Journal of a Living Lady #62

Nancy White Kelly

 

I dabble in antiques. It is more of a hobby or diversion than a business, but it is fun and keeps my mind from dwelling on the cancer. Buddy isn’t an antique enthusiast, but tolerates my interest and helps tote boxes, does minor touch-ups, and secures shelves.

 

We have a small six- by- eight foot booth called Kelly’s Kollectibles at Victoria’s Attic in Hiawassee, Georgia. Our entrepreneurial experience may be short-lived if we don’t sell enough to meet our over-head. This is tourist season, so we should know pretty quickly if this endeavor will be profitable.

 

My special collecting interests are art-glass paperweights and little figures called “All God’s Children.” However, there is everything in our rectangular space from a truly antique Smith Corona manual typewriter to a numbered Michelle Tolle lithograph of the Old Chattanooga Choo-Choo.

 

I love auctions, especially antique actions. There is rush that comes from bidding on something you really want at a bargain price. A few days ago I went to Mary T’s Auction in Cleveland, Georgia. Though I had planned to go alone, Buddy insisted on accompanying me. Probably he was concerned that I would fall again. The chemotherapy affects the peripheral nerves in my hands and feet. I fell recently in a flower nursery parking lot, but fortunately didn’t break any bones, just my glasses. It really shook up Buddy. He blamed himself for not catching me, but it happened so fast nobody could have stopped me from landing in the gravel.

 

So, with Buddy as my chaperone, I arrived at the auction site, got my bidder number and previewed the hundreds of items being offered. When the auctioneer came to the microphone, I was both surprised and impressed. Everyone bowed their heads respectfully as the auctioneer began with a fervent prayer. He requested divine intervention for one of the auction regulars who was in intensive care at that time.

 

It is nice to know that the Madelyn O’Hares and the A.C.L.U. haven’t trampled all the privileges we formerly took for granted. You may not be able to pray aloud in public school, but at least you can at a private auction. Score one for us old-fashioned, patriotic, conservatives who believe this nation was founded on religious freedom.

 

How ironic that I received via email this poem today. It was written recently by a teen in Bagdad, Arizona.

 

THE NEW SCHOOL PRAYER

 

 Now I sit me down in school

 Where praying is against the rule

 For this great nation under God

 Finds mention of Him very odd.

 If Scripture now the class recites,

 It violates the Bill of Rights.

 And anytime my head I bow

 Becomes a Federal matter now.

 Our hair can be purple, orange or green,

 That's no offense; it's a freedom scene.

 The law is specific, the law is precise.

 Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.

 For praying in a public hall

 Might offend someone with no faith at all.

 In silence alone we must meditate,

 God's name is prohibited by the state.

 We're allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,

 And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks.

 They've outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.

 To quote the Good Book makes me liable.

 We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,

 And the 'unwed daddy,' our Senior King.

 It's "inappropriate" to teach right from wrong,

 We're taught that such "judgments" do not belong.

 We can get our condoms and birth controls,

 Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.

 But the Ten Commandments are not allowed,

 It's scary here I must confess,

 When chaos reigns the school's a  mess.

 So, Lord, this silent plea I make:

Should I be shot; My soul do take!

 

Amen.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net            www.angelfire.combc/nancykelly