Still Celebrating

By Cynthia Shiver

Cynthia Shiver's life would appear to be an ordinary one. But this memoir exposes a rich life centered on finding magic in the mundane. Her collection of personal stories reveals lessons learned from a father returning to her in a dream; from a homeless man who gave everything with no expectation of return; from grieving strangers eating pie at a simple Kansas diner; from children, animals, and elders. Shiver's stories help us cope and believe in the goodness of people and our shared humanity. They are warm stories of healing and comfort on a chilly day. You will not want to rush through this book. You'll want to ponder its stories, again and again, for their lessons, their substance, and their compassion.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Parker House Publishing
• Release date: Sep 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201845100

Book preview

Still Celebrating

––––––––

Stories of Remembrance and Grace

––––––––

Cynthia Shiver

––––––––

Parker House Publishing

www.parkerhousebooks.com

Praise for Still Celebrating...

––––––––

"Shiver’s love of life and learning is reflected in her inspirational and, at times, heartbreaking collection of short stories. She shares snippets of her life as a child of the ’50s and ’60s, her career as a teacher, her thoughts about faith and animals, and ends with stories about what is ‘real’ in her heart. Still Celebrating weaves entertaining anecdotes along with her interpretations and feelings about each particular slice of time. Not shy about sharing tragedy and flaws, Shiver’s Still Celebrating is an ode to a life well lived and is well worth the read."

—Susan Womble, Retired Nationally Board-Certified Teacher and Florida Book Award Gold Medal recipient for Newt’s World

Each story is a treat—a sliver of Cynthia Shiver’s sweet, creative soul—blended from her life, dipped in understanding, wrapped in kindness, then served up on a hand-painted dish with Southern grace, humor, and charm.

—Rhett DeVane, author of Mama’s Comfort Food and Parade of Horribles

Retired teacher Cynthia Shiver knows the secret of every great teacher. She has remained a student, an observer, a witness, a pilgrim on the road of life. Where others brush past the day-to-day of hard work done with calloused hands; small, down-at-the-heel southern towns; neighbors and gardens and elegant china purchased one piece at a time, Shiver holds them up for you, the reader, to see as if for the first time. You will laugh and you will cry, and you will experience—thanks to her plain-spoken storytelling—the wonder available in every moment. In this pearl necklace of small stories, the ordinary becomes sacred, and life, even at its most mundane, a benediction.

—Author Adrian Fogelin

Dedication

––––––––

To Kole, Christian, Emma, Faith, Will, Julia, and our new wonder who will be born in November. You are my heart and hold the light of my future.

And to Mary-Kathryn, of course.

It is always dedicated to you.

Table of Contents

Miracles in My Life

Two-for-One Sale

What is Significant, Anyway?

The Power of a Word

Keep Running, Running Man

A Golden Patch of Memories

New Ways of Thinking about Life and Myself

Art Saved a Girl Like Me

Head in the Clouds

The Lesson

A Fine Dish

Ask Not

Lessons from Watching Oprah with Papa

More Sacred Lessons Along the Way

Gotta Come Clean

What She Didn’t Have

The Best Man I Never Met

No, Ma’am. Thank You for Listening.

ADHD and the Black Sports Bra

Animals I Have Loved

Willie the Wonder Dog

Sophie’s Ride

Things I Know in My Heart to Be True

My Shady Ladies

Come Fly with Me

The Beautiful Ones

Pretty

My Faithful Friend

One Life

About the Author

Pay attention to ordinary things. It’s the key to an extraordinary life.

—RUTH REICHL

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.  Those who do not believe in magic will never find it.

—ROALD DAHL

Miracles in My Life

––––––––

Never stop believing in HOPE,

because MIRACLES happen every day.

—UNKNOWN

Two-for-One Sale

––––––––

A good teacher cares about a child’s education.

A great teacher cares about the whole child.

— THE TEACHER NEXT DOOR

––––––––

When I was a child, books were luxuries. Most children my age and social strata had few or no books to call their own. I do remember my mother reading me stories out of a Rudyard Kipling book about how the camel got his hump and how the tiger got his stripes, but I have no idea where she got the books.

Every Friday, our classroom teacher led us in a straight line to the school library to check out one, and only one, book. That one book could transport me into foreign lands and make me a giant or a heroine when, really, I was neither of those.

The next week, our classroom teacher led us back to the library to return the book we’d borrowed. If we didn’t bring it back, we’d have to sit at a table while the other students picked out their next one. It was excruciating to watch the other kids leisurely peruse the shelves of adventure stories, biographies, and poetry books, all volumes of magic. It was especially painful for me because I was a scattered, dreamy child and often forgot my library book. The librarian, Miss Taylor, was strict on the rule though. So I sat a lot.

For whatever reason, though, Miss Taylor seemed to like me. When I forgot my library book—again—she would smile sadly and say, Sorry, Cindy. You’ll remember next time. She often patted my shoulder or rubbed my hand to make the devastation a little less painful.

I loved Miss Taylor! She was young, pretty, and smelled like honeysuckle. Her nails were always painted a bright pink. She wore colorful dresses that complemented her nails and perfectly coiffed hair. Her shoes were always black-patent pumps with tiny bows at the toes. She carried herself with dignity, with ramrod-straight posture. She was a picture, and I so wanted to please her.

We got thirty minutes of library time, which was no time at all for a child like me. When I remembered last week’s book, I’d gaze around that glorious library, run my fingers over the spines of the books, take a deep breath, and ponder which would be my treasure this week. After finally picking one, I’d prance up to Miss Taylor’s desk for her to stamp the return date in the back cover. She smiled at me and everything was wonderful until the next time.

A single book was our limit, but one time, Miss Taylor did a strange thing. As we all lined up to leave, she called me back to her desk. As the other students walked away, she smiled and gave me a second book. When I asked her why, she said, I’m just having a two-for-one sale this week. You are the lucky winner. Bring these two books back next week, and you might be the winner again. Then she winked at me.

You better believe I remembered my books the next week, and she made me the winner again. It kept happening week after week. Whenever I went to the library, I was a winner. She’d wink as she handed me the extra secret book, and she’d always say, I’m having a two-for-one sale. You are the winner. My goodness, what beautiful words!

I moved away from that school at the end of second grade. Miss Taylor was one of the last teachers I saw there. As I returned my last two books, she handed me a brown grocery bag-wrapped package. She smiled her beautiful smile and said, You don’t have to return these books. You’ve been a winner so often you’ve earned them. She winked at me. I’m having a two-for-one sale this week. Have a beautiful life. I never saw her again.

As an adult, I now have a book ministry for children. It thrills me to read to them and give them free books. Recently, I read for a small church in a neighboring county way back in the woods. Many of the poor children there had never had a book of their own. I looked at those little faces and felt real compassion. Who was I to be so blessed? I’d had a Miss Taylor in my life. I was lucky to have had that life-changing person speak blessings into my soul. It was appropriate to pay it forward.

Loudly, I announced, I’m having a two-for-one sale tonight. Instead of one book, everyone will be getting two because you are all winners. As I handed those children the books, I winked at each one. And I thought of that beloved librarian.

I’ve cherished the memory of Miss Taylor all my life. She made me—a poor, little scattered girl—feel special. She devised a kind way to focus my attention. I never, ever, in my entire school experience, found another teacher like her. I’ve always loved libraries and books, maybe because of how kind Miss Taylor was to me or maybe because she just seemed to see something different in me. I’ll never know. I’ll also never know if I was the only forgetful student she gave books to and made a winner. It doesn’t matter. She did it for me. That’s what counts. Bless you, Miss Taylor.

What is Significant, Anyway?

––––––––

It would be a terrible thing to work all your life and

then find out what you worked so hard for was insignificant.

—TIM TEBOW

––––––––

I’ve had people to smile smugly when I tell them I live in the second least-populated county in Florida. They seem to think I’m disadvantaged, disconnected, and deprived of the advantages that people from big cities have. They can’t quite believe it when I say I taught school here for thirty-five years. They look at me as if I’m in a Little House on the Prairie situation. When I tell them, I live nine miles away from our town on a farm, they think I’m from another century. I guess I must be.

I live a straightforward life. I’ve had the same friends and neighbors for the last fifty years. When I walk to my mailbox at the end of my road, men I’ve known for decades come riding by in pick-up trucks, hauling feed and seed to their farms. I know them by their vehicles. They always wave, and I do, too. If I stand by the road for a short while, going through my mail, I may acknowledge people four or five times. It’s rude not to wave hi. I had to learn that when I moved here many years ago. It’s uppity not to greet your neighbors.

People around here will come if I need them, give me space if I don’t. There have been times when I’ve desperately needed someone; they’ve instantly come. But the times I’ve needed space, they’ve graciously given it. I’ve done the same for them. It seems everyone has a turn at sadness and joy. You just notice it more if you live where there is a familiar name attached to it.

In this county where there is only one red light, children are the most prized commodity. People teach their children well. Parents teach hard work, integrity, faith, devotion to family roots, and unfailing good manners. It’s not uncommon to go to another community and hear, You know a kid from your town when they say, ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am’. No parent is a good parent who doesn’t teach that. That’s another rule I had to learn when I moved here.

Many good things come from teaching a long time in the second least-populated county in Florida. One is that a teacher gets to know their students extremely well. They also get to know the parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. A teacher can get to know an entire family unit, or lack thereof. When a student walks in the door, a teacher can take one look at their face or how they carry their body and know: That’s so-and-so’s son or daughter. After some years, the teacher can say, Oh yeah, I taught that kid’s mama or daddy in seventh or eighth grade.

Students of all ethnicities blend to make a whole. There’s no other public school in the county for a student to attend. They must sink or succeed together. Most succeed and go on to have great lives.

Teachers here sponsor classes from the seventh to the twelfth grade. When I say ‘sponsor,’ I mean help mold a group of students with all the elements that make them become a family. The sponsors get to be ‘parents’ to the class, there to sponsor dances, homecoming floats, suppers, class trips, the prom, and the graduation ceremony.

Another element of this school system is that teachers and their own children are part of everything with all the other students. It’s a Norman Rockwell painting feeling in this small town.

While I was teaching, I tried not to have favorites. It was an impossible task. A student who loved my subject or worked extra hard always