I got my first prescription eyeglasses when I was 15 years old.  I don’t remember the occasion for having my eyes tested. I wasn’t having double vision or headaches. And this was 1948, years before people were into “wellness” visits to health professionals. I was raised during WWII, when half the doctors were in the military forces. We didn’t call the doctor unless we were sick or had ominous symptoms.  Then he would drop by to check us out. But, I digress.

The eye, ear, nose and throat practitioner I visited found me to have astigmatism, which is an irregular curvature of the cornea. Also, some other malady with a long name that meant my depth perception wasn’t up to snuff. I might have trouble judging distance.  I didn’t think much about it at the time but it does explain a lot. As a kid, I could not hit a soft ball … or catch one unless it was lobbed to me so slowly I had time to think it over before trying to catch it.

NOTHING about sports came naturally to me. “She couldn’t hit a basketball with a tennis racquet,” was a comment that would apply. I might miss a volley ball coming right at me. And in other areas of my life, I often over-filled a glass of milk or wore bruises on my body from running into the edges of tables.

Of course, when I was a child, no one thought, “Bless her heart, she has no depth perception. Let’s make accommodations for her so she won’t be the last one chosen at recess.”  (For those of you who do not know what recess is, Google it.)

After the first week, the uniqueness of wearing glasses faded and I seldom put them on (I was a teenager, remember). But as I got older I wore them more often until I realized that although no correction in the lenses was visible to the naked eye, I could see better when I wore my specs.

I have to say that with the lenses my vision is corrected enough to improve my hand-eye coordination. I can thread a needle and insert a plug into an electrical socket. I can text a message if you’re not in a hurry. But I still can’t seem to swat a fly. My best bet is that the pesky insect will die of fright from WHAP that comes so close.

And now, 60+ years since that first pair of eyeglasses, I am completely sold on vision correction. I have bifocals for reading, tri-focals for the computer, sunglasses to keep out the glare and even older bent-up frames for watching TV in bed. And when I step off a curb that turns out to be higher than I thought, I have a ready excuse. It’s not that I’m getting older. I just have a little problem with depth perception.

This week, October 7-13, is National Newspaper Week, and I support that. I take three newspapers (one online) and read them all. About the online subscription: I really prefer having the newspaper spread out on the dining table, a cup of coffee nearby. But The Beebe News is a weekly publication and by the time I get it through the mail, it ‘s a day or two old.  If you think it strange, my concern about getting the weekly news a day late, just never you mind.

I was married to a newspaper man for twenty years and this is one of my favorite stories:

In the early 50s, my husband Doyle May, worked for the Durant Daily Democrat. Durant, Oklahoma, lies just ten miles across the Red River from Texas. Texas had a three-day waiting period on marriage licenses and Oklahoma didn’t. Both had mandatory blood tests. Thus Durant, the first town across the state line with a clinic that would put the lab work on a fast track, became Elopement City.  In the time it took to see a double feature, a couple could drive to Durant, visit the clinic, find a minister or judge to pronounce them husband and wife and be back home before their parents had a clue. Even if the minister’s church required the obligatory counsel on the sanctity of marriage, not much time  (or thought) was involved in the venture.

One day in 1953, just before my husband left the office for lunch, a call came from someone in the courthouse. Jose Ferrer and Rosemary Clooney were there buying a marriage license. Jose Ferrer was an extremely talented actor of movies and stage, the first Hispanic actor to win an Oscar (for Cyrano de Bergerac). He was at the time appearing at the Dallas Summer Musicals in Kiss Me Kate. Rosemary Clooney (George’s aunt) was one of the most popular singers of the day. (The next year she would star in White Christmas with Bing Crosby, making herself immortal as far as Cable TV is concerned.) The couple had been dating for several months and all the “movie magazines” had the world wondering when they would tie the knot.  She had flown from California to visit him in Dallas and they decided that driving to a little town in Oklahoma would be a low profile way to make it official.

Doyle grabbed a camera and took off. He got there just as they were leaving the license office. Standing on the court house steps, Mr. Ferrer said to him, “Please don’t take our picture.” Doyle raised the camera (which was about the size of a shoe box) and took a shot.  He had no idea if it was good until he got back to the Democrat and spent some time in the dark room.  The picture was great, and a 21-year-old reporter from a newspaper with circulation of probably less than 2,000, scooped Hollywood.

Last week I did something I haven’t done in 12 years – help with Vacation Bible School.  VBS is something I did every summer for 30 years or more. But in 2000, I moved to Arkansas and a new church home. Since then I’ve been flying under the radar so to speak, lay speaking and teaching adult classes rather than working with children.

While I’ve been away, VBS has moved to a rotation format and evening hours, enabling more women and men with day jobs to help out. So, this year after about the third call for helpers, I decided this was something I should do. I volunteered for crowd control. Of course, the way things happen, I ended up responsible for a class of 11 five-year-olds. As “unit leader” I traveled with them through the rotation of classes and activities: Bible story, crafts, games and snack time. I encouraged them to behave appropriately during opening and closing exercises.

It was fun. I liked the kids and I think they liked me. (I got a big hug this morning.)  They were sharp – able to remember the Bible verses from the night before, if not the exact words then at least the “big idea.” With one run-through they could pick up the motions to the songs we learned. When I complimented them on how well they remembered, one little girl told me, “When people get real old they forget things a lot.”

‘Out of the mouths of babes . . .’

Many people say theirs was the best mother ever, but mine really was. Or at least the best mother I could have had to enable me to be who I am. For all of the opportunities and accomplishments that have been mine since she died in 1985, I can imagine her support and blessing.

Anna Mae Long lost her parents while still in her teens. Because of this, she married her one true love earlier than planned. She wanted children right away but God in His wisdom let her mature a couple of more years before the babies started coming: three during the Great Depression, two during pre-World War II unrest and a baby boomer after the war was over.

As a homemaker — full-time-stay-at-home-mom, she exhibited her skills for organizing, managing money, for making do and for making everything stretch a little farther. Later,when there were no longer children at home, she used these skills as President of the Woman’s Society of Christian Service of the North Texas Conference, leading women in the missionary efforts of the Methodist Church.

My mother loved the finer things: poetry, literature and music. She had excellent grammar and taught her children to use it correctly. I’m sure we learned mostly by hearing it spoken.

I’m sorry she didn’t have time to write more. I’m sorry she didn’t keep a journal. We had long conversations over the years but I still think of questions I wish I had asked her.

She loved her family. Sometime in the late 1940s she wrote the following poem.

Those are MY Children

Those are my children pictured there … Four precious girls with ribboned hair,

Two darling boys in starched shirts and ties, Six dear angels in disguise.

Six million dollars they represent! Each one to me the Lord has lent

To keep awhile. And I must take care  To train them well while I have them here.

A mother’s pride in the things they do, Knows each day a joy anew.

The joys so far the cares out weigh, With added blessings to each day.

Yes, those are my children — blessings real, That fill our home with love and zeal;

A scattered sock, a book amiss, A tattered, a juicy kiss.

As Mom to six I have so much A loving smile, a caressing touch

I’d not trade places with a queen And have to miss one little thing!

Sometimes I scold, I will confess, But that does not mean I love them less;

Or that I’d want to be without The memory of one joyous shout.

I thank Thee, Lord, to have the right To bid them each a fond goodnight.

Guide me that my light may shine To link each of their lives with Thine.

Anna Long Alderson

This time of year I am in Thanksgiving/Advent/Christmas mode.

It’s one week until Thanksgiving Day and while I am finishing my Thanksgiving shopping and decorating my Thanksgiving tree and wrapping Thanksgiving presents and addressing Thanksgiving cards (read facetiously), my head is full of thoughts about Advent and Christmastide.

The observance of the Advent season began somewhere near the end of the fourth century. It was a period of 40 days leading up to Christmas and was a time of fasting and prayer. Now it lasts about four weeks and is intended to be a time of reflection and preparation for Christians. This year, the first Sunday in Advent is November 27, making it a season of 29 days until Christmas Day.

For the past 10 years I have edited an Advent devotional booklet for my home church, First United Methodist in Beebe. This means that throughout the Thanksgiving week I am collecting, writing, editing, formatting, copying and stapling.

Members and friends of Beebe FUMC write short devotionals to be included in the book. These can be either poetry or prose and often are Christmas memories or insights about a particular scripture. The writings are then assigned to a certain day, one reading for each day in Advent.

Though this is a busy time for me, I enjoy it and look forward to reading my friends’ thoughts about this blessed time of year.

You will hear more about this as the season progresses.