Columns & Editorials

“And, then, Aunt Hallie and Uncle Sam took everyone to Galveston. They all stayed at the Flagship Hotel, except, Uncle Sam was CRAZY. One night, he took all of the kids out onto the beach and they slept in the sand! Yes, that’s right. Uncle Sam was great at magic tricks. He could always pull a quarter out of your ear.” This is an excerpt of an actual recent telephone conversation I had with my cousin. There’s one odd aspect to this exchange. I never met my Great Uncle Sam. Aunt Hallie was in her latest years when I was very young. Uncle Sam was long passed away. This was a story of my mother’s youth, kept alive and well through the ages. I’ve heard it told, and retold, so many times, I can see it all in technicolor: my mother’s ruched bathing suit and rubber swim cap, her cousin Priscilla’s pedal pusher pants and penny loafers, Aunt Hallie’s cat-eye glasses with the rhinestones in the corners. It’s a tale from the 50’s, back when there was a Flagship Hotel, and it was legal to sleep on the beach. While family lore is often passed down through the generations, it’s an inherent thing we southerners do, speaking about the long-ago times and long-lost ancestors as if they were just in another room. I never once saw my precious Uncle Opie working in the Seagoville prison, but I can visualize him walking down dimly lit cellblocks, ring full of keys attached to his hip. My grandmother’s father lost his life in a train accident mere yards from the old cotton gin he was racing to before the close of that weighing day. I can see the red flatbed truck he was driving as well as I can see my husband’s truck in the driveway right now. In the south, our stories do more than stick around. They keep people alive.

When you hear the word “budgeting,” your first thought might be that it’s mostly for young people starting out in their careers and adult lives. Yet, budgeting can be important for everyone, no matter their age. And even if you feel that you’re in pretty good financial shape, with a reasonable amount of savings and investments, you can still benefit by establishing a budget or improving your current one.

THE REAL “BAD BOB” (Part 6)

Dear Aunt B,

“She likes to do dances in the car, which are hilarious,” says Savannah, age 11. “Some of the dances I think are extinct. When she starts to dance to a song, I tell her to stop because I think she will hurt herself.”

In the gospel of John chapter 1 verses 1-3 it is written “In the beginning was the word and the word was with GOD and the word was GOD. All things were made by Him and without Him was not anything made that was made”. That means that Jesus Christ made everything in existence and owns it all including humankind.

My panic was palpable. After all, I was looking straight at Finn, my 2-year-old gigantic baby of a standard poodle. He’s been through so much. His idiopathic epileptic seizures started when he was only 6 months old. They grew longer and became more aggressive as the months ticked away. None of the preventative drugs seemed to work. Finally, our vet found a suitable cocktail: Phenobarbital and a double dose of Zonisamide. And, nearly two years later, here he was in the backyard, covered in blood? He’s not allowed in the backyard without me. Even though he’s been seizure free for nearly a year, we are told it isn’t a matter of if those seizures could break through but when they become too prevalent for the meds to block. Part of a successful seizure protocol is making sure the surroundings are safe. So, he goes outdoors with me. But, where is the blood from? Standard poodle brother Tucker is a lover, not a biter. Rescue dachshund senior brother Poe is, well, a low rider. He’s passive, too, but even so, the best he could catch would be an ankle. In fact, I can shamefully admit that Poe is usually the receiver of injustice when in the backyard. He always seems to be in too close proximity of the pood’s urine streams, constantly needing a sink bath after an afternoon outside. Finn seems ok. Yet, there’s the blood. It’s on his temple. It’s near his neck. It’s on his flank. Why, there’s even blood on his booty! I look at him. He looks at me, perplexed at the attention he’s receiving. He does that adorable head tilt to one side, as if to say, “Mom, I know I’m cute, but stop staring.” It hits me. This isn’t blood at all. Why, I should have noticed the tint was closer to a hot pink on the color wheel. I look up. I look around. Yep, it’s berry season. I feel intense relief followed by intense desperation. The mulberries are everywhere.

Life doesn’t always go as planned. For example, you might think you’ll retire at 65 or later, when you’ll be eligible for Medicare. But if you retire before then, how will you pay for your health care? Without insurance, you risk incurring thousands of dollars of expenses if you are injured or become seriously ill. And if you must pay for these costs out of pocket, you might have to dip into your IRA, 401(k) or other retirement accounts earlier than you had planned – which could result in a less desirable retirement lifestyle than you had envisioned.

To all those who read this column, I am really sorry about missing last week. It was a trying week for this household but we made it through it all.

Dear Aunt B,

The Real “Bad Bob” (Part 5) The Killing of Harrison Choate (Part 2)

Nancy Jean Smith, longtime resident of Forney, passed away on April 25, 2022 at her home with family at her side. She was born July 5, 1938 in El Paso, Tx to Prentis O. and Margaret Davis, both of whom met her in Heaven along with her son, David Wayne Smith and daughter, Cynthia Carol Smith-Griffin and sister Carol Gard.

In 1914, two years after the death of Price Thomas in Lone Oak, Texas, Bob Barnett had another run in with a sharecropper named Harrison Choate. It was a mystery to me how another sharecropper would have any dealings with “Backshooter Bob”, who built the house my wife and I now live in, but I guess times were hard in a time when the German Kaiser was intent on taking control of Europe and World War One.