God Bless the USA

A Rose is a Rose

 

"A rose is a rose, is a rose said he

No matter what you wish it to be

It's beauty lasts from bud to bloom

And fills the space from room to room

How much like a rose is this gift from above

This radiant smile, this conveyer of love

A dad knows a thing of beauty to see

Cause, a rose is a rose, is a rose, you see."

Written on the occasion of her birthday on September 7, 2024

FROG AT THE BANK

 

FROG AT THE BANK

A frog goes into a bank and

Approaches the teller. He

Can see from her nameplate

That her name is Patricia

Whack.

"Miss Whack, I'd like to get

A $30,000 loan to take a

Holiday."

Patty looks at the frog in

Disbelief and asks his name.

The frog says his name is

Kermit Jagger, his dad is

Mick Jagger, and that it's

Okay, he knows the bank

Manager.

Patty explains that he will

Need to secure the loan with

Some collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have

This," and produces a tiny

Porcelain elephant, about an

Inch tall, bright pink and

Perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patty explains

That she'll have to consult

With the bank manager and

Disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and

Says, "There's a frog called

Kermit Jagger out there who

Claims to know you and wants

To borrow $30,000, and he

Wants to use this as

Collateral."

She holds up the tiny pink

Elephant. "I mean, what in

The world is this?"

The bank manager looks back

At her and says.

♫ ♪"It's a knickknack, Patty

Whack. Give the frog a loan,

His old man's a Rolling

Stone." ♫ ♪ 

A True Georgia Peach

 Can't know the sweetness of a Georgia peach

'Less you take a bite of it's succulent flavor

Can't measure the sweetness of a Georgia girl

'Less you've known and loved her priceless behavior

For some can't look into your eyes

But this one never left you in wonder

She spoke the truth, instead of lies

Told it like it was, no tales to ponder

With the face of a cherub that sometimes glowed

She'd smile and wrap you up in her arms

You wouldn't let go of that feeling that flowed

The one that calms your fears and warms

For 'neath it all was the heart of champ

A born again believer, a child of the king

No fairytale princess, no Hollywood vamp

She put Him first in everything

Her Mom and her Dad taught her what was right

And she loved them both to the end

She never strayed from the truth or the light

Her path was straight with no bend

Her laughter is now heard in Heaven so fair

To share with those we've sent through the breach

We've  lost a dear heart and sweet breath of air

And Heaven has gained a brand new peach

Remembering Joyce Nail Cannon August 22, 2024

I Love You Still

 

I did love you, I love you still, and I always will

Though gone, you live within my heart, and you will ne’er depart

I love you Babe, I always will. Yes I always will…

Your sweet memory lives though we’re far apart

 

Though we’ll never laugh or love, as once we did

You are indelibly marked upon my heart

I am a shell of he who once did your every bid

The marks I bear are deeply etched and can ne’er be hid

 

Like footprints along the seashore of life

As we strolled together hand in hand

Lost in love throughout the strife

Throughout the trip along the strand

 

Life is swift and soon is past

Love’s eternal, and t’will never end

So hang your heart where it will last

Where eternal bonds will ‘ere transcend.

First Born

 

For you, I have no malice in my heart.

Just love and care from the very start

Your beaming smile captured all my soul

And holds it there, what e're the toll

My first born grand you've always been

I need not search for a closer kin,

Not that I would or ever can

My love for you shall never wan

I think of times on sea and sand

Of joy and fun in that happen band

Sometimes t'was joy and sometimes tears

We've shared them both across the years

The future holds, an unknown destiny

For life is filled with much uncertainty

No matter what, the choices made

My love for you will never fade

Hide His Word in your Heart

 

For God has made us all , it seems 

The same, and yet, He deems

To cast the load to whom seem best to bear

To those who've learned just how to care

For we are weak and cannot on our own

Find ways to lift the things that weigh us down

We find our strength within His arms

Within His power to shield from harms

His word is true and is the link

To lift your load, so you'll not sink

Trust is the key to fill your cup 

To give you strength and lift you up

So sing his praises everyday

To feel his power in every way

He'll never from your side depart

If His word you hide, deep in your heart.

Written by David Warbritton for the Warbritton family, no usage without the author's consent.

 

Happy Birthday Darlin'

An auburn-haired beauty was she,

With grace, she enchanted poor me.

She spread her mellifluous charm,

To all whom were favored to meet,

And knocked them right off-of-their feet

I emerged from the midst of the throng;

As she spun her delightful diphthong.

When I climbed to the top of the list,

I asked the great question of time,

And she became evermore mine.

She pledged to betroth,

And each day to bestow,

All the love that one could endure.

Have I told you today? She would playfully whim,

And it filled my poor heart to the brim.

By God’s grace she’s mine,

What a blessing so fine!

I don’t even know where to start.

She’s the girl of my dreams; she filled every need;

I was blessed beyond hope- Indeed!

May the good Lord who sent you,

Give you all he deems you are due,

And as you pursued all the goals of your life

I trust he always blessed you,

And I trust that I’ll be there too!

To my Darlin' Cheryl Lee Connor Warbritton.

From your faithful, loving, patient, perfectly happy

and adoring soul mate on this life’s journey.

Why Do the Bells of Christmas Ring?

 Why Do the Bells of Christmas Ring?

by Eugene Field

Why do the bells of Christmas ring?

Why do little children sing?

Once a lovely shining star,

Seen by shepherds from afar,

Gently moved until its light

Made a manger's cradle bright.

There a darling baby lay,

Pillowed soft upon the hay;

And its mother sung and smiled:

This is Christ, the holy Child!

  Therefore bells for Christmas ring,

Therefore little children sing.

The Winds of Fall

 As I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly I heard a sound

Rustling leaves outside my door, merely leaves, being moved around

My eyes were closed, or almost there 

As I reposed, sunk deep in my chair

The wind, it swirls this time of year

The freshly fallen leaves are near

They rustle as the wind doth mourn

They shuffle as they sail airborne

My thoughts were sailing with the wind

The wounds return and seldom mend

Of times gone by, once filled with joys

Now pushed aside, like discarded toys

I can see her face, I can feel her touch

Her mirthful eyes spoke, oh so much

Her tender touch reached pure and deep 

And still it lingers, e'en in my sleep

No greater love had mortal man

Than I for she, there is no wan

Tho I grow old and cannot see

My love for her will constant be

No knocking raps upon my door

No raven quoting "nevermore"

Only thoughts from my soul doth soar

Simply thoughts of her, "forevermore"

So rustle all you winds of Fall

And wake me from my sleepy pall

You'll not create me any peril

My thoughts revert to my sweet Cheryl.

She Could Have Been

 

My youngest daughter, Angela

She's certainly not mine, but she could've been

The older we grow, we're more like kin

She was almost thirteen when first we met

I was hopelessly lost in her Mama's net

A child to raise, I needed no more

Having finished the task, with a previous four

But God grants you gifts you don't recognize

'Specially when your eyes are fixed on a prize

What a special day, what a ceremony

As her Mom and I joined in matrimony

Each of our kids took part in the fun

As the clouds rolled away and we stood in the sun

Tho' I did make the offer,  to take  her in too

She chose to remain and not become new

A promise I honored and did never refrain

To keep her on track, her goals to attain

From a Sunday School slip of a "Brown of panties"

She's now leader in sales, with no ranties

Clever and witty is she, there's no doubt

Her words and her actions bring plenty of clout

Along the way she began her own story

With John and three boys to earn their own glory

Tho Nana's in Heaven, be assured she looks down

To remind her of course, that panties aren't brown

So as I reflect on what I have gained

With her Mom, I got her,  and all she's attained

But God chose the time and picked out the when

She's certainly not mine, but she should've been

To my sweet Angela Lee which by the way, is my middle name too.

Just before I met Cheryl

First Christmas together

The Beach House

The beach house

First light

The sun is like a sparkling ball

Bailey and Scouts' view

The sun struggles to break through the clouds and the mist

First light above the horizon

We went to the beach where St Augustine be

To a house sitting next to the mighty blue sea,

We'd only to walk a few steps or more

To the edge of the dune, not far from the door.

The beautiful rise of the sun seemed to me

Like a bright glitter ball, as it skipped 'cross the sea

It struggled to burn past the clouds, and the mist

To illumine the surf, and all things it kiss't

Each day brought new clouds, and new vistas too

For the palms and the beach took on a fresh hue

Sunsets  'cross the river, on the back of the place

Closed each day with hope and a smile on your face.

As each day waxed in the sun and the sand

New things would unfold, both wondrous and grand

Overhead flights of pelican formations

Up the beach, down the beach, no sure destinations

Make time to trek to the coast in your life

Make time to relax and escape all your strife

But don't lose sight of what it all seems

Of the ones you love and share with your dreams

We walked down that beach with memories past

Holding close  to thoughts that ever shall last

Gripping tight to the  hand of one held so sweet

One, who for sure, in Heav'n we'll meet

Take time to share with those you are given

With an eye toward God, your father in Heaven

For the pleasure of family and the things that we love

Mean  more than the sea and the sun up above

New vistas every day

The pelican Patrol

A beautiful golden sunrise  over the beach

The pelican patrol flight leader

Sunset over the Matanzas River

Playing Wordle with Johnathon, "Lets start with 'water', Poppy" (Every new game)

b

Bennett and Bailey with Poppy

Poppy and Weston having fun

On the beach on the 4th of July with Angela, the boys and the girls

On the deck the morning I left

Trained guard dog warding off evil beach walkers with dogs.

Lord, thanks for those times we all shared together

Tis the kind of thing we'll remember forever

Life's too short to skip the best parts

Those times when together, we all shared our hearts.

Amen

The last sunset over the Matanzas before I left

The final flight, not really, they are endless, like my memories

BLUEBIRDS PRAYER

  

"Lord, thank you for the birds that tweet,

Thank you for the bugs I eat,

Thank you for this house to live,

And thank you for these folks who give

 

Amen "

MOTHER

 

MOTHER

 

  Born in Wichita Falls, Texas on November 27, 1915; Sarah Geneva Mosley was the daughter of an itinerant worker who did everything from picking cotton to painting smoke stacks on large factories. A photo from childhood shows her and two sisters standing beside a tent where they no doubt lived during the turbulent 1920’s. Second oldest, she doesn’t reveal the resolute character that was to become her destiny, but her meager beginnings no doubt established her stubborn determination to survive. Her childhood would never include a stable home with roots to come back to. Oscar Mike and Annie Ruth Mosley worked throughout West Texas picking cotton in Munday, Wichita Falls and Sweetwater Texas and by the end of the 1920’s they had migrated through Colorado working on vegetable growing farms. The great East Texas oil discovery in the late 1920’s drew them back to Texas where he worked in the oil fields.

  
                

From left is Aunt Ethel, Grandmother Annie Ruth Compton Moseley                                               Mother at age 14 in 1929

Aunt Edith in lap, Grandfather Oscar Mike Moseley and Mother

 

  Her father died from a freakish misunderstanding while walking down the sidewalk on New Years Eve in Gladewater, Texas. In 1930, this piney woods east Texas town became the site of a massive oil strike that caused it to blossom from a sleepy village of 500 into a bustling boomtown of over 8,000.  Filled with wooden derricks and roughnecks, it thrived in the midst of the great depression. Oscar Mike Moseley and his brother Ed were big men, but as the story was retold to us, Oscar Mike was pistol whipped by a Texas Ranger who thought he had made a derogatory remark toward him while passing the ranger on a crowded wooden sidewalk.  He hit his head on the curb as he fell from the beating and died in the local hospital where Mother’s future Mother-in-law attended him. Mother was sixteen at the time and I’m sure that her life became a lot more complicated after that. We don’t know how she met Dad, but it must have been shortly after that.

 

     

  Dad and Mother about a month before they married in May of 1933

 

  She had no roots for her entire life until she married Dad a couple of years later, in Gladewater. On June 23, 1933, at the age of seventeen and a half, she married the love of her life, Steve Warbritton and embarked on the happiest phase of her life. Their playful staging of photos, taken just before their marriage around his Chevrolet coupe, evidences a joy and camaraderie that she may have never before experienced. Though he was a bricklayer by trade, he started working for Magnolia Oil Company and they moved to Vivian Louisiana. In 1939 their first son Michael was born in Rodessa, Louisiana and she became the loving mother and wife that would define her happy years. They developed great life-long friends and they created cherished memories to share for the rest of their lives. She still didn’t have much as far as earthly possessions, but she was no longer wandering and she had a family of her own. Their second son, Ted, was born in Marshall Texas in 1942 shortly after the outbreak of the Second World War.

  The war created tumultuous change to the entire world and obviously affected Mother and Dad. After their third son and last attempt for a daughter (me) was born in late 1943, Dad went to the west coast to find work in a defense plant. Mother’s sisters moved out to the Bay area and worked in the shipyards around Oakland, Berkley, and Richmond. Although he was 34 years old, Dad was drafted and disembarked for duty in the Pacific as a naval CB. Mother worked as a clerk in a JC Penny department store and her sisters worked in shipbuilding. I don’t know if they were a “Rosie the Riveter” but I do know they all worked on building ships for the war.

            Mother circa 1940                                                                                  Unhappy Mom just before Dad

                                                              shipped overseas in 1945                                     

         
                                 

                                                    

 In late November 1945, when Dad was discharged, they drove to Texas and decided to move to west Texas where the dry air would benefit my brother Mike’s asthma. Dad’s brother had moved to Sweetwater, Texas and built a home so Dad bought 2 lots next door to build his home. Mother moved to her mother’s farm in Throckmorton, Texas with the children while Dad built the house in Sweetwater. He was now a full time brick mason and he built a modest two room stucco home that was probably the first real home of their own.

  I believe the next eight years were the most joyous and satisfying of her life. The post-war environment of America produced a strong kinship between everyone who survived, and an overwhelming need to be connected to family and friends. We lived in a community that was heavily influenced by German-American immigrants who had recently fought for their new country. Mother loved to dance and so did everyone in the neighborhood. It seems that every Saturday night in the summer, we would go to a different home and watch Mother and Dad dance the polka, the schottische, the Texas Swing or a graceful waltz. Mother was the belle of the ball; everyone loved her and Dad and invited them to every neighborhood party. They were a perfect partnership of precision as they glided over the smooth wooden floors. As a youngster, I would sit with the other children on the outskirts of the dance floor and watch them maneuver effortlessly through each of the various steps. The women’s hooped-skirts swished softly as they twirled and spun through the difficult dances. The entire scene was mesmerizing; the music, the swirling couples, the smiling faces and the laughter of the dancers.

  These were pre-television days and life was simpler and richer. Everyone relished life and lived every moment because they had all known someone who had not survived the war. Board games and card games were very popular in that era. Canasta was the absolute rage of the day. Many pleasant weekends were spent playing canasta, dominoes or the famous “42” at the home of friends or relatives. Mother and Dad were usually partners and I remember that they both played very well. Television was in it’s infancy and available only to the well-to-do, so we sat around the radio in the living room to listen to Fibber Magee and Molly, Our Miss Brooks, The Green Hornet, and western stories or mystery stories. We played 78 and 33.3 rpm records of Patti Paige, Doris Day, Hank Williams, Hank Snow or Little Jimmie Dickens and listened to AM radio because there was no FM radio. Mother curled up in her favorite chair and crocheted while the programs played. Survivors of that terrible war developed deep religious convictions and were faithful to their church and God. We were devoted members of the Fundamental Baptist Church; Dad was a deacon and Mother a faithful member of the flock.

  Mother loved to cook and she made desserts that everyone raved about. She made chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and pecan brownies with chocolate icing that we all eagerly devoured. Her fruit cake and German chocolate cake at Christmas were a special treat to all. She especially loved to cook for the holidays and we certainly anticipated any meal she prepared. Her meatloaf was my favorite. I used to sit in the kitchen while she prepared these meals and she would let me taste of the batter before she baked, or give me a first taste out of the oven. She enjoyed sewing and once sewed shirts with various states imprinted on them for my two brothers and me. She learned to crochet and spent many hours creating doilies with florals adorning them. Mike had been in the cub scouts and had graduated into the boy scouts; Mother hauled him to his meetings and then took me to the cub scouts wearing his old uniform. Mother finally had a family, a home and a circle of friends that loved and cherished her; she had the life that she had never been able to enjoy before. I can only imagine how fulfilled she felt now that her life was ordered and complete.

 

                                         Mother in Sweetwater circa 1950 

               

                            Mother & Dad in Sweetwater circa 1954 

 

  Like a car wreck, that you don’t see coming, that you can’t plan for, that suddenly happens and you feel that your whole life shifts into slow motion as the uncontrollable events start occurring; her life was unalterably changed. In 1952 she was diagnosed with lymphoma and everything she had accomplished in her life was threatened, as her doctors recommended immediate surgery. She had a radical mastectomy of the left breast and the removal of the adjoining lymph nodes. To care for her boys while she had the operation, they sent us to stay on a farm in west Texas with her sister, Aunt Millie. We were young and oblivious to the life threatening nature of her condition. She especially protected me, as the youngest, so that I would not be overly concerned about her condition. It was at this time that she first showed the intrepidity that would carry her through the next nine years.

  She would talk to me and tell me that she was ill, but not to worry because she was going to fight it and get over it. She showed me her scars and told me that they had removed the cancer and she would be well soon. But the ruthless and relentless tentacles of the disease were back the following year. She had a radical mastectomy of the right breast while we spent another summer on the farm. By the end of the school year in 1954, we moved to get closer to better medical facilities than the small town of Sweetwater could provide. We eventually landed in Marshall Texas where Mother and Dad had spent some of the early years of their married life. Mother really wanted to be in Fort Worth where there were better cancer treatments, but she felt better and they tried east Texas first. After only one year, her condition worsened and her prognosis was diminished, so we moved back to Fort Worth. I started sixth grade in Fort Worth and Mother started radiation treatment for her cancer. Modern medicine in 1956 would be considered archaic treatment in today’s world. She required heavy medication for the intense pain she suffered. The treatment itself caused her a great deal of discomfort.

  Over the next few years, she maintained a remarkable outlook on life. In spite of the disease, the heavy medications and the painful treatments, she displayed a cheerful demeanor. Friends would visit her to cheer her up, and would be surprised to find her laughing and joking and encouraging them. During many of her long and agonizing nights, I would stay up and watch television with her until the test patterns would appear. Her favorites were I Love Lucy, Red Skelton and Jack Parr; the humor took her mind off of her pain. I don’t know what she did after that, but she would speak to me softly and send me to bed, then face her trials through the rest of the night. She was an avid fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers; she kept a complete box scorecard and recorded every pitch and hit during the 1955 and 1956 World Series. She would stroke and tally each pitch as a ball or strike, and joyously cheer when Duke Snider or Roy Campanella hit a home run. Don Drysdale was her favorite pitcher and she clapped joyously at each strikeout he pitched. She hated it when the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles, but she was still a fan.

  Aunts came and stayed with us for months at a time and finally we were old enough to help take care of her ourselves. Numerous times her doctors would tell her that she had only a matter of months to live, but still she hung on, and desperately fought the icy fingers that would take her life. Her onocologist said that she had a strong will to live and that her resolve itself was keeping her alive. She suffered beyond any human’s tolerance should have allowed. But cancer has no friends; it has only one purpose, to spread its malignancy. Eventually it moved into her stomach and other vital organs and she had to be moved into the hospital. We prayed that God would spare her and bring her back one more time, but it was not to be. This brave woman fought for nine years before she succumbed. I would like to think that she fought to see me through till I was an adult, but that is selfish, she fought to be with all of us; to show that even if you can’t defeat your adversary, you can conquer the spirit of your enemy. She never let it conquer her invincible spirit, and even through excruciating pain she maintained lucid relationships with all those she loved.  In her last days at home, she listened to her seventeen year old son’s questions about homework assignments and gave him sound advice to guide him. She was truly amazing to be able to concentrate on others’ concerns in the middle of so many problems that she faced herself. When visitors came to cheer her, they came away uplifted, by her humor and good will that she displayed to them. Many were amazed that she could be in such good spirits while in such pain. Her spirit was simply indomitable in the midst of her calamity.

  Mother died on the morning of March 1, 1962 and never saw her first grandchild, James Michael; who was born at the same hospital in the afternoon of the same day. I was a senior in high school and was devastated, even though     I knew it was inevitable. The church was filled with family and those who had grown to love her; many of my school friends attended her funeral in Fort Worth and then her frail remains were taken to a little cemetery at Woodlawn, Texas, deep in the piney woods. At the end of a tree lined, oil-topped country road, you open the wrought iron gate to go through the brick archway and enter this peaceful sanctuary nestled deep in the forest. One of her dear friends from Vivian Louisiana came by and paid her respects to a woman who was her lifelong friend and companion. She was laid to rest in a brick vault that had been lovingly prepared by friends and family. It’s been over forty-five years since she was placed there, but it still warms my heart and brings a flow of tears to my eyes to stop by and chat with her, and now Dad lies next to her too. I can only imagine what a sweet reunion that was in Heaven. I always bring flowers because she loved them so much. Her favorites were roses and gardenias.

   Mother was an inspiration to everyone who knew her. She lifted every spirit who came in contact with her. She endured thresholds of pain that we can only imagine. When I think of great courage and great determination, I think of Mother. Indisputable character, immeasurable love, and indomitable courage were avid descriptors of her. Add loving-kindness, unselfishness, gentleness, humor and genuine meekness and you have completed the full measure of the wonderful lady I called Mother.

 

 

 

 

Sarah Geneva Mosley Warbritton 11/27/1915 – 03/01/1962

 

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come".

- ( Julius Ceasar -Act II, Scene II).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written by David Warbritton exclusively for the Warbritton family