Hi, my name is Carroll. I was a long-time school teacher and later an administrator before retiring in 1995. I now spend my time researching my roots with Ancestry and Findagrave websites.
I began doing this to help my mother who had collected family genealogical information by snail mail (or post office mail) for those of you not old enough to know the term. I then started to speed up the process by getting our family members to take part by promising to give them a copy of my first book in exchange for their information on their clans and pictures of the members of their groups.
I’ve now had experience in developing more than 30 family trees and “burying” over 200 family members and friends on the Findagrave website. I have gained great respect for those who worked so hard to make our families what they are and have tried to memorialize them with the bio on the Findagrave website.
I do not see this as an eerie or creepy, unnatural process but rather a celebration of the lives of those who have passed. I think that most of us see death as a time for great loss and sorrow but that remembrance of these losses can also bring some joy and clarity to our own lives.
So, what’s a Welch Rarebit? I remember hearing about an elementary principal who no longer spent his time on appraisal training, supervising the teachers, the boatload of paperwork and other demands from the teachers and students. His wife left him and his best friend — his dog, died. He decided that he could no longer put up with all the stress so he went to a hardware store and bought a gun, a long rope, and some poison. He found a tree on a high point by the river and tied the rope to a limb. He put the rope around his neck, swallowed the poison, put the gun to his head — and jumped into the river. The sudden movement of his jump jerked the gun up shooting the rope into. As he fell in the river, the cold water caused him to throw up the poison — and he had to swim like the devil to keep from drowning.
So, there you have it. A Welch Rarebit is just some of the absurd bits of life mixed in with something funny. Well, at least for me…
Some of my favorite life poems:
Life, Sara Teasdale
When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the Faultiness of things,
And learned that compromises wait
Behind each hardly opened gate,
When I can look life in the eyes,
Grown calm and very coldly wise,
Life will have given me the Truth
And taken in exchange my youth
If I Had My Life to Live Over Again, Brother Jeremiah
If I had my life to live again, I’d try to make more mistakes next time.
I would relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I know of very few things i would take seriously. I would take more trips.
I would climb more mountains, I would swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets.
I would do more walking and looking. I would eat more ice cream and less beans.
I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones.
You see, I am one of those people who lives prophylactically, and sensibly, and sanely, hour after hour, day after day.
Oh, I’ve had my moments, and If I had it to do over again, I’d have more of them.
In fact, I’d try to have nothing else.
Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead each day.
I have been one of those people who never go anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle, a raincoat, aspirin, and a parachute.
If I had it to do over again, I would go places, do things, and travel lighter than I have.
If I had my life to live over, I would start barefooted earlier in the Spring and stay that way later in the Fall.
I would play more. I would ride on more merry-go-rounds.
I’d pick more daisies.
I’m Fine Thank You, Constance O’Neon
There’s nothing the matter with me
I’m just as healthy as I can be!
I have arthritis in both knees
And I talk with a Wheeze,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in!
I think my stomach is out of whack
And there’s a terrible pain in my back.
My hearing is poor, my sight is dim,
Most everything seems to be our of trim.
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in!
I have arch supports for both my feet
So I can go walking out on the street,
Sleepless I toss night after night
And in the morning I’m just a sight,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in!
My memory is failing, my head’s in a spin
But I always say “I’m fine” with a grin,
The moral is as old as the tale we unfold
For you and me who are growing old,
It’s better to say “I’m fine” with a grin
Than to let friends know the awful shape we are in!
Compensations of age, diary of a modern pilgrim, Browning Ware
Golfer Lee Trevino said, “The Older I get, the better I used to be”
How true,
How true, that is, to many instances.
But not in all cases.
For Instance:
As my body has become less active, my mind has become more Proficient.
As my mobility has decreased, my spirit has become more expansive.
Yes, I am better now in many ways than I used to be.
I am more tolerant.
I am more generous.
I am more grateful.
I do not know that I am wiser but I am less presumptuous. And I need less “things” than I once believed to be necessities. Natural things delight me, while manufactured items hold less appeal. I like a pot of beans on the stove,
Coffee on the front porch, first light in the morning and less light at night, hugs, handshakes and knowing glances.
Hearing that I did a good job remains pleasant, but not essential. I know if my effort was commensurate to my ability. Telling me does not make me better, lack of comment does not diminish what has been offered.
The passing years have changed my physique considerably, they have rearranged my priorities even more. Once I thought that life could not go on when the Cowboys lost or I didn’t get to go hunting or play golf or have a new suit or………
No doubt that would like some of that earlier raw energy, but all in all, life’s compensations see not only fair but generous.
The Rev Dr. Ware is pastor of The Fist Baptist Church
When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple, Jenny Joseph
With a red hat, which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say “we’ve no money for butter”
I shall sit down sit down on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth=.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And Hoard pens and pencils and
beer mats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry, And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set good examples for the children
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
but maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So People who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Overprotective Friends and Children, Author Unknown
My children are coming today. They mean well. But they worry.
They think that I should have a railing in the hall. A telephone in the kitchen. They want someone to come in when I take a bath.
They really don’t like my living alone.
Help me to grateful for their concern. And help them to understand that I have to do what I can as long as I can.
They’re right when they say there are risks. I might fall.
But there is no challenge, no possibility of triumph. no real aliveness without risk
When they were young and climbed trees and rode bicycles and went way to camp, I was terrified.
But I let them go.
Because to hold them would have hurt them,
Now our roles are reversed. Help them see.
Keep me from being grim or stubborn about it. But don’t let them smother me.
Seventeenth Century Nun’s Prayer
Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will some day be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of other’s pains, but help me to endure them with patience. I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cock sureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint-some of them are so hard to live with-but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.
Amen.
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