Sunday, September 5, 2010

What We Leave Behind

Hey, Y'all,
What we leave behind in the way of worldly goods when we pass on tells a whole lot about us. My Dubby was a collector. A lot of what he collected wouldn't mean very much to some of us, but it tells a lot about what kind of fellow he was. Dubby was a lover of peace and quiet, and he was introspective (he thought a lot). I once saw him crying when we were at an environmental workshop. He became embarrassed about it, and I felt empathy with him. Dub was born with Amblyopia (lazy eye) in his left eye, and was quite self-conscious about it. It was quite obvious when looking at him straight on. The class we were taking was doing a "tree-hugging" exercise and were supposed to tell then what we were thinking about while hugging the tree.

The tree he had his arms wrapped around had a lot of twisted limbs and dead bark on it. He began to share his feelings about how a lot of young people (he was a teacher) have handicaps that they have difficulty overcoming, and he became quite emotional. He was always empathetic to the children in advertisements that had deformed (cleft) palates, and other deformities or handicaps. He was a champion of the helpless.

Dubby was fascinated by anything in the miniature, probably because he was such a large person, and quite often felt like he was oversized. His arms were long and his elbows stuck out so that he felt clumsy. The fact that he had no vision in his left eye closed off vision to his left, so he was continually looking around to make sure that he was not stepping on anyone.

Looking through is collection of clippings, I found one that is from an old News-Sentinel newspaper and it is a column written by George W. Crane, Ph. D., M.D. and I would like to copy it here for your reading pleasure, and to indicate how he (Dub) thought about some things. He must have felt it was worth keeping for over thirty years (I figure that long from the yellowing and creases in the paper.)
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Tonic for Tense Folk Case H-472 (Dr. Crane was a psychologist)
W. Irving Granville is the able executive whom Dr. Norman Vincent Peale asked to put "Guideposts" on a firm circulation basis.
Mr. Granville was a New York City banker at the time, but decided he could advance God's work more ably by helping zoom the circulation of that wonderful little moral magazine.
Our five children often would comment approvingly about the inspirational articles in Guideposts, which appeals to Catholics, Jews, and Protestants alike.
Mr. Granville is also one of the able members of the board of our new Scientific Marriage Foundation and attended the recent annual meeting.

During the luncheon that day something was said about men who kill themselves by sticking too closely to their exacting jobs. "They feel they are indispensable," was the comment. So Mr. Grenville told us he had an anonymous little poem he had carried for years in his wallet.

During the dessert course at our board luncheon, we called on him to read it. Many of you tense, harrassed folks can profit by it, so I'll reprint it here today.

Sometime, when you're feeling important,
Sometime when your ego's in bloom,
Sometime when you take it for granted
You're the best qualified in the room:
Sometime when you feel that your going
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow this simple instruction,
And see how it humbles your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that's remaining
Is a measure of how you'll be missed.
You may splash all you please when you enter,
You can stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you'll find in a minute
That it looks quite the same as before.

The moral in this quaint example
Is do just the best that you can.
Be proud of yourself - but remember,
There is no indispensable man!

My mother was also at this same board meeting and immediately asked Dr. Granville for a copy of the poem.
By the time that you teen-agers enter high school, start the smart habit of keeping a scrapbook. Or at least clip all interesting stories and poems for future use. Stick them in a large manila envelope. They will prove priceless in your public speaking assignments at school and church meetings.

Good mothers since the start of printing have also clipped these inspirational bits of prose and poetry to include in their weekly letters to their sons and daughters at college or in military service. My mother did that when I was away at school and thousands of you cultured mothers still do likewise today.

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Well, that is it for today. Just a little item from among his souvenirs that speaks of him as a person. This is Blabbin' Grammy signing off for today. Much love to each of you, my friends. Bye for now. More later.

2 comments:

thesouthernlady64 said...

Hi Grammy, I have a copy of that poem. It used to hang in my office when I was working. Not long ago, I sent it to all my children. I think it has such meaning. Your Dub was a very special person and I am sure he had an influence on everyone who knew him. I see you have discovered Farmville. My sister plays it all the time. I just don't have the time with my blogs, etc. I think it is so funny when I check her facebook page and it says she has just "clobbered" a skunk. She is the last person on earth that would ever farm but she loves the game. I hope you have a great week.

Alex J. Cavanaugh said...

Dud sounds like a gentle and and thoughtful person.