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January 23, 2011

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OpalToney7-24.jpg (37075 bytes)As I Was Saying
By Opal Toney

Being confused...
This week’s column was pulled from the As I was Saying archives collection.
Do you ever feel like you don’t know whether you are coming or going? I do it quite often.
This morning I woke up thinking it was Saturday. That may be because Saturday is a favorite day of the week for me.
It brings back many memories of what it was like to go to town on Saturday. And then, the next morning we went to Sunday school and church.
So, this morning I wanted to be sure I knew what day it was. I asked Son #2 and his answer was Thursday the 28th.
And that made it deadline day and I got in a hurry to write a few words and then get to The Monitor and stop by Brookshires and come back home.
It’s such a beautiful day. I’ve already hung out the things I washed, yes I have a washing machine and a dryer.
But, on a day like this it makes sense to me to dry ‘em on the line. Saving a few dollars helps a lot.
It’s mostly time that I don’t have enough of. I like to see everything like we used to when we went to town!
It has made a great difference since I don’t have my car, and I haven’t been able to find an ole’ grey mare to ride.
Daughter #4 is ready to take me to the Post Office, drop these few words at The Monitor and stop by Brookshires to get a few things.
I don’t know what the rest of the day will be like, but I look forward to seeing ole’ friends and maybe meet some new ones.
As I was saying, am I coming or going?


honeyandflag.jpg (61206 bytes)The View From Here
By Katherine Veno

Let it snow...
I can’t remember when East Texas had so much white stuff falling from the sky, but just tune into the news to see hundreds of snow photographs spanning several counties, small towns, big cities and country roads.
As Texans we are not used to so much snow or any snow at all if we are young enough. It was a real treat to walk among the gigantic snowflakes and feel them melt against my cheeks and float all around me in a dizzying swirl of white.
I started to stay indoors and continue watching the birds at the feeder, but just couldn’t do it. I can walk, I can go outside, so I got my coat, boots, hat, gloves, and bundled up. Out the door I went into the winter wonderland.
Amazing as it seems, snow still thrills me like it did when I was a little girl trying to build a snowman out of about one inch of snow and mud.
The big flakes just kept coming, and if I looked straight up the array of snow headed towards me was dark and menacing at the center of the sky, then magically the dark spots become white sparkle ornaments before disappearing on the ground with their kind.
The solitude and insulating effect of snow is deafening in the silence it blankets everything within. Snow is quiet as a leopard stalking through the trees, and soft as the wings of a wedding dove as it envelops all the unsightly things created by man, or left behind. For a few hours snow makes everything look beautiful, and therefore unrecognizable as everyday objects.
Trees lean under the coating of ice, but seem to fluff out with a soft coating of snow. Birds and squirrels fly and run busily as if actually playing in the white down floating down from the sky. Animals love to play in the snow just as we do.
The best part of a snow walk is when you get back indoors and out of your wet boots, cold socks and take off the gloves. Warmth surrounds you as the white scenario outside the window becomes more dense. Then night falls, and the moon turns the snow covered ground to silver.
We may not see snow very often in East Texas, but when we do, it is magical.


EmilyLundy4-2.jpg (36194 bytes)Escapades of Emily
By Emily Gail Lundy

One of those days...
Throughout my years of this journey of life, some weeks have been full and eventful – others quiet, maybe boring. Then one week will be joyful, whereas another one is a lost cause that has to be lived out. I recognize the start of a bad one if by 8 a.m. I am the only one in my part of town and someone has called to say, “cows are out.” These cows belong to a grown child who leaves for work really early.
Sometimes I can catch him by cell phone and he makes contact with help. If not, I’m on a long, important FM road, parked on the side, and out hollering with a stick, dressed in a long coat over my sleeping clothes, always a hat on top of my head. I pray no one comes by. Other times, I’m in people’s yards trying not to step on flowers. These bovine are gentle and will run from me, but I have to find a gate to get them through.
Did I mention I am not in the best of health?
The next day, my computer won’t cooperate; the web connection is on a dinner break somewhere or I type a long dissertation on a vital subject and lose it – lose it all.
This same week I can expect a storm to “mess” with the electricity and the television channels. Too, at the grocery store, my car will develop a flat. When I get into the car any time that week, the gas gauge is on “empty,” and a cold wind blows.
And the end of the week can go like this. My husband and I use our last gift certificate for a meal out and decide to see a movie. All is well. We get a senior discount and go into an almost empty theater, early and prepared to wait.
Then I decide to “pretty up” and go to the RR. The door is open, unusual, but I step in, see rearrangement has taken place, maybe some renovation. Then I have a weird feeling. I see the back of a man in the far corner, realize my mistaken assumption about everything and back out before anyone else knows anything. (We Americans are really incongruous with what shocks and what doesn’t.)
Somewhat mentally rattled, I walk into the lightly outlined destination for the movie, spy a white-haired man still sitting on the end of a row midway down. I go sit beside him. No one says anything. In about 25 seconds, I realize this man is not my husband. Worse, my movie won’t show here. Quickly I’m gone, wondering what this man thinks, grateful he’ll never recognize me.
I get to the right place, my previous seat and think, “Maybe I should stay at home.” But this isn’t my first experience with “being lost.”
A friend lifted my spirits later upon retelling such events.
“At least you weren’t on a large parking lot looking for a white pickup. You see it, your husband behind the wheel, already gearing up to leave. You slip into your side. Before you can say anything, the driver looks at you and asks, ‘Lady, am I supposed to know you?’ You nearly fall out the door to find your own truck, trying to keep this man from seeing your face.” It’s not your truck, not your husband and not your day, evidently.



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