It's hard to believe it's been two years since my mother drew her last breath on this earth.
In this time, I've enjoyed hearing her voice on her 'podcasts' (the voice mails she frequently left on my cellphone). I've nodded my head as I read the many lectures I got via email. And I've reminisced with her through book chapters and loads of personal letters.
On the one year anniversary of her death, I quit my career as a registered nurse. Watching someone you love die has a way of making you re-evaluate your life. Life is too short and I have other things I wish to do.
On the second anniversary of her death, I decided to do something less dramatic. I'm going to revive this old blog she loved so dearly.
I've decided to post some of her wonderful writings here. This story was told in 2011. Stories of her fussing about her brother are always a family favorite.
Here's an interesting bit of family history.
On November 22, 1963, when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, my cousin, Mary Ann Boshart Moorman, was the person who snapped a picture right at the moment, or a fraction of a second after the president was shot.
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| Mary Ann Boshart Moorman |
She was using a Polaroid camera. Security quickly grabbed both the picture and Mary Ann. Her Polaroid picture became an important part of the investigation because it presented a clear view of that grassy knoll people kept talking about, and Mary Ann became famous for the part she accidentally played that day.
Recently, my brother was watching a rerun of the Kennedy assassination and after it was over, he saw Mary Ann being interviewed stall again. Las night I searched for her name on the internet and all sorts of headlines came up.
Mary Ann Boshart's grandfather, Tommy Bush, was my mother's brother. Tommy Bush lived in Dallas. Mary Ann grew up in Mesquite, Texas.
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| Uncle Ken and Mom |
Looking back over seventy-five years of life, it's strange how many out-of-the-ordinary things have happened either to me or to someone connected to me. And you know what's annoying? I have to be careful not to mention these things during casual conversation with acquaintances, because I fear being thought to be a pretentious "name-dropper".
One day, Austin, age 15, was here. A Johnny Cash rerun was playing on TV. I said, "See that man. He once asked me to have dinner with him, Austin, and my brother wouldn't let me go." A few weeks later Austin said "Grandma, I told my friends about Johnny Cash inviting you to dinner and they didn't believe me."
"Ah..." I though, "It may be Austin who finds this story hard to believe. I should never have told it to him." So, I picked up the phone and dialed my brother's number. I said, "Ken, remember many long years ago when someone invited me out to dinner and you wouldn't allow me to go and later the man became famous? I'm going to put my grandson on the line and you tell him the name of this rich man who might have turned out to be his grandfather if you hadn't interfered." And I handed the phone to Austin who was grinning real big.
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| Austin |
After Ken verified the information, laughing his fool head off about it, and hung up the phone, I told Austin the rest of the story. This happened in the late fifties. Fred and I were separated. I was working in Little Rock at a place near 4th & Main (right close to Haverty's) called Moses Melody Shop.
Johnny Cash was nobody back then. He grew up a poor Arkansas boy, married young, was trying to become a singer but hadn't made it yet and he was in Little Rock to play some horse show out at the fairgrounds or some such thing.
My brother, Ken, was a young rookie cop at the time. (he was a nobody too) (we were all a bunch of nobodies) (smile). Ken, who was taking all the off-duty jobs he could get to keep from starving, ended up escorting Johnny Cash and his band around town that day. Somebody needed a new guitar pick of strings or something and Ken steered them to Moses Melody Shop.
While there, he casually introduced them to me, his beautiful (in his eyes sister).
Johnny Cash looked pretty shabby. Dirty fingernails...greasy hair...in need of a bath and a toothbrush and some deodorant and maybe a clean shirt. It wouldn't have made any difference though, if he'd looked like Pat Boone on his way to Wednesday night prayer meeting, when he asked what time I got off work and did I want to go have dinner with them. Ken said, "She's not going anywhere with anybody."
So much for that.
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| Uncle Ken and Mom |
Through the years, I've reminded Ken often that my whole entire life might have been different if he'd kept his nose out of my business that day.
It's all a matter of how you "slant" something. Today, I can say "Johnny Cash once asked me out to dinner" and it sounds downright important, when actually, it was less than nothing.
