Christmas 2015

2015 has been a hard year with so many emotional changes and transitions and getting back on our feet. I usually get the "Christmas blues" at this time and this year definitely topped the cake. I love the holiday and traditions but I don't love the commercial take-over it can become. It takes so much more searching to find that hope that Jesus came to bring so long ago. I had become weary from treading water and constantly looking for it in a time in the United States that is just ugly. Hopelessness invades us as we watch the news and become overwhelmed with all that is going wrong. This season seemed to overflow with hatred, anxiety and fear. Horrific things happened. Too many deaths within my 6 degrees of separation happened. My mom is sick. I'm not where I think I should be or want to be in life, and I begin to compare to others  which is never ever good. It was all wrapped up under my imaginary tree this year. For weeks I have thought about how Christmas comes in Winter (see my post about Seasons here). In my mind, it is most fitting that way. In the middle of the "blues" and darkness and tragedy and bitterness, hope comes as the most vulnerable in the darkest times. A baby. A poor baby. A baby with a questionable story to others. What King is born under those circumstances? How could anyone have known the greatness from this smallness? That was it - I was reminded that hope and love most often come in small packages, not grand ones. It comes in the vulnerable, the weak, and the least expected. I was reminded with each of the 400,000 cards arrived to Safyre (I lost count after that), refugees were placed in homes and able to just sit and relax, when the Anonymous Santa paid off items on lay-a-way for people, and the list goes on. All of the small tokens of kindness and love become brighter. A little brightness lights up a dark room and when we all bring more of it, the darkness retreats and is no more. The pastor at the church we have been attending even touched on this after I have been stewing on it for weeks so it hit home a little more as a confirmation. I have to hang on to that thought for 2016 and remember "what a difference a year makes" and "the best is yet to come!" 

Luba and I just got back from being in Mississippi for the holidays. We left Wednesday evening, spent the night in Winona (MS), and drove the remainder of the journey on Christmas Eve morning. We only had 1 mishap going...I punched in the address to the hotel without adding the zip code and we passed our hotel. Oops! From where we were (our GPS final destination in a field rather than Comfort Inn), we could see a Holiday Inn with a huge cross next to it. We have seen this before as we passed by and we drove along the road to look at it. To my surprise, the road that leads to it was "Bro. Johnny Walker Road."

Bro. Johnny Walker was the pastor of my childhood church and the father of one of my best friends as a child. He was such an integral part of my early faith and foundation. I thought of my friend/his daughter, Candace, and wondered if I could find her online. I have searched for her and wondered about her for years but never found her. I looked her up on Facebook and there she was, finally a fruitful search, so I sent a friend request. Once we were checked in and settled into our hotel, I got a message from her and we were able to reconnect. My heart was full at the moment - no additional gifts needed. I needed that down to my soul and core. If you are from Lucedale, you know the Walker family was a gift to the community and First Baptist Church. They are truly special people and few come close to the warmth, hospitality and integrity of this family. Having that online connection with her woke something up in my soul. It just brought back so many memories.

Luba and I spent the entire time home between Mom's, Daddy's, and my brother Cary's homes. We laughed, ate, watched TV, and played Cards Against Humanity. There was a lot of porch swinging and listening to the rain. You can see that here (after you take your Dramamine):

It was just great to be home and focused solely on family. I am truly grateful that we live closer.

We made the drive back Sunday, stopping over in Winona again for LUNCH WITH THE WALKER FAMILY! We had casually mentioned meeting up but most of the time those things never work out so I didn't get my hopes up. We left Lucedale and headed out. Only 1 mishap happened on the way back - missing our interstate connection. Oops again! We backtracked a lot and wound up having to take back roads and country highways so we had this view for a looooong time:

We arrived a bit late but arrived. I can't even express how awesome to pull in to their drive and see my long lost friend waiting outside! THIS is how Facebook excels - reunions! We had the best time catching up but it was not nearly enough time for the years missed. When you reunite with childhood friends and their families, it truly feels that no time has passed.

Luba and I both wanted to stay longer but had to head out for the remaining 6 hours drive. We definitely plan to go back down and visit again, for a longer amount of time. Mrs. Dolores and Candice of course sent us on our way with travel mugs of sweet tea, a mason jar filled with extra tea, cheese & crackers, sandwiches, oranges, dessert, and water for the road. 

It was a great holiday - but as I say every year, next year will be less busy, more decorative, less commercial, and more intentional. And, I'll start much earlier.....

Remember: the best is yet to come! 

Happy New Year!
Danielle

A trip down memory lane!

I just drove 2 hours from St. Louis to Carbondale, Illinios for the night. I’m attending a conference tomorrow so I opted to spend the night in a hotel the night before (SQUEAL!).

After 45 minutes or so on the freeway, waze took me on another highway. I assumed I would link up with another major road since I was still more than an hour from my destination. But, waze did not. It took me the distance but it took me faaaaaar beyond the miles, many miles down Memory Lane to Lucedale. Each small town I passed through brought a smile to my face. It was just me for most of the miles on the back roads and highway. Each small town looked like and reminded me of Lucedale. 

So many flashes of images came to mind, memories jostled, laughter heard, conversations rehashed….

Take a trip down memory lane with me. Does it spark any memories for you?

I’m starting in elementary school. I went to Lucedale Elementary and we had this old gym by the first grade hall. It was always rumored to be haunted. We rarely went in there but when we did it had a damp musty feel. With our skinny little bird legs carrying us, we lined up and walked through the entry way into the gym area. As we walked, we could see this painted Rebel (mascot) and rumor was his eyes moved to watch you. There were so many stories of what happened underneath the gym as if that wasn't enough. Under the stairs you could see fencing, and one could peek in and see grass and just plain old ground. How did so many of us see more? Bodies, skeletons, people reaching for help……it still gives me the willies thinking about that place.

I remember fun trends like jelly shoes and charm necklaces. Oh how I loved to trade charms. I remember some people who had so many charms, I coveted them all. I’m looking at you Jennifer O’Neal. I remember wanting a Glo-worm but never getting one (no worries, I wasn’t damaged). I remember my first Cabbage Patch Doll, Collette Alana. She had red hair. There was a whole round display at Sears one day, and I finally got to pick one out. I mean, it came with a BIRTH CERTIFICATE! I collected all of the California Raisins at Hardee’s.

I remember touching a Black girl’s hair for the first and only time. I had stared at it every single day of first grade. I was behind her in line. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It was like I was out of my body. I asked her, “C, can I touch your hair?” to which she replied yes. Like the speed of light, my hand shot up and touched her beautiful poof and went back down. I doubt anyone even SAW it, I was so fast. I giggle about that every time I touch Luba’s hair.

I remember playing all day outside – most of which was with Blake, my neighbor. We were gone from morning til night. You would see two kids on bike riding down the highway with camo vests (with most likely a squirrel tail whipping in the wind and pellet guns or fishing rods in tow). We hunted, fished, raised cattle, rode bikes, built things, nursed baby animals we found and played. We were inseparable until middle school when you can’t just flit around with your male neighbor.

Middle school, how awkward. I remember my trampoline in the back yard. How many “routines” did we actually make and up and execute? I distinctly remember my routine to “Push It” by Salt n Pepa and it ended with a perfect dismount from the trampoline. I just brought my boom box outside, plugged it in to the outside plug, and played the best songs that I had RECORDED FROM THE RADIO ON TAPE. Remember that? Push record when the song starts.

Mixed tapes…another good memory. Or cassette singles? I remember buying “Superwoman” by Karyn White and taking it to Kristie Kelley’s party so it would be a slow dance option. She did always have the best parties. Everyone wanted to go to Kristie’s parties and what I loved was how inclusive her family was. Her parents were “those parents” who just got us back in those awkward years. They created a space where gangly pimply adolescents could just be. Kristie even had a room that was all purple. Of course, Mrs. Frances totally understood all things girl. 

We didn't have MTV (or good cable or any internet) in those days. My brother recorded Friday night videos for me on VHS because it came on after I went to bed. BAM, Saturday morning meant open eyes, make a pop-tart and tune in to see what the top 10 videos were. I wore out a few tapes rewinding and repeating "Hush Hush" by Paula Abdul and "If I Close My Eyes Forever" By Ozzy and Lita Ford. 

  

I also remember the death of a friend’s little brother during our middle school years. We all learned that death does not wait for us to be ready or “old enough.” You just can’t make sense of a child’s death.  

I remembered introducing myself as if my dad was famous – “Hi, I’m Danielle. My parents are Cary and Peggy Jones.” In those days, we all knew one another by family name. Before I could hang out with a new friend or go on a date, my parents would ask “Who do they belong to?” When I started working in the school district there in George County, I found myself doing the same thing to kids, “Who is your mom?” It just made it all make more sense. Reputation carried you far. You could overcome a bad one but it took work.

My mom always took me to Mobile after Sunday church. I loved this. We went to Red Lobster and then the mall. Occasionally I got to bring a friend. Mom would give me $20 and I’d be on my way for hours. My friend of that day and I would always buy a matching purse at one of those accessories stores at the mall. Rebekah Merck, I still remember red ones we bought at the store next to Woolworth's at Bel Air Mall. On Monday, we were hot stuff. That purse was always full of jolly ranchers too. Jolly ranchers brought all the boys to the yard at the time. We also made sure that purse had a plastic photo album in it with all the newest pictures that we had DEVELOPED. It was common to look at others’ “picture albums” so it changed with the newest pictures or who you were made at (those came out of the book until you were friends again). Purse musts included photo albums, jolly ranchers, comb/brush, and lotion. 

I remember church as I passed houses. I imagined how many of them were relaxing through naps before they would soon head off to Sunday night church. Remember that? At First Baptist, we had choir practice, training union at 6, and then church at 7. I couldn’t wait to get old enough to attend a “lock in” or one of the occasional services where all youth came from other Baptist churches to meet at one after the 7pm service. I can’t even remember what that was called, but I loved it.

Because our town was so small, thankfully high end purses were never a thing. You were “in” if you had a Liz Claiborne purse. Bonus points if you had a bottle of Liz Claiborne perfume, which came in a triangle spray bottle. Dooney & Bourke hit the market (for “other people”) and we all flocked to the store that opened carrying knock offs.

How many times must we have gone to see Reba McEntire or George Strait? On that note, how many pairs of colored Wranglers and Roper boots did we have for donning for such occasions?

As I reminisced up the timeline in my mind, I went to high school. Before we even made it through day 1 of 9^th grade, everyone knew Joe Dunnam was dreamy. All of the K-8 schools finally merged and we had FRESH MEAT! New friends! But how scary! I still remember our eclectic groups that joined for AP English with Mrs. Howell. I thought of her the other day and wondered about her. I remember her as I organize a book club. I love books and I think I fell in love with book discussions in that class where personalities collided and social barriers dissolved.

I remember Interact Club with our sponsor, Mrs. Luce. I volunteered to go to Rotary Club any Monday that didn’t have spots filled. I think Jesus himself made that hamburger steak and gravy that was served most Mondays. We got to leave school to attend the Rotary meeting with all the business men, held at the Coffee Pot on Mondays. The Coffee Pot had a scratching post outside that was our claim to fame. Sadly, the scratching post is there but the Coffee Pot is now a Chinese restaurant. 

Who remembers Katmandu’s? Katmandu’s was a dance place for 18 and over that opened on Airport Boulevard in Mobile. It was like the mecca for coolness as we had nothing like that before. We had only “dances” after Friday night football games so this was grand although it closed shortly after. Our friend Shane used to drive Zan and me. Mark Havard was there, always in the forefront, and that boy could dance. (Mark, I hope you read this). I also remembered the trend of boys wearing pacifiers on a necklace. (Mark, I’ll never tell if you had one…) what must our high school teachers have thought?

We talked on the phone after school and on weekends on a phone that was connected to the wall. If you got in trouble, your parents unplugged it from your room and hung on to that bad boy til things blew over. We wrote letters and exchanged them during breaks and recesses. Cell phones came out at the end of high school for us. We had an antenna that connected to the outside of the car and a “bag phone” that fit on the console area. It was as big as a house phone. It was magic. I could only use mine in case of emergency because there were no value or family plans.

We had typing class which meant no computers as we know it today. We had typewriters. Yearly school supply lists included corrective tape and White Out. I loved typing, and I was good at it. You put a book on a stand that had preprinted paragraphs and you went to town on that keyboard so see how you could beat the day before’s WPM (words per minute, young ones). I typed Coach Sellers’ basketball certificates for him.We had computer class, but it was COMPUTER CLASS where you learned how to do a simple program. The screens were black with green characters. 

These are just a few that came to mind so vividly as I drove. As I always say, I would never trade growing up in a small town for anything else.  I love that a handful of us still make time to get together when I go home at Christmas. I think as we laugh and catch up each time, we still see each other at any of those stages in the early years. I remember Natasha’s super straight here that smelled divine. Seriously, everyone asked her if they could smell her hair. I remember Alisha’s upbeat personality and the way her lips pursed as she concentrated and wrote her school work. I remember Jennifer’s devilish smile and bows in her hair. And at any age, she sang all the time. Love you girls!

Lucedale people, what others can you think of? 

Happy reminiscing,

Danielle

Love for my small town

As most of you know, I was born and raised in a very small rural town in South Mississippi. I’ve posted on this before here, and you know I “puff up” when others say negative things about my beloved home state. On several days throughout any given week, I miss so many aspects of that life.

This past week was one of those weeks. I ached for this tiny town and the people who will always be family, “my” community. The ache started from news of a terrible tragedy that took the life of one young man who was just starting out his adult life at school at Mississippi State University. I was heartbroken. I was heartbroken even though I do not know the family personally. See, that is the beauty of my home town. There is a connectedness. Everyone knows each other or “of” each other. You can identify a family by asking “Who’s your dad/mom?” We celebrate together. We mourn together. We raise each others’ children. When one child passes, we mourn as an extended family. I still feel connected although I am 2000 miles away on the opposite coast. After news was received of this loss, Facebook instantly filled with offerings of condolences and assistance to the family. Several people, whether friends, acquaintances or strangers to this family, changed their profile pictures to this image as a visual token of support and encouragement. 

Just the visual representation of seeing this picture all down my newsfeed made my heart both ache and swell with gratitude. I’m so thankful towns like this still exist. 

Thinking of this brought back memories that are always at the forefront of my soul. My first job was as a Speech Pathologist for that county's school district. I loved it. I loved every minute of my work day. I loved every child that passed my way. I loved the parents, all of who dropped off their children in our care and never second-guessed our intent or actions. We were figures in children’s lives whose parents demanded and expected to be respected. Some of the children at my schools came from modest to low income households. Some lived in houses that would rival a 3^rd world country. Lives were filled with hurt and need but also with love and respect. I always had prizes for good behavior and children could trade in a punched token “card” for any tangible prize or other options. Many of those children who were like an "underdog" in school chose each and every time the reward of eating with me at the “teacher table.” The tangible toys that they did not have at home or the special candy treats they rarely got were passed over. As I even say this, my eyes fill with tears as images of their little faces come so clearly. We ate together, often just the two of us, away from the other teachers and students. I loved laughing at Little “C” stick a chicken leg in her mouth, and I kid you not, pull it out as a clean bone.  One swoop. Little “W” would sit oh-so-close to me, our chairs touching, as we rolled up our rectangular shaped pizza and ate it with grease rolling down our hands. No words were even needed. Little “W” also “somehow” always won a quarter when he beat me in a speech game and I’d watch him toddle through the lunch line and buy an extra milk with it. I die. These are the greatest stories of my life. 

I can say with certainty that it was during that job that my destiny and identity of who I am was solidified. It was there than I began to see that while I cannot do everything, I can do some small things that have a ripple effect that I may never know. It was there that I had my “1 single moment.”  Much of who I am today and how I perform my job and various roles can be traced back to 1 single moment. I remember it as if it were yesterday, even though it was probably 13 years ago. I had completed one year of work and was disappointed having been denied admission to the Master’s program for Speech Pathology. I signed on for another year. It was at the beginning of that year that I walked into the front office to learn that the father of one of our school’s children had been killed earlier that morning. I was devastated when it was confirmed that it was the father of two of my precious clients (siblings). I wrote a card to the mother and I loved on the children more than usual. We played more games. We hugged more. At the end of the year, I asked the kids to recast their favorite events or memories from the year. My “1 single moment” came as Little “C” started to say, “You respected my Dad even though you never met him. You thought he was a great man and you could tell by how he raised me and who I am.” He was reciting, months later, the words that I had written to his mother. In response to the question of “What will you remember about this year,” this sweet boy answered “You were there when my Dad died.” 

“C” taught me so much in that 5 minutes. I was speechless. I realized my supernatural ability to make a mark on the world for the better by “seeing” one person at a time, for taking the moment to put the words in my head onto paper so that they could be read over and over again until they were memorized and internalized. Since that moment, I pass on thoughts that come to mind as encouragement. I know that in most cases I’ll never know their impact or ripple effects. I don’t need to know. “C” had already shown me that kindness matters, and I was lucky enough once to know it and that is enough. 

So, Lucedale, I grieve with you and the Barker family. 

To those children, teachers & parents at Rocky Creek & Benndale, thank you for making me "me." You taught me my greatest lesson. 

With gratitude,

Danielle

The danger of a single story (Mississippi edition)

Recently, I watched a TED talk by Chimamanda Adichie on the danger of a single story. If you are breathing, I highly recommend you watch it HERE, now. It is one of those rare “things” that have shaped my outlook on a plethora of subjects. She speaks of Africa, but it can be related to most anything. For me, I related it to being Southern. 

Go ahead, what comes to mind when you think of the “South?” Maybe Mississippi in general?

Some I’ve heard that are more negative:

 

• Illiterate / dumb / uneducated
• Closed minded
• Religious
• Conservative (Straight Republican ticket…who needs to even read up or vote apart from that?!?!)
• Homophobic
• Racist
• Blue collar
• Slow talker
• NASCAR lover
• Gun toting
• Overweight / missing teeth / barefoot
• Country music lover
• Always pregnant--sometimes caught with beer or cigarette in hand

Now when I hear someone “non”Southern say these things with me at the table, my hospitality comes out full force and I stifle the “Let me take you out back and introduce you to Mississippi” comment that is circling right on the tip of my tongue. My brain recites, “Keep your mouth closed, teeth together, and smile sweetly.”

Everyone is entitled to their opinions, but one should dare NOT to look at a Southern person through a single story lens.

I grew up in Mississippi [and college next door in Alabama] until leaving for CA in 2001 in my 20s. I’ve loved CA and appreciate it for what it is. If I could do it all over again, would I have grown up elsewhere? Noway! The childhood there with all the ups/downs gave me the best foundation on which to be stretched and pulled to become who I am today. I would not trade the vast open spaces I ran and wandered as a child. My independence was in its embryonic stage as I problem solved my way through “little to do” or “little to have.” We didn’t have a swing set, no problem. My dad had an old spool from wiring and I had a rope. My mom had a clothesline. I had a brain and a will. Voila! Within 2 hours, I had a swing that I used every day.  My neighbor Blake and I set off often with nothing but our bikes and a gun [ok, pellet or BB you naysayers…]. We fished. We rode anywhere we needed to go. We built things that we didn’t have. I would not trade that for anything. Noone was there to intercede if we fought—social emotional problem solving at best.

Recently I overhead a discussion about the school systems in America, and someone said “Well I mean its not ‘Mississippi bad’ right?” Well, hold on partner. That Mississippi education was the building blocks for my education, and at that time, I was one of the most educated sitting at that table. [Brain says: Cat, put your claws in your paws!] What I remember about that small town Mississippi education was far more than the classes offered or not offered. It was a place where parents trusted the teachers. The teachers were in control of the class and the students respected the teachers. If a child got in trouble, a parent would never call the teacher to see what HE or SHE did.  Emotional problem solving was taught. Sometimes there are discrepancies in life, deal with it. Your parents can’t always save you, and I believe that they shouldn’t. Yes, mind you, this is short of an unsafe or grossly unfair occurrence. Just those lessons prepared me for life far more than the academic lessons. I have worked in 2 school districts here in CA since moving here. All I’ll say is “worry about your own little red wagon before it rolls down the hill.” 

If you can’t tell, I love the Southern sayings. I hope I become that old lady who primarily speaks in metaphors, similes, and other figures of speech. I feel like Jesus using his parables.

Perhaps I can offer you a different story of a Southern girl, and this is just one story that is vastly different than the single story:

 

• Master’s degree in Speech – Language  Pathology [BTW, we don’t talk “slow/er;” we just add more diphthongs]
• Working on a 2^nd graduate level national certification in Behavior Analysis
• Staunch Jesus follower but not religious at all
• Not yet married, and no kids [= no divorce(s)]
• Clocked 6 trips to South Africa
• Supportive of the right to be a family for ANYONE – it doesn’t mean I agree with any situation but I believe in my right to be happy and loved therefore I must support it for others
• Open-minded
• Go-to food: pho and Korean BBQ
• In an inter-racial relationship to marry [GASP, he’s black; in fact, it’s a lovely story and you can read about it HERE] 
• When I adopt, my first choice is non-White

I urge you to beware of a single story, and in turn, do not perpetuate it. Ignorance is prevalent. Discrimination in some places is just more covert than others. I learned more stereotypes when I moved to CA than I had ever seen the people they represent. I was astonished as a girl sat me down and taught me about the Asian hierarchy [which Asian is the best/worst] and even penis hierarchy y’all [size according to race]. O.M.G. I had never heard anything like that in the great state of Mississippi!!!

So, instead of think of what you see on TV when you think of Southern, think of me or a few others I’m proud to have called “neighbor” at one time or another.

• Jimmy Buffet 
• Medger Evers 
• Brett Favre 
• William Faulkner 
• Jim Henson 
• James Earl Jones 
• B.B. King 
• Archie Manning 
• Walter Payton 
• Elvis Presley 
• Eudora Welty 
• Tennessee Williams 
• Oprah Winfrey 
• Michael Clarke Duncan
• Morgan Freeman 

Sweet tea raised, proud, and always committed to picking a Southerner if ever deserted on an island,

Danielle 

lke i sline. within y dad had an old spool from wiring and i  a Southern person through a single story lens.