It may come as a surprise, but I sometimes have a hard time coming up with ideas for my monthly post. I would even post more, but I can’t figure out what people might want to read, and I don’t want to post stuff no one wants to read, even though I fear no one wants to read what I post now. If you as a reader have something you’d like me to write on, drop me a comment in this post and I’ll see what I can do.

In any event, while casting about for a post idea, I hit upon things I have that mean a lot to me. In the interest of giving you something to read, I thought I’d list them. These are in no particular order; they are all just items I would try hardest to save in a disaster once Budge and the fur babies were all accounted for.

One, Papa John’s Guitar. I know I said these weren’t in any order, but I would try a little harder to save papa’s guitar than most anything else. It’s really all I have of Papa John, except for some documents. It’s a 1950s Sears Silvertone electric guitar, red and white with papa’s initials in sticky letters on the pick guard, which is cracked. The amp still works and the guitar plays just like it did when papa played it all those years ago, except I can’t play it. I have plugged it in and strummed it just to hear the sound. Papa used to play in our little white church when I was growing up. He know all the old gospel songs, and he loved to play them. He was self-taught, couldn’t read music or anything. He loved that guitar. When he died, the guitar was still at the church, and Mama went down to get it. It sat in her room for a few years until she too passed away and I went to her house and picked it up to bring home. It’s been here in my office ever since. Every time I pick it up, I feel closer to Papa John.

Two, Papa Wham’s .380 Pistol. Papa Wham was in World War II in Europe with the First Infantry Division — The Big Red One. He fought all over the continent. His DD-214 looks like a list of every major battle from Africa to Italy to Normandy. Once after a battle, Papa Wham captured an Italian army officer. The officer was carrying a Baretta M1935 9mm Kurtz (that’s .380 to us in the US) and Papa took a shine to it. He relieved the officer of the sidearm and had it shipped back home where it lived in his handkerchief drawer of his chest of drawers unless Papa took it on vacation with the family to stave off unexpected events. I discovered it one day when I was looking around places I shouldn’t have been. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen, so I took it and started carrying it in the glove box of my ’69 Chevelle, also to stave off unexpected events. I didn’t tell Papa Wham I had done this because I knew he wouldn’t have let me take it. He found out though and appeared at my work and smiled that smile I remember so well and said, “Now you wouldn’t know where my pistol is would you?” It wasn’t a question. I nodded and went to my car and got it for him. That was the last I saw of it. Papa passed away and I forgot about his pistol until one day I was at Daddy’s and he out of the blue said, “I’ve got something for you.” He went in the house and came back with a cloth wrapped package. It contained Papa’s pistol. Daddy said, “You keep it now.” It lives next to my bed in a place of honor and will until I pass on when it will become my nephew’s charge to keep.

Three, Dad’s Colt 1911 .45 Pistol. A theme is not developing, I promise, but it just so happens two of my most treasured possessions happen to be guns once carried by two of my very favorite people. In this case, the gun is Budge’s Dad’s 1911 .45. Dad inherited it from his dad many, many years ago and he didn’t know where Grandpa got it except he knew it predated World War II. A friend of a friend who runs a gun store looked at a set of pictures I sent him and he said he wouldn’t be surprised if it was a Great War bring back. It lived under the driver’s seat of Dad’s work truck until he retired, then it moved into the house to live under the mattress in his bedroom. I always assumed Dad’s son Richard would inherit it after Dad died, but Dad didn’t see things that way and told Budge he wanted me to have it. I was pretty shocked, but when Dad passed, I found it right where he said I would and it’s lived next to Papa Wham’s pistol ever since. Dad had many stories where the .45 was the star. He would tell me some of them — often more than once a day when his dementia worsened — when we worked together during the summers and after I got fired. Every time I hold it, I see Dad’s face. I haven’t made up my mind what will become of it when I’m gone. I’ll either have it sent to Florida to Dad’s niece, or I’ll pass it on to the son I never had, Carlos. Or I may do something else. Hopefully I’ve got a while to figure it out.

Four, Mama’s Sweetheart Ring. Mama’s sweetheart ring is precious to me because it is one of the very few mementoes I have to remember Mama by. I don’t have many pictures of her because she hated being photographed with a passion. She sold her diamond engagement from Daddy after they divorced because she needed to make a trailer payment. She never would part with her sweetheart ring though. It’s a sterling silver band with two entwined hearts on it coated with “diamond dust” that’s how small the diamonds are. Daddy gave it to Mama when she was 14 and they started “going steady” as the boomers would put it. I asked her on more than one occasion if I could borrow it to give to a girlfriend, but until Budge, she never let me. Budge was different though. Mama knew we were going to stay together. She loved that ring though. It was one of the only things — maybe even the ONLY thing — she had to remind her of Daddy. She told Budge where she kept it and when we went back to the house after Mama’s funeral, Budge got it and brought it home with us. Now it lives in Budge’s jewelry box on her dresser. I guess it’s more of a prized possession for Budge than me, but I’m not splitting hairs here.

Five, Mama’s White Bible. Of the handful of things I have of Mama’s, none makes me think of her more than her little white Bible. Mr. Dozier Brooks gave it to her after she became a Christian when I was three years old. I don’t know who he was, but he thought a lot of Mama. She read that Bible day after day sitting in her rocking chair, until the day her eyes got too weak to read the small print. That’s when I bought her the Bible she died with — a giant print version. She carried it to our little white church faithfully every Sunday for as long as she could read it. After she died, I unzipped its cover and she had index cards with prayers written on them for me. It lives on our bookshelf now next to Papa Wham’s Bible and one of Granny Wham’s Bibles as well as the family bible Granny and Papa Wham gave Mama and Daddy when they married.

I could list more. I could talk about my baseball cards or my comic books. Then I have the Dake Bible Budge gave me right after we got married that I used to preach out of. I’ve got very precious items from my teaching career like a blue clay cube one of my favorite students made for me in Art class. She’s gone now but I still think about her whenever I see that cube. I’ve got other things precious to me, but this post is getting a bit long as it is so I think I’ll close it down now.

Hope you are all well and happy. Love y’all and keep those feet clean.