Cousinette Epistles #7: Living Memory: Lest We Forget

Dear Cousinette's:

Last week I spent the day with Michael Hammons, the grandson of my sister.  Michael was a wee lad when we moved to New Hampshire 25 years ago this fall, so I welcomed the opportunity to spend time with him.  We discovered some interesting things.  We grew up in the same house and actually had the same bedroom.  We walked down the same alley to school, leaving home a few minutes before the bell and never arriving late.  (It is an art!)  We even both had cranky mothers.  (Just kidding Sheri :) )

The thing about Michael that struck me is his resemblance to his Grandfather, Steve Cobb.  Michael and I discussed the fact that I am one of the only living links to his grandfather Steve.  So I thought I would share some things about him.  Steve was my friend.  I was probably 12 or so when Sis and Steve got married.  One of the great things about Steve was that he never treated me like a kid.  We did stuff together.  (I see that character quality in Cousin Vicki.  She loves kids and is always just one of them.)

He was a very handsome man with blue eyes.  He was very funny and loved to irritate my mother.  Evidently it is genetic and entertaining and came to be a family tradition.  His favorite thing in all the world was to fish.  I remember one day he took me to the Norman State Hospital property and went fishing.  We were trespassing and got evicted.  He told me later that if he had not had his white work uniform he would not have tried it.  Getting evicted from anywhere was high adventure for a kid from Fort Cobb.  He would drink a beer when he fished, also genetic I think, which was troubling for the son of Foy Wheat, but we were fishing...I realized years later that it is required.

Steve and Nelda got a service station in Lindsay.  When I would visit, he would let me pump gas and wash windshields.  This was fun and interesting.  (I didn't figure out the free labor part of it.)  I don't remember ever seeing him angry, although I am sure he was at times. He was a hard worker.   He always seemed happy to me.

When they lived in Norman we watched Superbowl I together.  I thought the Chiefs would win, Steve was sure of the Packers.  He was right.  We spent a lot of time together and when he died he left an enormous vacuum for us all.  One that was never filled again.

Know this, cousinettes, Steve Cobb was a wonderful man.  He was never rich.  He was never terribly successful.  He loved my sister dearly and she worshiped him and I believe she loved him until the day she died.  He would be close to 70 today if he were still with us.  He would probably be fishing, and having a beer with his grandchildren.  I only wish you would have known him like I did.  If you want to know what he was like, spend the day with Michael.  The resemblance is there--fishing, beer and all.

Although you did not know him, you can remember him.    Look closely and you will see him.  He is a part of all of you.  One of the best parts.

Conversations and Silence

A few weeks ago I was sitting at our dining room table with my spousal unit and my 6 year old granddaughter.  We were enjoying breakfast.  In a matter of fact tone my granddaughter said, "Two of my friends died.  Jack and Ally.  Jack Pinto, he was in my class.  Ally's name was Allison, but I called her Ally."

Ginger and I were speechless as our treasure processed being a first grader from Newtown Connecticut, dealing with realities difficult and tragic for a person of any age.  "This is not a conversation that a 6 year old should be having!" I thought to myself as we silently respected Reese's space as she remembered her friends.  As true as this is, I am sure children in Syria, Africa and other areas of our world infected with senseless violence, are remembering friends and family now gone.  Hopefully they have a place to say out loud what is in their heart. Scars of the heart  can often heal through conversation, I think. 

As a young man I did an experiment based on a Bible verse in James "Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger;"  (Jas 1:19)  I decided for a day to do this.  The exercise was simple:  If someone was talking and I had something I wanted to say, I would count to 3 after they stopped before speaking (quick to hear, slow to speak--get it.).  If they started talking again I would be quick to hear.  I went through my entire day without getting to say much.  It seemed that I could not get past 2 before someone would talk which required me to be quick to listen and slow to speak all over again, restarting the cycle.  It was a profound experience, you may want to try it.

I have learned a lot more in my life by listening than I ever did by talking.  I learned that morning at my breakfast table that my precious granddaughter guards in her heart the memory of her friends who were so cruelly taken from this earth.  She honors them by speaking their names.  I learned that this child and her thoughts are deep and serious and worthy of my listening.  I learned that my words could add nothing to the reverence that she displayed for life, her friends and the reality that although they are gone they are not forgotten.  I discovered a new and deeper respect for her as she deals with grief and confusion in a world prepared to dispense both in abundance over her lifetime.  I realized from that moment of seeing into her 6 year old mind, that she will likely be able to handle whatever life offers her with grace.  I learned that God has placed a sensitive and serious "woman to be" in our midst who will make a difference by who she is and what she does. 

12/14/2012 My Granddaughter Lives in Newtown

My granddaughter lives in Newtown.  She is in the first grade.  She was in school today.  She does not yet know of the horror that was visited upon her town.  She and her brother play with toys in my living room.

My daughter-in-law lives in Newtown.  Today she experienced a terror few ever know.  Hearing news so shocking, bordering on unbelief.  Not in Newtown!  They escape to our home in New Hampshire--a trip already planned.  We relish in the company of our grandchildren as she sits silently, suffering, wondering--who?  Her eyes are full, holding back a stream...wondering who?

Speaking not of the tragedy, we watch the kids play.  Seeing our treasures, smiling, laughing, we know that by grace or chance our granddaughter was in her school today and not in Sandy Hook Elementary across town.  I am unable to comprehend what another granddad or granny in another house might be going through.  Struggling to envision another granddaughter or grandson now gone. A mom, a dad stunned in disbelief that this could be happening.

My son lives in Newtown.  He is as strong a man as I have ever known.  He sits in silence--shaken.  Wondering why?  Snuggling his daughter as they watch a cartoon.  Words are not sufficient.

The kids sleep.  The parents can finally talk and hug and weep for their friends and neighbors and their indescribable loss--but they do not sleep much.

Pundits blame the guns...again, but no one speaks of evil or sickness.  People did not use guns in Oklahoma City or Auschwitz or Dachau.  We live in a broken world with broken people.  One lived in Newtown.

My kids live in Newtown.  Their hearts are broken tonight.

Mine is too.

The Cousinette Epistles 6: Friends

Dear Cousinettes:

Your Aunt Ginger and I have a tradition to take some time off every year the week before Labor Day.  This tradition started after our last sprout severed roots and tumbled away. 

Next week we will celebrate 36 years together.  Our anniversary is on the 29th of August and it is a convenient time to get away.  Little did we know in 1976 what we were getting into.  I have to say it was all good--not all easy--but all good. 

Your Aunt Ginger could be best described as the best friend a person could possibly have.  I am not the only one who thinks this.  I am the one who has gained the most benefit from it.  Being friends and being married is a very good situation.  It helps to get you through difficult times.  More important it magnifies the times that are wonderful and enables you to tolerate most of the times that are just uneventful.  I aspire to be as good a friend to her and others, as she has been to me and hers.

I heard it said that if you want a friend then be a friend.  The world we live in today is a beautiful place when you have one.  It can be a lonely place when you don't.  You will have times when you have money, and not.  You will be excited, and not.  You will be devastated, and not.  But in all your times, if you have a friend, if you have friends, you will make it through.

I work with people and their financial investments for a living.  These are important.  From where I stand today, I sincerely believe that the wisest investment a person can make, is in the effort to be a friend.  Not a fair weather, good times buddy kind of friend.  Be a grab the tissue when you cry, hold your sides when you laugh til you hurt, and get in your face when you are screwing up kind of friend.  If you can be that friend, the dividends are undeniable.  You will have riches beyond your imagination. 

I have one.  She is amazing.  You can have as many as you can love. 

Your crazy uncle.

Saying Goodby: A Tribute

Yesterday we went to another funeral, the second in recent months.  Tom Murphy and his wife Madalyn have been good friends for years.  We spent many an hour playing cards, "skinching" in Maine looking for hidden treasures in the junk stores there.  Discussing the solutions to the worlds problems and counting their growing tribe of grand-kids.

It is not fair to say that Tom fought cancer.  Cancer fought Tom and being the good Irishman he was, he gave it quite a tussle.  He proved doctors wrong that sent him away years ago saying there was nothing that could be done.  He proved the world wrong by keeping a positive, encouraging attitude.  Sympathy was not needed, it was given by Tom.  I only saw him twice during his fight as we no longer work together.  Both times, though his body was stripped of the vitality it had once had, his smile beamed that Tom was still alive and well and ready for the next challenge.

Hundreds gathered yesterday, all touched in some way by this gentle, wonderful man.  Our loss is heaven's gain.  If it can be any brighter up there it is now because Tom's smile is bigger than ever.

Acoustic Nirvana: Or Betty Boop and Budha

There are accidents of time and place that put you in the presence of genius.  Hopefully you will have the presence of mind and soul to recognize it.  My story.

Day 3 of Ginger's birthday weekend.  Kennebunk Maine.  In a free paper we saw a notice for an Acoustic Guitar Concert at the River Tree Arts Center, admission $10.  I love good acoustic guitar and for $10 each, not a lot of risk, right.

We arrive at the River Tree Arts Center (http://rivertreearts.org/) and are able to park right in front of the facility.  Not a good sign.  We walk in and we are among a dozen people or so, nervous musicians wondering if anyone will show, nervous exec director wondering same.  We pay, browse and sit.  The crowd swells to maybe 20.

The opening act was Ed Desjardin.  A terrific player and songwriter.  His unique style seemed to be rooted in a delightful mix of great musical styles melded into his own.  After a short break the feature performer was Martin Swinger.  (http://www.martinswinger.com/) 

Martin Swinger, broad smile and commanding presence, drew us into the story of his song like a gripping novel that keeps the light on til 2 AM.  He knits silly with serious, petty with poignant, leaving you asking, "How did he do that?  How did we get from there to here? That was amazing!"  From the first song, in my heart I was on the little red chair in the front of the room in first grade class where we sat and listened to Mrs. Simpson read those incredible stories.  Time disappeared as you hung on the next phrase--only now it was set to music and delivered by tenor voice so clear it sparkled.  Our 20 sojourners in the audience could have been in Carnegie Hall and we would not have had more pleasure than we enjoyed at the River Tree.

I sat thinking between songs, "Who is he like?"  The complexity of sound and lyric were unlike anyone I had ever heard.  Songs of grief, love, and depression delivered with humor, hope and delicacy.  In one brief night at River Tree, I am a fan.  His song Betty Boop and Budha capture his approach to life and music by pairing the most unlikely couple--the silly and the serious--to show how they coexist and inform us each of the other.

If you love music and good songwriting, do yourself a favor and click on the link above and listen to some of his work like the "Consider the Oyster", or "Gravity" to get a feel for this master of the ballad.  You can buy his work in CD's or downloads from his website.  An artist of this caliber must be shared and supported.

Ginger and I stumbled into the presence of genius last night.  We are better for it.

Travel Tip

I fly Southwest Airlines often because they go from where I am to where I want to be most of the time. I count it a great day when I score an exit row seat and luxuriate in the expansive legroom. Today I took the exit row aisle seat and by the window was a young man with a Yankee's hat on. There was a middle seat between us.

I strike up a conversation about our hope for potential candidates for the middle seat and shared a couple of wide body horror stories of trips gone by. Then came a shocking confession.

"I am really not a Yankee fan," confided James. "I am from Kansas City. I travel in my job a lot. I have learned that for the most part people hate the Yankees. I wear the hat and more often than not I get an empty seat next to me."

BRILLIANT! I realize that I am in the presence of a perceptive and wise young man. You will see in the picture the proof of his insight--the Yankee hat and the empty seat.

James, my hat is off to you.

Time Tripping

March 30, 1981:
Thirty one years ago today, I set up my workbench in the front yard of our home out by Fort Cobb lake. My project was to build a doll bed for my daughter Sara who would turn 3 the next day. I was listening to the radio as I worked. I was frozen mid project by the news flash that President Reagan had been shot in San Francisco.

March 30 2012:
Ginger and I fulfilled a long held desire to visit the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley, CA. As I went through the exhibit that detailed the assassination attempt, I went back in time to when I stood there as a much younger man, shocked at the news of the attempt on our President. I went back to a day when my Sara was almost three.

We are told by neurologists that our brains hold memories of all the experiences we have ever had. During hypnosis and other tests the memories have been triggered and experienced afresh by individuals. There was a moment today when I realized that I was standing in the Reagan Memorial at almost precisely 31 years to the moment from the time of that tragic event. In my mind I stood again in the yard, felt the same feelings, called in the house to give Ginger the news. It was almost like a cheesy movie flashback, but it was eerie for me, as it was very real.

President Reagan, a great man, is no longer with us. The doll crib was restored last year so that My Sara's three year old can put her dolls and critters down for naps. My Sara has grown to be a magnificent woman of depth, courage and skill. I see in her daughter my past, present and future all in one glance--and today I experienced all three in a moment.



Ronald Reagan Memorial, Simi Valley, CA

The Cousinette Epistles Volume 6: Spandex, Estrogen, and Yoga.

Dear Cousinettes:

One of my highest values is to keep things fresh. It is easy to get into ruts and routines. So, on this Leap Day I said to your Great-Aunt Ginger, "We only get this day once every four years. Let's do something we have never done before."

Well, needless to say she googled up a dandy. Rooftop yoga on top of the Valley Ho Hotel (seriously, I could not make that name up) in Scottsdale followed by all night happy hour with $5 beverages and snacks. She had me at happy hour, and the event qualified since neither of us had ever done yoga, much less on top of the Valley Ho.

Upon our arrival we were escorted to the elevator by a lovely young lady. I had an humorous conversation with her about working at a place called the Valley Ho, (I could not resist) and launched up the elevator to the 8th floor--to infinity and beyond! We signed in and shortly there were about 60-70 people of various ages, shapes and sizes. Most of them clad themselves in spandex of assorted colors. All but about 5 or 6 were Venusian in gender.

As some really nice old jazz played on the sound system, Ginger and I found our way to the back of the staging area and spread out our mats. I immediately assumed a proper position, for which I received a lot of grief from your parents on Facebook. I learned this position from my father, your great grandfather George. He usually would assume it in his recliner and provide some interesting sound effects--not unlike rolling thunder--as he became one with the universe. Who knew he was so far ahead of his time.

The instructor was introduced and she began to lead us in a series of exercises. Remember, we have never done this before and I understood almost nothing she was saying. She kept talking about dogs, birds, warriors and such and I never saw any of those things. My theory is that it is another Venusian Code to keep us Martians from knowing what they are talking about. Well, the Venusians among us understood and began to do all sorts of moves and gyrations. I followed along as best I could. I confess, my positions did not resemble in any way those exhibited in the pictures you see. First, my body does not bend in some of the ways theirs did. Second, I was so busy trying to understand what was going on there were times when I just stood up with a confused look on my face. This is one position with which I am particularly skilled and quite experienced. I waited for them to start something else and tried to catch up. I am sure your Great Aunt Ginger did much better with this. She had an advantage in that she already speaks Venusian.

We finished the session after what seemed like at least 3 or 4 hours (actually 60 minutes) with the sun setting over the Arizona desert. All in all, it was a fun experience. Which brings me back to the point of all this. As professor Gump was known to say, "You never know what you are going to get." Life can be full of interesting twists and turns as long as you are moving. Try something new. Explore your options. Who knows, you may find yourself surrounded by spandex and estrogen on the roof of the Valley Ho.

Your crazy Great Uncle

Christmas Cheer

Today is Christmas Eve. We stopped at the grocery store to pick up a couple of last minute items--hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, half & half--in anticipation of our Christmas sojourners. We stepped in line behind a lovely lady with a cart full of food. She invited us to go ahead.

"Are you sure?" we asked.

"Absolutely!" She replied, "I have five kids at home and this is the closest thing to peace and quiet I have had all day."

We laughed and I continued the conversation, "How old?"

" I have a twelve, a ten an eight and twin toddlers," she smiled.

"You have some built in babysitting, don't you." I added.

"They are really good," she was beaming now. It was obvious to me that this woman was a mom who was a real Home-Maker.

"May I ask a question," I pressed on. "Do you get some strange looks when people find out you have five kids?"

"People look at me and say 'You poor thing!' But I think it's great." She was still smiling.

"I think it's great too. Merry Christmas," and we parted.

There are moments when you know you are in the presence of someone special; someone with influence and strength. Too often we look to political leaders, business people or entertainers for inspiration. Tonight I was inspired by a woman with whom I shared a brief conversation. I saw in her a person creating an environment for her children for them to grow into people with the opportunity to be like her. In a very real way she is shaping the future by the sheer joy evident in her presence.

The Cousinette Epistles Volume 5: Oh Wow! Oh Wow! Oh Wow!

I turned 60 this year. My life is busier than ever and filled with the joy of children and grandchildren that never cease to bring a joy to my heart that is difficult to describe. In all that, my thoughts turn often to my dad, mother and sister who are no longer with us. I miss them.

I don't necessarily have anything to say to them. I don't know that they have anything left to tell me. Their absence from this earth has left a vacuum in me. This Christmas Eve, I remember them. I think of their lives, their trials, their joys and their legacy, and honor them. They were not heroes. They were not famous. They were just good people, loved by their families and friends and remembered fondly.

With that in mind, I share this essay by Peggy Noonan from today's Wall Street Journal. It gives me hope.

Your Crazy Uncle

Jobs, Thatcher and the Force of Life by Peggy Noonan WSJ 12.23.2011

The Apple founder's final words sound an awful lot like an expression of awe.

The great words of the year? "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow."

They are the last words of Steve Jobs, reported by his sister, the novelist Mona Simpson, who was at his bedside. In her eulogy, a version of which was published in the New York Times, she spoke of how he looked at his children "as if he couldn't unlock his gaze." He'd said goodbye to her, told her of his sorrow that they wouldn't be able to be old together, "that he was going to a better place." In his final hours his breathing was deep, uneven, as if he were climbing.

"Before embarking, he'd looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life's partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them. Steve's final words were: 'OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.'"

The caps are Simpson's, and if she meant to impart a sense of wonder and mystery she succeeded. "Oh wow" is not a bad way to express the bigness, power and force of life, and death. And of love, by which he was literally surrounded.

I wondered too, after reading the eulogy, if I was right to infer that Jobs saw something, and if so, what did he see? What happened there that he looked away from his family and expressed what sounds like awe? I thought of a story told by a friend, whose grown son had died, at home, in a hospice. The family was ringed around his bed. As Robert breathed his last an infant in the room let out a great baby laugh as if he saw something joyous, wonderful, and gestured toward the area above Robert's head. The infant's mother, startled, moved to shush him but my friend, her mother, said no, maybe he's just reacting to . . . something only babies see.

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Steve Jobs (1955-2011)

Anyway I sent Ms. Simpson's eulogy to a number of people and spoke to some of them, and they all had two things in common in terms of their reaction. They'd get a faraway look, and think. And if they had a thought to share they did it with modesty. No one said, "I think I can guess what he saw," "I know who he saw," or "Believe me, if he saw anything it was the product of the last, disordered sparks of misfiring neurons."

They were always modest, reflective. One just said, "Wow."

Modesty when contemplating death is a good thing.

When words leave people silent and thinking they are powerful words. Steve Jobs' last words were the best thing said in 2011.

The Cousinette Epistles Volume 4: Are you havin' fun?

Dear Cousinettes:

When your Great Aunt Ginger and I were married in 1976, we moved to Nashville, Tennessee. We rented an upstairs apartment over a garage for $50 per month. It was just off of Granny White Pike, down the hill from David Lipscomb College. It had a kitchen, a bathroom, and a room. Our landlord was Barney Morehouse and his wife Nellie. They called the apartment their little "love nest" and kept track of the number of newlyweds that had begun their journeys there. Barney was 80 years old in 1976 and looked like Alfred Hitchcock with a grin. (I realize you don't know who Alfred Hitchcock is. Here is his picture on a book about him.)

Barney had stories. He was a retired missionary and spent most of his life driving around the USA raising money for other missionaries. He ate a teaspoon of orange blossom honey every morning (he was on his second ton in his lifetime by his reckoning), had never had an aspirin, and never had a headache. He traveled around the country always in the company of three doctors: 1. Dr. Don't Hurry; 2. Dr. Don't Worry; and 3. The Great Physician (That would be Jesus for those that may not get the reference.)

Barney had a habit of showing up when you turned around and weren't expecting him. He wasn't sneaky, just Barney. I had an old 1962 Rambler that needed a lot of TLC and I was often under it for one reason or another. I remember crawling out from under it one day, looking up to see Barney's face smiling down at me and asking me, "Are you having fun?"

It was Barney's question. He would ask us every time he saw us. That question, that attitude has influenced our life together as much as anything. Hardly a day goes by without us asking one another one of the most crucial questions of life. "Are you having fun?" It is my conviction that we are created to experience, express and share joy. If you have breath in you, God is saying that you are not done yet. Are you having fun?

Ask your Great Uncle Butch! He called me this summer and said he was celebrating his second birthday. He started counting again after he was given Kellie's kidney. He is having fun.

Ask your cousin Sara who named her baby girl Gwendolyn Hope, because when she was going through chemo hope was the most important thing in her life. She, Emrys and Gwendolyn are all having fun!

Ask me. In 1984 I had a ruptured appendix and there is no medical explanation for me to be alive according to the surgeon. Every day since then I have been in the bonus round and I am thankful for the opportunity to rejoice and be glad in it. I like to think of myself as a party looking for a place to happen. I am having fun!

We are each given one day to live. It is called today. We get to choose how we will respond to what this day holds. Your attitude will shape your life. Uncle Barney knew this. He shared the secret with Ginger and me. I have not always appreciated his genius. His three doctors are excellent companions for us all. His question is one that can bring us back to our home base--joy. Thank you Barney.

Are you having fun?

Your crazy great-uncle

The Cousinette Epistles 3.1: Traditions

Dear Cousinettes:

If you have cousins that are close to your own age you should count your blessings and enjoy each other. I was the youngest son of a youngest son and a youngest daughter. I only had two cousins that were remotely close to my age. On was Tommy, who lived in Marlow, the other Gary who lived in Big Springs Texas. I saw Tommy more frequently and have had the pleasure of visiting him since we have grown up.

Tom saw my post on Traditions and sent me this email. Read it. He is your cousin too. He is a great guy and you should know him.

Your crazy uncle.


Tom Wheat tomwheat54@hotmail.com to me

Hi, Max

Sheri called me today to order some meat. Had a really nice visit with her and she mentioned your blog spot. I think it is a great idea. Have only read a little but I know I will enjoy reading it all.

As you said, someone will probably correct your date of Granddad Wheat’s passing. It was September 1961. I remember it well. He had been living in a nursing home in Marlow for some time. He had a stroke and lived for about a week. His funeral was at the First Baptist Church in Stonewall. Nelda’s house in Ada was the closest to Stonewall so all the family gathered there. I was 7 at the time.

Granddad Wheat was 83 when I was born. By the time I can remember him he was in his late eighties. He seemed old but he was old. He visited our home in Marlow often before he moved here to live in the nursing home. I remember him sitting under a shade tree in our yard and just whittling. He also liked for dad to take him fishing when he would come to visit. He was a great man. I have always been proud he was my grandfather.

At 57, and now that I am a grandfather of 3, there is nothing quite like it. I have a 4 1/2 year old grandson, Samuel Thomas Kenley. I am proud of the Thomas in his name. My name is Thomas Boyd, dad’s name was Thomas Buren and Bill’s son’s name is Thomas Glen. That makes 4 with the name Thomas in dad’s family. And the Thomas came from our great grandfather, George Thomas Harrison. The Thomas name might go back to prior generations.

I also have two beautiful granddaughters who will be 3 in November and December, Rylie Jo and Reagan Lee. I go see all three as often as possible.

Anyway, thanks for taking time to write the blog and let me know when you are in Oklahoma. I would like to visit.

Your cousin,

Tom Wheat

The Cousinette Epistles Volume 3: Family Traditions

Dear Cousinettes:

Our family has some terrific family traditions that we are counting on you to learn and pass on. There is no way I can list them all because they are still being developed. One that I will start with goes back to my Granddad John Wheat. He was born in 1870 and died in 1960 (I think. I am sure I will get correction if I am wrong, but I think I am close.) This is a picture of him at age 70 doing a headstand. The picture was taken in September of 1939, 72 years ago. If Granddad were still alive that would make him 142. Why, you might ask, would a 70 year old man do a headstand? I would ask, why not?

I have taken it on myself to continue this tradition and encourage you to do the same. Do you see the family resemblance? This September have someone take a picture of you doing a headstand and post it on facebook. If you can't do it it is time to learn. Then give your parents and aunts and uncles a hard time for not following suit. (Teasing people is also an important family tradition to which I am deeply committed.)

We have other family traditions that are worthy of mention but you may have to do some research and collaboration to continue them. I will name them in no particular order.

Grampa George's Chili: My dad made some killer chili. I think that your Uncle Butch has the recipe (and Zack would be the perfect candidate to pick up this torch. He is a very good cook, although he should consider dating some lady firefighters.) Dad would cook his chili when we had the Dairy Boy Drive In in Fort Cobb. Years after, he would stand in the kitchen at FC and the vultures would begin to gather. All the cousins (these would be the parents of cousinettes) would hover around until he served it up. Dad would fuss over his chili like a mother hen fusses over a nest. He would tinker and taste and adjust and smell until it was just right. And it was always just right. A tradition worthy of keeping.

Grandma Foy's Coconut Cream Pie: I really don't know who has this recipe but I can tell you that my Mom was a virtuoso of pie. Her coconut cream, chocolate cream and pumpkin pie covered the entire kitchen every holiday when we would eat so much dinner we would have no room for pie--but that didn't stop us. Some cousinette needs to step up and learn to make some of these pies.

Tormenting the youngest cousin: I am not sure when this tradition started. I am sure Traci can help me out with this. I remember when she was the youngest cousin, Debi, Laura, Pam, Sheri, Vicki and Kelly would go to the back room at Mom and Dad's house and wouldn't let her play. Traci was so relieved when Sara was born so she could join the tormentors. Not sure we want this to continue, but I am not sure we can stop it.

Playing Games: We have long been a family of domino players, card players, and game players. Gamesmanship was an important part of the contest. I would watch TV while playing Skip-Bo with your great aunt Nelda, which would drive her crazy when I won. When playing hand and foot, Grampa George would count the cards that Mom gave him one at a time, out loud while facing her, much to her annoyance. It was very entertaining. Which brings us to one of the most famous moments of the tribal game tradition--Pulling a Vicki! A group of us, including Cousin Vicki, were playing a board game one day. Vicki was not having the best day and it became apparent that she was going to be the L _ _ _R. As the game drew to a close, she put both hands under the board and flipped it in the air sending cards and tokens flying and walked away. This is not a tradition that we have carried on but one that we have laughed about and teased Vicki about for decades. (Glad you got that anger thing under control Vicki.)

Competition: When Cousin Laura and Cousin Debi were in high school, Laura lived in Fort Cobb and Debi lived in Carnegie. They played each other in basketball and it was fun to watch. I bet you could still get an argument going if you got them talking about some of the games. Cousinette Haley and Daniel remind me of them a lot.

Giggling to incontinence: One of my favorite sounds in the universe is that of my nieces giggling so uncontrollably that eventually one of them jumps up and runs to the ladies room at risk of dampening their drawers. If there were an academy award for giggling the nominees would be Traci--she squints when she giggles; Debi--she would be the first to run; Vicki--contagious laugh; a new and rising star cousinette Lauren--she has a lot of promise; and cousinette Callie who could develop into a real snicker champ.

I am sure there are other traditions worthy of note and important to continue, but that is where you come in. Latch on to the ones that cause you to smile when you are all alone and they come to mind. The ones that cause you to remember your family. Start some new ones that we haven't thought of yet, but don't forget to include your elders. We want to play too!

Love and laughter go hand in hand. It is very hard to have the one without the other. Laughing at ourselves and each other is an important part of who we are as a family and who we will be in the future.

Your crazy uncle

The Cousinette Epistles Volume 2: Love and Lust

When your cousin Josh was in High School he was very popular. He was captain of the football team, regional champion top gun competition cheerleader and living the dream. I asked him once, "Is there one girl among your friends that is special for you?"

Josh's answer was one of the wisest comments I have ever heard from a teenager. He told me, "Dad, I have my whole life to get my heart broken. I don't need to start in high school."

Teenagers are expected to know things that they just cannot know. It is not fair. Just think about it.

People are asking you what you want to do for the rest of your life for work. Get real? When you are a teenager you don't even know for sure what you want on your pizza much less how you want to spend 40 hours a week for 40 years. You may want to prepare some boilerplate answers for when you get the questions, but be careful with your choices. I would not tell adults that you plan to be a drug dealer, pole dancer, career criminal, or lawyer. They are sure to make judgements about your character. (My advice to my kids was to find something you love to do, then find someone that will pay you to do it. It has worked well for them it seems.)

Relationships are another area where you are expected to know things that you just don't have the life experience to know. One thing you should know as a young person is the difference between love and lust. A good rule of thumb is that Lust is about "me". Love is about someone other than "me".

Lust says "I want what I want and I want it the way I want it." If you are involved with someone whose world operates like that, run, don't walk away. This is an opera star--Me, Me, Me, Me, Me..... Any sentence that starts out, "If you love me you will..." should send alarm bells off in your head. If you see this attitude in yourself, just stop it!. Even if you get what you want you won't be happy.

Love is shaving your head and sending an email to all your friends and family , asking them to photoshop their hair out and send her pictures when your wife is going through Chemotherapy. That is what your cousin-in-law Emrys did when Sara had cancer. (Love can also be sending your bald pictures like our friends the Yancy's did.)

Love is giving your dad a kidney and saving his life like your aunt Kelly did. You have examples in your own family that are amazing illustrations of what love really is if you pay attention to what is going on around you.

Love is what your parents do when they tell you no. It is probably not a good idea and probably not good for you--even though you don't understand it and it seems enormously cruel.

Love is choosing to defer what you want because someone else is more important that what you want.

The bible advises you to, "Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.
(Pro 4:23)"

Learn to guard your heart. Be careful who you let get close. Remember that other people your age are just as confused as you are about most things and don't know any more than you do. Learn to recognize wisdom which is more often than not a heart thing rather than a head thing.

Understand that your emotions are real and a gift to you, but they are not the foundation for good choices in most cases. Own your feelings but don't let them own you. It is your will that will drive you to success in life, what you do matters more than how you feel. Think about the people we celebrate as heroes. Firefighters, soldiers and others conquer their feelings with their will to do remarkable things.

Watch some older folks who love each other and take some notes. Talk to them about when they first met and hear their stories. Love that lasts a lifetime involves sacrifice and compromise. A 50/50 relationship won't work. Each side has to give 100% or more.

Beware the hormone river that swirls and swells around you. It can flood your brain and lead you to choices that have long term consequences.

The manual for love has to be I Corinthians 13. The manual for lust is everywhere you look around you. I have to hand it to the Apostle Paul, and I think he would tell you even today that the greatest of these is love.

I believe in you and am cheering for your success. Guard your hearts as you learn to love.

Your Crazy Great-Uncle

The Cousinette Epistles: Volume I

Dear Cousinettes:

Though the window of Facebook, I have been stalking you for several months since our little reunion at Cousin Vicki's house last winter. Occasionally I will prod or dig when you write something particularly cute or dumb. But mostly I just follow.

I am your Great Uncle David (use-ta-be Max, right Vicki?). I like what I see in you. I hope to be not just your Great Uncle but one day in your esteem to be a great uncle.

When I was a kid, all my uncles were old--I mean really old--as I was the youngest child of two youngest children. I had cousins that were the same age as my parents. (I didn't have an uncle younger than me, Tyler, but you get the picture.)

I remember spending time with Uncle Bud. Uncle Bud was a pumper for Skelly Oil. He lived in the country near Fox, Oklahoma. (How would you like to be on the softball team from Fox, Haley and Danielle?) I think I got my love for history from those days listening to Uncle Bud's stories about Dad's family in the 20's and 30's. He taught me to shoot a 22. He loved baseball. He was a fire and brimstone Missionary Baptist Preacher. He was very funny and loved to laugh.

I don't live close enough for you to come visit as easily as it was for me to go to Uncle Bud's, but be assured that if you ever are near New Hampshire or Arizona when I am there, or if you want to be, there is a guest room and good food aplenty waiting for you. Why? Because you are my family. You are the children of my nieces. (Here is hoping that my nephews will produce some cousinettes some day--BUT NOT YET ZACK AND DREW!)

Since I don't see you often enough yet, I have decided to write The Cousinette Epistles. I am not sure how many installments there will be but if have a few in mind. I plan to write about the things I know at 60 that I wish I knew at 16, and the things that I knew at 16 that I found out not to be the case. I will write about life and ideas, stories and love, and family. One of my goals is to help you understand that conversations with people that are not your own age can be fruitful and enjoyable. We older folks have an advantage on you. We have been where you are now and we remember what it felt like.

I hope to entertain and inform, educate and amuse you with the musings of your crazy great-uncle. Following your adventures on Facebook causes me to realize that I don't know you very well--and I want to know you better. I hope you enjoy the Epistles and I hope it makes you comfortable enough to think one day, "I would like to go see him. He sounds like fun."

The Great Uncle

My daughter Sara and her husband are in the middle of serving their community after a devastating flood. (see link) http://saraemrys.blogspot.com/
Emrys pastors Ninevah Presbyterian Church Ninevah NY and it has become a relief center. In 2006 the community was hit with a "100 year flood". Five years later, before some victims of the last flood have fully recovered, the river decided to pay another visit compliments of Hurricane Lee.

There has been no aid from the gov't yet and their resources are stretched. The area is rural and far from wealthy, at least financially. They are rich in the things that count. This is a time for those of us who are givers, to give. If you can help with a contribution I am sure it will be used immediately and effectively. Ninevah Presbyterian and other community churches are providing food water and essentials to displaced families. All of that costs money and they don't have enough. Sara told us that prices for these essentials has skyrocketed.


They did not request this plea for help, it is my idea. If you can, please send a check NOW. Ear mark it for flood relief and send to Ninevah Presbyterian Church, PO Box 115 Nineveh, New York 13813. It is time for people do take care of each other.