Fairy Tale Princess

Friday morning at 4 a.m. Eastern Time the television coverage of the newest “wedding of the century” starts. Prince William, unlike his father Prince Charles, will marry the woman he loves and presumably they will live happily ever after.

There is a lot of speculation about who designed Kate Middleton’s dress. I’m just hoping it isn’t the same husband and wife team, David and Elizabeth Emmanuel, who designed Diana’s cacophony of styles represented in her dress. Diana’s dress, apologies to my British friends, was a mess. I’ve looked at dozens of photographs of the dress, and it just looks to me like the designers couldn’t make up their minds what to do, so they did it all.

The dress Diana wore must have weighed twenty or thirty pounds. Twenty five yards of silk taffeta that wrinkled like tissue paper on the trip to the church, ten thousand hand embroidered pearls and mother-of-pearl sequins, one hundred yards of tulle netting and twenty five feet of train were put together in what was hoped to be a fairy tale princess confection. Trouble is the design of the dress never quite came together. Mutton chop sleeves that never made it to the wrist and a frilly neckline with a cute little bow in the middle are only two of the mismatched styles the designers employed. Can you imagine how exhausting it must have been to wear that dress for hours on end? I could go on, but I promised friends I wouldn’t totally trash the dress. After all, we Americans loved Diana as much as the British, maybe more.

Although Diana grew to develop a great sense of style, she didn’t start out that way. Kate Middleton, on the other hand, has style and grace that comes naturally it seems. I hear the Royal family is calling the media together to ask that she be called Catherine, not Kate. Good luck with that. As bad as the American press and paparazzi are, the British seem to be worse. I don’t think “Kate” is going to go away anytime soon. I rather like it myself. Makes her more approachable, more lovable.

Do you know the British get a national holiday because Prince William is getting married? He’s not even the next in line to the throne. If I remember correctly, they not only get Friday, the day of the wedding, but the following Monday as well! I guess that’s for all those well wishers who didn’t get invited to the church, so they can celebrate the marriage of the future king and queen of England for days on end. It’s about time some new blood was introduced into the Royal lineage. I’d celebrate that too.

I’m hoping for the fairy tale ending for William and Catherine. It’ll restore my belief in happy endings.

Crystal

April 22 marks the 50th anniversary of the passing of a friend of mine, Crystal Hawker. Our mothers were friends, and consequently we became friends, playing at each other’s house, doing things little girls do. Crystal was ten years old at the time of her death and I months behind her at age nine. Nine year olds don’t have a real strong grasp of death, at least not back then. There weren’t any grief counselors brought in to help us understand and cope. In fact, it was almost as if she never existed; nobody spoke of what happened that caused her death, only that she had been sick. And nobody spoke of what became of Crystal after she died. She went to some mysterious place called Heaven, which was really kind of scary, because while we knew Heaven was supposed to be a good place, none of us wanted to go there and leave our families like Crystal did.

It has been fifty years since she left her dolls and hair ribbons behind and in all that time I never knew how she actually died. Until now. There are two accounts of her lost battle for life, one in The Ripley Review and one in The Westfield Republican. In honor and remembrance of Crystal, I will take a little literary license and combine the stories here.

“Crystal Jean Hawker Ten Years Old Dies After Brief Illness

“Little Crystal Jean Hawker, 10 year-old daughter of Harry and Jean (Pratt) Hawker, of 23 Maple Ave., Ripley, left her fifth grade class at the Ripley Central School only a few weeks ago. She will not be returning to her classroom where she was a bright little student and who loved her school work and was loved by her classmates. Crystal, one of five children of Mr. and Mrs. Hawker, died at 12:30 a.m. on Saturday morning at the Westfield Memorial Hospital after a last minute unsuccessful attempt to prolong her life was made when she was placed at 7 p.m. in the Iron Lung of the Westfield Emergency Corps of the Fire Department.

“Crystal, a pretty little girl with golden hair and a sweet smile, who had been a leading student in the fifth grade class at Ripley Central School, had been ill for about two weeks before she died. At first it was thought that she had pneumonia complicated by pleurisy. Some symptoms indicated polio but the cause of death, according to Dr. R.R. Northrup, was a deep seated rare infection which caused blood clots and the eventual brain hemorrhage which was pronounced as the cause of death.

“Adding to her parents grief was the fact that Friday afternoon Crystal rallied, seemed to be on the road to recovery and was able to sit up without use of the oxygen tent in which she had been placed for most of the hours she was in the hospital.

“Gay and eager to open the cards sent her by many friends, the little girl’s happy state brought her parents their first relief from anguish which they had lived through for several days. Then, suddenly, about 3 p.m. she complained of a headache, seemed to tire and fell asleep. She was placed back in the oxygen tent. Her decline was rapid and at 7 o’clock the iron lung was called for as a last measure to prolong her life.”

Crystal left behind her parents, a sister and three brothers, grandparents and countless cousins and friends. As children we were left to grieve and wonder why. Years later, when I had moved away, every time I came home to visit I would make a trip to Quincy Cemetery to stand at the stone angel that marks her grave, and remember a friend gone too soon. Never having said good bye to Crystal, I will say now, until we meet again my friend.

Alice Has Gone Home

My great aunt Alice has gone home. At two months short of one hundred and one years on this earth, she has at last gone to be with her friends and family. Although I never had the opportunity to get to know Alice Kearns well, I knew enough about her to know she was an extraordinary lady, full of grace and love. I learned a lot of new things about her at her funeral celebration; and it truly was a celebration. There were tears, how could there not be, but there were just as many smiles and laughter.

Rev. David Wickins of the Clymer United Methodist Church gave the eulogy for Alice, and it was the most lovely, personal tribute I’ve ever heard. Rev. Wickins spoke from the heart and from experience and he made the service a celebration of Alice’s life, with references to all the aspects of her long stay on this earth. I want to share with you a few stories that were told about Alice Kearns, and my apologies in advance for any information I have “misremembered” or gotten wrong.

Alice met her future husband on the basketball court. The story went something like this: Alice played basketball (that in itself amazes me since she was a very petite little woman) and the referee for the games kept calling fouls on her when she knew she hadn’t fouled. Turns out Albert “Bub” Kearns just wanted her to notice him; and he figured the easiest was to foul her out repeatedly until she got mad and confronted him. I guess it worked for they got married in 1928. Forty eight years later, in 1976, her beloved Bub passed.

Aunt Alice grew up on a farm in Sherman and was no stranger to hard work. Although I missed the details, one of the woman at the funeral stood up and told the story about how there was a child who’d gotten her boot stuck in the mud and couldn’t get it out. Another youngster ran for help and when Alice and a couple younger women heard the yelling, they set off at a run to rescue the “stick in the mud.” Upon coming to a fence, the two other women tried to climb over, but Alice, not young anymore at that time, simply lay down on the ground and rolled under it. I’m not sure that’s exactly how the story went, it was hard to hear, but that’s as close as I can come.

In her almost one hundred and one years, Alice thought the greatest invention of the century was the electric toaster. However, Alice’s toast had to be made to her exact specifications. The toast must go into the toaster the night before and then sit there overnight. She knew when it hadn’t been done properly and evidently the nursing home where she lived the last two weeks of her life just couldn’t get it right.

Although not the youngest of the family of eight children of Hercules and May Coxen Near, Alice May was the last of her generation to pass away. She was always busy with her knitting or canning, right up to the end of her long and fulfilling life. She embraced each new day, looking forward to what it might bring. She didn’t want to be the center of attention, and would probably scoff at this tribute to her. Her legacy is one of love and caring, and I can only hope, should I be blessed to live so long in such good health, that I can be remembered with such fond memories as those she has left behind. Not goodbye Aunt Alice, but until we meet again.

I apologize for the previous blog entry running together. I've reformatted it twice and each time I post all the paragraphs are omitted. C'est la vie.

WWJD What would Jesus do? Remember that catch phrase from awhile back? What would Jesus do in today’s world? He taught love and forgiveness; he taught turn the other cheek and do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I’m pretty sure he would not espouse violence and retaliation. But I’ve been wrong before. Politics and religion are two topics that are off-limits to most polite conversations. Discussing either can have lasting repercussions. But I’ve got to tell you, I am incensed beyond reason by the recent burning of the Koran by Dove World Outreach Center pastor Terry Jones. Once before Pastor Jones announced his plans to have a Koran burning, but the American government convinced him that to do so would jeopardize American lives overseas. But now he has done as he threatened and indeed, American lives were lost in protests in Afghanistan. Jones deliberately and with malice acted to incite violence in the Muslim world to justify his own hatred of Muslims. In an interview Jones said he was “devastated” by the killings but did not feel responsible for them. Really? Knowing there is a radical branch of Islam who hates Americans on general principle, he did not think his action would bring about more hatred? What would his reaction be if Muslims were burning Bibles? He now wants the United States and the United Nations to “stand up to the terrorists” and punish them for reacting to his sacrilege against their Koran. The Koran is the holy book of Islam. Muslims revere it, just as we revere the Bible. Luke Jones, 29 year old son of Terry Jones, said, “We’ve not studied the Koran, but we still have an opinion. We’re actually not educated.” Jones senior even goes so far as to state he would not consider himself an expert on the Bible. Since when does not being an expert mean you don’t understand the basic precepts of Jesus’ teachings? Thou shalt not kill. Love thy neighbor as thyself. The religion of Islam does not teach violence. It does not teach hatred. It does not teach annihilation of other religions. Islam is one of the three great religions that trace their common roots to Abraham, along with Judaism and Christianity. Muslim extremists have used their religion to justify their hatred of Christians; much like Christians during the Crusades used their beliefs to wipe out entire populations of Muslims. The culture of hate and violence that is being perpetuated sickens me. We don’t believe just what the Muslims believe, and they don’t believe as we do; so what? They cling as firmly to their religion and we do ours. Religion is a cultural and personal decision. The founding of the new world was based on the freedom to believe as we choose – for each to choose their own beliefs. I’m tired of every Muslim being lumped together as a terrorist. I’m tired of Christians of any denomination being viewed as radicals to other religions. How can we profess to believe in a God of love and forgiveness and yet call for the destruction of another religion? How can we believe in a God of mercy and yet condone the violence of one belief against another? Before anybody goes ballistic, I am not condoning terrorism, from ANY religious group. I am not saying there aren’t violent Muslims in the world. Of course there are, just as there are radical violent Christians in the world. I’m just saying, live and let live. It is not up to us to judge our fellow man; at least not according to what I read in the Bible. That’s God’s job.