Terry

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Posts by Terry

• 
  10

  ON THE REBOUND (Jr. High School memory)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  " the girl was from a snobby family, and her last name actually was"rich," terry rich.

  it was terry rich and only terry rich.why?

  you know what a straw poll is?".

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  Terry

  Knowing my readers have gone to the trouble of really getting inside to understand is quite humbling for me.

  Thank you so much.

  I just uploaded another story of family history called, THE MAN WHO HUNG THE MOON.
• 
  15

  THE MAN WHO HUNG THE MOON (A true family history)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. friends

  the man who hung the moon .

  (a story from my family's history).

  she never spoke about her parents, except to say they had been murdered.

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• 

  Terry

  THE MAN WHO HUNG THE MOON

  (A story from my family's history)

  ____________

  She never spoke about her parents, except to say they had been murdered. That was enough to shut me up as a kid eight years old. Her given name was Florence Avery. For some reason, I called her Groogie.

  Florence Avery hailed from Tennessee. She was short, spunky and no nonsense. I never saw her smile—except to catch sight of me walking into her room. She referred to me as her “Little Pal.”

  She once explained to me how her husband had cut down enough trees to build the house they lived in. According to my Grandpa, his mom saw first light of day the year the Civil War ended. Years later, I learned that was the year Lincoln was shot, 1865.

  Funny thing about being a small child, you don’t ask about things you’d really want to know later on when you’re an adult. For instance, I would ask Groogie about being chased on her way from Tennessee by Apaches with stone axes and a rusted rifle swung by one of the braves like a sledge hammer at the skull of their wagon master.

  I did ask her, “Why?”
  “Why what?”
  “Why did the Apaches want to hurt you?”
  I expected a curt reply. I was wrong.

  Groogie was the most definite person I’ve ever met; not one to flinch or shrug. Her opinion was at the ready. That particular question seemed to come at her unexpected like. She just shook her head side to side and raised one eyebrow.

  “Nobody I knew hesitated to kill them, so why not?”
  _________

  Groogie’s husband was a lawman in Tennessee. He read a notice hanging in the local Post Office offering a job as a sheriff’s deputy in Fort Worth, Texas. He responded by gathering everything he owned into a Conestoga wagon won in an epic poker game. Along with his wife they set out for Tarrant County in Texas along with three other travelers as part of a small wagon train. That was probably 1880 when they arrived in Cowtown.

  Groogie’s husband, Matt Avery, loved to gamble. No sooner did she start talking about him and her pale blue eyes turned glassy with tears. She’d gaze off nowhere in particular and her voice took on a weird softness of tone.

  I heard the words, “Feast or famine” a lot explaining his losing streaks throughout their brief marriage. Sometimes he’d be gone for days at a time.

  He chased after lost money or pursued trying to double his winnings the few times Lady Luck showed up. Groogie made sure that was the only Lady at the gambling house, too. She carried a pearl-handle pistol and made no bones about it—“If I’d ever caught him cheatin’ on me, I’d have drilled him.”
  That shut me up. I hoped she was bluffing.

  Grandpa told me Matt Avery had a habit of bring home jewelry when he won big money. There was once a beautiful gold watch, hand-crafted by a French artisan, he brought home and placed on her wrist. She described the day with a writer’s attention to detail. He held her tight and made promises.

  She sometimes spoke about her husband with the words, “That man hung the moon, as far as I was concerned.”
  Instead of telling him, she’d pretend to be cross.

  “You damn sure better bring something home after being gone three days!”
  That’s all she’d own up to telling him. According to my grandpa, she treasured that gift more than anything else. She chose to see it as proof he really loved her. It was the first gift she’d ever received in her life till then.

  Months later, he’d come into the house and begged her to let him sell the watch to pay off gambling debts. She refused by grabbing a broom and beating him over the head with it. Two nights later, Avery was shot in the back in downtown Ft. Worth. The killer was never identified. Grandpa told me friends were convinced the man he’d owed the money to had collected in blood. Groogie was never the same woman after that. She carried a heavy burden on her conscience.
  She once referred to his killer as, “The Man who stole the moon.”
  ______

  Groogie remarried to a blacksmith who labored as a boiler maker. He was named Hybarger and he was a tough German fellow with a handlebar mustache. This was my grandpa’s dad.
  Matthew Hybarger could build anything with his hands. It was dirty work too, but he remained spotless.

  “I’d look at his hands expecting to see rough, raw, bulky paws considering the kind of work he did. Instead, I saw hands more beautiful than any lady’s—delicate and well-groomed; nails clipped and buffed to perfection. He had bare feet to match, too.”
  I’d never heard a conversation like that directed at a man. I shrugged and felt slightly uncomfortable.
  _________

  Matthew Hybarger built a real house for Groogie on the Southside of Fort Worth. Around the house he planted every kind of useful tree: pecan tree, peach tree, apricot tree, blackberry vines, and such. He planted a garden with wisteria, four o’clock, and honeysuckle—then constructed elaborate trellis arboretum platforms around which the vines could twist. “Where the woodbine twineth and the vine dieth not.” she quoted. From where, I know not.
  When their only child was born, a real battle broke out in the Hybarger household concerning what the son would be named. Matthew had come up with Jack Hybarger. His wife wanted a middle name added. Everything was agreed until Hybarger learned the name Avery was the dead husband’s name.

  All hell broke loose until the child was born at home in 1890. The drunken German boiler maker staggered in and tipped his hat to the midwife and gave apology with grand gestures and flowery speechifying. He then held his child, kissed him on the cheek and handed him back to his mother.

  “Avery it is!”

  It was all he said before staggering back out in the street and falling asleep under a chinaberry tree. After that, the marriage came together without discord.
  ___________

  Jack Avery Hybarger reached the age of 12. The elder Hybarger accompanied his son downtown to rubberneck in the crowd. Buffalo Bill Cody clip-clopped down Main Street doffing his hat in a parade accompanying the Wild West Show. The little boy ran up to the old buffalo hunter and grabbed his stirrup and shouted at him how happy he was to see the parade and all the horses. Cody, notoriously mean-spirited around children, kicked the boy with his boot and cantered away in a shower of gravel and mud. This story became oft-repeated in the household when the great grandson came along. That would be me, your storyteller.

  _______________

  It was a freak accident. As he was inside smoothing the pitted edges off fastening rivets, a can of Naptha spilled inside and he was overcome by fumes. Matthew Hybarger died unexpectedly inside one of the eight foot long boilers his shop constructed. His comatose body was recovered by workmen returning from lunch. He never regained consciousness. He was returned to his wife in that condition where he remained under her care for ten days before he passed.
  As a lifetime member of the Odd Fellows Lodge, the widow was annually accorded a gift of a large basket of fruit and nuts. As a small child, I marveled at the size of the basket and I never failed to ask her to tell me the story of her husband’s death. She told the tale matter-of-factly and without emotion. Only when I asked about her first husband did things change inside of her.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” That’s as much as I could get. I’m much older now. I think I finally do understand. Let me explain. . .
  _____

  My Uncle Jack picked me up from Morningside Elementary School that afternoon in his red convertible Corvette. The year was 1958 and I was 11 years old. I was always thrilled when Jack suddenly showed up. I hoped the other students would see him with me and jump to the conclusion he was probably my father. I didn’t have a dad. I was deeply embarrassed by it.

  As I scooted across the seat and looked up at my Uncle, he turned to me and said these chilling words.

  “Groogie died today. I’m supposed to take you the shoe store to buy you some shoes for her funeral.”

  With that, off we drove and I choked back the tears my Uncle Jack hated seeing. I swallowed hard and tried to stifle the overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow.

  How I got through that afternoon I cannot say. In my household, only one emotion ever found its way to the surface and that was rage. Tears were for sissies and people weak and without character.
  At the funeral parlor, I lined up to view the body. The corpse of my great-grandmother looked unreal, like a department store manikin.
  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and it was like ice. I couldn’t understand why.
  The Pastor came over to me after services and handed me a small, thin box wrapped in plain brown paper.

  “This is something Florence—I mean, your Groogie, wanted you to have. Your name was on it.”
  __________

  I opened it up.
  There was inside, wrapped in a thin piece of delicate red velvet, the most beautiful gold watch I’d ever seen.

  On the back, tiny engraved letters spelled out some message. I squinted in the semi-darkness of the funeral home.

  "From the man who hung the moon to the girl with the blue eyes. Love always."
  _______________

  Terry Walstrom
• 
  15

  A True short story

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  ____a true story___.

  shortly after the incident, i drove back along the pacific coast in a euphoric daze of confusion, tears, and exhilaration; there was no place for it to go inside my head.

  i pulled over on the shoulder of the road and sat in stunned silence.

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  Terry

  I had never dreamed of standing next to a whale.

  The fact that it is ALIVE overwhelms!

  What if the house you live in suddenly became alive?

  The vastness of the ocean frightened me the first time I saw it for real. I felt myself shrinking in significance.

  Standing with others, ministering to a distressed living god had an inexplicable resonance with the scene of Jesus' family and faithful followers standing under the crucifixion helpless.

  Are you saying, Terry, the whale was like Jesus?

  Yes, in a way, I am.

  It was infinitely unimaginable, and yet so commonplace and fragile.

  Miraculous.
• 
  3

  GAME OVER (Almost a short story)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  terry, point your finger at who you love the most..

  who do you love?

  i love you both..

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  Terry

  Here is a revised version.

  (You'll see how a writer edits his own material)

  _______________________

  GAME OVER

  (revised edition)

  ___________

  He sat between two women, a child of five; tow-haired and bright, unpracticed at smiling, but accustomed to attention. He was an only child; a lonely child—fatherless and wary, but loved or smothered moment to moment in the crucible of his grandparent’s home.
  The grandmother on the left and his mother on the right were arguing again. These women were rivals in all things great and small.

  His mother fixed him in her beam as grandmother observed enigmatically.
  “Terry, point your finger at who you love the most.”
  This was THE GAME: a triangular contest for bragging rights with the boy as prize.

  “I don’t want to.”
  “Yes, you do. Who do you love? Is it her or me?”
  “I don’t know.”
  “Why lie about it? You won’t hurt our feelings—go ahead—who do you love more?”
  “Both. I love you both.”
  “Goddam it, Terry! Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind? Are you a coward? Nobody’s going to hurt you. WHO DO YOU LOVE THE MOST?”
  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know. How can I—I love both of you!”
  The Game continued until the blade of the guillotine was loosed and a bloody head dropped into the basket.
  
  Rule One: Choices must be made!
  _______
  
  The boy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, lifting his pointing finger. The little hand could have held a gun with its barrel oscillating slowly like a fan between enemies; first this way (Grandmother) then that way (Mother.)
  Doesn’t the act of choice involve its own opposite?
  
  Rule Two: Choices are always binary.
  _______
  The child’s heart was pounding in his chest, his keen scrutiny probed their facial expression for signs, hints, clues. Back and forth the finger tested and ascertained. This was the Mycenaean priest prodding entrails for omens; the Gypsy with her tea leaves conjuring mysteries of Fate and folly.
  How had it come to this Kabuki mise-en-scène?
  This was THE LADY or THE TIGER.
  This was the Roman coliseum and thumbs up / thumbs down of life or death, to the victor goeth the glory.

  
  Rule Three: Choices contain hidden motives
  _______

  Choosing his grandmother, the mother would be outraged; her anger and hurt feelings could erupt with furious spontaneity. Selecting his mom, the grandmother turned cold in her scorn and a wall of covert indifference descended called the Silent Treatment.
  Simple as any dilemma could be, a Hobson’s choice of pain vs. pain devolved down to decibel levels.
  Rule Four: Choices are about avoiding consequences.
  ________

  THE GAME continued.
  Terry alternated testing outcomes. How spectacular was the reward from a mother chosen as the winner? How bitter would be the incrimination from the grandmother!
  Feast on one side, famine on the other—try them on, wear them—see how it goes, okay?
  Who can doubt the careful calibrations of a young mind?
  If you win, you lose. If you lose, you win.
  Life lessons!
  The boy grew up. Along came girls, girlfriends, sweethearts, fiancées and wives followed inevitably by ex-girlfriends, former sweethearts, broken engagements and ex-wives.
  
  Rule Five: Choices are unavoidable, chaos inevitable.
  ___________

  Life is what happens.
  What happened toTerry?
  It wasn’t Hollywood endings. The little boy, the apex of a Right Triangle gone wrong, wrote his denouement.
  DEAR DIARY,
  Life is really a Carnival of tempting rows of booths filled with rigged games.
  Are they really games of skill? Are the plush toys worth the winning?
  “Step right up, Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls—see the empty man in the empty room as he plays THE GAME.
  He walks, he talks. He loves, he loses, he plays and chooses, but it all comes out the same.”
  Then, he suddenly remembers the movie, WAR GAMES.

  Final Rule:
  _________

  The only way to WIN is to NOT play.
  
  

  GAME OVER
• 
  10

  ON THE REBOUND (Jr. High School memory)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  " the girl was from a snobby family, and her last name actually was"rich," terry rich.

  it was terry rich and only terry rich.why?

  you know what a straw poll is?".

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  Terry

  Most welcome!
• 
  3

  GAME OVER (Almost a short story)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  terry, point your finger at who you love the most..

  who do you love?

  i love you both..

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• 

  Terry

  GAME OVER

  ___________

  He sat between two women, a child of five; tow-haired and bright, unpracticed at smiling, but accustomed to attention. He was an only child; a lonely child—fatherless and wary, but loved or smothered moment to moment in the crucible of his grandparent’s home.

  The grandmother on the left and his mother on the right were arguing again.These women were rivals in all things great and small.

  “Terry, point your finger at who you love the most.”

  This was THE GAME: a corrosive, triangular dysfunctional contest for bragging rights with the boy as prize.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, you do. Who do you love? Is it her or me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why lie about it? You won’t hurt our feelings—go ahead—who do you love more?”

  “Both. I love you both.”

  “Goddam it, Terry! Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind? Are you a coward? Nobody’s going to hurt you. WHO DO YOU LOVE THE MOST?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know. How can I—I love both of you!”

  The Game continued until the blade of the guillotine was loosed and a bloody head dropped into the basket.

  Terry succumbed.
  _______

  He lifted his pointing finger and oscillated slowly like a fan; first this way (Grandmother) then that way (Mother.) The child’s heart was pounding in his chest, his keen scrutiny searching their expression for signs of pain or anger. Back and forth the finger tested, probed, and ascertained. This was the Mycenaean priest prodding entrails for omens; the Gypsy with her tea leaves conjuring mysteries of Fate and folly.

  How had it come to this Kabuki mise-en-scène?

  The boy was learning to delay, play for time, plucking courage from thin air. This was THE LADY or THE TIGER. This was the Roman coliseum and thumbs up / thumbs down of life or death, to the victor goeth the glory.

  This was his calculus:

  Choosing his grandmother, the mother would be outraged; her anger and hurt feelings could erupt with furious spontaneity. Selecting his mom, the grandmother turned cold in her scorn and a wall of covert indifference descended called the Silent Treatment.

  Simple as any dilemma could be, a Hobson’s choice of pain vs. pain devolved down to decibel levels.

  Ongoing as the game was, Terry alternated, testing outcomes and consequences. How spectacular was the reward from a mother chosen winner? How bitter the incrimination from the grandmother! Feast on one side, famine on the other—try them on, wear them—see how it goes, okay?

  Who can doubt the careful calibrations of a young mind fine-tuned at regular intervals? If you win, you lose. If you lose, you win. What would the boy conclude about love and hate, men and women, the very process of divulging honest emotion itself?

  As he grew, along came girls, girlfriends, sweethearts, fiancées and wives followed inevitably by ex-girlfriends, former sweethearts, broken engagements and ex-wives.

  If life were indeed The Game, what is the payoff in the end?

  For Terry, it wasn’t Hollywood endings. The little boy, the apex of a Right Triangle gone wrong, knew ending was obvious. The only way to win is to not play.

  Null set.

  Lonely null set.

  No emotion in and no emotion out.

  Empty man in an empty room.

  Game Over.

  _________

  
  

  
  

  The End.
• 
  50

  Is this a BEAUTIFUL STORY--or what?

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  is this a beautiful story, or what?.

  act one________.

  now in an ordinary romance of the golden hollywood era, the boy goes off to war while the young lady waits nervously for his safe return.in a cary grant, debra kerr movie, the two vow to meet after a certain period of time and tragic circumstances intervene.. in my story, the young man is a conscientious objector who goes to prison instead of off to the vietnam war.

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  Terry

  There is a moral to the story.

  When you open a door on powerful emotions you've locked in a vault, not just the POSITIVE emotions come rushing out. No. All the negative ones are set loose, like Satan from the abyss.

  All in!
• 
  10

  ON THE REBOUND (Jr. High School memory)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  " the girl was from a snobby family, and her last name actually was"rich," terry rich.

  it was terry rich and only terry rich.why?

  you know what a straw poll is?".

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  3. 
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  Terry

  I will read your story next time online.

  Um, uhhh, okay. Say what?
• 
  10

  ON THE REBOUND (Jr. High School memory)

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  " the girl was from a snobby family, and her last name actually was"rich," terry rich.

  it was terry rich and only terry rich.why?

  you know what a straw poll is?".

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  3. 
• 

  Terry

  ON THE REBOUND
  _______________

  I was 14 years old and my heart had already cracked into crumbs.
  I was a too shy boy in my first year of Jr. High School and I had fallen with a loud "Thud!" The girl was from a snobby family, and her last name actually was"Rich," Terry Rich. This rhymes with "very rich."

  She could be cast as the pretty girl in any Hollywood movie because she had a natural allure; sort of a cross between Tuesday Weld and Jean Seberg.
  All the boys in school ever argued about centered on whetherTerry or Esther Wenger was the prettiest.

  Esther was beautiful, no mistake about it. She was in my classroom too, but Esther was nice to me and I had no difficulty with my verdict. It was Terry Rich and only Terry Rich.
  Why? Because Terry was impossible. She was unattainable. She was prickly, while Esther was easy to talk to and made everybody feel wonderful.

  The boys who tried to court Terry were burned down to the ground inside of a minute's conversation. Terry Rich had a quick mind and she did not suffer fool's easily. Teen boys are let's face it, horny fools.

  Teenage boys have an out-sized ego and a few hacks of Terry's machete were wound enough to send them scurrying with their tumescent tails between their legs.

  (Cue my story)

  I was reared as a child by a Mother possessing a sharp tongue who could eat men for breakfast in any arguments. I had trained with the Heavyweight Champion of the World Maneater. This would be identified by any Psychiatrist today as completely dysfunctional--and believe me--it was.

  However, as an analytical person, I had broken down my Mother's strategy and tactics into little blocks of information. I saw how she marshaled her forces to keep her opponent off balance. Her key objective, you must realize, was not simply to win an argument or fight; it was to annihilate her adversary and reduce him to a gibbering blob of ectoplasm! Military tacticians would proudly tell you this was a "scorched Earth" policy. Win at any cost.

  Mom was not afraid to destroy in order to win. She was the prototype of the Jihadist with the dynamite vest--with the sole exception--you were the one blown up and your relationship would come splattering out of the sky in trails of smoking shrapnel.

  Guess who absorbed the lessons of her arsenal as he stood in a neutral corner, trembling with fear? Her little boy, of course.

  _________

  MORNINGSIDE JR. HIGH

  Terry Rich felt familiar. She was my Mom writ large. Creepy as it sounds, I could hardly find myself attracted to anybody easy-going or untroubled. I went for the magical, exotic and untameable of my species. Yes, I had become Co-Dependent. If I met an intelligent, quick, magnificent woman with a troubled soul, my eyes lit up and my eager heart quickened its beating. It was a mysterious telepathic bonding; a kind of tango; and I had learned the steps to perfection.

  ____________

  I obtained Terry Rich's phone number from her brother. I got him to tell me in advance when the best time of evening would be favorable for a phone call to his sister.
  At first, I thought it would be an excellent idea if I crafted some kind of List of Topics to use as a cheat sheet. Then I reversed my decision. I am a counter-puncher. My talent is responsive. I suck at throwing the first punch. I'm not aggressive, but I am hell-on-wheels at giving as good as I get. I'd let the killer shrew throw the first haymaker and rely on my Mom-training to do the rest.

  ____________

  Monday Afternoon 1961

  I smiled at Terry Rich today as she stood holding court with her "Me too" adoring worshippers. I let her lock on and load, but I turned away at exactly the right moment--before she could react negatively.

  I wanted to be noticed but not yet judged.

  She knew me from all of our classes at school. I was the Straight A student who had won the Spelling Bee for Tarrant County. I was the quiet one who had never spoken a word to her. She was the preening beauty in fierce competition with Esther Wenger for all the chips.

  __________

  The telephone rang. My stomach twisted into a knot.
  Her voice sounded like buttery Southern biscuits steaming under a honey crust: delicious and savory.

  "Hello."

  "Hi,Terry. This is Terry Walstrom. I'm in all your classes at school.

  "Oka-a-a-y."

  "I thought you might want to know something because it's about you."

  "Um, what now? What do you mean?"

  "The guys at Morningside are going to conduct a Straw Poll on Friday. You know what a Straw Poll is?"

  "No--I mean, not exactly."

  "Well, that's okay, you can ask somebody about it."
  "Huh?"
  "It is very stupid and childish. The guys are voting on who is the prettiest girl in our school. It has come down to either Esther Wenger or Terry Rich."

  "Nuh-uhhhh. That's crazy."
  "Of course it is. Public opinion always is. I mean, "Who cares" what all the boys in school think?"

  "(Silence)"
  "So far, opinion is about fifty-fifty. It could go either way."

  "Who is behind this? Somebody must be jerking everybody's chain."

  "Yes, you're right. There is somebody. But, we're all sworn to secrecy. By the way, are you going to the school Carnival on Friday? If you are, and you don't have a date, I'd like to take you."

  "Say what? I can't think about that right now."

  "This is Monday. The Carnival is Friday. I guess I'll ask Esther, maybe she can make her mind up."

  (At this point, it should be pretty obvious what I'm doing. I don't think it was obvious to the voice on the other end.)

  "Why would I want to go on a date? I hardly know you."

  "Ha-ha-ha. That's funny, Terry. A date is how you get to know somebody. You've got it backward. I just thought it would be fun, and that you could use some moral support in case the vote didn't go your way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "As you say, we don't know each other, but you don't strike me as a person who has grown accustomed to being in second place, or as a runner up."

  "Second place? No! Not hardly."

  "Well, stop and think about it. You've developed a reputation at school as being a bit of a snob and it---"

  "What? I'm not a snob! Who says that?"

  "It doesn't matter. Perception is reality to a lot of people. Guys talk. The consensus is out there: you're hard to talk to and you don't cut anybody any slack--but Hey! I don't believe it, or else, why would I be calling you for a date? I'm shy. I'm not anxious to have my head handed to me by some snobby girl--am I? No."

  "That's ridiculous, calling me a snob. That makes me very angry."

  "Don't shoot the messenger. I'm giving you 'head's up' and that's all there is to it. If you'd like to have moral support on Friday, I'll be there right beside you. If you don't, that's okay too. It's your choice."

  (Silence)

  "Oh--you know what--if you can keep a secret, I'll tell you whose idea this Straw Poll is, but you have to promise not to divulge who told you. Not ever."

  "Okay. Yes, tell me!"

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  "It's your brother, Jay. You know him better than I do. He seems to enjoy stirring the pot. For example; recently our first black family moved into my neighborhood. I've become friends. Your brother Jay has been telling everybody in school something hateful. He calls me a "Ni**er Lover." I don't appreciate it. He likes to turn people against each other. I guess it all starts at home, eh?"

  "I don't want to talk about this. He's a little shit. I'm going to have his guts for garters."

  "I don't blame you. So listen up. I'll be at the Carnival on Friday. If you see me there and you want to hang-out, that'll be great. If not, well--it's been nice talking to you. Good Luck with the Straw Poll."

  (End scene.)

  _________________________

  I didn't run into Terry rich at the Carnival. The scuttlebutt was that she had left early after the Straw Poll results had been announced. Esther Wenger won by a landslide. Terry Rich had made too many enemies with the same mean spirit her brother Jay used to make enemies for life.

  My phone conversation with that girl lingers in my memory for two reasons.
  First of all, I took the initiative. I drove the topic. I kept her off balance, and I didn't feel nervous. All of this from a shy kid with no life experience.
  Second, I had set myself up to fail. There was no way Terry Rich was going out on a date with me. No way. I was proving to myself I was not afraid to fail or prove myself equal to the task of enduring her sharp tongue.

  I felt badly for days.
  I couldn't get a handle on why I was so depressed. Only many years later did it become clear. The depressing part of this puppy love for Terry Rich came down to one thing: I CHOSE BADLY.

  I was attracted to misfortune, failure, misery, conflict--but for a purpose!
  I was determined to rise above it--crack the code--win the day, and turn lemons into lemonade.

  Dammit--I AM A COCKEYED OPTIMIST!

  _____________________________________________

  ON THE REBOUND (Floyd Cramer)

  
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKwq6UW9bnU

  Floyd Cramer was a Nashville piano player. He developed a quirky style with
  originality in his music compositions and performance.

  Floyd brought originality to his music AND becoming the world-famous originator of the NASHVILLE SOUND.

  ON THE REBOUND is perhaps my favorite piece of music from the early 60's.

  
  
• 
  50

  Is this a BEAUTIFUL STORY--or what?

  by Terry in

  1. jw
  2. experiences

  is this a beautiful story, or what?.

  act one________.

  now in an ordinary romance of the golden hollywood era, the boy goes off to war while the young lady waits nervously for his safe return.in a cary grant, debra kerr movie, the two vow to meet after a certain period of time and tragic circumstances intervene.. in my story, the young man is a conscientious objector who goes to prison instead of off to the vietnam war.

  1. 
  2. 
  3. 
• 

  Terry

  Thanks, all. Heartbreak is never fun, but at my age--wow--very intense.

  _______________

  Finklestein: Just out of curiosity, is she still involved with the JWS ?

  No, she faded from the JW's while she was a Pioneer. She had been serving where the "need is greater" and kept noticing she and other sisters were treated like shit, and with no concern for their safety in troubled areas.

  Once she left, that was it.

  Her sister and parts of her family are still active JW's, but they don't shun her because she was never DF'd.