Thanks for the kind condolences. Quincy split from the Dubs early in the 70's while I last about five years longer.
Quincy came and went from the Discussion group as his health permitted.
April 23rd of this year, I wrote a letter to another old friend about a little car trip Quincy and I had taken just the day before. I found this letter and I thought I'd reprint part of it here:
____________
Dear (_____),
I awoke from last night’s dream and sat up abruptly with a sick feeling in my chest.
This feeling had origins, and I know it was yesterday’s visit to the world of long ago.
Quincy Roberts and I made our way to the Poly area of Ft.Worth and stalked our youthful yesteryears. We were reaching for jigsaw puzzle pieces and matching the edges of memory to emotions until a once familiar picture emerged for reappraisal.
I stood in front of the building which once had been the Polytechnic Congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses. The familiar and the unfamiliar slowly seeped in.
Things were not the same of course because things fall apart, the center will not hold. Changes are stab wounds. I felt each alteration acutely and took the sharp violations of time and space very personally.
The sun was bright and a fair breeze cooled us just enough for our vigil to be pleasant. I sensed something rising in my chest which wouldn’t go away until it had its say.
We found Quincy’s childhood home, the 2nd apartment where JoAnn and I lived, Jenny and Steve Santa Cruz’s house on Vaughn Boulevard, and Binkley Ave. That was where you lived when I met you.
Street signs triggered sudden memories of knocking on doors and handing out magazines when I Pioneered. Most of those people were adults who are now long dead!
Now even Johnny is dead.
My connections are snapping like old ropes tethering my vessel to life itself.
Street by street we wandered. I felt something in my skull rewiring!
Inside, old circuits flickered where strange alchemy linked place with the memory of times and feelings. Yet, honesty, it’s all broken glass, unmowed grass, overgrown yards and alien landscape. We were two old guys projecting images and significance onto a backdrop.
A peculiar resonance, like the after-tones of a once rung bell, trembled in the soles of our shoes. Quincy and I exhaled slowly. We sighed with clenched teeth as we exchanged our paint-peeled reminiscences. We had a lot to say about practically nothing.
I became depressed and elated simultaneously! I’m a piece of the puzzle and I don’t fit.
Here was the beginning of things unknown, unseen and undreamt. The future, back then, was untraveled. Now I’m with my oldest living friend at journey’s end. We’re broken things out of place searching for meaning. . . and there’s none to be had. The clock is our assassin.
These buildings and neighborhoods and memories are rusted and worn and steeped in desuetude (an old vocabulary word from my teen years I finally get to use!)
There is a sense of failure everywhere; it is a poor side of town; it merely exists.
Quincy and Terry, two old men, barely exist. At least, in that one thing, we finally fit in.
Later in the day, after we had gone our separate ways, my cell phone rang and it was Quincy still in the excited state of half-euphoria mixed with a sense of loss. He just wanted to say how much our little journey had meant to him. I agreed and we both became silent again. It had finally become real.
We felt our doom approaching.
_____Snip_____
TerryWalstrom
JoinedPosts by TerryWalstrom
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25
My oldest friend, Quincy Roberts, Ex-JW died last night at age 66
by TerryWalstrom inthe first time i walked into a kingdom hall, i was about 15 years old.
i shook hands with a 12-year-old named quincy.
as time passed and we grew older, quincy hung out with us older j-dubs.
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TerryWalstrom
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25
My oldest friend, Quincy Roberts, Ex-JW died last night at age 66
by TerryWalstrom inthe first time i walked into a kingdom hall, i was about 15 years old.
i shook hands with a 12-year-old named quincy.
as time passed and we grew older, quincy hung out with us older j-dubs.
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TerryWalstrom
The first time I walked into a Kingdom Hall, I was about 15 years old.
I shook hands with a 12-year-old named Quincy. As time passed and we grew older, Quincy hung out with us older J-Dubs. He was an intelligent person with a broad and curious mind. By the time I was 18, he was definitely a part of my life along with other 'brothers' in the Hall, back when things were a bit less North Korean.He parted from Jehovah's Witnesses when the Elders at the Kingdom Hall rejected his association with his "worldly' fiancee', telling him to dump her as she would be a drag on his spirituality.
He made his decision and never looked back.
Quincy and I reconnected right here on this Discussion Group about 12 years ago. He spotted my posts and sent me a PM. We never looked back after that.Quincy was the kind of friend few people get to have in life. He'd crawl across broken glass if he'd thought it would help you. He was honest, blunt, true and blue.
These last five years have been plagued by rotten health. He came close to death at least once or twice a year, but his hardiness and stamina pulled him out of the abyss, time after time.Last night, after two weeks in hospice, he died in his own bed at home in Weatherford, Texas.
He was my 2nd oldest friend. He follows in death my oldest friend, Johnny Santa Cruz who died this past March.
I love Quincy. I honor his memory. I'll never allow his memory to fade as long as I draw breath.
I just thought I'd share this death notice with those of you who remember him too. -
80
Major Doctrinal Changes Must Be On The Way
by notsurewheretogo inthe statement in the article "who is leading gods people today?
" in the feb 17th study edition of the wt is very interesting.. it states: ""the g.b.
is neither inspired nor infallible" ..we can err .in doctrinal matters....".
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TerryWalstrom
Source of Jehovah's guidance?
1.Great Pyramid measurements2. Angels3. Holy Spirit4. Magic 8 Ball--Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
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Little Molly in the Dying Light
by TerryWalstrom inlittle molly in the dying light.
i smell the woodsmoke only in memory now with the laughter of my little molly in the dying light of evening.
such days have long gone where our cabin crouched as proud as this working man's hands could fashion.. hewn timbers snugged their fellows where dark mud packed the ragged gaps still holding molly's tiny fingerprints.
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TerryWalstrom
Little Molly in the Dying Light
_________
I smell the woodsmoke only in memory now with the laughter of my little Molly in the dying light of evening. Such days have long gone where our cabin crouched as proud as this working man's hands could fashion.
Hewn timbers snugged their fellows where dark mud packed the ragged gaps still holding Molly's tiny fingerprints. She had thrown her head back and giggled and such a stab of joy struck my heart! Side by side, we built our world, forsaking sad remembrances as each day came and went.
Many dawns and twilight curtain-falls have now come and gone from somewhere north of nowhere and that particular winter came too early, catching us unaware.
I smiled and touched the angel of my deepest love whose upturned face was all the heaven any man could believe. I sent her inside. We’d need lots of wood when this storm arrived.
Trudging toward the towering timber I set off; as the first languid snowflakes curled their mad cascades ever downward, scarcely whispering at all.
The heft of my heavy ax bit deeply and tore the fleshy bark in the bitter whoosh of an approaching storm. There’s still time, I told myself. There’s plenty of time.
___
All afternoon I sang and hummed the silly serenade little Molly learned when she was three. Her mother’s tune--a trace of that other world--another time now passed.
I timed the bite of my swinging ax to the downbeat of her tune.
Whoom! Toppled timber fell.
And branches--Whoom!
And snowfall--whoom.
___
I roped and cinched the firewood to my sled, secure and tight, and turned to catch a wispy fragrant smell: fresh baked bread beyond all famish--quickening my scraped boot prints on nightfall's whiteness.
Crunching echoes swarmed between the snowflakes as I rounded whitened paths and turned to find my Molly’s welcomed window light. But there I stopped too sudden to breathe or call the name stuck sideways in my throat.
All stood still--as did my heart.
The door wandered on its hinge, flapping slowly like the dying wing of a fallen sparrow.
Darkness crawled up my spine with steely chills.
Something damp had spilled along the textured floorboards, smeared and streaked its savage tracing--stove to door--crimson and appalling to my eyes--carried off and swallowed into blinding white flurries.
Suddenly somebody was screaming in my voice as half a mile away another voice and another joined tunefully--not human.
A-wooooo, the voices called...
A-woooo, the others answered...
I fell as brown crumbs on weathered flooring...somewhere north of nowhere.
Then the storm into that terrible night came rioting in to spin and whistle through our empty cabin as my arms let go the firewood--Whoom!
A-wooooo
A-wooooo
I smell the woodsmoke only in memory now with the laughter of my little Molly in the dying light of evening. Such days have long gone where our cabin crouched as hewn timbers snugged their fellows, and where dark mud packed the ragged gaps still holding Molly's tiny fingerprints. . . somewhere north of nowhere.
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1
THE THIRD TIME'S A CHARM
by TerryWalstrom inthird time’s a charm.
our night had sprung a leak.
the moon was spilling in.
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TerryWalstrom
ALTERNATE ENDING:
_____I approached you and placed my chin on your shoulder as my hand grasped your arm. I felt a wave of heat tearing through me and for a small second, there was something electric and mysterious in the room.
I leaned my head closer to your ear as I whispered gently.
“I’ve got you with me for the rest of my life in a place nothing can ever touch. Brimful, I am. Staying longer would only chase me into the hereafter. Nothing will ever take you away. I’ll remember.”
I smiled and pulled the hair away from your cheek and kissed you softly; a priest of love.
You started to turn toward me. I stopped you.
“No. Don’t turn round. I’ll turn into a pillar of salt.”
I let go of your arm and collected my bag, allowing the new fellow to open the door with solemn courtesy as I walk out into the wind and leaves mixed with new snow.
--------
Barely a year later, I felt something inside--unaccountably sad--it wouldn’t leave me alone.
I asked around and found out where I could find you.
That’s why I’m here today. It’s why I’m telling you all this like the idiot I am and always was. I really did start to hate you and I’m here to apologize.
Your dad was the one who told me.
Leukemia had found you twice before and you’d beaten it twice. Just not the third time. It was exactly as you’d known. Time can be so much more important for one person rather than another.
“I’ve got you with me for the rest of my life in a place nothing can ever touch. Brimful.”
I promised.These flowers are for you. You cannot see them or catch their scent on the air. Somehow, you’ll know.
They’re Forget-me-nots.
I gave them to you when we met. I gave them again when you whispered, “I love you.”
The Third Time’s a Charm.
_____________
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1
THE THIRD TIME'S A CHARM
by TerryWalstrom inthird time’s a charm.
our night had sprung a leak.
the moon was spilling in.
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TerryWalstrom
THIRD TIME’S A CHARM
Our night had sprung a leak. The moon was spilling in. Crouching on our skyline--all that green cheese--ours for the taking.
“We must hurry.” You said, “Make lots and lots of toast”.
“No, a cracker or two will do.” I replied.
Then, from the corner came a new gleam.
“That’s a new lock on your door I spy with my little eye.” I trembled slightly.
“You won't need to return your key.” You said flatly.
“Ahh, a kindly souvenir--how thoughtful.” Poison in my voice.
Where had all the silence come from? Had it crept in on cat’s paws?
“I’m not getting through to you.” I managed to say.
Your faced changed. The color drained. Your eyes darkened.
“We have to say goodbye. We have to stay within the scheme of things. I have to send you away now.”
I cocked my head like a Spaniel.
“Nothing I did...nothing I said made the slightest dent?”
A crack in my chest began widening into ice.
You turned your face away gesturing like a child.
“Let’s put another sticker on your luggage saying ‘Hotel Silly, U.S.A.”
Your hand swept toward the packed luggage. How had I missed seeing that?
“That bag isn’t going anyplace. I’m rooted to this spot. You along with me.” I placed a cold hand on my chest and felt the rumble.
You looked cross suddenly.
“You’re going to ruin our goodbye. Aren’t you?
“October’s obstinate. Stalled like the dog at the door.”
“It’s almost midnight. We stayed out too late. You know?”
“Your scheme--you deliberately kept us out late.”
“It was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t much care for midnight. I don’t believe in midnight. So, there!”
You clenched your jaw a bit and narrowed your eyes.
“There is no philosophy inside you to allow me to do this my way?”
“Like what? So long kid, it’s been great?”
“That isn’t philosophy. It’s Hollywood. I don’t ask questions anymore--I never like the answers. You should try that.”
“Straight out--you never once thought of letting me stay?”
Some thought climbed and fell as your lips formed soundless replies. You turned, moving toward the hallway.
“I think I forgot to pack your toothbrush.”
I reached, bending forward--my legs wouldn’t move. Grasping your wrist, I turned you toward me. You barely resisted.
“You know, standing here in this dopey light right now...all this stupid moonlight...wasted green cheese and no crackers...the thought of leaving you or you wanting me to leave can only be something I made up in my head. Why would I do that? A piano must have fallen on my head. Yes. That’s it. I’m really just lying in the street someplace right now dreaming all this. Under, of course, someone’s busted piano.”
Your eyes downcast at the floor. Your chest was heaving as though heavy furniture had been carried upstairs. We could hear leaves racing across the yard in a sudden gust of wind.
Then the church bell tolled midnight and the moonlight failed as snow began falling.
My blood was now an icy river.
“I despair. I god damn despair.” I could no longer breathe without effort. I would not let go of your hand.
Your head lifted--eyes straight ahead. Your voice played dark music to my ears.
“I need you to leave now. The time has come for you to go.”
“But--why?”
“It’s when you love me the most--it’s the right time. Don’t wait too long or it ruins everything.”
“But…”
“Because I know. I have an instinct for time. It lives all around me. What I have of it is mine. I have to use it my way.”
“You once told me time doesn’t count when we’re together.”
“You’re a silly man. It’s infectious, your silliness. I succumbed. I’m sorry. Time does count. It counts very, very much.”
The sound of a key in the new lock rattled. I dropped your hand.
The door swung wide. Cold air rushed inside. We turned to stare.
“Oh, um--sorry. Am I too early--or--I mean, too late--I’ve got all my bags with me?”
He was a nice looking fellow; a bit clumsy with his things; utterly clueless what he was walking into. The two of us just stood silent like misplaced statues as he removed his overcoat--and as an afterthought--remembered to shut the door and block the remaining leaves and snowflakes from invading the room. Finally, he beamed a ridiculous smile and spoke cheerfully.
“Hi. It’s twelve o’clock. Here I am.”
You were looking at me. Your face said everything. I didn’t care for its tone. No. I am sometimes slow about things, but not this time.
I did not like what your face is saying.
You shook your head and whispered barely loud enough for me to hear.
“I hoped you’d be gone before he got here.”
I barely nodded, not taking my eyes off you as the unwelcomed intruder made himself at home.
I shook my head and became aware of all sorts of creeping things inside me. Swarming feelings, like invasive locusts, or a nest of spiders had come alive. If I didn’t leave, I’d be devoured by them bit by bit.
Then it became clear. You really did plan for me to see him. It would make it possible for me to hate you. Yes. That’s it. You planned a clean break--my heart, that is.
The idiot was still hovering close to the door, shaking his coat as his cheeks took on color.
“That snow is really something, isn’t it? It wasn’t expected.”
Unbelievably, he plodded over to the both of us, removing his glasses and affecting a tone of jolly goodwill.
“I really didn’t expect to see you.” He didn’t offer his hand. He was gazing at me curiously, but without any emotion.
I kept looking at you with a new and wondering appraisal. I drank you in--all of you, as though you were water and I was a man about to be turned out into a desert.
The fool just kept babbling.
“I would have held the cab for you--if--if I’d known you were still here. As it was, I---”
He finally seemed to absorb the situation. He’d finally grasped it fully. He gulped.
“Look, um--you want me to go back out for awhile and come back in? It’s very easily done?”
You were staring directly at me in a peculiar way. What were you thinking? Your face took on an intensity that frightened me at first--until I realized, you too were memorizing. I was being tagged and filed away in some secret compartment inside your soul.
“I didn’t mean to make anybody feel uncomfortable. Look--I’ll just put my coat back on and go outside and--I guess...wait.”
You and I reached a silent moment of complete honesty as we stared into one another’s eyes. I closed mine and turned toward the door.
“No--wait. I’m intruding on your time.”
He was now capable of embarrassment.
“Oh heck--what’s a few extra minutes. . .”
“No. You stay. It’s my turn to go. Stay there, please.”
He instantly relaxed.
I turned toward you this one last time. You were now looking away from both of us witless men in that room. We were amateur actors who’d flubbed our parts and you waited for us to set ourselves right again in our own private way.
I approached you and placed my chin on your shoulder as my hand grasped your arm. I felt a wave of heat tearing through me and for a small second, there was something electric and mysterious in the room.
I leaned my head closer to your ear as I whispered gently.
“I’m brimful, Sweetheart. I’ve got you with me for the rest of my life. Staying longer would only run me into the hereafter. Nothing will ever take you away. I’ll remember.”
I smiled and pulled the hair away from your cheek and kissed you softly.
You started to turn toward me. I stopped you.
“No. Don’t turn round. I’ll turn into a pillar of salt.”
I let go of your arm and collected my bag, allowing the new fellow to open the door with solemn courtesy as I walk out into the wind and leaves mixed with new snow.
--------
Barely a year later, I felt something inside--unaccountably sad--it wouldn’t leave me alone.
I asked around and found out where I could find you.
That’s why I’m here today. It’s why I’m telling you all this like the idiot I am and always was. I really did start to hate you and I’m here to apologize.
Your dad was the one who told me.
Leukemia had found you twice before and you’d beaten it twice. Just not the third time. It was exactly as you’d known. Time can be so much more important for one person rather than another.
So it was to be with us.
The third time’s a charm.
_____________
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2
MUSIC we love
by TerryWalstrom inhere is a simple idea.
create an old fashioned "mixtape" of the music you've .
grown to love over the course of your life.
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TerryWalstrom
Here is a simple idea. Create an old fashioned "MIXTAPE" of the music you've
grown to love over the course of your life. Go crazy with it. Post it.
The purpose of this is threefold.
1. It is a portrait of your interior landscape; your emotional core. "A man is the essence of the things he loves."
2. Introduce others to music they may not have ever heard.
3. Create an "epitaph" which, after you've passed, says something about how your life can be summed up in music.Here is mine:
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B6a8Sp5_PSf-YVFtdHpkbmF1Tm8(Control + A) highlights the entire playlist. Right click and open the list in your favorite music player.
Cheers!
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ACTIVISM strategies
by TerryWalstrom inwith the proliferation of social media, more people have been reached by the watchtower organization than ever before in history.
it sure took them long enough!.
at the same time, anti-jw activism has caught fire to counterbalance the propaganda.. there are all sorts of activists operating "out there" using books, videos, podcasts, facebook, and incidental un-witnessing to puncture and perforate the false message and counterfeit codswallop of the governing body.. __________.
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TerryWalstrom
The coffee at Starbucks, imho, is awful. I just feel I need to cover my use of Wi-Fi and I'm on an extremely limited budget. I make 1 tall coffee of the day last all day.
The dynamic of MORE THAN ONE JW in a conversation is something which can be problematic depending on how bad they tag-team you.
It's surely a HIVE mind.
The only thing I can see as Kryptonite is a simple statement of personal experience and NOT doctrine hacking. Child abuse, DF-ing blowback, unfair Elders, and such hit closer to home than the Trinity, Hell, etc.
Actually, there is no ironclad path to successful activism other than avoiding becoming who they EXPECT you to be as an Apostate.
If you're humble, heartfelt, earnest, and helpful it goes a long way. -
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For Sale: 74 Adams St
by wifibandit inhttp://74adamsstreet.com/.
all pictures archived at http://imgur.com/a/rdrkx .
sample:.
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TerryWalstrom
Devastated and naked the old whore is!
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DEATH: How have you prepared? Funeral, cremation, donate body to Science?
by TerryWalstrom inwell, hell!.
i had dizzy spells and near-fainting and nausea for a few days, so why wouldn't i start thinking about death, ya know?.
am i just very lax in my responsibilities in having no plans at all?isn't that irresponsible?
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TerryWalstrom
My dizzy room spins were almost surely the result of drinking only coffee day after day all day without also drinking a lot of water.
Caffeine causes enuresis (cells expelling water). I noticed I was peeing more than usual, duh.
My electrolytes dissipated and I was like a car battery without water.
The old brain cells and muscles weren't firing on all cylinders.
Recipe for disaster.
I've resorted to glug-glugging copious decanters of H20 and I'm back on track. That near-miss with the scythe of the Grim Reaper will serve notice on me to not be so clueless in the future.Thank you for your kind inquiries, my Friends.
