My Beall and Alexander Family

From Left: Barry Beall, a young boy, his mother Helen Alexander Beall, her father Roy Alexander, his son Harold Alexander holding his son Rodney Alexander. Front row: Inez, Harold's wife and Myrtice Walker Alexander, wife of Roy.

Barry Beall and Glenda Beall on back row
Paige Beall and her grandmother, Helen Alexander Beall

The photo was taken at the Alexander Reunion in Roopville, GA where Alexanders met each year at the home of Jimmie Lou Alexander Huff on a farm that had been in the Alexander family for decades. Barry's mother, Helen, was such a lovely lady. She was a supermom before the word was invented. She went to college in LaGrange, Georgia. She opened, with a friend, Helen Anne Dress Shop in Rockmart, GA, and worked there everyday while rearing two sons. She was active in her community and in her church. Helen loved her yard, she did her own maintenance right up into her eighties. She learned to water ski in her fifties and I, at 24 was so impressed by this woman who would become my mother-in-law. She adored her sons and her grandchildren and I think she loved me. I never went to see her that she didn't have something for me from her store. I was blessed with the best in Helen Beall.

Barry's father Hugh Beall was orphaned as a child and had only one sister, Mildred. They were separated and brought up by relatives. Barry was predeceased by his only brother, Richard, who was killed in a car accident. Richard is the father of Jon and Paige in the pictures on this page.

Aunt Jimmie Lou Alexander Huff and Barry Beall

 I was amazed when I first met Aunt Jimmie Lou Huff. I could hardly believe she was seventy-two years old at the time as she scampered back and forth from the porch outside to the kitchen, dressed in white shorts and spanking clean Keds. I commented to my husband, “Does she ever just walk?”

            He laughed. “Aunt Jimmie Lou never slows down.  She has more energy than anybody I know.”

            The photo of Barry with Aunt Jimmie Lou was taken the last time we saw her. She died at the age of 102.

2008, soon after Barry was diagnosed with Lymphoma, Jon Beall and his family came to visit.  Back row: Tammy and Jon Beall   Second Row: Kathlyn and Bryant Beall surround Barry in the chair on our deck.

Although I was intimidated by my mother-in-law, she was a kind and loving person who never intentionally made me feel inadequate. As a young, new wife, I had no confidence in myself and felt she must think I was not going to make Barry a good wife. But she and Hugh made me feel at  home when we went to visit. In later years she visited our home for holidays, and I had learned to cook by then. She seemed happy with me as a daughter-in-law. I miss her and my Beall family. I don't see them as much as I did but think of them often and have great memories of our times together. 

Bison, Elk and Any Wild Animal is dangerous if Humans get too Close

Travelers who go out west in the fall should be very careful. Elk are in mating season and the bull elk can be dangerous to people who come too close to him.

Years ago we went on vacation in the Canadian Rockies. What a wonderful trip! Barry had his camera ready at all times and captured so many photos of wildlife.

In Jasper BC, elk wondered around on the lawn of the town courthouse and into yards, along the streets and roads. We were warned that it was dangerous to approach an elk at that particular time of the year.

We were told that only a few weeks earlier a tourist and his children were walking about the town when they saw an elk nearby. The father sent his little girl up to the elk to stand beside him while her picture was taken. Suddenly, the bull elk turned on the child and attacked her. She was killed before anyone could help her. That was all it took for us to keep our distance from elk and most of the wild animals we saw.

After a day of sight-seeing and photo-taking, we settled into a cabin we had rented earlier. Once inside, Barry and my brother-in-law grabbed beers and we decided to go outside and sit in the evening cool. But, when the door was opened, we jumped back inside. The bull elk was making himself at home right in front of our door. He grazed a bit and then laid down not five feet from the door to our cabin.

He had us trapped! Several times Stu or Barry opened the door and tried to shoo him away. But he was not going anywhere. He threw his big head up and headed right for our door as if to tell us so.

We didn't know what we were going to do. There was no phone in the cabin and this was before we all carried cell phones. Darkness began to fall. We could see the office lights across the way. How were we going to get anything to eat? We could not get to our car. Frustrated, we knew we just had to wait until the big creature decided to leave. We hoped he would not spend the night in our yard.

We did not know who called and got us help, but from nowhere a truck pulled up and a man in a ranger uniform got out.

"How is this one man going to chase off the bull elk?" I asked. But suddenly I had my answer.

First, the ranger pulled out a hand gun and shot it into the air. The elk was on his feet by now, but not going anywhere. From the back of the pickup truck, the ranger pulled a hockey stick with plastic streamers hanging off it. Lots of streamers in all colors. He held that hockey stick high in front of him and began to walk forward and shake it at the elk.

That did it. You would have thought a monster had appeared. The big bull elk  took off like he was running a race and disappeared into the woods.

We scrambled out of the cabin asking questions of the ranger. "Why did he run from you?" "How did you do that?" "What is that thing?" That was when he explained about the hockey stick and streamers.

"They are afraid of anything taller than they are," he said. "So I hold the hockey stick way up in front of me. He thinks I am bigger than he is, and he takes off."

What a laugh we had, but we were very grateful for the ranger who told us the folks at the office had called him. They saw that we were trapped. Throughout our days in the Canadian Rockies we saw elk everywhere, but we did not get up close and personal with any of them.

Just as the bison in Yellowstone have hurt people recently, any wild animal can hurt you. How many people have been harmed by deer that seem so docile and gentle, or bear that, if left alone, would go on about her business, but if she feels her cubs are in danger she will attack. Don't bother them and usually they won't bother you.

 Humans don't respect animals and their space. When we visited Yellowstone, I fell in love with the bison that seemed to own the roadways. What an interesting creature to watch. But so many tourists want that photo that shows how close they got to the wild beast, like it is a sign of bravery. But it is really a sign of stupidity, I think.

I'll share a poem I wrote about the Bison at Yellowstone.

 

 Autumn at Yellowstone

 

Is it the fire or maybe just September

that paints the park in shades of brown?

A herd of bold, shaggy bison crop

amber prairie grass waving below

gigantic silver Rocky peaks.

Do the small calves by their side face

certain death from winter’s blizzards?

 

I reach from my car window,

touch the sloughing coat of one

historic survivor marching like a tired soldier

down the highway’s center line.

In the distance hobbling on three legs,

no longer able to keep up ―

a potential dinner for wolves.

 

When Mourning Comes

This past week has been a sad one for me because I have heard bad news from several sources.

One of my dearest friends has been diagnosed with metastasized breast cancer, stage IV. She is elderly and has had two mastectomies. It breaks my heart. She was my "Guardian Angel" when Barry died. She was never too busy to talk with me, to counsel me about losing your mate, she had gone through it, and going on with your life. She has a delightful personality and finds humor even when things are tough. We used to go out for pizza often, and we always laughed. She is a good person, a great cook who shares her wonderful dishes with anyone who needs them. She has certainly fed me many times. If I took her food I cooked, it would be like taking coals to New Castle. 

The husband of another friend died quite suddenly after a diagnoses of lung cancer. He was not elderly. In fact he was running for sheriff in our county. He was a good man and well respected. I saw his wife, a former student of mine, just a couple of weeks ago, and she said his back had been hurting. She was getting him an appointment to see the doctor. I need to take his campaign sign from in front of my house. 

And the third loss was another friend and member of our writers' network. He went in the hospital for a valve replacement in his heart and was recovering from the surgery. But suddenly he suffered bleeding in his brain. A stroke. His daughter said it was due to his being given too much blood thinner. Mistakes happen, I know. But so many mistakes in hospitals take the lives of people we love. I try to avoid hospitals if I possibly can. I lost too many loved ones, including my dear husband, from mistakes by the medical world.

So, I am sorry if I can't write a cheery bright post today. You deserve better, but I have been too depressed to even get dressed to go out. 

My life has been filled with loss since 1975, losses I had to learn to deal with and had to accept and go on. That year my mother suffered a ruptured aneurysm on a carotid artery, lost her short term memory and was never the same. My sisters' husband, a man I truly loved, died from a doctor's mistake.

Since that time I lost a brother to cancer, two brothers to heart attacks, my mother and my father have died. My oldest sister, June, died from heart problems, and my own beloved died from cancer. 

Each of these seven deaths slammed me to my knees, and I had to pull myself back up and go on. The recent deaths and illness I write about above seem harder because I don't have Barry to talk to, to share with him my feelings and to be comforted by him. 

The men who recently passed away were not that close to me so why do I feel such despair? I feel for their wives, their families because I know that pain of grief that seems to never end. I am more empathetic than most, I'm told, and I feel deeply others' pain. But my feelings for my friend with breast cancer is not only for her and her family, but for me. 

I am sharing a poem I wrote a few years ago. I went to the funeral of a man whose wife I knew. 

For Whom Do I Mourn?

I never met this man who owns

the casket covered in white flowers.

They say he was a craftsman,

hand-built chairs, rivaled scholars

with his logic, his understanding,

though he never finished high school.

.

He entertained his grandchildren,

made funny faces, loved a joke,

was a VIP at church and in his home.

Beside his grave, gray-haired soldiers

fold the flag. That haunting bugle tune

lays him to rest.

Why do my eyes moisten?

Why does my throat constrict?

I cry not for the old soldier,

but for my own, who lie beneath

their stones, under still and leafy oaks

above the pond.

Posts you might want to read:

https://writingthroughcancer.com/

https://profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com/search?q=Hospice+Doctor

FLAG DAY - JUNE 14 -Special to me

This national holiday is also the day I  married Hugh Barry Beall from Rockmart, Georgia. As I have said before on this blog, we met on July 4, 1963. So these summer holidays have a special meaning for me.

Dressed in my going away  suit

Barry never forgot our anniversary and always brought me a card that he carefully hand-picked so it said what he wanted to say. In the early days of our marriage we made a big deal of  our anniversary, going out to dinner and pledging our love again. But as the years passed, our celebrations became simpler and quieter. However, he never forgot and always gave me that special card. I wish I could say I never forgot, but I had a couple of times I did. 

I used to tease him and say, "You have never written me a love letter. Why don't you write me a love letter?"

His answer was, "I don't write. You write. I don't write."

But he had little ways of showing  his love. When we were together, he never let me cross the  street without taking my hand, and he often held my hand while we walked on the street. When we were in a crowd, he always knew where I was.

Gay Council, Glenda Council Beall, Barry Beall, Richard Beall

Nobody in my  family ever publicly showed their affection for each other. That was just not done. Mother was a loving person and showed her love in various ways like cooking our favorite dessert for  our birthdays. And she was a hugger.

I never saw my brothers kiss their wives or show any special affection. But Barry was never ashamed to kiss me in front of my family. He came from an affectionate family where his mother and father were outwardly loving to their children, kissing their sons and hugging them. I was enthralled with that type of behavior. He did not shy away from the word LOVE which I never heard in our house when I was growing up. 

Of course, today I think it is bandied around so much and so often it has lost its meaning. I think it sounds fake when people use it all the time to everybody they know. Some people say "I love you" to friends as they drive away and then turn around and speak of them in a manner that says otherwise. Friends who enjoy being together and have fun together talk about loving each other, but I don't think it is the  kind of love that is deep and meaningful.

I  am not afraid to tell those close to me that I love them. And I have learned in my Third Act what love really means. I suppose that wisdom comes to us as we draw closer to the time when we might lose them or they might lose us. I am happy that I finally broke that unwritten rule in our home and I was able to tell my siblings that I loved them. 

Why is it hard to tell our siblings how much they mean to us? One of  my brothers called me and told me he had been diagnosed with cancer. His voice was shaking and I'm sure mine was, too. Before he hung up, he said I love you and I said the same to him. What a huge step in sharing his emotions. He had bottled up his feelings most of his life. 

I'll never forget one of my  brothers kneeling beside my older sister just a short time before she died. He knew he might not see her again as  he lived many miles away. He poured out his heart to her, telling her all she had  meant to him in his life and telling her he loved her.

I was in tears as I  knew that was a milestone in his life and hers. I just hope that anyone reading this  post will not procrastinate, putting off  speaking to someone they love. We never know when that person might be gone and we will not have the opportunity to see them again. 

Nothing is worth holding a grudge for life. When I hear of people who don't speak to  their sisters or brothers or parents, I know there is anger and hurt that won't be resolved until they talk. And both parties suffer. Even when I  knew one of them was in the wrong, I did not stop loving my brother. 

But I have strayed from writing about my anniversary. Today we would have been married 53 years. We didn't have that 50th big party, but on our 40th anniversary, my sweet sister and brother-in-law took us on a wonderful weekend where we stayed at the Opryland Hotel and were treated to two days of great fun with two of  our favorite people. 

Barry taught me so much about loving someone and showing that love in my everyday life. I'll always be grateful for that.

Barry's greatest act of  love for me was bringing me to the mountains in 1995. We had some wonderful years here.

Are you holding a grudge against a family member? Do you want to let it go?

June 14 – Flag Day and my wedding anniversary

I photographed the pictures in my wedding book and there is a glare on each one. 

June 14 is Flag Day in America. 

Barry and I were married June 14, fifty-one years ago, in the First Methodist Church in Albany, Georgia. I could not possibly forget my anniversary because flags are always flying on that day.

I remember being so nervous and anxious that I cried all morning. I could not quit crying no matter what. The more I cried the more I feared that I would be bawling my eyes out as I walked down the aisle.

Finally someone gave me a tranquilizer that calmed my jitters so I could go on with the wedding. I loved my wedding dress with the layers of lace and the mantilla over my hair. Mother and I found it in Moultrie, Georgia. On a school teacher’s salary, I had little money to spend and wondered if I would find a pretty dress, but the perfect dress was waiting for me and it had a very reasonable price tag.

My sister, Gay, was my maid of honor and Barry’s brother, Richard, was his best man. The day is still a blur to me. But once we were in the car and on our way to Gatlinburg, TN where we spent the most marvelous week, I was the happiest bride on earth.

Isn't my sister beautiful? She is helping put on the blue garter I wore. Every bride had a picture posed this way in the sixties. 

When I remember how young we were and how unprepared for marriage, the ups and downs we would face, the stresses of making ends meet on two small salaries, learning to live with someone who had habits different from mine, and getting to know the families we were now a part of, I am so grateful that my parents never interfered or tried to give us advice. We worked out our problems on our own. His parents seemed to be very happy for us, and my family had fallen for Barry early on. Why not? No one could resist him.

My sister, Gay, me, Barry and Richard Beall. Were we really that young? 

To me marriage was a commitment for life. “For better or for worse, till death do we part.” No matter how upset I became, I knew we could compromise and work things out. I never let the thought of divorce enter our conversations or enter my thoughts. 

Communication is the key to solving most disagreements, I believe. When two people love each other and want their marriage to work, if they can speak in rational terms, an agreement can be found. Each one must be willing to give 100 percent. 

Barry has been gone from me for six years, but his spirit is here all the time, in this house. Someone asked me if having his pictures around me didn’t make me sad. No, they bring me pleasure. They bring back wonderful memories. Making memories that live on when loved ones are gone is part of being human. If a photo brings tears to my eyes, that is Okay. To cry is to show the love we have for one who is gone. We can’t be afraid to feel love, to feel grief and pain. To live is to know joy and sorrow. 

In the picture above, we are dressed to leave the wedding reception at the church and start our new life together. What a life we had! If only that young girl had known what I know now, but she had to learn on her own that life will not always be as perfect as it was that day. She survived losses she thought she couldn't endure and difficulties of various kinds, but in surviving she grew stronger. She knew happiness she had never imagined she would experience. 

Today, June 14, is the anniversary of my wedding to Hugh Barry Beall from Rockmart, Georgia. We met on July 4 and married on Flag Day, June 14 at the First Methodist Church in Albany, GA.

Barry at 28 when we married. 

While I've been laid up with first one malady and then another the past month, I've used my time to go through old photos, slides, and albums. How young we were that summer day we met. We had no idea where life would take us but we only cared about one thing. We wanted to be together. Boy, did we have fun! He had the greatest sense of humor and could always make me laugh any time he wanted. When he sang to me and played his guitar, I could not believe that I, shy and self-conscious, was the one he had chosen. He was charming. He lit up a room when he entered and he had that quality right up until his death.

I was a brand new fourth grade teacher and he, recently discharged from the U.S. Army, worked as manager of the Luggage and Gift Store. I couldn't cook when we married but he never complained. When I ruined a meal, he said, “Let’s just have peanut butter sandwiches.”

He loved the mountains and so did I. He loved dogs and so did I. We both loved convertibles and each had new ones when we married. He taught me to ride motorcycles, and I taught him to ride horses.

Barry Beall

Looking back over the 45 years we shared, I realize what held us together through good and tough times was our commitment to our marriage and the fact that I didn't think I could live without him in my life. I never allowed the word divorce to enter our conversations, no matter how angry or upset we were with each other. I tried to support him in everything he did, and he was my biggest cheerleader.

At Halloween, Barry became Lonzo Carpe, the old man you see here. At parties no one recognized him. He stayed in character all evening. 

Our ambitions were not to make tons of money, but to enjoy our relationship, to take care of each other and to glean all of life’s greatest joy out of every day.  

When I make my gratitude list, I always find something about Barry to put on that list, and I don’t think I will ever run out of items.

Our first Christmas at our mountain house in 1995 with Kodi, our beloved Samoyd.