an easy task because she was left handed and I was right handed. But it gave her a lifetime to create.

And now I run across those pieces that she spent so many hours creating while she watched her “stories” (soap operas) as she called them.

Different colors. Although the white out numbers the other colors by a landslide.

Different shapes. Mostly granny square though.

Piles of them that she crocheted and never made anything with.

These are probably 15 years old because she made them before she lost her sight. Still in the plastic bags she packed them in and still in as good of condition as when she first made them.

I preferred to crochet with yarn. She preferred crochet thread.

Still I am left with all of these. And I want to do something with them, I just don’t know what.

I thought about a Christmas tree skirt, but most of them are square.

And most of them are 2 to 3 inches in diameter.

What would you do with them?

Team Fencepost, give me some ideas!

Happy Tuesday!


Uncle C – Lives On

Uncle C was known to frequent the local taverns that were built in a wide spot along the river. And the way I hear it he was well known along that river, too.

It’s been said that he was the meanest man to walk along the river road, in his day.

I don’t know about that because that was not the man I knew that played his guitar and sang songs for me.

But in his younger days that is how he was known and maybe even how he’s remembered by some today. Especially the three young men that jumped him late one night.

I was told that he had been out one night at one of those taverns along the river and it was getting late, he decided it was time to make his way back up the river, to home.

He bid his goodbyes and headed for the door. He stepped out and stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, then proceeded toward his truck parked in the dirt parking lot.

Just as he left the light of the tavern door he was ambushed by three young men who’s intentions were not clear. But Uncle C knew the odds were against him and he’d better think quick.

They began pushing him around, then push came to shove and then it turned into an all-out brawl. This is where Uncle C had to be on top of his game. They were hitting him and pushing him around and just when it began to look hopeless, one of them stepped a little too close.

Uncle C spotted a rock on the ground nearby and headed for it, as he bent over to pick it up with one hand, he wrapped his other arm around the neck of the young man that had stepped too close.

This was it, if Uncle C was gonna survive this, now was his chance.

Every time one of the other two young men hit my Uncle C, he hit the guy in the head with that rock. Until the point that the guy in the headlock was screaming for them to stop before Uncle C killed him.

They backed off and Uncle C let the guy go.

Uncle C went home to tend to his wounds as I’m sure the others did, too.

I’ve often wondered why those three ambushed him like that….

  1. Had he done something inside that had hacked one or all of them off? (Possibly, cause like I said, he had a reputation for not taking any crap from anyone.)
  2. Did they know that he had moonshine and wanted him to turn over his stash? (Maybe, but I promise you he wasn’t letting go of any of it unless you planned to contribute a dollar or two to the cause.)
  3. Or maybe they just thought he had cash on him and planned to rob him. (Uncle C was tight with his money and I can guarantee he wasn’t giving it up without a fight.)

Still only Uncle C knew why. But he fought his way out of that and many others, or so I’ve heard.

Happy Thursday!