Thoughts from Jane Jenkins Herlong

Wall Street Need a Main Street

2011-11-15T08:08:00.000-08:00

Protests fascinate me. I have actually participated in a protest. It was during the farm crises in the late 1970’s. Dressed to fit the occasion in my hog-washers and protest cap, we drove the tractors into downtown Charleston to the Post and Courier Newspaper building and revved up the engines. It was fun to be a rebel with a cause. The farmers' wives including my mother, Evelyn, Miss Ann and Miss Ada, rode in pickup trucks. That was pretty much the extent of it. Our protest did call attention to agricultural issues and the rising costs of farming. And then it was back to the farm and to work.

I have been watching the protests on Wall Street. Apparently the left-over protesters are not gainfully employed. Maybe they are professional protesters. Maybe they are too busy protesting while the rest of us work so they can carry signs. As Jeff Engvall says, “Here’s your sign.”

Initially, I can understand folks gathering and making a statement. I am married to a retirement/financial planner. I get it.

Is there a solution to help the left-over protesters? Yes. I think they need a history lesson.

I am sure if some research was done, those tents the protesters are living in had humble beginnings on some Main Street in downtown or uptown America. The now nasty clothes they are wearing also had a starting place from a small shop with a hardworking tailor or seamstress who chose to think big. It all started with a dream, bank loan and hard work.

Wall Street needs a Main Street. That is correct, a street that runs down the middle of the street. I would love to show off America’s “main street.” These are the hard-working “moms and pops” who believe in the great American dream and by God, made it work.

I would have a “building” on that Main Street representing my friend, Nido Qubein. Nido came to this country at age 15 and with only $50.00 in his pocket. He grabbed the American dream and never let go. With his amazing communication skills, Nido became a world-class speaker and businessman. Today he is the president of High Point University and a wealthy man. But he is mostly passionate about philanthropy. He has created a Scholarship Foundation to help young people live their dreams. I am proud to partner with his scholarship program.

Forrest Haltiwanger is another example of a person who is a hard worker and who has built a successful tire business in our community. Forrest will help folks stranded in the middle of the night who have tire issues. People around here admire, respect and deeply appreciate him.

Just one more example of honest, hard-working dream-builders are Danny and Lynda Tidwell, owners of three jewelry stores in our area. They are a great couple who give unselfishly and are respected by many far beyond our communities.

We have museums all over the country reminding us of facts and reality. Don’t you think there should be a Main Street tribute/museum on Wall Street?

Gumpa was our Weather Channel

2011-09-01T10:03:00.000-07:00

My daddy’s old metal map of the Southeastern United States hangs with the magnets still in place from Hugo’s tract to Charleston some twenty one years ago. It is like a wall monument.

I recall constantly listening to the shrill sounds of the Charleston airport weather updates during tomato and cucumber season. This was our constant companion growing up on a Lowcountry vegetable farm.

The old weather radio is a far cry from the today’s sophisticated weather tracking. I imagine if we had had the Weather Channel back in the day, you may have heard something like this, “In 10 minutes, hail will hit Mr. George Hills’ farm and then the storm will ruin Harold Glover’s tomatoes down on Kiawah Island Parkway.” I think we would have all been half crazy.

I was religiously watching the Weather Channel this past week as South Carolina’s coast was threatened with Irene. My wheels started turning with what to do and when after seeing that category 3 hurricane make its way to the Southeastern coast. It has been heartbreaking to see the terrible damage done by that storm.

Before the storm made landfall, the weather channel folks interviewed brides whose weddings on the beach were postponed and stubborn residents who decided to weather the storm. So many people refused to leave their homes when warnings are issued. Just like my grandfather, Gumpa.

Cousin Bubba Walpole tells the story of Gumpa refusing to leave Johns Island as Hurricane David was well on its way to Charleston. Cousin Bubba had to place a shovel in the yard and make Gumpa promise if the water from Abbapoola Creek rose to the shovel, he would leave. I guess the shovel was considered his weather alert.

Gumpa, as always was right. His knowledge of the wind and Abbapoola tides proved the experts wrong. He could tell just by looking at the creek and the shifting winds where the hurricane was headed.

Although I am thankful to have today’s sophisticated technology, it does keep you glued to the radio and television. Much of the reporting drives me crazy as I try to understand what is hype and what is real.

Last week I wished I could have spoken with Gumpa about Hurricane Irene. He lived long enough to know all about storms and his words would have soothed my fears. I guess you could say that Gumpa was our family’s weather channel. The only difference was his reports where simple, to the point and he was hardly ever wrong.

Imagine That!

2011-07-27T18:40:00.000-07:00

I spent two wonderful days in Georgetown, TX speaking to the Texas Baptist Weekday Education Association. The close to 1,000 attendees were nurturing women who deeply love children. The group had hearts as big as the Lone Star State.

The conference theme was entitled, “Imagine That” based of the fabulous Christian song by Mercy Me, “I Can Only Imagine.”

My transporter, Celina, was delightful and drove me to see where I was speaking. Yes, everything is bigger in Texas and proven again when I saw the Georgetown Texas Baptist Church looming in the distance. I toured the education building and from that experience, I knew the sanctuary would be spectacular. I was not disappointed. My little Harmony United Methodist could fit in the church lobby.

As always the fun is connecting with women from all over Texas some with cowgirl hats, big hair and others more understated. We bonded when I told them W. Bush (42) made me an Honorary Texan. I have a proclamation hanging in my office. I knew I had been given a title almost as big as Miss South Carolina. When I went home, I knew what I had to do. I bought a Suburban and got my concealed weapons license.

I enjoyed every second of sharing my presentation. Afterwards, many were dear to make comments and share some of their struggles. One woman thanked me many times over and I got a glimpse into her life. She looked very beaten down and stressed.

I heard some of my favorite colleagues speak the next day. Suzie Humphreys, on the fringe of her seventies is as sharp as a Texas boot spur. Along with her hilarious humor, Suzie throws in a zinger or two just at the right time. A bottom-line, hip-shooting Texan, Suzie tells it like it is.

I love her take on depression. She said if you are going to be depressed, get into it. Call in sick, put on that old terrycloth robe with grape stains on it, complete with non-waterproof mascara on your eyelashes. Then cry. I mean really cry. Then think of more sad stuff and let that mascara run down your face. Top it off with looking in the mirror. In about two hours you will decide, that you are sick of all of this.

Not to act like depression is not a serious condition, Suzie ends her dissertation with being confronted by an audience member at one time who scolded her for making light of this condition. In their conversation following her presentation, Suzie listened to this hurting woman whose husband abandoned her many years ago. Suzie was brave enough to comment, “You are angry at this man. Depression is simply anger turned inward. Do yourself a favor and forgive him.”

After “carrying on” with Suzie sharing speaker tricks and new ideas, I was greeted with a hug from that same stressed woman. For a moment, I did not recognize her. She was different. Her walk was straighter, her face brighter her personality charged. I told her the difference in her look was an amazing transformation.

“I needed this,” was her response. “I need to hear what you-all had to say.”
Messages filled with honesty, encouragement and pure Godly love can change a person’s heart.

Imagine that….

Spanx, False Eyelashes, and a Spray-on Tan

2011-07-07T05:12:00.000-07:00

Spanx, False Eyelashes and a Spray-On Tan

I opened the letter from the Miss South Carolina Organization. It read, “Join us for the 75^th Anniversary of the Miss South Carolina Pageant where we will honor you for your reign……” All of this translated in my mind to….”Jane, you have to lose 15 pounds, try to erase 20 years, buy a new gown, Spanx, false eyelashes, a spray-on tan, make sure your roots are covered, get a facial, pedicure, manicure and take half a valium in case you don’t get this all together.

What would I do if the weight will not come off my body? I had heard about this all- in-one body suit that takes at least 15 pounds off. So on my speaking engagement to Minnesota, I went to the Mall of America to find the wonder garment. The first one of these spandex marvels I located could fit in the palm of my hand. I thought even Barbie would struggle with this thing. I pulled that gismo as high as my knee and knew then to peal it off. The search continued and I finally settled on a Nordstrom body suit. Pulling the undergarment up was like stuffing an opened can of Crest Rolls back into the canister.

I have a love-hate relationship with false eyelashes. Years ago, I decided to try wearing them in the Beaufort Water Festival Pageant at an outdoor theatre. On the command of, “Ladies, please turn to the right….”I felt my left eyelash depart as in gone with the wind. Alas, I discovered my lash in Miss Myrtle Beach’s hair.

After seven skin cancers and counting, the only option for a tan is the spray-on kind. I rushed to the tan place and even paid for a dose of longer lasting color. The procedure only takes a few moments but the instructions say, do not get wet for four hours. The spray-on girl suggested staying dry for at least a day.

I was the emcee for Tuesday night and wouldn’t you know that a thunderstorm popped up as I was leaving the Township Auditorium. I did a u-turn in the parking lot running to my car when I remembered what the fake tan girl said. All I could think of was the song I sang in another pageant called, “Come in From the Rain…”

Well, the entire week was as spectacular as ever. The best part was hearing what other formers did to get ready for the 75^th. We all laughed and hugged. By the time we walked the runway at the pageant on Saturday night, we were all 23 years old, naturally tanned, thin and beautiful.

What made the difference? The people made us feel beautiful. The Miss South Carolina Board and Pageant Committee went the extra mile honoring us with a luncheon, Gala, and our wardrobe items on display at the Columbia Convention and Visitors Bureau.

Our new Miss South Carolina, Bree Boyce and Outstanding Teen winner, Caitlen Patton are lovely representatives for our state. And when the time comes and they take that long walk down memory lane, we will all cheer them on and remind them that true beauty comes from being the best they can be….not in eyelashes, spray-on tans and Spanx. But all those things sure help……

Lowcountry Tides and the Changes in Life

2011-06-08T10:31:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day weekend ushers in the official beginning of summer. Along with the obvious tribute to our brave men and women in the armed forces, the sun seems a little hotter and the water temperature is not as cool.

Sunscreen, bottles of water, bread, peanut butter, etc., are all on my list to take in the boat. My daddy, a seasoned Johns Island boater, always said to never leave the shore without food and water. So with the coolers packed and boat in good shape, off we went to Abbapoola Creek to join a ka-zillion other boaters in Charleston.

To catch a high tide in the late afternoon is the most desirable scenario. We explored creeks with million dollar homes and passed jon boats with folks fishing and casting.

When I was a child we always anchored off the shore of Bird Key. I could not contain my excitement as we rounded the bend in Stono River revealing two channel markers that framed this large lump of sand on the Atlantic Ocean. Folly Beach is on the left of this island paradise and Kiawah is on the right. We loved to explore the back of Bird Key since so many artifacts washed up on the beach. There were wading pools and the adventure of the ocean on one side of the island and the calmness of the Folly River on the other side. We collected dead men’s fingernails and mermaid’s pocketbooks. It was a perfect treasure Island for children complete with an occasional Jellyfish sting.

Hugo moved Bird Key to the left of Stono Inlet and completely restructured the island. It has been many years since Hurricane Hugo hit the coast and the island has never moved back to its original place. In fact on a very low tide, you can practically walk to Folly Beach. Unfortunately, Bird Key is no longer a place to explore ocean treasures since various birds now roost there and signs are posted proclaiming the island as a bird refuge.

However, across Stono Inlet, is what we call “The Poor Man’s Kiawah,” Sandy Point. Penny Creek runs on the side of the island. If you ride up the creek you will see the Ocean Course where the Rider Cup Golf Tournament was played several years ago. We always love cruising that quaint creek and decided to enjoy the ride once again.

The tide was high but we immediately knew there was a problem as the motor struggled. Penny Creek has fallen victim to the changing tides. The once deep creek is now a shallow body of water. My husband, Thomas was able to negotiate the boat into deeper water and head out into Stono Inlet.

I had no idea how shallow that creek was until the next day when my daughter, Caroline and I rode the jet ski to Penny Creek and realized we were stuck on a sandbar in about eight inches of water. We had to ask several strong men to lift the jet ski and place it in deeper water.

Many times, life changes as quickly as the tides reconstruct our beaches and creeks. Just like the pull of the flow of the saltwater, my heart is filled with cherished memories. I can still see my daddy’s pride and joy, the Never-No, anchored off the coast of Bird Key. I remember the Mako Shark he caught in Stono Inlet that is mounted above the mantel in the den. I can see my mother in her swimsuit on the beach as she worked on her golden tan. My best childhood friend, Leize and I are running on the beach without a care in the world. Little did we know that many years later, we would have the responsibilities caring for our aging parents and all the tears of family hurts.

Yes, life changes with the many tides in life. Thanks be to God that through it all, He is our anchor.

Jane Jenkins Herlong is a professional motivational humorist, professional singer and author. She can be reached at jane@janeherlong.com or www.janeherlong.com Follower her on Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, YouTube and iTunes.

If only the old kitchen table could talk

2011-03-29T18:58:00.000-07:00

If only the old kitchen table could talk

“The more this table ages, the better it looks,” said the salesperson when Thomas and I bought our kitchen table. Years later that statement would have more meaning than the aging of the wood.

I dusted the kitchen table and saw the words, “Daniel C. Herlong” imprinted in the grain of the wood. I remember that was the time when Daddy Big John was teaching Holmes how to write cursive. The lesson was obviously repeated several times. Now we have an indelible memory of my father-in-law’s signature to cherish.

To the right of the signature is another memory from another Herlong brother. Uncle Frank came to visit and if you have ever had a Frank Herlong visit you have a story. Uncle Frank shared his track career at Clemson and used an oval place mat to simulate how he ran. By the time Uncle Frank finished running laps, we had an oval shape marked on the wood.

If only the old kitchen table could talk, it would tell stories.

It was a place of high chairs, Holmes and Caroline’s first words. The best facial expressions when new foods were tasted for the first time. There was contagious laughter that can only come from a baby. Our table is filled with milestones all parents love to experience.

Our kitchen table is a place of gathering. It was a place of fun that was decorated with Pocahontas themed birthday parties, cowboy round-ups and grown-up monumental birthdays. That table is where the Easter Bunny left jelly beans, chocolate bunnies and Thomas’ sock bunny that has returned every year since 1980.

There were failed meals, tears, laughter, and serious conversation. Countless drills of Wordly Wise, term papers and graduation thank you notes

My parents sat around that table with Thomas’ parents. They laughed and told stories about growing up, places they had seen and other tales. We laughed and learned with them.

I remember our past and miss family members who are no longer with us. My prayer is that the future holds more graduation notes, wedding invitations, and high chairs with grandbabies.

Our kitchen table is a storybook of a cherished past and a gathering place for tomorrow’s memories.

What Happened to the Friendly Skies?

2011-02-04T20:13:00.000-08:00

I knew better than to let Thomas book airline tickets to New York City. He will try to get the best deal like he does when he grocery shops at BI-LO. Our pantry looks like a distribution center for Southern Home products.

The airline I fly most often is Delta. I have some status on that airline which comes in handy these days when the dream of the flying experience has become a nightmare.

Thomas called to inform me that he got a fabulous price on an airline I will not disclose that is based out of Charlotte, NC (US hint, hint) through an on-line discount company promoted by the captain of the Starship Enterprise.

I was packed early on the eve of our departure when Thomas casually checked his phone messages to discover that the airline based out of Charlotte cancelled our flight and re-booked us. At 11:30 PM Thomas handed me a slip of adding machine paper with four sets of numbers written on it. “Here are our flights and departure times.” He said. “Make sure our seats are okay.”

Thinking this was no big deal, I cut on my computer to discover it would not work. It just refused to spin the drive and co-operate which led me to try to pull everything up on my phone that has a screen the size of a matchbox. I tried to communicate with Thomas whose only response was the sounds of deep sleep. I wanted to choke him.

I bundled up and made the trip to Thomas’ office to use his computer.

As I typed in the flight numbers, time of departure, etc., the airline based in Charlotte could not find our reservation. I had do the unthinkable and call the airline I will never fly again based in Charlotte. After finally pressing One then Three then Two I was all the way across the world talking to someone I could not understand whose name was Sam. Yeah, right and my name is Janerishikiah.

I finally found our reservation and saw where the Captain of the Starship Enterprise gave us the most desirable seats in front of the exit row which means you will sit like there is a 2X4 piece of plywood nailed to your upper back because the seats do not recline. As I changed our seats to a more comfortable place, a pop-up box informed me that the airline was charging me $14.00 if I did not want to go to a Chiropractor.

Finally, the screen I had been waiting for appeared with “print boarding pass” came forth. BUT as I waited the printer informed me that I would have to go online and buy Magenta Ink or it would not print.

I went to bed at 1:30 AM. So much for packing early so you can get ample sleep.

Upon checking in, because of the financial penalty if your luggage weighs over 50 pounds, I configured that I am restricted to buying items in New York City that must weigh no more than a total of 7 ounces.

So here I sit as I type this on ROW 30 seat F. On Row 29, Seat F, a 350 lb. man is leaning back in a broken reclining seat snoring. God gave Thomas a miracle when the counter agent blessed him with 32A.

I could have gotten 32B but I was detained by the Nazi Diva at the counter since my luggage had to be checked at the Gate and I made the mistake of walking into the airport since it was raining and TSA will not allow me to walk two steps back where my carry on luggage was. The Nazi Diva had to finish flirting with this cute guy in First Class before she jerked my bag off of the cart and hand me my carry-on bag that now has a broken handle.

Beam me up, Scotty.

God Bless The Good ol’ South

2010-07-29T18:24:00.000-07:00

MI crooked letter, crooked letter I, crooked letter, crooked letter I, hump back, hump back I. Mississippi is only state I can spell with ease since there is an unforgettable way to spell its name.

My impression of spending a week in Vicksburg made an indelible mark on my memory. The week was spent doing my favorites things....laughing, eating, laughing, eating, and watching extraordinary young women compete for the title of Miss America…….I mean they were all Miss America material.

We stayed in a casino/hotel compete with the continuous sounds of slot machines being played 24-7. I believe Vicksburg was made famous from the Wa-wah but I saw another type of wa-wah in the lobby and I almost had my own private wa-wah in the elevator with an UMW (unidentified mad woman) on Saturday night…..God love her.

I was in awe of the production done par-excel-lance by the one and only Mallory Graham.

I told edgy stories and blamed it on my mother…she would be proud.

I learned a great deal about Mississippi interviewing the 45 contestants. There is one word that shakes the innerds of Mississippians…..football. When asked questions about players, coaches, games, etc., these ladies got a glazed-over look on their faces. The next words out of their mouths would have astonished Bobby Bowden and the late Frank Howard. They knew details of details. It was amazing.

Before one contestant walked into interview, one of the judges said, “You know she is the captain of the Dixie Darlings.” There was a hush in the room. I did not know what to expect. Did I need to practice my curtsy? Maybe I need to speak only when spoken to! It was explained to me at University of Southern Mississippi a ka-zillion girls try-out but few make it. It is like royalty.

I Googled Dixie Darlings and they have their own newsletter, Myspace and a massive alumni association. They award the “Dixie Darling of the Year” and sign their letters, HUGS and KICKS. I think they would put our Tiger Twirler to shame.

We crowned a beautiful young woman Miss Mississippi and all 45 ladies had knock-out swimsuit figures, great talents and fabulous gowns. The television production was amazing.

One of most impressive parts of my experience was the lovely manners and sweet Southern Belles who spoke to the judges after the pageant.

Fellow judge, Dr. Myra is a former Miss Mississippi and second-runner up to Miss America. Not bad for a beautiful, young, Mississippi girl to become a New York, cancer specialist with a focus on breast cancer. Myra and husband, Paul are such a wonderful couple who are living the dream. Myra is what the Miss America Program is all about.

Mississippi is the hospitality state and proven many times by our hosts and hostesses. My fellow judges will agree it is the state of the pageant’s theme…..a land of many Kings and Queens.

If Only the South Had Won the War-wa

2010-07-29T16:43:00.000-07:00

This is a story about Southern football at its finest. Tuesday before the first Clemson game, I did like every other Southern football mother/ wife and went to the grocery store to prepare for Clemson tailgating. I even Googled “tailgating foods”. “Get with it, Jane.” I told myself. “Your children are at Clemson now and you have to do the football, hotter-that-hell-temperature, cook junk food that will clog your arteries, etc. thing and pretend it is fun.”

To honor the forefathers of the Herlong clan we arrived a full four hours before kickoff. Our wonderful host and hostess had not even arrived at the tailgating site.

There was a delightful breeze blowing from the left that was short lived. A “church bus” without church people pulled into the parking spot next to us stopping any hint of air. Glancing to my immediate right was a cooker unlike any other. It was the size of a casket complete with two stovepipes that made our temperature rise another 30 degrees. Our female-hostess had her back to the massive, casket cooker. The first time the lid of the cooker was raised, she fanned herself and said, “I can’t believe I did not take my estrogen.” I said, “You are not having a hot flash we are having a heat wave from that cooker.” Glancing over I heard a sentence that would be repeated at least a ka-zillion times in four hours. “Ya’ll git youself a free chicken wing,” I did a double take and said, “That man talking looks just like Danny Ford.” “That is Danny Ford,” replied Thomas. “He is selling cookers.”

For those of you who so not know who Danny Ford is, he won the National Championship in football for Clemson University in 1981. He is Clemson royalty and a year or two away from being a god.

What is a person to do who is hot and misting away (Momma always said to say the word “mist” instead of “sweat”) her number three, Neutrogena spray-on tan? At first I watched all the cute, size 0, freshmen girls walk by in orange sundresses that were size B (Barbie) wearing stiletto heels. When that wore off, I entertained myself by listening to men ask Danny Ford stupid questions. My favorite was, “Hey Coach Ford. You ‘member when I was pumping ga-ass in 1985 at the fillin’ station and you said, I like your ride?”

Son, Holmes made life interesting my saying every two minutes, “Momma. I am hot.” Caroline made her daddy angry by making a cameo appearance ten minutes before kickoff.”

In sharing this story with our local philosopher, Jeff, his comment was, “Your experience is another example of the South suffering for losing the War. The Yankees who live in the cooler parts of the country, have a leaf or two turn slightly yellow-ish and decide it is time to play football. So they put on their jackets and the NCAA starts the season.“ Jeff then continued, “If the South had won the War, football would begin in October and the Bowl Games would be around Easter. This would suit the South to a tee….no play on words.” It all made sense to me.

Philosopher Jeff is a computer guru who enjoys pontificating. Jeff could have been a Mirco-softy but that would never work since he does not have Asperger’s syndrome like the other Microsoft people. Also, living in Seattle just ain’t the South. After work or maybe before work but probably during work, Jeff sits in the CAVE (his unique habitat) and ponders life’s questions with adult beverages and lots of non-pontificating friends.

After hearing Jeff’s philosophy, I have taken his theory to the next level.
Since our boys play in horribly hot temperatures, they can outplay the Iowa farm boys when the National Championship games are played in January in the South. The War-winners/Snowbirds cannot wait to take their yearly pilgrimages on the I-95 death corridor to the sunny South. This is why bowl games are played in the South and the Southern teams are winning National titles. Our Southern boys can take the heat.

This weekend is another Clemson extravaganza. Hopefully the temperature will be cooler and Danny Ford will be speaking somewhere and not selling casket sized cookers. If not, I will have to contact Jeff so he can help me make sense out of the senseless….. Southern summer tailgating.

2010-02-23T11:44:00.000-08:00

My friends are mortified. “Jane, you are not going to write about this in the paper, are you?”

“Yes I am. I just can’t help it.” I said. “Everyone, demo-graphically speaking has had one and they tell you about it. Just say the word and they will share their experience.”

What is the word? The dreaded colonoscopy.
I plunged/drank myself into the experience we should all heed if one cares about maintaining good health.

God bless Tommy Stone when he handed me the massive plastic jug with four flavored packets. The first thing I thought of was how nice to have this plastic jug for watering my plants. Then I asked the question, “Tommy which flavor is the best?” Tommy wisely answered, “The flavor you kinda like. Don’t use the flavor you really like since after drinking the four liter jug you will hate the sight, smell and taste of that flavor forever.” I thought how great if the “flavor people” could come up with a flavor called, Chocolate Delight or Little Debbie Nutter Butter.

Four o’clock. The day before. The process begins. Six o’clock, the drinking process continues. I learned that Tommy was right and the best way to stomach the drink was to chase it with lime jello. I do not know if there is any significance to this but nothing happened until the phone rang. It was Michele Satcher. She said in her cheerful way, “How’s IT going?” Then IT happened. For some strange reason, I was most appreciative. So for help in getting things going, call 1-800-MICHELE.

The next morning we checked into the Center and I noticed the first visual when we walked into the building were restrooms. Smart.

I got “tagged” and Thomas and I were waiting patiently as the folks flocked in. All was well until a very loud, overly excited woman ran in and said, “Mary gone back yet? She didn’t cancel again, did she?” The woman continued, “Oh, Lawd. I told her not to worry but ever since her cousin passed she did not want to have it done.” As we say in the speaking business, some people just don’t know their audience.

JANE HERLONG. My turn. Thomas said. “Have fun.”
The doctor was very nice. Then it was my turn to chat with the anesthesiologist. He was from Peru and had the thickest accent I have every heard. Not until I heard him interview the third person did I realize what the questions were he asked me. The anesthesiologist reminded me of that episode of Seinfeld with the Soup Nazi. “YOU SMOKE?” YOU HAVE DENTURES? YOU PREGNANT? NO ANESTHESIA FOR YOU!

I entertained myself by listening to my curtain mates. The woman on my right had taken a Valium and the woman on my left took Paxil. Like their colon decided to keep those pills and get rid of everything else.

I woke up and tried to take in the results. I was so drowsy as the doctor talked with me and Thomas. My mind tried to relate to what he was saying and all I could think of was the Luge track at the Olympics.

The day ended (no play on words) with a gold medal finish. Thomas took me to IHOP and I ordered their Golden Breakfast. Hopefully, this experience will not be like the Luge competition and require the best out of two.

2010-02-23T10:32:00.001-08:00

Ten Tasks for a Healthy 2010
By
Jane Jenkins Herlong

My sister, Carol Hardman, died unexpectedly on December 20, 2009. My heart is heavy for her husband and three children. To bury my mother and sister in a period of five months is surreal. My prayer is that my family will live in peace, and my sister will rest in peace.
What I am sharing in this article is heartfelt from personal experience of how to live in peace regardless of circumstances. To be totally honest, I am still a work in progress.
1. Forgive.
It does not matter what you story is. Don’t allow yourself to live in a spirit of unforgiveness. The acid destroys the container quicker that it will touch the person who has wronged you.
2. Grieve Well.
There is a difference between healthy grief and unhealthy grief. I saw my grandmother grieve over my grandfather for years and years. My grandmother chose to live in a spirit of grief, which is not healthy. Whether you are grieving the loss of a loved one, job, or your home, do not be consumed with a spirit of grief.

3. Serve Others.
In the past two weeks our small church, Harmony United Methodist, has been affected by seven deaths. I have tried to focus my thoughts on comforting these families rather then my own grief. Make your pain someone else’s gain.

4. Walk in Love
As I look back on my 2009, the most powerful thing we can do in order to rest our heads at night is to walk in a spirit in love.

5. Manage Your Emotions
The mark of a truly mature person is to harness your emotions regardless of how you feel. Our feelings are fickle and will play tricks on us. Un-harnessed emotions make us say and do things we regret. My mother always said, “Words never spoken are words never regretted.”

6. Speak the Truth in Love
Many people enjoy “grand-standing” while others act out in ungodly ways. As Christians, we should prayerfully ask the Lord to quicken out hearts if we are to confront. Sadly, more people enjoy watching and gossiping about others’ behavior in order to lessen their own troubles. My husband, Thomas has wisely said, “Anyone is entitled to his or her opinion but no one is entitled to distort the facts.”

7. Confront the Source
There is a story about a village in a remote section of Africa. Many of the villagers became extremely sick and died. The source of the sickness came from the water that ran into the village from the top of the mountain. For several days, a group of villagers hiked to the top of the mountain to discover a wild boar had died in the stream contaminating the water supply. This was the source of the poison that destroyed many lives. When poison is spewed from the mouth, instead of talking and spreading the venom, approach the source. Cowards cower in darkness.

8. Accept Unanswered Answers
One of the wisest comments I ever heard was made by a friend of mine commenting on problems in life. He simply said, “Sometimes there are no answers. Believe me, this statement will save you thousands of dollars in therapy.”

9. Let God Be your Vindicator
Many times your best defense is silence. In the complex world we live in, the only true vindication comes from the hand of God. Let him be your quarterback.

10. The Mystery
This is the most powerful principle of them all. This is the most difficult of all the tasks. Yet, it is simple in verbiage …….The choice is yours; it is all up to you.

The Season We all Dread......

2008-11-04T15:24:00.000-08:00

The season is upon us once again…. not necessarily Halloween or pre-Thanksgiving or Christmas. This is the time we all dread….elections.

I have a Halloween mug that has an interesting quote written on it. Hal-low-een, n: 1. One of two late autumn evenings on which people who have had their doorbells constantly rung by weird-looking creatures settle down to watch something scary on T.V. The other is Election Night.

This election has expanded my vocabulary. I had heard of the investment companies, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. I know the initials represent an acronym of government words. Still, I thought, “What human being would trust putting money into a company called Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac?” It just sounds stupid.

Who knows? Maybe two good-ol boys went fishin’ and one says to the other, “Hey. You want to make up some money cump-nies?” “Uh-huh,” replies the friend. “I think I’ll call it my grandma’s names…..Fannie and Mae.” “That sounds real good,” says the other good-ol-boy. “I’ll name my cump-ney after my grandpas, Freddie and Mac.” “Wow!” We is so smart!!!”

I had an Aunt Fannie. For the life of me, I could not call her Aunt Fannie. I felt like I was insulting her….it was like calling her Aunt Behind. Family names like that are just plain weird. AND we all have an aunt, uncle, cousin or grandparent with one of those names.

When Holmes was a little boy, my mother would slap the table and sing…”peas porridge hot….peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old…” When Holmes wanted my mother to sing the song again, he would slap the table and yell, ”PEA!” Momma would sing the song again. Well, the next time Holmes saw my mother he yelled, “PEA!” Yes, this became her name for only a season.

I will never forget the Sunday Holmes was in the Harmony UMC nursery. I had his little diaper bag full of diapers, etc. After the service was over I went to the nursery and picked up his diaper bag. What a surprise. The diaper bag was much lighter. One of the nursery folks said, “Holmes is so smart!” “Why, thank you!” I blushed. The nursery volunteer continued, “I cannot believe he is already potty-trained.” “Potty-trained?” I asked. “Yes,” she continued. “He kept yelling PEA so I kept changing his diapers.”

Back to the election. I think we can all agree on one issue. I’m glad it will be over soon.