Research in neuroscience has proven that anxiety and gratitude cannot coexist simultaneously in our brains. I found this article to be helpful in explaining the benefits of Gratitude.
https://share.google/cemxntWOumg9x5LNg
Scripture says: Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7
Happy Thanksgiving!
Time, Friend or Foe?
Is it just me or is time passing faster and faster? My husband has been deceased for seven years. My oldest grandson is almost nine years old. I’m on Medicare and life goes on. We have Christmas and the next thing I know is
Christmas again. As a child, Christmas was
always a long way off. I know it is all
relative. When I was 5 years old, the
year was 1/5th of my life so a year seems long but, at 65 when a year
is 1/65th of life, it feels like a blink. People always told me that time goes by
quickly the older you get, but now I am experiencing it for myself. In this predicament, there is an urgency to “live”
life. It feels like life will pass me by
if I stand still. My days are numbered
and unlike being a child, I don’t feel invincible anymore. It’s the feeling of what should I do and what
am I able to do? It is a retirement reality
that gives me a lot of free time, but too many choices. I could do this, or that, but what if I can’t
decide? It reminds me of an adult who
told us in my childhood, “Do something, even if it’s wrong”! As a youngster, my free time was limited when
I entered school. As a young adult, my free
time was limited by my job. As a mother,
my free time was limited by my children.
Then suddenly, I am given endless free time. I am blessed yet perplexed. I want to make the best of my ‘golden years”,
so I think I will just continue to enjoy my family and grandchildren as much as
possible. Maybe I can be an example to
them of how to grow old gracefully.
Time, friend or foe?
Tammy Harvey
10/28/2025
Korean
Veteran
Veteran’s
Day is upon us. This day we honor and
celebrate all those who served in the military to defend our country. No one can imagine what horrific experience
they had and how it affected the rest of their lives. Some were volunteers and some were drafted. My Dad was drafted to serve in the Korean
conflict. He was only 21 years old and
newly married in February 1953 when he was sent to Camp Stoneman in Pittsburg,
California as part of the 7th Infantry Division, Men of the “Bayonet”. He was a country boy who was raised on a tenant
dairy farm in Jefferson City in East Tennessee.
I have a Camp Stoneman postcard sent to my mother from my dad postmarked
1953 along with the locket he sent her from there. It is in a frame now on my shelf. The tiny black/white photos of him and her
that she so carefully placed in the little locket are so precious to me. They went on to spend 73 years of married
life together.
He had not
seen any of the world, yet he was boarding a boat to take him on a several-week
journey to Korea, arriving overseas in September 1953. I’m sure he was scared and no doubt he was seasick,
as well as homesick. He was stationed at
38th Parallel, Chuncheon, Korea, and ultimately spent approximately 2
years there and thankfully returned home safely. When I was growing up, he didn’t talk too
much about war. I know only a few
stories about his time there. He has a
multitude of black/white photos taken while there. He always referenced how incredibly cold the
winters were and how the rats would get down in their sleeping bags with
them. He began his interest in weightlifting
while serving which turned into a career for him. He and his buddies fabricated a bench press
by attaching cinderblocks to the ends of a steel bar. I do have photos to prove it. He said our mother wrote to him every single day.
My dad spoke
of how he hated to be the watchguard at night and how afraid he was of falling
asleep on his post. The fear was that if
he fell asleep, a North Korean soldier could come up behind him with a wire and
cut his throat. He told us about the
Korean orphaned children and the stray dog that his troop adopted. The children would beg the US soldiers for gifts
by singing: “Cigaretto, chocolecto, chewing gum presento me. Have no mamason. Have no papason. Chop, Chop, please give to me”. At least, that is the song my dad would sing
for us. He also told of the terror of
being in a foxhole with shots being fired over his head. At some point, he was given the job of radio operator
with the 32nd Regiment’s Heavy Mortar Company. He is currently 93 with dementia but still
calls out his radio jargon daily: “Able, Baker, one, five, Willie, X-ray”. He taught me and my sister many Japanese words
that we never knew the translation for all these years later. In turn, I passed along to my children these
Japanese nonsense words.
I wonder
sometimes what my father would have been like had he not served in the US
Army. I don’t think he would be the same
man that he is today. Although tough, I
know the experiences he had there were valuable ones in shaping his character. I won’t say he got out without some PTSD, but
he mostly chose not to speak about it. He
answered the call to duty in service to our country and I am very proud of him. In 2012, he was able to participate in the HonorAir
Knoxville which took him on a trip to Washington DC to tour the memorials. The Korean Memorial was dedicated in 1995 and
before that there was really no public recognition for Korean veterans. A big thank you to all who serve because we
know that freedom is not free. Happy
Veteran’s Day.
Tammy
Harvey 10/30/2025
Oh No He
Didn’t
I was happy
to be invited to attend the NC St Fair with my son and daughter-in-law and my 2-year-old
granddaughter. It was a beautiful fall
day. The sun was shining, and the fair
atmosphere was as I remembered it. Festivities
and unusual foods were endless. The air
was filled with excitement and anticipation as only the St Fair can
provide. It’s an experience in itself to
just walk around. I never was an
amusement park participant and don’t like to ride rides, but just the sights
and sounds gave me joy. Seeing the look
on my granddaughter’s face was priceless.
It was colorful and magical. She
rode a few kiddie rides, but they tended to be short in duration. When the ride stopped, she would cry because
she wanted it to keep going. She saw the
animals and had a pony ride. She sat atop
a huge John Deere tractor and squealed with happiness. I got roasted corn dripping with butter on a
stick and enjoyed every bite of it. My
daughter-in-law got a Boston crème donut which my granddaughter devoured. My son had a country ham biscuit. The food offerings seemed infinite. They were serving gator tails, Krispy Kreme
cheeseburgers, deep-fried everything and the familiar funnel cakes and cotton candy,
just to name a few. The grist mill was running,
and the free hushpuppies were delicious.
It was traditional for our family to get a free hushpuppy.
My son
wanted to continue his new tradition of getting his daughter’s portrait made by
tintype processing. The actual photo
produced is taken with a vintage camera and developed on a piece of tin. It is reminiscent of photos from the 1800’s. They had her photo taken last year when she
was only a year old while she was bawling.
This time, however, she sat like a pro and in the photo, she looked like
a model. Having accomplished the goal of
getting the portrait, we walked the midway, where all the carnival games are
located. During that time, I mentioned
that those carnival guys could never guess my age when I was younger, because I
always looked younger than I was. My son
challenged me to test my theory. He said
he’d give me $5 to see me play the game.
I approached the guy with the microphone who had been calling out to the
crowd for a victim. I was wearing a baseball
cap which I removed so he could see my gray hair. He said, “you want me to guess your weight or
your age?” Of course, I said my
age. He took a tiny slip of paper and
turned it toward the crowd while writing his guess. It was hidden from me, and he asked me my
age. I said “65” and he said, “get a
prize”. I was ecstatic because I had
beaten the game once again. The joke,
however, was on me! My son began to
belly laugh and laugh and revealed that the guy had written down “69”. What?!
I was devastated. How dare
he! My son proceeded to get a plastic
trumpet for my granddaughter as a prize.
Little did he know that it actually made noise. I taught her how to blow it, and he said, “that
toy is going to Gigi’s house” to which I replied, “No way, you paid $5 for it,
and you keep it!” Jokes on him? I don’t think so, I was mortified to know
that I was now being guessed older than I really am. “Oh no he didn’t” kept running through my mind. The St Fair will never be the same!
Tammy Harvey
10/28/2025
