As promised, the “Only in Iola” channel launched its first episode of the series, “Ladies First” on the Roku and Amazon Fire Channels on time, this morning in fact. And I was one of those early viewers who didn’t want to waste a minute before beginning the 43-minute journey that would show the abrupt lifestyle change of the Sharboneau family from Austin’s hill country to Iola’s rural flatland beauty.
Those who live in the seven-counties that make up the Brazos Valley already know why people would choose simple country living as a stress-free alternative to keeping pace with what Houston society journalist Maxine Messinger used to call the “zum zum gang.” It’s all about what’s important to you, at the time, and father, Perry, announced his intention to lead his family into a scaled-down, less complex life. The benefits of slowing it down don’t need listing. It's always a smart move to take charge of who and what is in charge of your schedule.
What does need stating at the outset is that this family is serious about the changes they’ve made. Looks like they didn’t have a Plan B, nor where they just one boot (or Jimmy Choo stiletto) in—they were committed. It’s not "Green Acres"; it’s reality TV and every one of you who gets the eggs from the chickens in the morning or milks the cows, or who had to repair fence and retrieve errant livestock who knock down the gentle barriers between properties can relate.
Now, not everyone can call up and order a barndominium that’s two months on backorder and seemingly skip through the time delay, but you have to accept the benefits of power that come alongside prior business success. That said, every major decision in the family is made based on faith and every positive outcome is given thanks in what is a, for many, comfortable story of genuine faith.
The filming, angles, sound, and lighting are strong, and storytelling moves professionally, as good as or better than standard broadcast channel reality series, and far more interesting. The show has an official soundtrack, “Every Small Town,” by singer/songwriter Chris Chitsey (who is featured in episode 6 of Season 1, due to premiere Jun. 13, 2024).
Today’s season and show premiere is "Ladies First,"
subtly focused around Shanalee’s lesson to her son to always walk behind the woman rather than take off walking far ahead, leaving her in his wake. That is a charming, subtle look a parenting and what it takes to raise a man of impeccable manners, no matter where you call home.
Shanalee doesn’t mind getting dirty, literally, in her focus on finding the right look for country living. She’s slow to give up her beloved collection of dress shoes and functional wear (everywoman, anywhere) but she draws the line at destroying the Jimmy Choo’s. I might have considered donating the shoes to charity for a nonprofit but that’s not good TV. A flaming fire pit works better, every day. Bottom line is that the intro episode is your only chance, for now, to meet her, but the way I see it, you’re going to like and respect her immediately and want to get to know her better. Takes a woman of great humor to enter her new upgraded residence only to find two donkeys and three goats have already made themselves at home, much to her chagrin. She remains calm and calls for Brayden to redirect the errant livestock, which he does willingly.
Brayden is kind, intelligent, and has a path to travel that is still his to carve out, with many interesting opportunities around him. He’s a McAuliffe, as well, and has Irish Norse roots, hence his willingness to be a hunter. The cameras are something he seems successful at taking in stride but not every young teen would be up to the task. Early in the program at dinner with his parents and grandparents, he is perfectly comfortable and familiar with fine dining but his parents remind him to remove his earphones that allow him to engage with his phone, and to remember that in-person contact is primary, especially with family time.
Perry has the quintessential poker face in all dealings; he only had one tell that revealed his big heart—after Shanalee reached her tipping point on farm living, he whipped out his phone and made it happen because “Mama wants this” and then the voice of Capt. Picard comes lilting in with “Make it so.” Time will share more of his m.o. and decision style. He does win major hero points for being the one Shanalee asks to be in charge of mouse removal when one is discovered.
Merchandising and sponsorship and product placement are useful, wise, and respectful; taking care of the people who take care of you is a good policy every business day. What’s fun is that you can get your souvenir merch right now at the Mercantile at Main St. Market in Iola. Their store’s website is up and running here.
Of special note: Dawn Link at The Mercantile at Main St. Market is the exclusive Internet dealer for both of Ms. Mary Lee’s poetry books and they have them in stock but can also send (autographed copies) anywhere in the United States.
While you’re there, immerse yourself in some of the most wonderful surroundings that owner Dawn Link has created for you to enjoy and hope to find in a mercantile market. Then, walk across the street and see Robin Trant Johnson at her Rubye’s Jewels and get inspired to be creative because it’s all around you. Meet Laura Parunak Cole, who owns Crazy Horse Upholstery and see the artist at work—she’s amazing.
Hungry? Mallett Bros. BBQ is only steps away and legendary around these parts, so don’t miss it and get some to go if you can’t stay for lunch or dinner.
Finally, the credits at the end of the broadcast are both lengthy and generous, heartwarming to see as Shanalee has led the way in embracing Iola people as they have embraced the Sharboneau family and as the rest of the episodes drop, it will be worth going back each week to visit “new friends you haven’t met yet.”
Credit script writer/supervisor Shanalee Sharboneau and Tammy Corwin, WMP Network Producer, for launching the show on the very wide platform that is already in place, on Roku and Amazon Fire today, and growing daily, for a first-class product and pulling it all together.
Part 2—A Published Author At Last [Second in a series]
Our dream journey as Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell continues in our plan to helping her realize her dream of becoming a published author and poet.
So many people dream of writing a book; and once it’s written, the dream is to be published. Yet, for many, it remains a dream, because the path is either convoluted or unknown to many and seems too complicated to attempt. We wanted to remove any obstacles and potential financial sources of worry, and the committee jumped into action.
That she had been waiting 36 years since writing her first poem at age 50, to just looking at a battered navy blue cardboard-covered coil binding of her life’s writings was not lost on us. The committee (Marcia Oden, dear church friend, on the left, Ms. Mary Lee’s niece, Joyce Coleman, on the right and me, behind the camera) was operating entirely independently of her knowledge to surprise her and keep her free of having to worry about financing.
The goal was to operate as a virtual nonprofit, with any funds available going back into printing more books, with the goal of sharing her message of faith in seeking God’s direction and having her prayers answered. No individual would profit personally, which makes it truly more special, thanks to the joy of giving time and talents to make an amazing lady’s dreams come true.
It might come as a surprise but Ms. Mary Lee, is legally blind, and has been for many years. The only way she can read is to use an ultra-high resolution device that gives her limited straight-ahead vision. A gift to all who know her, though, is that she never perceives herself as either blind, or impaired in any way.
In fact, when you look into her face, you see bright, dancing brown eyes, filled with a special light that reflect the spirit of faith that she has at all times around her like an aura. As you get to know her, through her poems, you will find that at any point in her journey so far, there have been sufficient setbacks, events, and losses that could easily justify an attitude of depression, and to be sure, some people have no problem finding that path when they reflect on where life’s circumstances have found them present-day.
Ms. Mary Lee is uniquely grateful for having the kind of handheld device that gives her that limited ability. It’s amazing to hear her, particularly when others younger than her have gone “on and on” about their health challenges, regaling anyone who will listen about their challenges and afflictions. Not Ms. Mary Lee: she is excited about a cutout plastic template that gives her the ability to sign her name and compose notes. Says, “The Society for the Blind is so wonderful! They found this for me so I can use it and work with it so my autographs are in a straight line!”
Ms. Mary Lee’s book did not need editing, but all the poems were handwritten in beautiful cursive style, with ink, on school notebook paper. Step one was to crank up the stereo and begin typing.
Lest you think of this adorable woman as having lived a carefree life of nonstop joy, that’s not reality. Adopted as a child, Ms. Mary Lee was adopted and then raised by a single mother in rural Iola, Texas. Her mother bought the hotel and adjoining café there and that’s where they lived until she was 17 and left home to marry her first husband.
There were two loves in her life and she was fortunate to marry both of them, and she created a loving family, and yet, times were hard and she worked hard every day in places such as Amycel Mushroom plant and a chicken processing plant nearby there among many jobs she held.
Your first impression of how you’d feel about that work might not be one of joy, but in Ms. Mary Lee’s compendium, you’ll find poems of gratitude, thanking the Lord for her job there and all of the wonderful people she worked with and for.
She wrote poems of love to her family, to her beloved spouses, to the wonderful nurses and doctors who were caring for them and for her, and the genesis for all of her poetry is that she prayed to the Lord to give her a correct, right spirit in her heart. Clearly her prayers were answered, even if she didn’t write her first poem until she was 50 years old.
For publishing, the next step was to organize the poems into appropriate categories, the easiest step as specific themes emerged, and they took on a flow of their own. My next call to Rhonda, longtime friend and editing colleague, based in Rockport, TX, and she welcomed my request for formatting the manuscript for printing in a font and type size making it easy to read comfortably. Once the formatted...the book returned to Bryan, and it was time for cover design. A subcommittee met to discuss what would please Ms. Mary Lee to hold “her book” for the first time.
A Texas hill country scene seemed fitting, and Marcia said she thought a field of bluebonnets would be lovely as part of the design. Then, a crystal cross stationed in that field of bluebonnets and a true Texas sunset on the way seemed appropriate. Amber, a Bryan-based graphic designer and creative, made it happen. A final edit from me and then the journey to New Jersey and then we engaged the Book Baby team to prepare the book for printing.
Meanwhile, at home at Sand Prairie Baptist Church in North Zulch, where Ms. Mary Lee has been a longtime member, Marcia and Joyce coordinated a special event and book signing for Ms. Mary Lee (again she had no idea this was happening) and a target date was set for Sunday, June 12, 2022.
These photos are just a small indication of the sheer joy and surprise as she had no idea that she was about to have her dream come true—holding copies of her published poems in her hands. There was another miracle present in that all of that work, from w handwritten poems to finished volume in a calendar month, essentially, is unheard of in publishing circles. Every person involved in the process had been available instantly to fulfill their part in the process without any delay.
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On book-signing Sunday, June 12, 2022, a crowd filled the fellowship hall of Sand Prairie Baptist Church, where church members and friends who’d traveled to North Zulch for the event filled the place with great cheer. Ms. Mary Lee was absolutely delighted to see friends, a few of whom had driven over 200 miles to be there for her special day. Two hours later, our newly published poet was in a happy kind of reverie as she reflected on the surreal nature of the day.
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As Christmas 2022 approached, we’d run out of books and ordered a new print run to fill new requests. Another surprise was around the corner when one Sunday morning in June 2023, Ms. Mary Lee excitedly told Marcia that she’d just discovered a small suitcase among things on a closet shelf. Turns out another 75 poems were unearthed, and they were not part of our previously published volume.
By March 27, 2024, the first run of Volume 2 of “Down Through the Years in Poetry” was delivered. Friends and fellow church members were almost as delighted as Ms. Mary Lee to have more poems of faith, family, and love of home that she captures so well. With titles including “God’s Final Call,” “Drifting Towards Heaven’s Open Door,” “Honors to you — The Red Zone Gang” and more, the words that flowed through the ink pen of Ms. Mary Lee are all a gift to her from God, she reminds us.
You might think that might be the end of the story, a quiet little run of joy and some reorders of some sweet octogenarian’s faith-based poems. And everyone lives happily ever after. But that was not to be the last words about Ms. Mary Lee or her poetry.
Enter the Sharboneau family and their moving vans coming over from Austin’s luxurious hills and heights to the rural flatland of the loving community of Iola to reprioritize their lives. And they were blessed on their journey to meet a perfect Texas troubadour along the road…only in Texas you might say. Actually, it’s “Only in Iola” that our story continues for Ms. Mary Lee.
You’re going to want to watch this promising new original documentary series, which premieres today, May 9, and it is currently available on the channel on demand, running 43 minutes long.
Ms. Mary Lee, her life and her poetry are a key feature of the premiere episode, titled “The Matriarchs.” Her world became even more exciting when she and several of her friends from Sand Prairie Baptist Church were special guests for the “Only in Iola” launch party that took place on Saturday, May 4.
[Next up: Photos and story about the Sharboneau’s Grand Launch Party in our feature, “From Bryan to Iola with a small detour through Hollywood.”]
[Extraordinary People Doing Amazing Things Series]
Today marks a two-year spiritual journey that began for me, unplanned and unaware, thanks to some dynamic women of Texas, all led in prayer to make the dreams of an 86-yr-old woman come true. This is one, of many, stories that focus on an inimitable source of joy, Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell. I am proud to be learning from several in her orbit who pioneered a path before me. With their faith, outlook, reliance on God, and their discipline to a positive attitude, they have much to teach me, and fortunately also the patience to hang in there with me until I model it comfortably.
The outcome is a spirit of gratitude and sense of awe at the “you’re not going to believe this,” but it is all true. For three years, I’d lamented the loss of a place of worship that had transfigured itself to the wishes of a powerful few. I had resigned membership in a denomination that had been home base for me for over 20 years. I searched for a new journey where I hoped I might use any relevant gifts and talents I might have for a higher power and a greater good, no labels required.
It was like any other morning. I’d parked my steaming cup of coffee on my desk, scrolling through the morning e-mail batches, I discovered one from my longtime friend and colleague, Ann (also my neighbor two blocks over), referring to me an inquiry in case I had time and interest. Generally, it was helping a woman get her collection of poems published as a book.
I’d been doing this kind of work for 15 years, so I read on. The e-mail she forwarded was from Maia Joy, a seasoned author and composer in her own right who lives in Virginia. She’d searched an online database of Texas professional editors and found Ann living in the same zip code as the poet. It was Maia’s mom, Marcia, from North Zulch, who had been telling her daughter about this amazing woman and her poetry, urging, “Other people must read what Ms. Mary Lee has written. It is truly special and will be a blessing to others.” Did Ann have time and room in her schedule to take on the project? Ann was already booked up, but she offered to refer me and forwarded the e-mail.
I asked Maia for more details; that afternoon I was on the phone with Marcia. She shared that on an earlier Sunday morning in 2022, she had joined her pewmate, Ms. Mary Lee Crocker Parnell, who had arrived at Sand Prairie Baptist Church with a 1-inch worn coil-bound book with at least 100 poems. Ms. Mary Lee confided in Marcia how she had truly longed for her poems to be bound and published. Marcia casually thumbed through them and was inspired to want to help her friend realize her dream. Without indicating her next step, Marcia reached out to her daughter.
We agreed to meet the following week in Normangee, TX. From North Zulch, TX, to Virginia, to Bryan, down two blocks, on up to Normangee, and back to Bryan, the worn blue binding holding Ms. Mary Lee’s precious poems had at last arrived.
Our 86-year-old poet, Marcia shared, had not written one poem in her life until the age of 50. She said the Lord gave her each of these poems and instructed her to memorize them all because there might come a day when she could not see them to read them without a large, complex reading aide. That day would ultimately arrive.
One by one, her beautiful classic handwritten poems showcased her memories in verse. One poem was of gratitude for her mother, another for her son, and yet another was for her job at a rural mushroom process plant, a most repugnant odor follows you everywhere. Imagine the level of humility with which a woman of genuine grace and appreciation for all of God’s blessings writes a tribute to her boss in a mushroom factory?
That lunch and discussion with Marcia was truly inspirational, and immediately I agreed that it would be my new publishing project. It is the beginning of the beautiful story and what has now become a fellowship of at least four women who are united in sharing good news, faith, and beautiful, uplifting verse to inspire others to hold onto their faith, especially when they least have anything left to give, or so they think. Even if you wait 36 years, never give up on your dreams. We decided to keep our endeavor a surprise from Ms. Mary Lee until we could hand her a finished book to have and hold.
Today our country celebrates a National Day of Prayer. No matter your denomination—if you belong to one—it is refreshing to join with strangers in prayer to a higher power, to give thanks for the blessings we have or to ask for guidance and support as we set forth to create and meet goals that may promise success but guarantee taking a chance and possibly upsetting status quo.
[Next up: The journey continues with Ms. Mary Lee and her manuscript as “Down Through the Years in Poetry” becomes a reality.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who was the center of attention in any room she might be present. In fact, she was just the opposite. She blended in perfectly, seamlessly, and without a trace that she’d ever been there until suddenly you looked up and wondered why someone important was gone. It was just her way of being understated, unobtrusive, and yet, one of the most important people in any group of those gathered—a genuine friend, listener, confidant, and savant. Her superpower was compassion. Her best asset was her memory for what was important, most of all, to you.
It’s hard to quantify a life in what she was not. Rather, I prefer to say that one of the most gracious lights in the galaxy has just grown dim, for a short time, until it finds the permanent new home by which to help those she loves by guiding their way.
This week we learned of the passing of one of my dearest childhood friends from Keystone School, Patricia Lynette Boyd Contreras, at the still-young age of 71 years. To say it’s been hard is an understatement. In the past three weeks alone, I have learned of the passing of three of my school friends, each of whom harkens back to meeting them ca. 1962. To have someone be in your life, and you in theirs, for over 60 years is profound. But to me, Tricia Boyd was not just a schoolmate, she was a big sister.
It was during the Cuban Missile Crisis that this first grader, at the impressionable age of 5 years old, met and became friends with my fifth-grade fellow Keystone School classmate, Tricia, age 10. While President John F. Kennedy and his team skillfully negotiated a military situation featuring Soviet missiles over Cuba, two young girls were hunkered down in the comforts of an exceedingly large living room in San Antonio’s then very new Castle Heights subdivision.
Tricia was 10 and a smiling, calming presence during a time that I barely understood. We were together at the home of two mutual friends of our mothers, were dressed in pajamas, stretched out on the carpet atop pillows watching a large black and white console TV.
Both our moms had recently divorced our dads. Neither of us was disturbed by that fact, but it was nice to know you weren’t the only one in that situation. Life goes on.
The station was tuned into live coverage of the event, and between Tricia and I, we kept one ear on Walter Cronkite and another on whatever we could figure out the adults were saying.
The reason for the summons to a common area was the large brick home that had an underground shelter built near enough to reach quickly on property far enough in the still undeveloped part of San Antonio to be private.
What was going on in the world at that time was no less scary to children back then than the present-day trauma and tragedy surrounding children today.
My parents had only been divorced a short time at that point, and one of my two godfathers, our host for the gathering, thought it was best that we were all together for those first days. The only memory of that time was Tricia’s reassurance to me that everything was going to be alright, not to worry. I never forgot her kindness and compassion.
Throughout our years together at Keystone, she was four years ahead of me, and so our paths didn’t cross too frequently. However, there was a general comfort in being on the same campus with someone you knew and simply being reassured that whatever questions you might have that was bearing on your mind, you could ask her (what’s third grade like? Is division hard?) And yet, for my next eight years, Tricia was always there for me, a dear friend who reassured me that no matter what was ahead, she just kept smiling.
The unique layout of what was then about 250 students housed in a small village of historic Victorian mansions converted into makeshift classrooms. Tricia’s mom, Pat Boyd, drove one of the school’s three transportation vans to and from school each weekday. Aside from the fact that 12 grades of classes all existed concurrently and crossed the campus every 50 minutes, the first graders would be guaranteed to spot the high school kids while they were on the four-square courts for their recess periods. Daily interactions created a sense of calm and looking ahead to preview what was next ahead in the education path. Nothing was scary that way. Everything seemed within accomplishment, and sometimes that’s the smallest of edges you need to move ahead.
Tricia had a wonderful, yet normal life at Keystone. She took a year to be a cheerleader and she often worked on projects when Mr. Greet needed extra students to pitch in on a mail-out. He had a list of first-call helpers and she was always happy to contribute her time. It was also just part of the Keystone way.
She was interested in science but not obsessed with it. Although she was a member of the Future Scientists of America, it’s likely that 90% of the high school were members. She enjoyed interacting in the Spanish Club from junior high forward.
She was a good student, but she did not obsess over whether she had the top grades on a test. Tricia had a strong sense of style and enjoyed being part of Joske’s Teena Texas Advisory Board.
Just as Prof and Coach Eargle were mentors to me at different parts of my life, Mr. Greet was a mentor to Tricia. Our administrators knew our grades just as well as our faculty did. They kept tabs on us whether it was a test or a special project, a competition, or a scholarship application. Our future was their business.
Tricia chose the University of Texas at Austin and she was an excellent student there, so it was only natural that she would become a Registered Pharmacist. In her adult life she was fortunate enough to marry and to have two amazing daughters of whom she was so very proud. Throughout her adult life, her mother, Pat, was a champion to her and to her older brother Clayton. Pat Boyd was a businesswoman, a gifted operatic singer from Australia, and a very intelligent woman.
Personally, I can thank Mrs. Boyd for recommending Keystone to my mother and to Tricia’s dad for arranging for an interview for my mom to reconnect with civil service employment in San Antonio after many years in the private sector. It would be 50 years before I knew that, though. Over the years, Tricia and I lost touch; we were busy with our lives in separate cities but thanks to a Facebook alumni group, many of us reconnected and began catching up with each other’s lives.
Seven years ago, our friend and fellow Keystonian, Texas poet laureate Carmen Tafolla was being honored downtown, so Tricia and I made a plan to surprise her with our attendance. We met at her favorite restaurant that Tricia and her Mom enjoyed eating regularly, and we had the best opportunity to reminisce about childhood, life, our mothers, Keystone, and our dreams when we were kids.
The ceremony that evening for Carmen was exceptional and we were both so proud of her. That’s what Keystone was all about—family gathering together for family’s sake. We were forever each other’s cheerleaders, happy to bestow well-deserved accolades as they were often due. That was the Keystone way…your best competition was against your own personal best, not that of others.
The first thought I had on learning of Tricia’s passing was that she was reunited with her Mom, and that would be a gift in itself. They were two peas in a pod, lovely, fun, witty, kind, caring and devoted to their children. Jillian Contreras and Meghan Contreras McQuade grew up knowing their mother loved them dearly, and that their grandmother similarly loved them. Tricia gave the following beautiful interview to a San Antonio newspaper when her mom passed away. Read it here:
On Monday, April 1, funeral services will be held for Tricia at Porter Loring Mortuary North at 10:00 am. Interment will follow at 2:00 pm at Lakeland Hills Memorial Park near Lake LBJ, in Burnet, TX, where her father is also buried. Details here: https://www.porterloring.com/obituaries/Patricia-Lynette-Boyd-Contreras?obId=31058010
Those who were in Tricia’s actual high school classes, above and below, can share far more than I can about the day-to-day aspects of her young adult/teenage life. It doesn’t matter that our reconnection had taken over 40 years to happen. I’m truly grateful that it did. Whenever you have the opportunity to connect with people who truly mean something special in your life, follow your heart and pick up the phone, send a card, zip off an e-mail, toss an Instant Message, or better yet, just get in the car and get there anyway you can.
Don’t look at it as it could be the last time you have a chance to see that person. Instead, just seize the day and make the best use of your time to share your time with those who impacted your life in a positive way.
In honor of Mrs. Boyd Garcia, Tricia’s mom, here are The Seekers and "I am an Australian”:
“I am an Australian”:
and
In honor of Tricia, as we grew up in the days of go-go boots and mini-dresses, and her equal love and devotion to her dad as well as her mom, here are the New Seekers with "Georgy Girl":
If you’ve been part of music in the Brazos Valley, audience or performer, you know Renn Carson, not by his words as much as by his consistent presence during specific decades in live performance, especially when there was a call for a stellar blues guitar.
A true blues performer has lived what they play—extreme highs and lows—that reflect the way the music business goes. You hope for the best and you tolerate the worst until you can turn life around and get back on track. And you keep on playing through it all.
To write one word about Renn, there are always two words that follow: "and Connie" as the Carsons did virtually everything in life and love together, including music.
If Renn was playing, Connie was in the audience, there for load in and loud out and sound check in between, quietly by his side, sharing his passion for music that gave him the fuel to keep on pursuing that which he loved in life. He was a man truly powered by music, fueled by love for his Connie, and the result was a joy to hear. Hence, "Renn and Connie." This photo is just one of many beautiful memories throughout their life together (borrowed from Connie's FB page). Sadly, we lost Renn on November 11, 2023, the eldest child and brother to his sister, Nancy, and his brother, Hank.
As expected, the historic but modest St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church ran out of sanctuary seating on Tuesday afternoon, November 21, despite pulling in every folding chair, or ushering friends and loved ones into the adjoining church parlor for the overflow crowd who’d gathered to pay their respects to the family and memory of their beloved Renn—born into this world of Bryan, Texas, as James Renner Carson on April 20, 1953, to parents Edward Carson and Barbara Renner Lyles.
Part of the world that Renn created around him the past 70 years flowed into St. Andrew’s as others watched via livestream on St. Andrew’s YouTube channel. Yes, much of it was his church family; and others were his music family. And yet, it wasn’t the full world that Renn created. For all of the years he performed music as a guitarist and an ambassador of music to others, Renn made a world of friends everywhere he went.
Renowned musician Ruthie Foster, longtime family to Renn and Connie, put her broken heart on hold while she offered songs of healing, of love, and faith in honor to the man who was an integral part of her earliest days as an accomplished musician. As Kathleen Phillips and another friend, Ramona, shared words of comfort, and as the congregation shared the words of the 23rd Psalm, the voices present united once more in the beauty of scripture that continues to bring reassurance to all who hear it.
Ruthie said, “I talk through my music like Renn always did. I looked at him as my brother. He was always there to hold me close through good times and bad times and now we can take him everywhere. Right, Connie?” With Tanya Richardson on fiddle and Scotty Miller on keys, Ruthie sang “Go Rest High On That Mountain,” a song that preached to us as she reminded us that Renn’s work on Earth was done.
Rev. Daryl Hay of St. Andrew’s offered a homily that included a quote attributed to St. Augustine, “The one who sings prays twice.” He also shared the words of Kurt Vonnegut,
“Music is, to me, proof of the existence of God. It is so extraordinarily full of magic, and in tough times of my life I can listen to music, and it makes such a difference.”
While he was on Earth, Renn created a performance portfolio that any music professional would be honored to have. The groups in which he was an important part for as long as he chose to be there included the Blue Gravel Rock Band, The Rock-a-Fellas Band, The Blue Note All-Stars, The King Bees, Eugene Eugene and the Solid Foundation, and headliners including Bryan-born Grammy winner, Donald Ray Johnson, Nat Dove, Sunny Nash, and of course, Ruthie Foster, five-time Grammy nominee.
The one thing to focus on is not the fame or the acclaim of the performers listed, but instead the joy and the peace having the chance to perform with these outstanding musicians brings wherever and whenever they gathered.
Renn was part of an early configuration of The Rock-a-Fellas Band. The band has always been gently fluid, with each member contributing their best when they could all intersect their schedules and good times were waiting. Band members include Donnie Angonia, Donnie Wilson, Heath Allyn, Craig Knight, and at different times there you’d find Tim Rogers, Renn Carson, Mike Holleman and others.
Eugene Eugene and the Solid Foundation Band had a strong following early on for playing local gigs. They blazed a path for some good local blues although the smaller city of Navasota, 20 miles up the road, was far more known for their annual blues festivals. Yet, it takes a town and a venue like Bryan’s Palace Theatre being renovated to establish a place for the blues, and for a few years, the Bryan Blues Festival committee was able to put events together that were popular and well attended. In June 2012, this group featured Eugene Smith, Ernest Gibbs, Renn Carson, James Gibbs, and Ralph Moncivais and the band not only performed their own set, they backed other Bryan legends Donald Ray Johnson, Dr. Nat Dove, and Sunny Nash.
Sharing a photo credited to Ernest TK Gibbs (borrowed from his FB page) from a performance in College Station:
This was a fundraiser for Stillcreek Ranch in 2017, held at the Benjamin Knox Gallery. Wherever good works were in progress, you could find Eugene Eugene and the Solid Foundation to bring a crowd.
And sharing a photo from the 2013 Bryan Blues Festival, showing the band backing singer Sunny Nash, as they did for Nat Dove and Donald Ray Johnson, thanks to Renn's FB page here. Below:
Sharing a 2013 video with Donald Ray Johnson (previously, drummer in A Taste of Honey) including Ernest TK Gibbs, James Gibbs, and Ralph Moncivais, where Renn is slightly hidden behind the camera, but you can catch his guitar stands out in “Rainy Night in Georgia.”
In more recent years, circa 2016, you could catch Renn in concert locally performing with the band The King Bees, together with guitarist/vocalist Jason Gabbard, bassist Dan Peterson, and drummer Mark Esman. Their bio once noted that Renn came in runner-up for first place in a seventh-grade talent show, playing the blues. That was also about the last time that Renn came in second to anyone for musical anything, to be sure.
[Special thanks to Rhonda Brinkmann, Wordsmiths4U, for The King Bees photos.]
As the funeral service came to a close on Tuesday, Ruthie offered the perfect song, one from her most recent (Grammy-nominated) album (“Healing Time”), called “Feels Like Freedom,” which was fitting and perfect to sing Renn right into the gardens of Heaven, reunited with all he’d been waiting to see once again, the promise of which we are reassured. You can hear her sing at the 31:32 mark in this Facebook video:
[Words and music by Ruthie Foster, Healing Time 2022]
It’s not every day that we have to give up a friend far sooner than we’d have imagined, but for as long as we live and love people and let them into our lives to stay, there comes a point by which we have to give them back to the Lord, from where they came. So often we say, “Gone too soon,” or “We didn’t have enough time” or any other lament that tries to describe the loss that we feel. Still, we have recordings, videos, and a ton of memories to share and preserve.
Another “Renn gem” can be found on SoundCloud, posted by user WMHarps a few days ago, “Richland City Blues,” featuring Ruthie Foster, Renn on guitar, and Tim Moyer on harmonica. Check it out here: https://soundcloud.com/user-248647677/richland-woman-blues
Finally, a special dialogue between musicians Renn and Ruthie takes place in the song, “Turn Me On,” from Foster’s 2004 album, “Stages.” As Ruthie sings/says, “Alright, Renn Carson, show me what you got here,” and Renn took flight on one of his solos, the audience loved it because the man with soul spoke loudly. Ruthie then said, “I believe, I believe he’s got something else to say,” and indeed he did. That’s the way it was often, for Renn on stage. He did his best talking with his guitar and frankly, after he played, it was enough said.
Beyond high school graduation, Renn attended Blinn College and went on to have a long professional career, including working at Agency Management Services (AMS), where many musicians held prolific day jobs so they could play the music they loved at night. Things came naturally to Renn, and he was beyond gifted in so many things he did. He loved his high school sweetheart, Connie Pittman, and they were married over 49 years. He appreciated the simple times and complex puzzles of life.
Family, above all, meant the world to him. Their son Chris and his wife Kasie and their daughter Nikki and her husband Jim brought them three grandchildren, who were the lights of his life. Together they were key parts of organized cookouts and races to benefit the Relay for Life of Brazos Valley for the American Cancer Society, but that was just one more aspect of the quiet goodness of Renn and his family. Anything they could do as a family—that was what was important to them.
If you knew Renn well, you knew he spoke volumes with his heart. Music filled his heart, his love of Connie and his family fueled his soul, and you can rest assured that the Lord has him in safekeeping until the “rest of his band” joins him in Heaven. Meanwhile, the famous band in “rock and roll Heaven” just gained one heckuva blues player.
And, as Ruthie sings and Renn plays, and the beloved, precious children dance in front of the stage together with the late Samantha Banks and iconic Larry Fulcher on bass, the secret to life is knowing when to compromise….” Here it is, for Renn with great respect, Ruthie’s “Full Circle,” with his amazing notes.
Renn's circle of life is now complete. Well done, thou good and faithful servant, Renn. Amen and amen.
Twenty years ago this week, Donald Bellisario’s and Don McGill’s genius ensemble called “NCIS” premiered on CBS, a shot-in-the-dark gamble of a series based on a complex character of a determined yet troubled Marine, Leroy Jethro Gibbs with Mark Harmon as lead. McCallum was also included on the two-part story on Bellisario’s “JAG,” where the character originated.(Photo permission, CBS Press Express)
Harmon, still a young unknown, had come to their attention thanks to his four-episode role as Allison Janney’s love interest in “The West Wing.” To make “NCIS” come alive, with gravitas, Bellisario knew he could count on David McCallum to be the perfect counterpart to Gibbs, as medical examiner Dr. Donald “Ducky” Mallard.
Who better than the man who embodied cool under pressure, having played Ilya Kuryakin from 1964–1968 on “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” His repertoire had included Shakespeare, and theatre productions of “The Lion in Winter” and “Julius Caesar.” The Glasgow, Scotland, native won the hearts of Americans in the 1960s with his cool, suave portrayal of Illya Kuryakin, secret agent, in the proverbial black turtleneck cast opposite the ultracool Robert Vaughn.
McCallum had a wonderful means of expressing himself with any dialogue he was given and for exactly the past 20 years, he “was” Ducky to this generation of Americans who adored his brilliant memory, tolerated his penchant for telling a three-minute answer in eight minutes (on the show) and his dapper portrayal of a man whose heart was always with the U.S. Marine, both throughout the show and beyond.
In many episodes of “NCIS” over the years, Ducky’s character provided closure when homeless Marines were killed in assuring that they received full military honors when appropriate. There were several occasions that showed Ducky attending the Marine Military Ball, which was a fund raiser for their scholarship fund.
Far more than a character actor, McCallum was a music professional, having studied oboe at the Royal Academy of Music. Sort of keeping it all in the family, given that his father was first violinist for the London Philharmonic and his mother a cellist.
Even beyond that, the music continues. His family with two women includes four sons and a daughter. With first wife, Jill Ireland, are sons Paul, Jason (d. 1989), and Valentine. With wife Katherine Carpenter are son Peter and daughter Sophie.
Son Val is a guitarist and singer-songwriter who is a veteran of many tours. He also has been a studio musician with Jackson Browne, Sheryl Crow, Lucinda Williams, Bonnie Raitt, and Loretta Lynn. Val noted that “My grandfather actually played on The Beatles’ track A Day in the Life”; “He’s also credited by Jimmy Page for suggesting using a violin bow on the strings of his electric guitar.”
Son Paul is a popular and respected guitarist, songwriter, and performer in Los Angeles, who favors jazz, blues, and some of his own compositions, which you can find on “Jazz Dogs” by the Paul McCallum Trio. Fellow musicians include Tom Buckner, Granville “Danny” Young, and Rod Harbour as well as Dave Smith and Doemenic Genova.
Son Peter told Sky News, “He always put family before self. He looked forward to any chance to connect with his grandchildren and had a unique bond with each of them.”
For 459 episodes McCallum sustained record-setting times for “NCIS,” a season beyond Harmon, albeit not in each episode of Season 19, for CBS and for all of us who know much of the dialogue from any number of these episodes.
More than a TV show, more than a standard entertaining procedural with strong plots thanks to brilliant show runners who assured the characters stayed true to Bellisario’s and McGill’s visions, “NCIS” was a part of family life for many on Tuesday nights (later on the show shifted to Mondays) and was the foundation by which audiences would later come to know and enjoy “NCIS: LA,” “NCIS: New Orleans,” and most recently “NCIS: Hawaii,” which has to be some kind of record for launching multimillion-dollar enterprises for one network. (Photo below by Michael Yarish)
Michael Weatherly shared on Twitter, “David McCallum made every moment count, in life and on set. Let’s raise a jug and celebrate a funny fantastic authentic man. I’ve only got 3 autographs. Connery, Tony Bennett and McCallum. … No one did it better. We were lucky to have him bring us Ducky. Let’s send all the love in the world to his beautiful family. Rest In Peace David.”
Brian Dietzen, who played Ducky’s mentoree, Jimmy Palmer, shared today on Twitter, “Such a kind soul and a terrific talent. You are missed beyond words, my friend. My heart just breaks today. Thank you for everything. Sending all my love to the McCallum family.” (Photo by Cliff Lipson, 2011, courtesy of CBS)
To anyone expecting a quote from Mark Harmon, they’ll have to wait until morning for the press outlets as neither Harmon, nor Gibbs, are on social media, but you already knew that.
As the character of Ducky was seen to deem, in his discussion with Gibbs about the fate of his massive personal fortune, it was to be given to the Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation, and in April 2015, the U.S. Marine Corps invited him to be the official starter for the Marine Corps Historic Half race. It is poignant and caring that the McCallum family “asks that donations be made to the Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation at http://www.mcsf.org — just as Ducky would have appreciated.
David penned his first novel “Once a Crooked Man” in 2016 and “recorded four albums for Capitol Records comprised of instrumental versions of hits at the time.” If that’s not enough, McCallum was a prolific actor and voice character for various movies, video games, and TV series.
He was born September 19, 1933 in Glasgow, Scotland; the premiere of “NCIS” was September 23, 2003, which they are rerunning tonight on CBS—the episode is “Yankee White” and features Sasha Alexander at FBI Agent Caitlin Todd. And, he died September 25, 2023 in New York City at the age of 90. Wouldn’t you know it?
Today, by long-ago plan, CBS had declared this day and evening “NCIS Day” in honor of the 20th anniversary of the show’s debut. They are airing 3 episodes of the show tonight beginning at 7pm CST, “Yankee White,” “SWAK,” and “All Hands.” Longtime fans of “NCIS” already know what those episodes are all about.
Everything seems to have come full circle then, and right on time for airtime tonight.
Sometimes the loss of a loved one can hit you like a ton of bricks, when you least expect it. Losing a relative, the immediate family kind, is eventual and though sad, a part of the expected process for all adults…it’s not a matter of if, but when, we give back to Heaven the lives we loved here on Earth.
Just as welcoming new lives is into our worlds each day when a baby is born, there comes a time when we have to bid farewell to those we love. When we enter our lives, we are “issued” two parents who make us possible and for many of us, we’re raised by those two individuals.
Others are raised by variations of parents—adoptive, or additional loved ones who live in the home where we are raised (older siblings, additional relatives such as aunts or grandmothers). Depending on economics and living conditions, some families house as many as three generations under the same roof as part of tradition or necessity. When children are present, they often grow up knowing they are loved comprehensively by a large number of people who are called their family.
Occasionally we encounter the statistical outlier—the person without a lot of family around them. Usually the older the person, the fewer family remembers around them it seems.
But one of the nicest parts of life is when your immediate world is expanded of additional people who don’t “have” to be there but who are brought in and introduced as “just like family” in your world. How they arrive can be a number of pathways, but the end result is the same. For the person who receives the extra love and attention from the “outsider,” it’s a bonus to adult or child to have yet one more advocate in their corner, rooting them on in life, one more person cheering at the baseball game or one more ear to hear a confidence or calm a troubled soul.
Although their presence is not truly necessary, it does have benefits to both parties to be an outsider. More often than not, especially in the south, if these outsiders are female they are known as “Aunt” inside the family, or “Uncle” as appropriate. They are invited to and included in holidays, celebrations, ceremonies marking rites of passage, and just regular family gatherings because they love seeing everyone.
Children in the south are often taught to address adults who are not family by names like Miss and Mister (sometimes Ms., depending on where you are). Speaking personally, I love being Miss Dawn Lee, Ms. Dawn Lee, or Aunt Dawn Lee to a host of children whose parents or grandparents have gifted me with the substantive time to get to know their children and the joy of watching them grow up before my eyes. And, I have a group of individuals whom, later in my life, I was fortunate enough to call “my” Aunts and Uncles.
For people who don’t know me well, they occasionally say, “It’s a shame you don’t have any family”—haha, yeah, no. Wrong. My cup runneth over. Oh, I do have a family on my very large family tree, even though I’m an only child—there are 25 of us who are first-cousins just on my mother’s side alone. She was one of eight children and yet, I was an only child. But we are all geographically scattered (as Grandma used to say) “from hell to breakfast.” I’m close to a few of the cousins, closer to some second cousins, and enjoy watching third cousins grow up via Facebook pictures and updates.
As an only child, however, except one aunt to whom I am still close, I grew up without aunts and uncles around me often enough to bring sufficient meaning to thinking I had any, even though I had seven of each on Mom’s side of the tree.
That is, until I was a mature adult at which point I was gifted with one of the richest inheritances of my life—the love of an extended family, an actual family by the way, complete with “just like” siblings, aunts, nieces, nephews, and grandparents! I was encouraged, rather than allowed, to address the seniors as “Aunt” and “Uncle” same as their “real” nieces. I was included at weddings, funerals, birthdays, graduations, and at hospitals when new generations were born. I often took photographs of the children’s first days on earth, starting in the hospital nursery, and I loved running to Eckerd’s and Walgreen’s (remember those days?) to get them developed and gifting the relatives with their photos. Over the years, I took photos at birthdays, Christmases, on and on.
Over the years, my career took me back and forth to Houston on consulting projects, and while I could choose to stay in Houston hotels, there were times when I’d stop and stay in a small Texas town in the country. This was home to Aunt Jean and Uncle Donald (and Aunt Dot and Uncle Aubrey and even before that, their beloved sister-in-law and brother-in-law, a third couple whose two families had married into each other some 50 years prior and whose ability to remain together, geographically and in their hearts found them as next-door neighbors almost all of their lives). It was unique, it was real, and I loved being with all of them, thanks to an adoptive sister who understood what I needed without my ever saying a word and she shared them with me unconditionally.
For more than 23 years, I was blessed with this family as “mine,” and I’ll never forget, when my Mom passed away, as people came filing into the church to be there “for me,” there was pew after pew after pew of members of that family, my extended family, who showed me their love that day, with their physical presence. I never felt alone for a minute. Everyone who knew how close my Mom and I were all of our lives seemed mystified at why I wasn’t falling apart when she died. And yet, all I had to do was look around and know that I was never alone.
It was just shy of 10 years ago, our paths changed and our schedules and some of my usual activities and hobbies changed. It’s the natural progression of things.
As things were redirected I lost daily or weekly contact with “my family” and they with me. On the times and occasions that we reached out by phone to check in, the love was always there. It was never not there. And we ended each visit with a hug and a kiss and an “I love you” that still brings a smile and warms my heart.
Every time I get a piece of fine china out of my cupboard (for those of you who are laughing to think that every happens, think again! I do have them, and I do use them)…I remember Aunt Jean. One day en route home from a consulting trip (I’d stopped and brought back primo Houston BBQ for our dinner), I’d visited her and Uncle Donald in the beloved tiny town.
She said she’d found a fantastic “deal” for me at their annual town garage sale and wanted me to have them “for the future.” I told her I wasn’t putting them in my (No-)Hope Chest but that I was putting them into active duty immediately and that I loved them. The pattern was exquisite and classic and matched my taste to a proverbial “T,” as we say here.
The best part was traveling together—not to some destinations that you might call exotic, but every single one of them was one of the most joyous adventures I ever had the privilege of being included in, thanks to their “real” niece. Sometimes we drove a few hours away to a casino destination (and to visit more beloved extended family whom I got to call Aunt and Uncle times two or three), and we’d have the best time. The road trips were the best because we had conversations that were so fun, so funny, and reminiscing about some of our previous trips.
We talked of old times that, even on the ones I was never on, I was always made to feel like I’d been right there. The storytelling was so vivid, upbeat and I honestly think that some of my present-day skills that people (kindly) say I have for telling stories were shaped and colored by how I loved how they related history, family experiences, and were able to always find positives by which to place inside memories, good and bad alike.
One of the best times of my life was being in Las Vegas with the intention of hearing my favorite band, The Buckinghams, live in concert. I’d arrived early together with a high school friend and then local friends Pam and Mike were there for the wedding of their friend and to boot, I was lucky enough that my high school classmate Howard happened to be within driving distance that weekend and came over.
Then I drove to the airport to pick up the party of five, including Aunt Jean, who flew in to join my most important weekend—the concert. That evening, I had a table of 10 enjoying the concert of a lifetime for me and no exaggeration—if my life had ended that night for some obscure reason, I can truly say that I could have gone on to my next life with no regrets. But that was far from the end of the adventures with the extended family.
What was special about Aunt Jean is that she had an amazing recall for everything in my life that was important. Over the years she never forgot anything I shared with her, she kept confidences close, and she never failed to ask about the people she’d met in my life when she was in town and that was something truly special about her—that’s love…knowing who and what is important to you, even the small things that you hold close in your heart, not wanting to share them with the world…
We talked about music all the time—her daughter was just a few years older than I was and so we both had about the same record albums blasting all the time as we grew up years and miles apart from each other. I loved that she knew who some of my favorites were and she was as current as they come.
She also loved sports—she and Uncle Donald were giant sports fans and enjoyed baseball, football, and even boxing. She was a major Houston Astros fan and I know she’d be pleased with many games I’ve seen this season. We loved discussing our favorite teams and players.
Constantly Seeking The Good in Others Leaves the Best Life Lesson
Perhaps it sounds absurd for me to go on and on about simple conversations of years ago but the reason I do is that in our present day and time, people seem to refuse to consider the best in people. They can’t want to point out a difference, a flaw, something that makes someone else lesser than, not as good as, or worse yet, to judge them by sight rather than finding out who they are first. Let me say that it is a rare gift indeed when you meet people who show you love first before they show you judgment.
Road trips grew to be annual to include “the changing of the leaves” each October; and as many of “the girls” as the Suburban would hold, we would travel throughout the New England countryside over, around, under, and through the most beautiful scenery God ever thought up. I took pictures when I wasn’t driving, and those memories fill my heart and my photo albums still today. Simply stopping on the side of the road for gas and goodies in a convenience store. This cartoon sums it up, but the fun part was being a kid and being yourself.
All the girls knew I had a fondness for “circus goobers,” which are those yummy chewy orange peanut-shaped candies, and sugared jelly beans, and they loved to tease me about my um….obsession over ice. Not just one kind of ice—all kinds of ice. They used to tease me (when I was driving) as to where I was bound to stop (or not) because of “they have really good ice here!” as my justification. Love is—letting her stop the car wherever she likes their ice.
Long relaxing days on a chair outside, sitting and visiting about whatever topic traveled by was such a joy. We all loved outdoor farmer’s markets and finding the bonanzas along various roadside locales (north and south alike) was such fun. Who had the best corn, the best tomatoes, and squash meant that we were going to enjoy some major league vegetable dinners that night.
The travels are over, those days are safely tucked away in the rearview mirror, fondly, for future reference when I need to smile. One of the best things about Aunt Jean was her devotion to her family, real and extended, and she was fortunate at a very early age to meet her kindred spirit and husband, Donald. Throughout the many, many years of her life they were a dedicated duo—did so many things together that you could blend their names — Jean’n’Donald — and you knew when one loved you, the other did, too. I was fortunate to meet them after they’d retired from their careers and they’d worked hard and saved carefully for the future. So I had the best gift of all —their time and their love and interest. I was one of many in their extended family of course, but I did love them.
At Christmas time I get out my decorations and some special ones are from Aunt Jean and Aunt Dot, who always thought of me at holidays. Every year at their annual rummage sale, the ladies quilting guild auctioned off (for tickets raffled) a handmade quilt that they made each year. These quilts were prized and gorgeous. Anyone lucky enough to have a Southern handmade quilt knows exactly what I’m describing. Every year for five years I bought tickets in hopes of winning. Finally, Aunt Jean and Aunt Dot decided I needed to “win,” and the two of them made me my own quilt! I was blown away to receive it and I prize it to this day. My home was filled with gifts of love like that over two decades.
For anyone who thinks it is necessary to locate a five-star property with limited clientele to call it heaven on earth has never just basked in the calm and peace of people who don’t have a mean bone in their bodies—who find a faith in God to get them through some of the worst challenges and time in their lives. Aunt Jean was in her 80s and in a regular Sunday School class and worship service with the energy of a 20-year-old, together with her sister-in-law, Aunt Dot. Another joy was driving about 2 hours to worship at the church they all belonged to there in a bigger city about 20 miles from the tiny town they lived in.
The light in Jean’s heart emanated from her beautiful spirit. It’s surreal to think of her as not being here anymore. Logically, of course it was time, and she was not able to enjoy life anymore, so okay, it was appropriate. But she was so wonderful about offering encouragement when I was hitting the walls sometimes in my challenges. She believed in me and that meant everything.
About a month ago, I had had Aunt Jean on my mind and heart almost daily. I remembered her birthday and though I didn’t do anything about it (her condition had been such that she would not recognize a card from me to know me). Although it had been a year since I’d seen her in person, there wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t think of her. I kept wondering how she was but somehow I was too scared to call her nephew and niece and ask them, her caregivers, how she’d been doing. I was afraid I would hear that the end was near. And I wasn’t prepared to accept that reality, as if my preference, wish, or prayer had a flying fig to do with it.
Every day I promised I’d call and check, but I also remembered that they’d promised to let me know if something happened…so I just got busy and went on with life. Until I just couldn’t stand not knowing. As I’d feared, the answer was that indeed she had passed away, the day after her birthday…she’d made it one day past when she was most on my mind and memory.
Per her specific wishes, there was no formal service. That’s one thing that she was about—not wanting anyone to make a fuss over her. She was buried together with her beloved Donald and I’ll be paying my respects as fast as I can get there. People don’t stop to think that the rest of us left here need closure, we need to come together to reflect, share, remember when, and hug each other who are left that the love, time, and earthly memories they shared with us in better times meant something special to us. I’m glad that I was able to tell her during her lifetime what her friendship had meant to me.
While it’s sad it took me so long to find out that she was gone, it’s also as normal as the days in May—life gets busy. People deal with the passing of loved ones in different ways. Grief manifests itself in so many different ways as I have come to learn the past seven years especially. I won’t be as pompous as to say I’ve seen it all, but I have experienced and walked the paths of many people who have shown me there is no one right or wrong way to grieve.
We all try and find a home base and center to return to, so that we can restart our lives and go forward without the presence of a key loved one in our lives any longer. Our responsibilities and schedules change and it can be so unsettling. The older we get means absolutely zero guarantee that we do “better” with grief than someone younger. There is no exact formula or correlation for recovering from grief.
The best we can do for each other is just be genuine, present, and happy in one another’s lives for as long as we can be, for as long as we are invited in, and for as long as our minds allow us to be considerate of what others need or want in their lives. Love never dies. When we lose extended family, it hurts like “the real thing” but tomorrow and tomorrow after and every day after that, we can be inspired by our extended family to reach out to those who might need an extra aunt or uncle in their lives to just listen, love, care, and be there, keeping it real, to sustain us through the uncertain times ahead. God bless you, Aunt Jean, and thank you for loving me, along with all your “real family.” You are the best!
This project began on May 3, 2022, with the initial inquiry, it has to be something of a record that the books were delivered on June 7, 2022, and three of us (Marcia, Joyce, and I) traveled to the lovely nursing community where Ms. Mary Lee resides in Bryan to surprise her.
