Let Me Tell You a Story… a Memoir

By Patricia Jones Thurmond

Celebrate the commonalities of the human spirit in Let Me Tell You a Story A Memoir.
In this collection, youll see yourself, your family, and friends.
Delight in the Aha! moments found in these tender, amusing, and poignant stories.
Read about touching, universal experiences, and share them across generational lines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Sep 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781489705112

Patricia Jones Thurmond

A retired educator, Patricia J. Thurmond has a BA from Loyola University and an MA from Northeastern Illinois University in Chicago, Illinois. She was published in the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and a member of the Mystery Writers of America. Her published story appeared in several textbooks, emphasizing plot and conflict development. She has written Internet articles for Lutheran Hour Ministries on learning techniques and parenting skills. Drawing on her love of the arts, Ms. Thurmond is also a skilled spoken-word artist and storyteller. Born and raised in Chicago, Ms. Thurmond lives in Southern California. She loves to travel, and Paris and Aruba are her favorite destinations. She considers her two daughters to be her best creative works.

Book preview

Let Me Tell You a Story …

A Memoir

Patricia Jones Thurmond

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Copyright © 2015 Patricia Jones Thurmond.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

LifeRich Publishing is a registered trademark of The Reader’s Digest Association, Inc.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-0510-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0511-2 (e)

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 09/16/2015

Contents

Acknowledgments

Just Family

Gratitude

That Night

Patty Jo’s Christmas

A Fall into Grace

Two Grandmothers

Bumma’s Bracelet

Granddaddy on Guard

Just Kids

Papa’s Shears

Hide-and-Seek

Bike Lesson, Life Lesson

Just Billy and Me

When the Baby Was Born

Water Wagers

Uncle Don

Just Friends

The Loveliest Lily

Bonds

Synchronicity

Just School Days

Tales out of School

February 2009

ABCs and XYZs

Summer Scherzo

Convergence

Just Because

Reflection

Jimmy

One of These Days

In Pursuit of Curves

A Good Idea

If Cornered, Scream

To…

My brother Billy who came after me but left before me and Charles our little brother.

Family.

Those who have enriched my life with their lovingkindness. You know who you are. The initials of your first and last names are noted below.

- A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z -

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to my firstborn, Ann-Michelle, for the support of her computer skills.

To my last born, Gabrielle Genette, for the support of her presence.

To Fran, mentor extraordinaire.

And to my teacher, Barbara H. Clark, an inspired storyteller.

Just Family

Gratitude

M y brother Billy and I relished and savored the Thanksgiving holiday. We looked forward to it because by November, the family dinners and celebrations such as New Year’s Day, Easter, Fourth of July, and Labor Day were distant memories to us. Also, the approach of Thanksgiving trumpeted the advent of Christmas, our absolutely favorite day of the year.

It was customary on holidays for our relatives to celebrate at our house. Remembering their names, our maternal grandparents John and Mayme Cowan, called by us Granddaddy and Bumma, and paternal grandparents John and Etta Jones, Papa and Nana, were there. So were our uncles and aunts Ed and Gladys Franks, Jack and Doris Butler, and Charles and May Braxton. Cousins Rob and Laura Smith, Ben and Dorothy January, Louis Coggs, and his fiancée Alma Phillips graced our table, too.

With our nuclear family of four, we usually numbered about twenty people on Thanksgiving. Before and after dinner neighbors, their relatives and other friends popped in and out. Some of the women in our family brought a large or small version of their specialties. This was done in response to anticipated requests. Adults and children came to the door carrying cuisine. Once inside, the tasting and trading of bits and bites began. A neighbor boy explained to Mama, My mother sent these lemon bars and wants to know if she could please have some of Miss Bumma’s pound cake? Mrs. Evans traded an exotic salad for a third of a mincemeat pie Mama made. Nobody liked mincemeat pie but Mama; Billy and I, with a quiet ugh, were glad to see even a part of it go.

In today’s health-conscious society, the menus of yesterday almost seem embarrassing. The quantity and choices remind me of a contemporary Piccadilly in Atlanta or Clifton’s in Los Angeles. I may as well list the embarrassment of riches that describes our once-upon-a-time menu.

On the counter and tables were turkey, dressing, macaroni and cheese, gravy, collard greens, string beans, and rolls. There were salads, casseroles, frosted layer cake, pound cake, apple and sweet potato pies, peach cobbler, ice cream, and homemade whipped cream. We drank milk, coffee, tea, and eggnog, both plain and fancy. I am sure I have left off some long-ago favorites, but enough is enough!

At dinnertime, the blessing was said, and we dug in after each of us stated one thing we were grateful for during the year. After dinner, the women cleaned up while the men huddled to enjoy the football game broadcast from Soldier Field in downtown Chicago.

Daddy lit up a Camel cigarette, Granddaddy chomped on his cigar, and Papa tamped Prince Albert tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. Bets in jest and playful threats ran through the ballgame of male banter. Billy and I enjoyed the extra attention we received. We played Old Maid and Pick-Up Sticks and labored over a jigsaw puzzle with some of the kinfolk.

Finally, Thanksgiving ended as our guests went home. Having enjoyed themselves, everyone then looked forward to Christmas. Sitting on the couch, our parents contentedly chewed the fat about the events of the day. Sprawled on the floor, Billy and I sleepily added our comments to the familial discourse.

Years later, Mama and Daddy still chuckled over a crisis that happened early on the Thanksgiving when my brother and I were five and seven. In the oven—along with a twenty-five-pound turkey—was a rectangular Pyrex container of Mama’s magnificent dressing. I watched with Billy when it was time for it to come out of the oven. We looked forward to sampling a bit of it, and saw Mama gingerly slide the Pyrex off the oven shelf. Then the unthinkable happened! Mama’s pot holder slipped, and suddenly the container fell to the floor, shattering and scattering dressing everywhere.

Our Billy, usually