Uncle George

George Francis Sines 

Aug. 23, 1936 - Oct. 19, 2017

Uncle George holding me.

(I was asked to speak at his funeral service on October 23, 2017. These are the words I spoke to honor him.)

My name is Connie Jean. George's wife, my Aunt Benny (known as Brenda by most) is the baby sister of my father, Carl. 

I am so fortunate to be just one of the many nieces and nephews of George Sines. I'm sure we all have our own personal experiences and memories with him, and I'd like to share just a few of mine. 

After my father died when I was just 2 1/2 years old, my Uncle George became a father figure to me and throughout the years he has been the example I've looked to for the qualities found in a "good" man...a man of faith, integrity, honesty, who is down-to-earth, humble and kind, one who cares, one who is devoted to his wife and family and willing to quietly be there when they and others need help, one who has a good sense of humor and enjoys life and simple pleasures.

I believe that he and my Aunt Brenda truly cared for me, and they showed it by spending time with me, taking me to church beginning at a very young age, teaching me about Jesus and his love, showing me how to love others, encouraging me and supporting me throughout my school years. Aunt Benny, who is a bit of a worrier, pays attention to details, and wants things done right, was also the disciplinarian, and she would be doing things like fussing with curling or brushing my hair, wiping dirt from my face or making sure my shoes were clean and that I didn't put them on the furniture...I can still hear Uncle George saying something like "Geez, Brenda, let her be a kid!" I jokingly say I was their practice kid before they had their beloved Patty Kay! I watched how excited they were when they finally became proud parents of the child they had waited so long for and I was so happy for them...and I love Patty like a sister.

My love of music and singing hymns and gospel music especially, came from Uncle George and from attending the Irona church where he would play guitar and he and Aunt Benny would sing songs that she had printed in spiral notebooks. Going to Sunday School, church, and revivals with them, watching and hearing them pray, going from playing in the floor, to sitting in a seat, to standing on the platform in front, to kneeling at the altar...all gave me a firm foundation in Christ, leading up to my baptism In Wolf Creek as a teenager by an evangelist who was preaching during a revival. 

Along with church, our many conversations, and singing songs, I have fond memories of such things as our picnics, leisurely drives, and learning how to ride a motor bike while he was sitting behind me giving instructions. Who would have thought that a policeman would just happen to be on Blazer Road at the same time! Well, we were stopped and I was a little scared, but Uncle George calmly answered questions honestly, telling the officer, "... no, she doesn't have a license to operate" (after all, I was only 12 years old!), that he was teaching me and was in control of the motorbike and, "...yes sir, we will turn around and I'll get on the front and drive us right back to the house. And you have good day, too, sir!"  That worked!

Uncle George was a simple man who was content to live modestly, work for everything he had, take care of his family, eat simple country meals, mind his own business, serve the Lord, sing and play guitar and other stringed instruments by himself or with friends. 

He was a frugal man...he didn't throw money away, but he also wasn't afraid to spend it on his family or on a vehicle he liked...and he has owned many nice ones through the years. Over the last several years, one of his favorite things to watch on tv was The Price is Right...and even though he liked to guess the price on the items, prize packages, and trips...it really made him happy when folks would win and be excited, happy, and smiling...and he would be happy for them. 

He believed in justice, fairness, and treating all people the same. You didn't have to wonder what He thought...He disliked liars, thieves, freeloaders, lazy or mean people. And if you wanted to start a conversation with him, just mention politics, politicians, and the government! He definitely had opinions on those things. 

I hated it when his health began to deteriorate and it was difficult to watch him when he was in pain, had difficulty breathing, and was unable to do the things he loved. He would become frustrated and discouraged and wonder how a loving God could allow the things he was having to endure. I don't know why, and the doctors didn't have many answers, but I believe that Uncle George has now learned those answers and the answers to the rest of his questions. I believe that Uncle George would tell you all...God is still a loving God, Jesus loves us and willingly paid the price for all our sins, Heaven is indescribably beautiful, and all our suffering and troubles and trials here will be worth it all when we get to Heaven by trusting, believing in, and serving our Lord and Savior. No matter how your life on earth has been, even if you think you've got it made, you didn't get it all on your own...and nothing compares to Heaven. 

Uncle George, I love you, I thank you, and I'll miss you...until we meet again.  I want to remember and see those twinkling blue eyes and ready smile, hear that slightly ornery laugh, and the beautiful singing voice with no struggling for air and no pain.  Until then, keep smiling and singing and enjoying your Heavenly home!

(Copyright by C.J. Taylor.  Please do not copy or share without permission.)

"The Title"

"That special 3-letter title that can evoke feelings of fear, uncertainty, inadequacy, responsibility, importance, purpose, wonder, awe, pride, compassion, immeasurable and unconditional love..."Mom".  My heart is so full of overwhelming love for my sons...my desire is and always has been been for them to be happy, healthy, responsible, loving, giving, compassionate, respectful, respected, successful at whatever they choose to do and be...and to always know that, no matter what, they will always be loved and cherished by me." ~C.J. 

 

(figurine is Willow Tree Mother & 2 Young Children - Susan Lordi - Demdaco)

(copyright Post by C.J. - please do not copy or use without permission)

 

We are "West Virginians"!

We are "West Virginians"...from the State of WEST VIRGINIA, not Virginia or western Virginia.  If you don't know us and where we come from, don't judge us or stereotype us. Come for a visit and find out for yourself that, although there are exceptions (just as in any other place) for the most part, we MOUNTAINEERS are proud, hard-working, family-oriented, well-educated, self-sufficient, good, honest, God-fearing people who take care of our own, our neighbors, and strangers who may be just visiting or passing through. The majority of us whose families have lived in this beautiful area for generations come from the diverse cultures and backgrounds of Native Americans and ancient generations of folks from the areas of Ireland, England, Scotland, Germany, Wales, Italy, Poland, etc., and each of those unique heritages remain evident in our speech, music, dance, artistic expressions, dress, food, opinions, and lifestyles. Individuals from many other ethnic groups and nationalities now call WV their home, primarily because they have found that we are not racist or prejudiced and they are also amazed by and appreciative of the acceptance, friendliness, helpfulness, pride, and protectiveness of our people. There is something very unique and special about our State and its People and no matter where I may roam, West Virginia will always be my home. May God bless the beautiful hills, valleys, mountains, streams, and rivers of the Mountain State, bless its people, and the country to which we belong.  ~ C.J., A native of "Almost Heaven, Wild and Wonderful WEST VIRGINIA"

~ ~ ~

Posted in response to the ongoing flawed perceptions and 

misconceptions about the State of WV and its People, 

especially perpetuated by the media...

  

Post and photo by C. J.- please do not copy. 

September 11 - Just Another Day?

Today is Sunday, September 11, 2011.  Knowing it was futile to attempt to remain in the bed and go back to sleep, I was up around my usual time of 4:15 a.m.  As I made my way to the kitchen to get a drink of water and put on a pot of coffee to brew, I was keenly aware of the silence all around me.  The only sound I detected was the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall above the counter.  The floor felt cool against my bare feet.  Standing there in my summer pajamas, I began to get goose bumps on my arms and I realized that it was beginning to feel like autumn and that the air conditioner hadn't come on even once all during the night.  Time to get out the long-sleeved tops, sweatshirts and dreaded winter coat.


I put on my robe, and when the coffee was ready I poured myself a cup, placed it on the small table beside the recliner-rocker, took a seat, and picked up my laptop.  This was my usual routine.  Few people understand, but the very early hours of the morning are "my time", when I am most alert, and I utilize this time to check email messages, read important articles, take exams, pay bills, do a little writing...anything that requires a little sense and clear thinking.  This morning was no different...or was it?


I looked at the date again...September 11, 2011.  Could it be?  Could it be possible that it has been ten years?  It doesn't seem so, but it has been ten years since that horrific day that all of America, and the free world, was shaken and shocked by what took place.  I had been sitting at the counter in my kitchen making out a grocery list, with the television tuned into the morning news, only half listening to it, when the unbelievable break in the newscast caught my attention.  I sat frozen, stunned, paralyzed, and watched the tragic events take place once at a time.  I did the only thing I could, and the same thing I'm sure millions of Americans did in those moments...I prayed and cried out to God and started trying contact my family.


I cannot even begin to imagine what the victims of September 11, 2001, experienced, nor do I want to.  But the families of those victims, along with those who were there and somehow survived, have thought about,  and have continued to have nightmares about it...for the past ten years.  I am thinking of all those who started that day out with their seemingly usual routines, never realizing that their lives on this earth would end.  I am thinking about the families and friends who continue to grieve and mourn the loss of their loved ones.  I am thinking about all the brave men and women who risked their own lives to try to help others on that day.  I am thinking about all the men and women who serve in the military of our country and the sacrifices they have made and continue to make to try to make sure that such a tragedy never happens again.


To honor, remember, respect, and pay tribute, I dedicate my time this morning to all the victims of September 11, 2001, and on this day, the anniversary of one of the most tragic days in the history of America, I give thanks to each and every person who has served or is currently serving in each branch of the military of our country. Without your sacrifice, we would not have the freedoms we enjoy and perhaps we would not even exist...I THANK YOU ♥

( © Post and photos by C.J. - please do not copy)

The Last Salute

The flag of our country was taken from its sealed cardboard box, unfolded, and two people from the funeral home carefully refolded it in a very specific way, with each fold having a special meaning.  It ended up being  a thick triangle of material, white stars on a field of blue facing outward, and it was carefully placed in the corner of the open casket just above his left shoulder.  As family and friends came in to pay their respects and to say goodbye, they looked on the display tables and easels at the old photos and other memorabilia and they spoke of the times they had spent with him.  But as they stood at the casket, gently touching his body, then the flag at his shoulder, they were overcome with unexplainable emotion. 


The next day, the funeral service began when everyone was seated and several veterans came filing in, one by one, going up to the casket and slowly and deliberately saluting him and the flag that remained at his shoulder.  When the tribute and service was over and everyone had passed by the casket to pay their final respects, they went to their cars to wait for the casket to be loaded into the hearse.  When the last person had left the chapel, the large spray of beautiful flowers that had adorned the top of the casket was removed by funeral home staff, the flag was again unfolded, and this time it was carefully draped so that it covered the entire casket that had been slowly and ceremonially closed.  When the flag-draped casket appeared as the pallbearers carried it from the funeral home to the hearse, there was total silence, and the sight once again prompted many tears.


The procession slowly made its way to the little country cemetery a few miles outside of town and when it arrived at its destination, at the entrance gate there stood a man in uniform, saluting the hearse as it approached.  After the vehicle came to a stop, he remained at attention and he saluted again as the casket was removed from the vehicle and the pallbearers carried it to the grave site, led by the minister and the funeral director.  A bugler in uniform, standing in the distance, also stood at attention and saluted until the casket was in place, as did another man in uniform who had been waiting near the tent that covered the open grave.


The pallbearers carefully placed the flag-draped casket on top of the supports that would hold it over the grave, the family members were seated in chairs lined up beside the casket, and remaining family and friends gathered closely around as the minister stood at the end of the casket and prepared to speak.  When the committal service and prayer had ended, the bugler played the mournful "Taps", and the soldiers began the ritual of removing the flag and folding it, saluting at the appropriate times.  During this procedure, no one had to be asked to keep quiet; it was so silent, the only sounds were the birds singing and the swish of the material as it was being crisply and deliberately folded into its final triangular shape once more.  The task was complete and one soldier saluted and then walked away.  The one left holding the flag turned sharply around to face the family sitting on the chairs beneath the tent, then he knelt down directly in front of a daughter.  As he spoke to her, expressing gratitude and appreciation for her father's service to his country, presenting the flag to her,  it was as if everyone there were holding their breath, and then there was another sudden release of tears and emotion as the woman thanked him, clutching the flag to her breast as the soldier stood up straight and gave his salute...for the last time....

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mere words are not enough to express my gratitude to all the men and women who have sacrificed and faithfully served (and continue to serve) this country to preserve the freedoms that I often take for granted. I know many of them have experiences they have shared with no one except their God - horrible visions of friends killed; the pain and guilt from having to take another human's life; personal physical and emotional pain they themselves have endured; nightmares that have no end; sometimes the heartache of being deserted by their own family and friends...many things they have carried to their own grave in silence. 


I think that is why I become so emotional every time I see that flag-draped casket, then watch as that precious symbol is folded and presented in a most solemn and dignified manner to a surviving family member...I feel as if my heart will burst because of everything that this custom and ceremonial ritual represents. 


God bless every U.S. veteran and every person currently serving...God bless their families...and God bless the USA!

( © Post and photos by C.J. - please do not copy)

One Day Is Not Enough

( You paid the ultimate price.)

Did you think about your mother 
and all the love she'd shown
from the time she brought you into this world
til the day that you left home


Or did all the arguments with your dad
fill spaces in your mind
and did you finally realize
you were like him all the time


Did you long for just one more embrace
from the wife you loved so much
that pretty girl in the wedding dress
in the picture worn out from your touch


Were you angry or just full of hurt
because you were denied
the chance to see the unborn child
who filled your heart with pride


Did you hear angels singing
instead of screams of pain
as brothers fell around you
and bullets fell like rain


What was the last thing that you saw
as you left this world together
was it the blood of those who'd given all
to keep us free forever


Do you look down upon us now
hoping that we who live 
would understand you'd do it all again
if you had one more life to give


I know one holiday is not enough
to give honor and show appreciation
God reminds me with every sunrise
what you've done for our great nation

Written on the morning of Memorial Day, May 30, 2011


( © Post and photos by C.J. - please do not copy)

Irene

Most of the people who knew her saw her as a quiet, good person who lived a simple life.  She was that, but so much more.  Having known her, spent time with her, and interacted with her on many occasions and under a variety of circumstances, I really came to know her very well.


She grew up in a large family in rural West Virginia.  Her family didn't have a lot of money, and she helped her parents in many ways to care for and provide for her siblings, the house, and the farm.  She was only able to finish the eighth grade in school, and this was something she always resented her parents for.  If she hadn't had to help them, she thought she would have liked to finish school and go on to become a teacher.  She knew she was smart enough.


A local man who towered over her and who was a few years older than she swept her off her feet and they were married.  It was during a difficult time when our country was at war and he was called to serve in the Navy.  She was soon left alone to care for a baby girl.  She quickly felt "trapped" again by her husband's siblings, none of whom were married, but who felt they knew what was best for her and often tried to make decisions for her.


When her husband was discharged from the service, it was another period of adjustment as she stepped back from being the decision maker and he and his brother and sisters seemed to have her and her family's lives planned out, without her having much to say about it.  Her husband got a job that was over an hour's commute each way, and she was left to care for their farm and, eventually, their four children.  Over the course of several years, she had also suffered two miscarriages that no one ever talked much about, making her surviving children's ages widespread.


Each day she was up long before dawn to begin her chores on the farm, to get her husband off to work, and her children up and ready for school.  She kept them all fed and in clean clothes that she would often mend on her treadle sewing machine or by hand, and nursed them back to health when they were sick.  She took care of the animals, the garden, and canned and prepared their food to freeze for the winter.  She had supper prepared every evening when her husband got home from work, and she kept the children quiet and entertained while he relaxed and watched a ballgame or news on television and then he went early to bed.


When her husband passed away, she felt as if her own life would end.  She was so used to him making all the financial decisions, her health seemed to be failing, and she still had a lively 16 year-old daughter at home.  But with the help of family and friends, she survived and became more independent and stronger than she had felt in years.  She was torn and tormented about having her older daughter now take in and care for her "baby", but she knew it was the best decision...she didn't want her to feel  "trapped" or deprived of opportunities in any way like she had felt throughout her life.  She got acquainted with a new physician who got her on the road to better physical health.  She was now well past 50 years old and she learned to drive for the first time so she could become more independent and self-sufficient.  


She loved her children and grandchildren, was proud of them but was never outwardly boastful or prideful.  My sons had the wonderful privilege of spending a great deal of time with her, especially during their early years.  She enjoyed having everyone come to visit and just talk while sitting around the kitchen table and eating the simple meals and desserts she had prepared.  We would often joke or laugh about what kind of food to expect, but we truly loved it and knew it would be consistently delicious, comforting, and satisfying.  Her chocolate chip cookies, raisin-filled cookies, and apple cakes are especially memorable.  I will never forget the very first time I walked into her house at about 10:30 p.m.and she greeted me warmly with a smile and a hug and a large can of her chocolate chip cookies and a glass of cold milk.  I could tell immediately, though, that she was "sizing me up" to see if I was good enough for her baby boy.


Her love of God was quiet, steadfast, and sure, and she wanted to convey that to each one of her children.  She taught them right from wrong and stressed the values of good morals, character, reputation, and Christian principles.  She took them to church regularly and was a Sunday School teacher herself for awhile.  She read extensively and could have debated and answered most any question on biblical history, ancient archeology, and the teachings of Jesus.  I don't recall her ever missing a Bible-related question while watching and competing with the contestants on Jeopardy!


She never had the opportunity to travel far from home and, although she had many chances and invitations to travel later in her life, she refused to take advantage of them, preferring to remain close to home and the people and things that were familiar to her.  Her curiosity of faraway places and people seemed to be satisfied through reading magazines, books, and watching special television programs.


Her body language and other forms of communication often said so much more than the few words she spoke.  I quickly learned what each specific "look", tilted head, pursed lips, tensed jaw, crossed arms, muttered sounds, non-whistled whistle, and quiet rustle of a Pop-Tart or Little Debbie wrapper meant.  It seemed much easier for her to express her love and feelings in a personal card or letter than face-to-face.  She remembered birthdays and anniversaries with cards and sometimes small gifts.


It was difficult to watch this unique lady slowly fade away as poor physical health, mental decline and dementia finally began to rapidly take its toll and she could no longer care for herself or relate to those who loved her.  Some of the words that came out of her mouth were a little beyond the little four-letter "sh_ _" we were accustomed to hearing her mutter when she was really frustrated or exasperated.  We knew she couldn't help it when she didn't recognize us, but it hurt deeply.  She had run the race and fought a good fight, and we knew life with her as we knew it would soon come to an end, yet we just were not prepared at all when it happened.


Yes, Irene was a quiet, good person who lived a simple life.  But she was also intelligent, curious, quick-witted, hard-working, conservative, frugal, God-fearing, stubborn, honest, resilient, resourceful, loving, loyal, and devoted.  I learned a lot from her during the 30 years that I had the privilege of knowing her as my mother-in-law and my friend and I just wanted to take these few moments, during the month of the anniversary of her birth to say, "I love you...I miss you...and you made a difference in my life, Mom".

( © Post and photo by C.J. - please do not copy)

Who Would Know? (for "S")

Who would know?
She, the one who always seems to be smiling...
the one whose hearty laugh is so infectious...
the one always offering others a shoulder to lean on...


Who would know?
She, who has kept so much pain buried deep inside...
early memories of feeling "never good enough"...
the object of cruelty and harsh words...


Who would know?
She would be so close to the mom and dad
whose expectations she felt she could never meet...
caring for and loving them both to their last breath on earth...


Who would know?
She, who thought she had found the love of her life...
after 30 years of dreaming, building, and living as a couple...
would be betrayed by that one person she thought she could always trust...


Who would know?
Only those who really know her...
Who catch a glimpse of a tear or the pain in her eyes...
would know that all the wounds are very slowly healing...


Who would know?
She, after all that she has gone through...
is even stronger, more confident, more loving,
and always ready to lend a hand or defend another...


Who would know?
Shelia, who is always smiling, laughing, and participating in life...
who has more friends than she's ever had before...
She knows...that with family, friends, and God, she's doing better than ever...


And she knows...she's going to make it!

( © Post and photos by C.J. - please do not copy)

Who is this Child called Malori Grace?

Who Is This Child Called Malori Grace?

Who is this Child called Malori Grace
With soul-piercing blue eyes and a glow on her face
Long flowing hair, streaked with shimmering gold
Mysterious, angelic, with stories untold

So tender-hearted and full of compassion
A  beautiful princess, always in fashion
How can it be that she's only five
This dear little one already so wise

She's asking the questions that all of us fear
Real answers that many won't want to hear
"Mommy, please tell me, why are people so mean?"
"Nobody wants to be friends, so it seems."

Her tears and her questions are breaking the hearts
Of family and friends, so they their wisdom impart
For we all have been there, have been hurt by others
We want friends so badly, and sisters and brothers

She just wants to feel special and that she belongs
To some other "someone" who helps her feel strong
Someone to love her and be her best friend
Someone to play with and trust to the end

Dear Lord, I pray that she'll know what she's worth
To you, most of all, you who put her on earth
To bring joy to her family and all she will meet
This beautiful child, so lovely and sweet

She will have friends, of that I am sure
But in the meantime she'll have to endure
The process that all of us have to go through
Of waiting till you find the ones who'll be true

This dear little girl a lesson will teach
To all of us watching, so many she'll reach
She'll love the unlovely and their hurt not pay back
When people hurt others there's something they lack

Sensitive, spunky, caring, and giving
A lifetime ahead of glorious living
It just takes a glance at this heavenly face
To realize we're blessed to know Malori Grace

( © Poem by CJ Taylor - please do not copy)

"We love you, Malori!"

(I sat down and wrote this for Malori after she'd had a particularly difficult day.  When her mother picked her up at school, she was tearful and asked her mother why people were so mean.  She said it seemed that no one wanted to be her friend.  It made me sad...)

Never Forgotten

In Honor and Memory of My Father

Cpl. Carl J. Minor 

1932 ~ 1957

Wounded during two different battles 

while serving with the U.S. Army 

during the Korean War

Carl on street in Seoul

(3) Carl Minor - WIA  (2) Donald Paslwad - WIA
(1)  Jessie Neal, Squad Leader - KIA

 

Carl's Platoon (he is 3rd from left, front row)

Westview near Old Baldy

The location Carl was hit on April 17, 1953

 

101st - "Screaming Eagles"

( © Post and photos property of CJ - please do not copy)

Tabatha Nicole

Tabatha Nicole Reed
December 16, 1986 ~ April 7, 2011

           Tabatha Nicole

To us, her time on earth was short
But that was in God's plan
He knew when He would take her back
Before her life began

He chose a special mother
To bless with this child of His
And it changed her life forever
But He knew the love she'd give

The bond was fast and sure
As Trina held her in her arms
She vowed that she would fight for her
And keep her safe from harm

She named her Tabatha Nicole
This baby like no other
With big blue eyes and smiling face
Who dearly loved her mother

The baby girl grew up so fast
Though she battled every day
But she would never give up hope
She knew there'd be a way

Although she never walked or ran
Like others in the race
She'd laugh and clap and cheer them on
Smiles beaming on her face

While we might never understand
She had even more to endure
Tabatha taught us all great lessons
On how to live, for sure

She's the one who encouraged us
When no hope there seemed to be
Her sparkling eyes, her gentle touch
Said, "I'll be all right, you'll see."

She has gone the distance, she's with the Lord
Her prize it has been won
Running, jumping, dancing, singing
Her job on earth is done

( © Poem written by CJ Taylor - please do not copy)

(How appropriate???  Tabatha is a variation in spelling of the name Tabitha and it means "gazelle" in Aramaic. Tabitha in the New Testament was a woman restored to life by Saint Peter. Her name is translated into Greek as Dorcas (see Acts 9:36).)

April Renee

April Renee


The sun rose again this morning

As it did yesterday 

Birds are singing their same songs

But there has been a change

Folks are preparing for their day

At work or school or home

Their minds are on the tasks at hand

And problems of their own

But there is one who did not see

The sun rise in the sky

At least not from the bounds of earth

God took her home last night

Things will never be the same

Without her smiling face

Her quiet voice, her gentle touch

Her never-changing grace

Mountains to climb all her life

Taking them one at a time

Keeping her pain all to herself

She'd say "I'm doing fine"

Her battle is now over

She fought it, was so brave

I know her first reward

Was seeing Jesus face-to-face

There will be a void no one can fill

In the lives of all who knew 

This special one who brought us joy

Through the things that she would do

Thinking of others before herself

One project or another

She kept busy taking care of them

A "sister" or a "brother"

So until we meet again up there 

In Heaven fair some day

We'll always think of you and smile

Our dear sweet April Renee

    (I wrote this shortly after receiving word the morning she passed on)
______________

April Renee Allen

April 28, 1967 ~ April 6, 2011

( © Poem and photo by CJ ~ please do not copy)