Sweetheart and Katie

 

These are 2 horses from Dr. J. Smith Thomas stable - that are buried in the southwest corner of Crescent Heights Cemetery in Pleasant Hill, IL in what is known as the Thomas Addition lies a little bit of unusual history. 

 

A one-of-a-kind marker, with faintly readable script that reads "Sweetheart" and "Katie." Altho it is not known when they died or how, Thomas purchased the memorial in November of 1905, although he owned several horses Sweetheart and Katie were his favorites. Story has it they never missed a house call with the doctor.

Crescent Heights Cemetery, Pleasant, IL

From The Pike Press April 21, 1993 - These are 2 horses from J. Smith Thomas stable - that are buried in the southwest corner of Crescent Heights Cemetery in Pleasant Hill in what is known as the Thomas Addition lies a little bit of unusual history. 

 

A one-of-a-kind marker, with faintly readable script that reads "Sweetheart" and "Katie". Although it is not known when they died or how, Thomas purchased the memorial in November of 1905, although he owned several horses Sweetheart and Katie were his favorites. Story has it they never missed a house call with the doctor.

Grandma said that these horses had the routes memorized. If Dr. Thomas fell asleep after a late night house visit, they took him home.

 

A doctor in a small rural county is a gift.  Not every town had a doctor, or even access to one.

Questions we all ask

 

There are many timeless questions that each person asks of himself:

Who am I?

Why am I here?

 

Who is God?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

 

How was the world created?

What happened to the dinosaurs?

 

What I do if there is a catastrophic event?

Why does money exist?

 

Who really is in charge of this?

Obviously this list could get pretty long.  I once considered these questions vital and important.  Once I turned my life over to God, the big questions became small and unimportant. God had it all covered.

However, I am concerned about other things, and have created a new list:

Where did I park the car?

By the way, where are the car keys?

 

Did I close the garage door?

 

What is the expiration date on _____?

 

What is that person’s name—the one approaching me with a big smile?

 

Where is the next exit off the freeway?

 

Where is the closest bathroom?

I mean it, where is the closest bathroom?

 

What is the price of this___?  The print is too small.

These are pretty basic questions, I’ll give you that.

But, they matter to me.

 

I suspect there are many readers who could add to this list.

Any other questions you would suggest?

 

This is a repost from 2011.  Sometimes when I look back at some old posts, I have two thoughts: Dang! That's pretty good and What was I thinking? Do you ever do that?

Spirits in the Mist

 

Magical places truly exist, for I have seen them.
  

My children and I had explored forests in Ireland where ancient trees reached must have been a thousand feet up to the sky.   Rain fell as mists through thick branches upon uplifted faces and open mouths, children catching raindrops.  Fallen leaves renewed the earth beneath, turning into damp forest floors, churned about by my children's feet. 

Scents from long ago filtered up and around trees as if from between the worlds.

Light dappled through breaks where branches opened then closed, then it danced to another hidden patch of ground.  Light then dark.  Dark then light.  My children chased to hop on light circles as each appeared, "Mine!..No, mine!..."

Johnny discovered a flat stone table resting on three ragged granite stones.  He claimed this table with its stones and laid leaves and sticks upon it.  Mary and Erin danced around and around it, laughing and singing. Tossing leaves up into fresh air, they sang the Happy Birthday and Alphabet Songs.

As for me, a flat stone table had been kept steady with three jagged stone table legs hidden within ancient trees in a cleared round space, held bygone and mystic secrets. 

 

People whose feet pressed into the ground have faded away, leaving only stones from which blood had poured from a still body.  Hidden words through long dead lips whispered and swayed through the branches, and then disappeared in the mist.

 

Ocean Born Mary

 

My children raced away down an old path, calling each other names.  Me?

I wrapped my wool jacket close to my body, shivering and cold.  I did not race away, but I hurried with eyes on my feet, not turning my head to see the stones or hazy shapes manifest and then merge with shadows.