Today’s assembling at our church was somber and striking. I say “somber” because our dear friend, Miss Ruby, departed this life Friday afternoon. Her final battle with cancer was shockingly swift, and her entry into Paradise was a relief from pain and burdens.Miss Ruby was one half of the Hash twins, identical twin girls who celebrated their 71st birthday on this past October 3rd. Miss Ruby and her twin, Miss Edna, never married. They worked side by side for 35 years in the cafeteria at Holston Valley Hospital. They lived in the same modest little house for almost all of those years. They were fabulous knitters and crochet-ers, and were known for their considerable cooking skills and hospitality.
Miss Ruby had a sweet, childlike faith. She couldn’t tell you much about Calvin or Luther, and she wouldn’t have been able to describe the hypostatic union if you placed a pistol to her gray temple. But her love for her Savior was palpable and constant. Her works of service were many and notable. Her knowledge of the gospel was intimate and genuine. There was no play-acting to Miss Ruby. She was a living epistle to those who knew her. In the year and a half that we fellowshipped with her, we came to know her as a gentle, steady presence, utterly without pretense.
Both Miss Ruby and Miss Edna were keenly interested in our granddaughters, and every Sunday would ask us, “How’re them grandbabies doin’? How’s their mama and daddy a-doin’?” The fact that Ruthie and Rhiannon are twins made the Hash twins a part of our house and a part of our family in a very real way, and I think Miss Ruby knew this. I hope she knew how much we loved her, and we look forward to seeing her again on that great dawn over yonder.
We’ll be attending Miss Ruby’s funeral tonight. The burial will be tomorrow afternoon, and neither of us will be able to attend. We’re grateful that we’ll be able to pay our respects and join the rest of the congregation in mourning tonight. John will be preaching her funeral service. His sermon this morning was very powerful, and I was reminded again of the difference between (a) the all-too-common theological lecture masquerading as preaching and (b) true, Spirit-filled preaching. Real preaching is one of those things that, once heard, one never forgets…and one recognizes it instantly the next time one hears it. Today’s sermon was like that. The presence of God was so thick in the room, so palpable. It was like fire.
I went to the doctor on Thursday and had my first real physical in over 10 years. The doctor was a young, pleasant fellow, and we hit it off right away. I am less enthusiastic about his unsmiling staff, particularly the stone-faced Yankee nurse who triaged me. But I digress.
The upshot of my physical, in the doctor’s own words: “For your age, you are remarkably strong.”
Did you enjoy that as much as I did? Remarkably strong. Yes, yes. I like this doctor.
Anyway, he noted that my blood pressure is high, but also conceded that it might be a bit of “white coat syndrome” (which I suspect was the case). I am returning to his office tomorrow morning before work to be fitted with a special blood pressure monitor, which I will wear for 24 hours. This will help the doc determine whether or not my BP runs high consistently, or only during times of normal stress. I told the girls at my office that I plan to be very zen-like, very contemplative tomorrow. Even if a patient has a seizure right in front of me, I plan to say, “Ah, the path of life is full of flowers. Here now is a flower called ‘thrash around on the floor.’ I shall go to my desk and do breathing exercises now. Oh, and would someone help this dear lady, please? Make that a stat. Peace. Out.”
I also have to get a full panel of blood work done in two weeks. The doc gave me a lab order so I could have it done at my office instead of making an extra trip to his. The girls at work are salivating over the chance to possibly stick PeePaw with a needle. And after all I’ve done for them.
Since it was her day off, MeeMaw accompanied me to the doctor’s office. Afterward, we ate at the Lynn Garden Restaurant nearby, which we’d heard was a very good old-timey place. Well, it was. Very good country food at a great price. Nice, friendly atmosphere, too. And immaculately clean.
When we left the restaurant, we went and picked out some curtain rods for the family room. MeeMaw had curtains among her many schemes for the weekend.
So it was only natural that we would go on Saturday and find curtains. MeeMaw had already found some that she liked, and wanted to get my opinion before purchasing them. She had also wanted to visit a large flea market she’d learned of, a big one in Abingdon. Turns out that we found two flea markets there, and spent quite a bit of time browsing in them. Naturally, we found some books. We got seven or eight books for three dollars.
Then we went to eat at Perkins Restaurant – patty melts all around – and finally made it to the curtain place. Once we finalized MeeMaw’s selection, I took one set of curtains out of a package to make sure they were the right item. Then I tried to get the curtain back into the package. MeeMaw was watching in horror as I folded, stuffed, and crammed the fabric back into the impossibly small plastic zippered thingie. People were walking by. People were staring. So I said, in a very loud voice, “No one will ever know!” Only I said it in my faux Scots accent. So it came out in a banshee bellow, “Nae’un’ll ivurrrrrr nuuuuuuu!” Just once in my life, I’d like to be addressed by a security guard as “Sir,” without having to hear the added words, “We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
On the way home, we took the old Bristol Highway, which has the most eye-popping fall foliage you can imagine. We found a striking dilapidated old church along the road.
Situated across the road was a “newer” Methodist church, though this one was probably at least 75 years old. It had a set of horse steps out front. I remember seeing these in front of churches and public buildings when I was a boy down in the delta. They were put in place so that a lady might avoid mounting a horse from the ground (which, in skirts, is no mean feat). All she would have to do would be to ascend the steps to the platform. A gentleman would lead her mount alongside the steps, and she would merely have to swing up into the saddle.
The view of the little valley behind this church was very pleasant.
Also along the way were several tobacco barns. Many of the girls with whom I work had relatives who used to raise “backy,” as the locals call it. We found this one sitting near the road. See the long, tawny leaves hanging on racks, waiting for the final journey to cigarette, cigar, pipe, lip, or nostril?
And this one demanded attention, with its dramatic black boards and the hay drying in the left side and the tobacco curing in the right side. Did y’all know that almost all tobacco barns are painted black? This is a fine image of the ingathering of a man's labor.
As we arrived home, MeeMaw took these photos of the valley across from the cemetery. You’ll notice that most of the trees over on the Clinch Mountain ridge are getting bare.
And here is what Possum Cough looks like today, in full autumn splendor. A gray, cold Sunday. A gift from a good Father.
From our little cemetery, one can see this view:
Here’s one more photo of MeeMaw and her beloved equines.
Shorty the donkey was cutting up a fuss about something outside a little while ago. But now he’s gone silent as the clouds. And right now, sitting here in the cold, gray stillness of a Possum Cough Sunday afternoon, I can yet hear Miss Ruby’s clear voice, soaring above everyone else’s, as she sang and worshiped. Her life was a hymn, writ large in beauty.
