Deborah Carol Boyd

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Deborah Carol Boyd

Immediate Family:

Daughter of William Isaac Boyd and Mary Frances Rogers
Mother of Private and Private
Sister of Private User; Jeffrey Alan Boyd and Lisa Cheryl Boyd

Last Updated:
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Immediate Family

About Deborah Carol Boyd

"I'm not a woman, but a world." -- HRM Queen Makeda / Bilqis / Nicaula ., Queen of Sheba / מלכת שבא / ملكة سبأ‎ , 75x Great Grandmother "I'm a pen in the Hand of God, writing a Love Letter to the world." -- Blessed Teresa of Calcutta “Cushlamochree: darling [From Irish: “vein of my heart.’]” “Word a Day” “Empyreal: relating to the highest heaven; believed to contain pure light or fire; relating to the sky, celestial; sublime, elevated” “Word a Day” Qeste-Nihb means "the sting of the bee." -- Medieval Ethiopian The awen remains a symbol of reformed druidry, showing the three drops of inspiration with a radiant pathway issuing from each drop; each pathway is said to represent the three functions of bard, ovate, and druid.” The Celtic Book of Days: A Guide to Celtic Spirituality & Wisdom. Caitlin Matthews. Destiny Books, One Park Street, Rochester, VT 05767. Vermont: 1995, 31. Travel Stones Diamond Emerald Ruby Sapphire Topaz

  • Black Tourmaline for protection against mental and physical abuse

Deborah’s Eulogy:

Jesus Christ, by Your own three days in the tomb, You hallowed the graves of all who believe in You and so made the grave a sign of hope that promises resurrection even as it claims our mortal bodies.

-- Order of Christian Funerals, 1998 ed., No. 218; hereafter, OCF

Death for the faithful Christian is not annihilation, but final passage to our lasting Home with God in Heaven. Our Lord Jesus Christ, by His Passion, Death and Resurrection, has won for us the Victory which gives us the sure hope of life, body and soul, with God without end in Heaven. In Him [Jesus Christ, our Lord], Who rose from the dead, our Hope of resurrection dawned. The sadness of death gives way to the bright promise of immortality. Lord, for Your faithful people life is changed, not ended. When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death, we gain an everlasting dwelling in Heaven.

-- Roman Missal, Preface “Christian Death I”

In William Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” he speaks of death, “Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,/And, flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!/” -- Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2 As you well know, we have our citizenship in Heaven; it is from there that we await the coming of our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will give a new form to this lowly body of ours and remake it according to the pattern of His glorified body, by His power to subject everything to Himself.

-- Philippians 3, 20 - 21

As faithful disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ, we profess our faith in the resurrection of the body as we await His return in Glory on the Last Day.

Source: Bishop Raymond L. Burke and Sr. Marlene Weisenbeck, FSPA

Deborah was a homemaker who loved her family more than herself. She was a loving daughter, sister, and mother. She graduated magna cum laude from Shelby State Community College, Memphis, Tennessee, with an Associate of Arts Degree in English and minors in French and Spanish. Deborah graduated cum laude from the University of Memphis, Memphis, Tennessee, with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Middle Eastern History with minors in English literature, French, and Spanish. Her college and university life included membership in the Golden Key Society, Phi Kappa Phi, Phi Theta Kappa, the Pinnacle Society, Who’s Who Among Students in American Junior Colleges, and Who’s Who in American Colleges and Universities.

Blesséd (Mother) Teresa loved the Lord Jesus Christ so much that she once said of Him, “I am the pen in the Hand of God, writing a Love Letter to the world.”

Deborah loved writing poetry, and had several of her poems published in the college and university presses. Her more notable Junior College publications were an art critique written in French, published in Shelby Statements, “Critique de Guillaume Adolphe Bougureau’s ‘Les Chuchotements d’Amour, 1889,’” (Critique of William Adolph Bougureau’s [painting] ‘Whisperings of Love, 1889’) and “Yo soy Débora, un angel caminó entre nosotros,” (I am [called] Deborah, an angel who walked among us.)

Her most noteworthy poem written for The Final Word at the University of Memphis was “Power for the Course.” Other poems included “David’s Gift,” “Little Star,” “Mother Earth,” “Mystery of the Buried Treasure,” “Play Time,” “Rise, O Vestal Virgin Child, ” “Smiles,” “The Christmas Tree,” and “Today.”

Deborah was both a political activist and philanthropist, constantly striving for significant social change in today’s society. Her many clubs and organizations included memberships in the American Association of University Women, Council of Indian Nations, Friends of the Library (Memphis, Tennessee), Friends for Life (6 gallon blood donor), Memphis Museum System, Memphis Zoological Society, National Association of Female Executives, National Trust for Historic Preservation, Pax Christi, U. S. A., [U. S.] Presidential Prayer Team, Smith County Genealogical Society, and Tennessee Historical Society.

Her interest in genealogy led her to join ancient Scottish clans of which she was a member of the following:

Clan Boyd Society Clan Campbell Society, N. A. Clan Grant Society Clan Pollock Society Clan Shaw Society

“In her spiritual testament, Saint Colette told her sisters: ‘We must faithfully keep what we have promised. If through human weakness we fail, we must always without delay arise again by means of holy penance, and give our attention to leading a good life and to dying a holy death. May the Father of all Mercy, the Son by His Holy Passion, and the Holy Spirit, Source of Peace, Sweetness and Love, fill us with Their Consolation. Amen."

Source: “Saint a Day”

St. Luke encourages Christ’s faithful with his words, “The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; pray therefore [that] the Lord of the harvest [will] send out labourers into His harvest.”

-- Luke 10:2

Deborah's Eulogy:

Deborah’s lifelong passions were genealogy and gardening with a personal interest in preserving seeds for future generations. She began asking her parents and grandparents about their families when Deborah was just a teenager. Since that time, on Geni.com, she has accrued over 50,000 direct ancestors, with well over 100,000 extended relatives. Deborah believed that there is only One True God, that we are all His children, with no exceptions, and His Eternal, Unconditional Love resides in every human heart, making all of humanity brothers and sisters.

Deborah became an avid gardener between 2000 until her passing. During that time, she not only grew beautiful and rare flowers, but shared her garden bounty with other fellow gardeners worldwide. She had a passion for seed collecting in order to preserve our horticultural inheritance with all of our future generations. She will be pleased to have left little pieces of herself in the seeds and plants that she shared with others all across the globe.

Blessed (Mother) Teresa answers the eternal question of how world peace can be achieved in our lifetimes here on earth. Of this, she says, “What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and LOVE YOUR FAMILY!”

Tertulian reminds us that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” St. Paul reiterates for us, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” In that vein, let us all remember the words of St. Francis of Assisi who said: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love, Where there is injury, pardon Where there is doubt, faith, Where there is despair, hope, Where there is darkness, light, Where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, not so much to be understood as to understand, not so much to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, it is in dying that we awake to eternal life.” With the words of St. Teresa of Jesus, Sánchez de Cepeda Dávila y Ahumada, a 16th century Spanish saint and poet, “Without Christ alive within me, I am dead already.” French author Victor Hugo sums up life in these words of faith, hope and trust: “Have courage for the great sorrows of life, and patience for the small ones. And when you have finished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.”

If Deborah could leave you all now with her final words, they would be these:

Be good, and love one another.

Notes:

I am Deborah Carol Boyd. I was born on Saturday, October 29, 1955, at Bexar County, San Antonio, Texas, USA, LONG W 98.512682, LAT N 29.451532.

I've been interested in family history ever since I was about 12 years old. I would like to thank, with all my heart, my Grandmother Della Florence Grant Rogers, for providing me with all of her side of the family history with which I have collected over the years. Special thanks, also, to my Great Aunt (by marriage) Hester Lewis Rogers, my once Sunday School teacher, who also provided me with THE LIGHT OF CHRIST'S LOVE AND PEACE and make that my life's goal. I would like to thank, and with all my heart, my Grandmother Grace Ann Madewell Boyd, for providing me with all of her side of the family history with which I have collected over the years. Special thanks, also, to my Great Aunt Mary Leona Madewell Smith, for filling in so very many gaps that Grandmother couldn't remember. I love my family with all my heart and soul and am very appreciative to all for encouraging me to be myself and to love myself for the woman that I now have become. Thank you all, and, as my mother always signed her letters, ALL MY LOVE ALWAYS, deb My relationship to Adam, Eve (my 140th Great Grandfather and Grandmother) and God (my 141st Great Grandfather YOU → your mother → Mary Frances Rogers her father → Rhoden David Rogers his mother → Rosa W. Thompson her mother → Elizabeth Eliza Ann Moore her father → George W. Moore, Jr. his father → George W. Moore, Sr. his mother → Mary Farrar her father → George Farrar IV (husband of Judith Jefferson, sister to President TH Jefferson’s dad) his father → William Farrar III his father → William Farrar II his father → William Farrar I his mother → Cecily Kelke her father → William Kelke his mother → Isabelle Girlington her mother → Katherine Hildyard her mother → Elizabeth Hastings her father → Edward Hastings his father → Hugh de Hastings III his father → Hugh de Hastings II his father → Hugh de Hastings I his father → John de Hastings his father → Henry de Hastings II his father → Henry de Hastings I his mother → Margaret Margery Bigod her mother → Ida Isabelle Plantagenet her father → Hamelin Plantagenet his father → Geoffrey V “Le Bon” Plantagenet his mother → Matilda Atheling, Banfhlaith a Alba her father → William the Conqueror his father → Malcolm III "Canmore", Flath a Alba her father → Duncan I, Flath a Alba his father → Bethóc ingen Maíl Coluim meic Cináeda his mother → Malcolm II a Alba her father → Kenneth II a Alba his father → Malcolm I a Alba his father → Donald II a Alba his father → Constantine I King of the Picts his father → Kenneth I MacAlpin, King of the Scots his father → Alpin mac Echdach his father → Eochaidh Fionn (Achy IV) Flath a Argyll his father → Aodh Fionn his father → Eochaid Mac Echah his father → King Findon Eochaid II "Crook Nose" mac Eochaid his father → King Domangart Eugene II "Eugene Vi" mac Domnall his father → King Dongart Domnall "The Specled Bred" mac Domnall his father → King Eochaid I Buidhe mac Aidan his father → King Aedan mac Gabhran his father → King Gabhran mac Domangairt his father → King Domangart mac Fergusson his father → King Fergus Mor mac Erc, Flath a Alba his father → King Murdach mac Erc his father → Foghan Owen his father → Niall "Nial of the Nine Hostages" Mor his father → Eochy Moyvone his father → Murdeach Tireach his father → Fiacha Srabhteine King of Connaugh his father → Cairbre Liffeachair, Rí na hÉireann his father → Cormac "Ulfhada" mac Art, Rí na hÉireann his father → Art Aonfhir, Rí na hÉireann his father → Conn Ceadchadhach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Feidhlinhidth Teachtman, Rí na hÉireann his father → Tuathal "The Desired" Teachtman, Rí na hÉireann his father → Fiachadh Fionohudh, Rí na hÉireann his father → Feredach Fionn Feachtnach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Crimthann Niadh Nar, Rí na hÉireann his father → Lugaidh Sriabh Dearg, Rí na hÉireann his father → Bres-Nar Lothar, Rí na hÉireann his father → Eochaidh Feidhlioch, Rí na hÉireann his father → Fionn his father → Fionnlaoch his father → Rioghean (Roignen) Ruadh his father → Assaman (Essamain) Eamhna his father → Énna Aigneach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Àengus (Aongus) Tuirmeach-Teamrach his father → Eochaidh Alteathan, Rí na hÉireann his father → Olioll (Ailill) Casfiaclach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Conla Caomh, Rí na hÉireann his father → Iaran (Irero) Gleofathach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Melg Molbthach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Cobthach Cáelbreg, Rí na hÉireann his father → Augaine (Ugaine) Mór Monarch of Ireland, Rí na hÉireann his father → Eochaid Buaid mac Duach his father → Duí Ladrach mac Fiachach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Fiacha Tolgrach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Muredach Bolgach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Simeon Breac Monarch of Ireland, Rí na hÉireann his father → Àedán Glas his father → Nuadu Finn Fáil, Rí na hÉireann his father → Gialchadh, Rí na hÉireann his father → Ailill (Olioll) Oalchláen his father → Siorna Saoghalach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Dian, Rí na hÉireann his father → Rotheachtach, Rí na hÉireann his father → Móen his father → Àengus Olmuccaid Monarch of Ireland, Rí na hÉireann his father → Fiacha Labhrainn, Rí na hÉireann his father → Smiomghall his father → Enboath, Prionsa na hÉireann his father → Tigernmas, Rí na hÉireann his father → Follach, Prionsa na hÉireann his father → Ethrial, Rí na hÉireann his father → Irial Faidh, Rí na hÉireann his father → Heremon (Éremón), Rí na hÉireann his father → Milesius, Re de España his father → Bilé, Re de Galicia his father → Breoghan (Brigus), Re de Galicia his father → Brath, Re de Galicia his father → Deag of Scythia his father → Arcadh (Aircid), Re de Gothia his father → Alladh (Alldóit), Re de Gothia his father → Nuadhat, Re de Gothia his father → Nenuall (Nóenal), Re de Gothia his father → Febric Glas, Re de Gothia his father → Agnan Fionn, Re de Gothia his father → Heber Glunfionn, Re de Gothia his father → Lamhfionn his father → Agnon his father → Tait, King of Scythia his father → Ogaman, Βασιλιάς της Σκυθία , King of Scythia his father → Baouman, Βασιλιάς της Σκυθία, King of Scythia his father → Heber Scut, Βασιλιάς της Σκυθία, King of Scythia his father → Sruth his father → Asruth of Crete his father → Gaodhal Glas his father → Niul, Πρίγκηπας της Σκυθία, Prince of Sycthia his father → Phœniusa Farsaidh, Βασιλιάς της Σκυθία, King of Scythia his father → Baoth Pharsa his father → Magog his father → Japheth his father → Noah his father → Lamech his father → Methuselah his father → Enoch his father → Jared his father → Mahalalel his father → Kenan his father → Enosh his father → Seth his father → Adam, my 140th Great Grandfather Seth’s mother → Eve, my 140th Great Grandmother his father → God, my 141st Great Grandfather Moving from Anchorage, Alaska, to Memphis, Tennessee, I had enough high school credits to skip the 11th grade entirely. All I had to do was to take an 11th grade English course, at Whitehaven High School, Memphis, Tennessee, to satisfy the "core" requirements for that year. My 11th grade English teacher, Dear Mrs. Powers, a lovely woman, who reminds me of HM Queen Elizabeth II, HM Queen Elizabeth II, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, Queen of the United Kingdom and British Dominions, 11x cousin, 8x removed, BLESS THEM BOTH, so loved Middle English and poetry. During the course of that summer, we were to memorise a stanza from Geoffrey Chaucer's [17x Great Aunt's Grandfather] "Canterbury Tales," but in Middle English. I LOVED IT! My stanza I memorised was part of the prologue, "Here bygynneth the Book of the Tales of Caunterbury" which follows, in Middle English and then in modern English. "Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour; 5 Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, 10 That slepen al the nyght with open eye- (So priketh hem Nature in hir corages); Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; 15 And specially from every shires ende" "1 When April with his showers sweet with fruit 2 The drought of March has pierced unto the root 3 And bathed each vein with liquor that has power 4 To generate therein and sire the flower; 5 When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath, 6 Quickened again, in every holt and heath, 7 The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun 8 Into the Ram one half his course has run, 9 And many little birds make melody 10 That sleep through all the night with open eye 11 (So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)- 12 Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage, 13 And palmers to go seeking out strange strands, 14 To distant shrines well known in sundry lands. 15 And specially from every shire's end" I graduated from Shelby State Community College, Memphis, Tennessee, with an Associate of Arts in English, magna cum laude; minors in French and Spanish. I also graduated from the University of Memphis, Memphis, Tennessee, with a Bachelor of Arts in History, cum laude (minor in English). Have 94.6% fluency in French (reading, writing, speaking: 6 years) Have 74.8% fluency in Spanish (reading, writing, speaking: 2 years) Have limited (self-taught) knowledge of Italian, German, Dutch, Russian, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Irish Gaelic and Scottish Gaelic (reading and writing for college classes) I belong to the following clubs and/or organizations: 2000 Clan MacTamhais Heritage Society, member 1999 Smith County, Mississippi, Genealogical Society, charter member 1998 American Association of University Women, member 1998 Clan Campbell Society (N. A.), a Scottish (ancestral) clan/tribe, member 1998 Clan Shaw Society, Scottish (ancestral) clan/tribe, member 1997 Clan Grant Society, Scottish (ancestral) clan/tribe, member 1997 Clan Pollock Society, Scottish (ancestral) clan/tribe, member 1997 Council of Indian Nations, member 1997 Friends of the Library, member 1997 Memphis Museum System, member 1997 Memphis Zoological Society, member 1997 Tennessee Historical Society, member 1997 The Boyd Society, Scottish (ancestral) clan/tribe, member 1996 National Trust for Historic Preservation, member 1994 - 1998 National Association of Female Executives, member 1994 - 1996 Pax Christi, U. S. A., World Peace Organization, member 1991 N. A. A. C. P., S. S. C. C. student member 1991 Student Police Science Association, S. S. C. C. student member 1980 - 1996 Life Blood, Friends for Life, 5+ gallon bloo I belong to the following honor societies: 1997 - 1998 Who’s Who Among Students in American Colleges and Universities, University of Memphis, recipient 1996 -1997 Golden Key Society, University of Memphis, member 1994 Phi Kappa Phi, University of Memphis, member 1994 Pinnacle Society, University of Memphis, member 1992 Who’s Who Among Students in American Junior Colleges, Shelby State Community College, recipient 1990 - 1993 Phi Theta Kappa, Shelby State Community College, member I have received the following honours/awards: 1994 National Dean's List recipient 1993-1994 Dean's List, University of Memphis, recipient 1990-1993 Dean's List, Shelby State Community College, recipient 1980 Norrell, Inc., Outstanding Employee Award for secretarial work Cumulative gpa: University of Memphis, 3.471, 256 hours total, 1997 1997 Graduated cum laude, Bachelor of Arts degree, History/minor in English, University of Memphis 1994 Graduated magna cum laude, Associate of Arts degree, English, minors in French and Spanish, S. S. C. C. 1973 Graduated in the top 10% of my high school class, Whitehaven High School and won a scholarship to Union University, a Baptist college, but never went there. My publishings include the following: 2000 “A Wee Scottish Ditty” 2000 “Conversations with Lillith” 2000 “Lillith” 2000 “My Heart Is Full” 2000 “Ode to My Scottish Ancestors” 2000 “Ode to Sonnets” 2000 “Prophecies” 1998 “Mother Earth” 1998 “Smiles” 1997 The Final Word, University of Memphis, and The Poetry Guild: “Power for the Course” 1996 Shelby Statements, S. S. C. C.: “Yo soy Débora, un ángel quien caminó entre nosotros,” a poem written in a college Spanish class, in Spanish (with an English translation) 1996 “The Christmas Tree” 1996 “Today” 1993 “F-R-E-E-D-O-M” 1992 Shelby Statements, S. S. C. C.: “Critique de Guillaume Adolphe Bougureau ‘Les chuchotements d’amour, 1889,’” an art critique written in a college French class,in French. Some of my poetry includes the following selections: “A Wee Scottish Ditty” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published October, 2000 “How I long for my Scottish home, my castle by the sea. To walk once more in heather, my family, clan and me.” “American Immigrants” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published March 10, 2001 “Oh, so many years ago the Creator made us free. Perhaps on the shores of America, we’ll escape our tyranny.” “Conversation with Lillith” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published November, 2000 “Lillith, oh misguided lust formed from filthy dirt and dust. Eternal mothers bid you keep at bay and ne’er do harm to newborn babes. Lillith, vain and full of pride – no longer at thy Adam’s side. ‘Tis Sanael who whispers in thine ear, “Come, do my bidding, darling dear.” Lillith, what is that within thine heart? Seek from God a brand new start. No further actions of deceit. Feel His Love. Become complete.” “Critique de Guillaume Adolphe Bougureau ‘Les chuchotements d’amour, 1889’” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published November, 1992 “Bougureau utilise a la lumiare et l’obscurité pour soulinger ses sentiments de l’amour. La jeune fille et le cherub sont habillés dans blanc, significant la pureté. La jeune fille de Grace avec son urne idéalisent la croyance de la beauté classique de Bourgureau. L’innocence et la pureté sont évidentes face de la jeune fille. L’expression de la jeunesse est également exprimée par le corps mince de la jeune fille. La campagne est pure et normale, suggérant une forme d’Eden. La jeune fille semble contempler l’amour et doit avoir appelé l’aide de Cupid qui chuchote doucements dans l’oreille de la jeune fille. Sa robe simple pourtant élégante et pieds nus impliquent qu’elle pourrait probablement appartenir d'un ménage royal du temps. La cruche cette d’elle indique que la jeune fille est une ouvrire diligente et est capable de prendre soin d’elle-meme. La jeune fille pourrait etre associée Mary Magdalene qui est souvent montrée avec une urne d’huile pendant qu’elle associe son histoire d’annoint les pieds de Jésus avec de la sa huile et séchage chers ses pieds avec ses cheveux.” “Critique of William Adolphe Bougureau’s Whisperings of Love, 1889” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published November, 1992 “Bougureau utilizes light and dark to emphasize his feelings of love. The young maiden and cherub are dressed in white, signifying purity. The young, Greek maiden with her urn idealize Bougureau’s beliefs of ‘classic beauty.’ Innocence and purity are evident in the maiden’s face. Youth is also expressed by the slimness of the young maiden’s body. The countryside is pure and natural, suggesting a sort of Eden. The young maiden appears to be contemplating love and must have invoked the aid of Cupid who gently whispers in the young maiden’s ear. Simple, yet classical, her elegant dress and bare feet imply that she might possibly belong to a royal household of the time. The jug next to the young maiden indicates that she is a diligent worker and is capable of taking care of herself. The young maiden could (also) be associated with Mary Magdalene who is often shown with an urn of (olive) oil as it relates to her story of anointing the feet of Jesus (Christ) with her expensive oil and then drying His feet with her (own) hair.” “F - R - E - E - D - O - M” Deborah C. Boyd, published October, 1993 “Free to be. Free to be me. Free to like myself; approve of my actions and my decisions – whatever those might be. Free to love and be loved – both to give it and to receive it. Free to love myself and those who share my company -- for it is in loving oneself that one can then share one’s love with others. Free to love and worship my Lord, Jesus Christ, without fear or reprimand for doing so. Free to listen to other people’s opinions without condemnation of those from me. Free to return to school once the children are grown – Free to further my education – to grow intellectually as well as socially. Freedom just means to be me. Freedom -- simply to be.” “Lillith” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published November, 2000 “Lillith, beautiful and fair, Adam you did first ensnare. Jealousy drove you from the Garden gates and from God’s wrath you did escape – to live your life eternally alone, producing young for whom you’ll mourn. For from the harm that you did bear, God took from you those loved ones dear. Lillith, please now repent and seek from God His sacrament. Atone for sins that you have made and be forgiven by His grace. Only then, Lillith dear, can you begin again and live without fear. Make peace at last with one short breath and live again and ne’er fear death. I wish for you all of God’s forgiving Love sent to you by God from Heaven above.” “Mother Earth” By: Deborah C. Boyd (1998) The Earth is our Mother. Her womb is bleeding and she is dying. Help save her. “My Heart Is Full” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published September 04, 2000 “My heart is full, what more can be in store for me? The hearth fire gloweth with thy love so true. Dare I bide you evening faire and adieu? Thou sharest my heart I doth decree. Cupid doth spill the blood of both our hearts. His arrow pierceth to yon very core. What more for us can life hath in store? Oils on canvas of fine artes. Our love knoweth not any shame. Not Adam nor Eve. To Love’s own bosom doth we cleave. From God it cometh, His very flame. Pure love, not lust, are the robes we wear. Our love eternal as the sacred prayer.” “Ode to My Scottish Ancestors” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published October, 2000 and March, 2001 “Among the fields of cross and stone, my family lives, but not alone. Words now worn and dates removed recalling those who lived and loved. I must do more than simply mourn, for without you I’d not be born. You live in me with each heartbeat; you’re part of me, from head to feet. In heaven, you must surely know I’ll not forget: you’re in my soul.” “Ode to Sonnets” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published October 23, 2000 “Wherefore have all the sonnets gone, The bards of yore spinning their complex tales? The story-telling at its very best for which I long: That a day without the sonnet’s song leaves my life so weak and pale. Other songs of bards long gone by comparison are but frail. The richness of the sonnet’s song becomes the royal robe I wear. Seeking the sonnets of long ago are like the quest of the elusive Holy Grail. The poet’s words for which I long, humbly now do I share. In a dream, the poet’s king and living life so fair. To abruptly awaken from this dream With words now gone, truly the worst kind of nightmare. The loss for words would make my insides scream, Leaving me feeling hopeless and alone. Thus the indispensability of the sonnet certainly I have shown.” “Power for the Course” Turbulence. Pain. Strife. Rushing rivers, not babbling brooks. An ebb tide approaches the sandy beaches and steals sand from the glistening shore for its return voyage to the rough, white-capped sea. I long for the silence of solitude. A time to question. A time for contemplation. A time for reflection. That heavenly utopia exists only in my dreams. I believe that time heals all wounds. That time has come. That time is now. For me. I have swum in a tumultuous ocean ... And at times I have been weary, but have always kept my eyes on the prize. Now I stand upon a new shore, with sand between my toes, arms raised high above my head, and yell, “I’m alive!” “Prophecies” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published April, 2001 Royal blue ribbons Billowing in time and space Resting on my head “Smiles” He smiled at her. She smiled back. All is right with the world. The Christmas Tree By: Deborah C. Boyd July 18, 1996 The Christmas tree shines as bright as a morning star in the mind of a child. “The Plan” By: Deborah C. Boyd, published March 10, 2001 “How’s de eggs dis mornin?” “Dey’s fresh and aplenty, yessiree.” “Tonight will be the gatherin’ …” “Follow the North Star to be free.” Today By: Deborah C. Boyd June 12, 1996 Today is the day that the Lord has given me... and I will rejoice and be glad in it. By the Grace of God, I will be the one who will make my world shine brighter. My face will convey a friendly countenance throughout the entire day. Today I will love those I care for a little more than I have in the past. Today my home will be a better place in which my family and I will live... because of the love I have for myself and others. My home will be a kinder, gentler place...

because of my determination to make it so.

Today I will strive to make the world more peaceful, beginning at home. I will attempt to be more understanding of others' needs... by placing myself in their situation. I will bring joy to the world by whatever means God has given me. I will make a conscious effort to be more tolerant of those things

I do not understand...

and less demanding of myself and others. Today I will try to understand others' points of view... and with reflection, I will increase my wisdom. Today I will give more and receive less. Today I will forgive myself and others by letting the past remain in the past. Today my lamp will burn bright with hope... as I seek to make at least one other person's burden a little bit lighter. Today I will be the best that I can be... by practicing whatever it is that I believe to be true. Yo Soy Débora Por: Deborah C. Boyd 04 diciembre, 1996 Yo soy Débora, I am Débora, una mujer de paz. a woman of peace. Hago el trabajo de los ángeles aquí en la tierra. I go to do the work of angels here on earth. Ayudo a toda la gente... I help all people... alimento a los hambientos, I feed the hungry, visto los desnudos, clothe the naked, y doy refugio a las personas sin hogar. and give refuge to those without homes. Quiero participar en el ritual de <Curandera>. I want to participate in the ritual of the “Priestess.”* Busco la sabiduría del espíritu grande search/look for the Great Spirit a traves de meditación y ayuno. by meditation and fasting. Esto me hará una mujer santa, This will make me a Holy woman, una mujer de Dios. a woman of God. Ojalá que mi mente se una con los pensamientos y percepciones de Albert Einstein, que nos dijo, <Quiero saber los pensamientos de Dios>. By Allah, I wish for my mind to join with the thoughts and perceptions of Albert Einstein, who said, “I want to know God’s thoughts.” En mi futuro, In my future, cerca del fin de mis 120 años, near the end of my 120 years,** veo una sabia, vieja, I see a wise, old woman, con el pelo gris y largo, with long, gray hair, que no ha tenido ningún lamento en su vida. who has no past regrets of her life. Al fin de mi vida, At the end of my life, mi epitafio se leerá, my epitaph will read, <Aquí yace Débora, una mujer de paz, “Here lies Débora, a woman of peace, un ángel quien caminó entre nosotros>. an angel who walked among us.”

  • like the “Shaman” rituals practiced by the First American Peoples and other indigenous peoples
    • the alleged lifespan of Moses

I have always enjoyed writing short stories. Some of these selections follow: Deborah C. Boyd November 16, 1997 “David’s Gift” The story begins on a clear, chilly night, probably after the harvest festivals have taken place in Israel. Once Mary and Joseph have settled in the stable, all sorts of animals begin to gather around, awaiting the birth of the promised Messiah. The star of Bethlehem shines brightly that night, like an angel with outstretched arms. As Mary’s time to deliver her child draws near, she cries aloud in praises to God -- for this child is special. He will save all of humanity from their sinful nature. Those who believe in Him will be transformed, their sins completely forgiven -- for this child will become the bridge that had previously separated God from all of humanity. Labour pains come to Mary, but Joseph never leaves her side. He is always there to support his wife when she needs his help. When the child is born, Joseph takes the child from Mary’s arms and holds Him up towards the heavens so that all of the heavenly host can look upon Him. The ancient prophecy is now fulfilled. The Messiah, God Incarnate, is born -- to live among His creations as one of them. Three wise men approach the Holy Child, all bearing gifts. The first wise man approaches the Holy Child and kneels before Him. He blesses God and presents the Holy Child with the gift of gold. The second wise man approaches the Holy Child and kneels before Him. He blesses God and presents the Holy Child with the gift of frankincense. The third wise man approaches the Holy Child and also kneels before Him. He too blesses God and presents the Holy Child with the gift of myrrh. Then, a strange phenomenon happens. The star of Bethlehem descends to earth. Closer and closer it approaches the stable where the Holy Child lay in a manger. The light around the star begins to soften. The holy star takes the shape of an angel. “My name is David,” the angel announces to the holy family. “I, too, have come to offer a gift to the Infant Jesus. The heavenly host have sent me here to offer our gift to the child.” David stretches out his arms and lays both of his hands upon the Infant Jesus’ forehead. “I give to you the gift that God Himself has given to each and every one of us angels who reside in heaven, the gift of love.” As David touches the Infant Jesus’ forehead, the child smiles with delight. He knows that His Father is Love. What an appropriate gift to give the Messiah. Although the material gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh were appreciated for their great material value, it is the gift of love that makes the Infant Jesus’ cheeks blush with satisfaction. Perhaps the Infant Jesus already knows that “it is far greater to give than to receive.” Deborah C. Boyd January 7, 1998 “Mystery of the Buried Treasure” The day was dark like a mysterious smoky cloud hanging in the noon sky right above us. The dusky air smelled of something foul, yet something familiar. My three friends and I were determined to seek out this rank stench and see what it was that was causing that horrific odor. Each one of us looked around the trees in the yard because we thought that maybe there was some kind of ancient parasitic lichens growing on the trees which caused that putrid scent. Then, one of my friends screamed loudly for the rest of us to come there and discover what it was that she had found. When my friends and I arrived, we all saw our friend pointing an extremely shaky index finger toward one of the trees in the yard. “Here,” she said, “I think that smell is coming from here.” One by one, each of us began digging the scarlet red clay that lie beneath the burgeoning verdant grass under the tree in the yard. Then, all of a sudden, I yelled, “I found it!” I cautiously removed a dirty, musty old shoe box from beneath the hard earthen ground. For a moment, each of us stared adamantly at that old shoe box. “Well, open it,” exclaimed one of my friends with wild anticipation. Gradually and cautiously, I opened that dirty, musty old shoe box. “Gym shoes,” exclaimed one of my friends, “That smell came from these old gym shoes!” Then, all of us sat down on that lush green grass and stared mercilessly at those smelly old gym shoes. I looked at all of my friends and thought to myself, “…but I wonder whose gym shoes these belonged to…” I enjoy reading all of the different religious material written by God Himself, the ancient prophets, the saints, the martyrs. I especially enjoy “Revelations” in the Bible, the prophecies of the ancient prophets, and the story of Deborah, my name’s sake, found in the book of “Judges” in the Old Testament. I always keep a copy of “Devorah,” a revelation of the ancient Jewish prophetess and judge found in the Jewish Kaballah. I have celebrated all of the ancient Jewish celebrations with my children since 1988. I do this because, as a Christian, Jesus was a Jew and devoutly followed all of the ancient Jewish celebrations and traditions. As a devotee of Jesus, how could I not follow His example? Here is that revelation: “THE PALM TREE OF DEBORAH” Submitted by: Deborah Carol Boyd “IMITATE YOUR CREATOR. Then you will enter the mystery of the supernal form, the divine image in which you were created. If you resemble the divine in body but not in action, you distort the form. People will say of you: "A lovely form whose deeds are ugly." For the essence of the divine image is action. What good is it if your anatomy corresponds to the supernal form, whilst your actions do not resemble God's? So imitate the acts of Keter, the thirteen qualities of compassion alluded to by the prophet Micah: "Who is a God like you, delighting in love? You will again have compassion upon us. You will hurl all our sins into the depths of the sea." You should desire the well-being of your fellow creature, crying his good fortune benevolently. Let his honour be as precious to you as your own, for you and your fellow are one and the same. That is why we are commanded: "Love your neighbour as yourself." You should desire what is right for your fellow, never denigrate him or wish for his disgrace. Just as God desires neither our disgrace nor our suffering, because of our close relationship with him, so you should not desire someone else's disgrace, suffering, or ruin. You should feel as bad for such suffering as if it were your own. Similarly, rejoice over another's good fortune as if you were basking in it. God does not behave as a human being normally behaves. If one person angers another, even after they are reconciled the latter cannot bring himself to love the one who offended him as he loved him before. Yet if you sin and then return to God, your status is higher. As the saying goes, "Those who return to God occupy a place where even the completely righteous cannot stand." So when you return to God, and God restores the divine presence to you, his love for you is not the same as before but all the greater. This is the meaning of: "You will again have compassion upon us." God will increase his compassion, mending us, bringing us closer. This is how you should behave toward your fellow human being. Do not bear a grudge from the anger you felt. When you see that he wants to make up, be much more compassionate and loving than before. Say to yourself: "He is like one of those who return to God, unrivaled by even the completely righteous." Cultivate a more intimate relationship with him than with those who have been completely righteous with you, who have never offended you. These are some of the qualities by which you resemble your Creator. The sublime qualities of compassion have a precious characteristic; just as you conduct yourself below, so are you worthy of opening the corresponding sublime quality above. Exactly as you behave, so it emanates from above. You cause that quality to shine in the world. The QUALITY of humility includes all qualities, since it pertains to Keter. Although Keter transcends all the other qualities, it does not exalt itself; on the contrary, it descends, constantly gazing below. Its emanator constantly gazes into it, bestowing goodness, while it gazes at those beneath. God nourishes everything, from the horned buffalo to nits, disdaining no creature -- for if he disdained creatures due to their significance, they could not endure for even a moment. Rather, he gazes and emanates compassion upon them all. So should you be good to all creatures, disdaining none. Even the most insignificant creature should assume importance in your eyes; attend to it. Do good to whomever needs your goodness. Your FOREHEAD should not be tense at all but rather always resemble the forehead of the Will, so that you soothe everyone. Even if you come across angry people, soothe and calm them with your goodwill. For the forehead of the Will constantly accepts and soothes the harsh powers, reintegrating them. So should you soothe those overwhelmed by anger. Induce them with goodwill, drawing on great wisdom to extinguish their anger before it transgresses the boundary and causes damage, God forbid. Model yourself on the Will, which emanates from the wondrous wisdom in the forehead of the Ancient One, from where it soothes everything. Derive the power to be genial with others. If your character is somewhat harsh, people will not be soothed. This is why the Mishnah teaches: "If the spirit of people delights in someone, so does the spirit of God." Your ears should always be tuned to hear the good, whilst rumours and gossip should never be let in, according to the secret of sublime listening. There, no harsh shouting enters, no tongue of evil leaves a blemish. So listen only to positive, useful things, not to things that provoke anger. Your eyes should not gaze at anything disgraceful. Rather, they should always be open to notice those who suffer, to be compassionate toward them as much as possible. When you see a poor person suffering, do not close your eyes in the slightest. On the contrary, keep him in mind as much as you can; arouse compassion for him -- from God and from people. Your face should always be shining. Welcome each person with a friendly countenance. For with regard to Keter Elyon, the supernal crown, it is said: "In the light of the king's face is life." No redness or harsh judgment gains entrance there. So, too, the light of your face should never change, whoever looks at you will find only joy and a friendly expression. Nothing should disturb you. Your mouth should produce nothing but good. The words you speak should be Torah and an expression of goodwill. Never generate angry or ugly words, curses, or nonsense. Let your mouth resemble the upper mouth, which is never closed, never silent, never withholding the good. Speak positively, always with benevolent words. All of these good qualities gather under the banner of humility, each one constituting a limb in Keter above. When you wish to draw near to the upper worlds, to resemble God, to open the foundations to those beneath, you must become proficient in these chapters. It is impossible, of course, to conduct yourself according to these qualities constantly. Accustom yourself to them little by little. The essential quality to attain, the key to them all, is humility, for this is the very first aspect of Keter, under which all the rest are subsumed. If you constantly strive to attain this quality, all the others follow in its wake. For the first quality of Keter is that it considers itself as nothing in the face of its emanator. So, too, you should consider yourself as actually nothing. This will lead to the attainment of all the good qualities. I have found an effective portion for the cure of pride. This consists of training yourself to do two things. First, respect all creatures, recognising in them the sublime nature of the Creator, who fashions human beings in wisdom and whose wisdom inheres in each created thing. Second, train yourself to bring the love of your fellow human beings into your heart, even the wicked, as if they were your brothers and sisters, even more, until the love of all human beings is firm in your heart. Love even the wicked, thinking: "I wish that they were righteous, turning back to God, making themselves desirable to the Omnipresent." In this way your heart will turn toward the good, and you will train yourself to contemplate the various good qualities. How should you train yourself in the quality of Hokhmah Wisdom? Supernal wisdom, though concealed and transcendent, spreads over every single thing that exists. Concerning this, it is said: "How manifold are your works, O God! In wisdom you have made them all." So should your wisdom be accessible to all. Teach people what will be useful to them, according to each one's capacity, pouring out to each as much wisdom as you can. Don't let anything deter you. Wisdom has two faces. The upper face turns toward Keter, the gazing below, it receives from above. The second face, the lower one, turns below to gaze at the sefirot, emanating its wisdom to them. You too should have two facets. The first is your aloneness with God, to increase and refine your wisdom. The second, to teach others some of the wisdom that God has poured out upon you. As Wisdom emanates to each sefirah according to its dimensions and need, so should you emanate to each person according to the dimensions of his mind, whatever he can handle, what addresses his needs. Be careful not to give more than the mind of the recipient can hold, to prevent any mishap, just as the highest sefirah does not exceed the limits of its recipient. Let your compassion extend to all creatures, neither despising nor destroying any of them. For Wisdom spreads over all created things: mineral, vegetable, animal, and human. Each was created in Wisdom. Do not uproot anything that grows, unless it is necessary. Do not kill any living creature, unless it is necessary. How should you train yourself in the quality of Binah, Understanding? By returning to God. Nothing is more important, for this corrects every flaw. As Binah, Understanding, sweetens all powers of judgment, neutralising their bitterness, so should you return to God and correct each flaw. If you meditate on returning every day, you stimulate Binah to illumine each day. In consequence all your days join in returning, that is, you integrate yourself with Binah, who is called Returning. Each day your life is adorned with the mystery of supernal return. Do not say that returning is good only for the holy portion within you; the evil portion, too, is sweetened, in the manner of this quality. Do not think that because you incline toward evil there is no remedy. This is false. If you do well, rooting yourself in Returning, you can ascend there throughout the goodness rooted there. For the root of every supernal bitterness is sweet; you can enter through this root and make yourself good. Thereby you transform the bad deeds themselves into good; your intentional sins turn into merits. The misdeeds you committed have been accusing you from the Left Side. Once you return completely, you raise those deeds and root them above. Those accusers are not annihilated but ameliorated, rooted in holiness. How should you train yourself in the quality of Hesed, Love? The basic way you enter the mystery of Hesed is by loving God to the extreme, not abandoning devotion for any reason at all, since nothing attracts you in the least, compared to loving God. So first attend to the demands of your devotion; the remainder of your time is for whatever else you need. "Who is a hasid? One who acts in love toward God." In expressing love to creatures here below, intend that you are mending up above, after the same pattern. You thereby bestow love on God.” My Memoire I, Deborah Carol Boyd, have decided to write a collection of family stories from oral traditions of the following family members of whom I am aware. I collaborated with my parents and other family members in order to get as accurate an account as is possible. As a family researcher an amateur genealogist, I have decided to begin with my autobiography (before I become too senile to remember how my life transpired over the years). I have also decided to keep this history on a computer genealogy website such as this one, GeniWeb, so that in the future I will be able to share it with all of my descendants so they too will come to discover the richness of our family diversity and, hopefully, come to appreciate what their ancestors have done for them, and that is to assist them in becoming the very unique individuals that they all are today. I will begin with the basic family tree of who we all are and will then proceed to elaborate upon oral traditions that have been handed down to me by family members. I was born Deborah Carol Boyd on October 29, 1955, a Saturday, at the U. S. army hospital at Fort Sam Houston, in Bexar County, San Antonio, Texas, the first of four of my mother’s live births. My mother also had many miscarriages throughout her married life. My sister, Sherran Annette Boyd, succeeds me. She was born on March 29, 1957, at the U. S. army hospital at Keesler Field, Biloxi, Mississippi. When my daughter, Kelly, was born, also on a Saturday, everyone thought that she was Sherran’s child because Kelly looked so much like Sherran, having dark olive skin and jet black hair (from our First Peoples’ ancestry no doubt). Shortly after delivery, I remember hobbling down to the nursery where Kelly was and looking at her, one of only two babies born that afternoon, and having “a discussion” with a young, African American couple who thought that Kelly was their own daughter. This was because Kelly had darker skin than that of their own child. Sherran is one of my best friends and has always been. She is an avid reader, a great cook, a good homemaker and mother of her daughter, Gina Frances Smith, who is now and forevermore shall be deemed as the "Miracle Baby". Sherran waited for many years to have her daughter, Gina, who has become a blessing to everyone around her. She is a very social person and loves people. We are most blessed to have this young lady in our family. The next of my mother’s children was my brother, Jeffrey Alan Boyd, who was born on December 11, 1959, at the U. S. Air Force hospital at Otis Air Force Base, Bourne County, Waquoit, Massachusetts. However, little Jeffrey only lived about 18 hours after his birth. His death was due to an inflammation of the lungs. A similar incident occurred with a rather famous First Lady, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, who delivered her son, Patrick, at the same hospital in which my own mother had just given birth. Technology for this type of disease was limited. However, Mrs. Kennedy had her child rushed to a respirator. Later, her child was flown to Boston where baby Patrick died. Succeeding my brother’s birth, was the birth of my sister, Lisa Cheryl Boyd, who was born on November 16, 1961. Like baby Jeffrey, Lisa was born at the U. S. Air Force hospital at Otis Air Force Base, Bourne County, Waquoit, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, baby Lisa also inherited this same lung inflammation as did my brother, Jeffrey. She, too, lived for only 18 hours. Both of these younger two children are buried in a quaint cemetery in Falmouth, Massachusetts, the United Church of Christ church there. The last time that I have visited their graves was in the early 1980s. My husband, at the time, Newell Miller Masters, took me “home” to Falmouth. We also brought along our daughter, Kelly Marie Masters, who was in either kindergarten or first grade at the time. Immediately upon “coming home” to Falmouth, I ran out of our van and into the Waquoit Bay waters where I had spent so much of my first few years of elementary school life. I plunged in the waters until my thighs were covered, rolling up my navy blue dress so that it wouldn’t get wet. It was like a spiritual baptism for me. I heard my name called. It was our neighbour, Frannie Calhoun Shepherd. She came towards me and kissed me. I must have reacted somewhat shocked at the familiarity because I remember her saying, “I hope you don’t mind. We always greeted each other this way when you were young.” I think I responded, “No, of course not.” I love Frannie Calhoun Shepherd. She had lived in that old white house with green shutters and green roof since before I was born. All of her kitchen appliances still looked like new, like right out of a 1950’s edition of the “Sears and Roebuck Catalog.” This brings back some other memories to mind ... of days when my sister, Sherran, Frannie’s daughter, Cynthia, who was “between” Sherran’s and my age, and our other neighbour, Neila C. E. Bennett, who was either Sherran’s age or “just a little younger” than Sherran, and I had “proper New England tea parties,” complete with a white ceramic teapot of Frannie’s and “finger sandwiches” that Frannie had made. Yes, we all called her “Frannie,” and not “Mrs. Shepherd.” On one occasion, Frannie’s “tea sandwiches” were composed of white bread in which butter had been spread over the top and bottom pieces of the breads and pieces of watercress served as the “filler.” The next thing Frannie did was to cut the sandwiches into thirds, making “proper New England tea sandwiches.” Memories of food also bring to mind the reason why I cannot stand olives to this day. Nancy Bennett, Neila’s mother, had all of us girls over for tea sandwiches one day. Neila’s little sister, Tina, was on her mother’s bed taking an afternoon nap (because “all proper New England children in the ‘60s had ‘afternoon naps’”). All of us older girls sat down at Nancy’s kitchen table for tea sandwiches. First, we were served appetisers, those horrible tasting olives, the black ones and the green ones. We could not progress to the eating of the tea sandwiches until we ate those horrible olives. I absolutely detest the taste of olives to this day. It was also Nancy who first introduced to me to the idea that, in her family, drinks of any kind were not consumed until the proper time in which one had completely finished eating his or her meal. It’s funny how something like this stays with you over the years. I am now 53 years old and, to this day, I never drink any liquids until after I have finished eating my meal. Nancy and Neil and their two children (at this time, because they had more children later) were devout Catholics. Even recalling this surfaces some old memories. I remember that, at age 6 or 7, Neila and I had very lengthy discussions on Catholicism. At this time, the public schools on the Cape served fried fish sticks every Friday to all of its students, indifferent as to what religion the students belonged. One of the discussions that really interested me was when my church had us to invite neighbours to our church for “Visitation Day.” I asked Neila if she and Tina would like to go with Sherran and me to our church, the United Church of Christ church. Neila informed me that it would be a “mortal sin for a Catholic to attend any church other than a Catholic one.” I was very sad that day. My parents were Southern Baptist. However, there were no Baptist churches on the Cape of which I am aware; so, we attended the Church of Christ Congregational Church. I seem to remember that it was more like a community church. My sister and I were baptised (“sprinkled”) in this church). The old yacht club house, which was located about 100 yards or so from our crushed clam shell driveway, was the home of our annual summer “Bible Schools.” I really enjoyed those days. I can close my mind and still remember what the felt Bible characters felt like when we were allowed to brush our hands against them. Too, nothing seemed quite so quenching then, on a hot, summer day as when our little paper cups were filled with homemade lemonade. Whilst living in our first house on the Cape (my parents made their “extra” income to supplement my Dad’s rather meager Air Force pay by refinishing homes and then selling them for a profit), I remember the smell of the variety of climbing roses that my mother had planted on the chain link fence in our back yard, a fence that my Dad had installed. I also remember Ken Shepherd, Frannie’s husband, would call the “kids” over to his back yard (about once a week) for the “sole” purpose of devouring raw quahog clams. They were delectable! I remember that they felt really slimy going down my throat. All of the kids loved to eat those clams that Ken had caught in the Bay. He also caught such fish as swordfish and then invited all of the neighbours over for grilled swordfish steaks. I don’t ever remember eating any of it, though. Ken Shepherd was a great New England cook and a very kind and generous man who shared his "catches" with his neighbours. I also remember that, at one point in time, my parents had one of my mother’s nephews (Jerry Rogers, the son of her eldest brother, Bernice Ray Rogers, one of my mother’s 8 brothers and sisters) come to live with us on the Cape as his high school graduation present. I remember that he was once infatuated with Sherran’s and my swimming instructor. I also remember our elderly neighbours, Ed and Lucy McGhan. Mr. McGhan was in a wheelchair. As all of the neighbourhood kids matured, Mr. McGhan kept a visible record of our growth by placing us against his white garage shed and then placing a ruler on top of our heads and then using a pencil to mark our various “growth spurts.” I often wonder if that old white garage is still there and if the markings of all of our growths are still on it. My first ever boyfriend was Kenny Shepherd, Jr., Cynthia’s older brother. Kenny, Jr. was about my age or a little older. I remember liking him so much because he treated me like “one of the boys” and taught me how to play catch and baseball. I also enjoyed his taking us out on his parents’ little dinghy and rowing around Waquoit Bay among a lot of seaweed. Kenny was (and maybe still is) my hero. I remember in the late 50’s or early 1960s, we lived for three or four months on Long Island, New York. My Dad had to go to school there in connection with his job with the Air Force. I remember going to the Bronx Zoo and a terribly ill tempered bison buffalo attempted to ram me through the chain link fence. My mother told me that it was because I was wearing a red suit at the time. I remember being very scared of animals after that awful experience. My family moved a lot whilst I was growing up. I remember one particular house on the Cape in which we lived and the year must have been around 1964 because I remember a ‘border,’ a female college student, took me to the local store to get a brand new copy of the “45,” “I Love You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” by the new English singing sensation, the Beatles. That record didn’t last long, though. The first time that my Dad heard it, he broke that little 45 record into a million pieces. I remember sitting on the curb of our coved lot and crying for hours because of it, too. I remember one house that we lived in which was located on Pontez Avenue on the Cape. I remember it being a large, two-story house that my parents had fixed up. I remember always getting lots of presents, many among which were the newest and fanciest dolls at Christmas time and the home movies that my parents filmed of Sherran and me opening those holiday delights. I remember one time my Grandmother Grace (my Dad’s mother) coming to live with us. I remember my grandmother had her own room. I loved grandmother very, very much. I miss her greatly. On November 23,1963, as my Mom and I were watching our favourite soap opera, “General Hospital,” there was a news bulletin and I remember the announcer exclaimed, “President Kennedy has been shot.” The next thing I knew, all of our neighbours on Pontez Avenue, including us, ran out into the street and started yelling at the top of our lungs, “The President is dead! The President is dead!” There was a lot of hysterical women, screaming and raising their arms up in the air, exclaiming, “Oh, my God!” Later, I remember watching President Kennedy’s funeral on our old black and white television set. I remembered Mom and I cried for a long time. I remember when John Beradino (?) died, an actor who played Dr. Steve Hardy on General Hospital. It almost seemed as though he were a member of the family. I was sad that day, too. I said a prayer for him. Then, in 1997, Princess Diana’s death affected me very deeply. She was one ancestral cousin whom I adored greatly. She was a true lady.She gave to so many charities (as do I) and tried to help so many people (as do I). One day in either 1995 or 1996, whilst I was at the University of Memphis, on my way to class, I noticed that my gas tank was almost empty, so I pulled up to the Circle K gas station where I saw a homeless African American man, pushing a cart. I remember that I had two $10.00 bills in my wallet. I went over to the elderly man and gave him one of my two $10.00 bills. He said, “Thank you very much, ma’am and may God bless you.” I then turned around toward my car and glanced back and the man and his cart was gone. I looked for him all along Highland Avenue, but he was nowhere to be seen. (... an Angel unawares?) I am reminded of a Hasidic (Jewish) story which goes, “The rabbi of Sassov once gave away the last money he had in his pocket to a man of ill repute. His disciples threw it up to him. He answered them, “Shall I be more finicky than God, who gave it to me?” I remember reading in one magazine that she had taught her young sons that there were lots of people in this world who were not as fortunate as were they and so she made her two young sons discover a little more about those people -- who they were and how they lived. God bless her soul. I say prayers for her every night. I remember staying up throughout the night to see all of the updated news reports concerning the auto accident in which she was involved and later, her funeral procession. It was so moving. I was especially pleased to see how dignified Prince Charles remained throughout the entire service. God bless his dear, sweet soul.That really touched me. I thought that it was amazing that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II wasn’t very “fond” of singer Elton John performing his musical eulogy at her ex-daughter-in-law’s funeral because Elton was gay, but Sir Elton was eventually knighted by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. Could this be because of the outcry of her subjects who love Elton very, very much (including me)? God bless his soul. I also say prayers for him every night. Another tragic death for me, in 1997, was when Mother Teresa died, barely five days after Princess Diana’s horrible auto accident. May God rest her soul. She was everything that I ever wanted to be as a woman, a wife and a mother, A HUMAN BEING, A SERVANT OF GOD. Even though I am not worthy, I continue her legacy to this day, placing the needs of others above my own, loving everyone and everything that God has made on this planet (and “Peace Moments,” a perpetual calendar. Marlene Bertke, O. S. B. Bogart’s Printing. Pennsylvania: 1994, February 9 entry others), unconditionally as God would have us to do and not conditionally as man would have us to do, to see God in every miracle of nature, including the souls of men, to respect all people’s religious beliefs, whatever those may be, because God loves all of His children, and to pray earnestly for the second coming of Christ when peace will rule the world and love will abide in the hearts of all men. One of soon-to-be Saint Teresa's prayers I say every day goes "I am a pen in the Hand of God, writing Love Letters to the world." I also say St.Gertrude's prayer for all of the souls in Purgatory. I also have some other memories whilst living in that same house on the hill. One of these memories was of the mint that used to grow in our next-door-neighbour’s yard, alongside his house. I remember that our neighbour always allowed us to go over and pick some of his mint. It smelled and tasted so good. Perhaps that explains my "obsession" for growing mints to this very day. I grew over 55 varieties of mints when I lived at Hattiesburg, Mississippi. One memory that I would like to forget, however, is of one very snowy winter when my sister and I were sledding down this huge hill. My sled “ran away with me” and I zigzagged in front of my sister, my sled having lacerated my little sister’s forehead. She had to have several stitches. I cried for about a month because I thought that it was all my fault, even though I knew that I wasn’t able to “control” my sled at the time. My first grade teacher, Mrs. Adams, lived in a house that was located in back of ours. I couldn’t stand that teacher. She always made an example of me because I was left handed. She would make me get into the centre of the room, stop class, and make my classmates watch the two of us as she threw a ball into my right hand, in an effort to make me begin using my right hand more. She often told the class that “left handedness was a sign of the Devil.” I guess that was why she was so persistent about trying to get me to switch from writing left-handed to writing right-handed. I really felt insecure about my being left-handed for many years since then and, subsequently, an "unnatural fear" of public speaking. Sometime in the early 1960s, I had a mastoid ear operation performed on my left ear. All I remember about that was (I think) it was at the Otis Air Force Base Hospital and I cried when my parents were asked to leave (because the nurses had to shave the left side of my head for the operation). I also remember the Halloween that Sherran had to have her tonsils removed. She cried, too (because she said she thought she wouldn’t get to go trick-or-treating and get any Halloween candy). However, I can’t remember what year that incident occurred. Some other memories of elementary school, though, were wonderful. I remember getting saltine crackers and a carton of milk for snack time in kindergarten. I remember two extremely kind kindergarten teachers who taught me how to finger paint and then praised my efforts as “true works of art.” God bless their souls. I love nice and kind people. Ever since kindergarten, I have always sought out “ethnic” friends. Deborah Stone was my dearest African American friend. Yvonne (?) was my dearest Italian friend. One second grade teacher was my dearest Irish friend. This teacher came to our first grade class one St. Patrick’s Day and our whole class learned how to dance a “proper Irish jig”, like the famous dances of Michael Flatley in Lord of the Dance. It was great! Perhaps because of this one wonderful woman, God bless her soul, I developed a true love of music, and most especially an "appreciation" of all Celtic art, music and history. I cannot read music, but I love to listen to almost all kinds of music. The only music that I don’t care too much for is country and western music. My Dad was in the Air Force. He was an electronics technician who flew to Bermuda a lot on top secret missions (during the Cuban Missile Crisis). He always brought home “goodies” for Sherran and me in the pockets of his flight suit. We really enjoyed that. Dad told me that one of his fondest memories was shaking President Kennedy’s hand whilst being in the Honour Guard at Otis Air Force Base. The saddest memories of my Dad were the only times in which I saw my Dad cry -- when Jeffrey and Lisa died in Massachusetts and again when his own father had died in 1970 -- we were living at Anchorage, Alaska, at the time. After our “stint” in Massachusetts, we then moved to Aurora, Colorado, a suburb of Denver. I only have three memories of that period in my life. One was when my Dad hired a Santa Claus to come over to our house to entertain us and some other neighbour children. One of the other memories was of school, of learning how to play “tether ball.” I had never played this game before and I really enjoyed slugging the ball with all my might. The other memory was of my parents taking Sherran and I to a very posh local theater to see a new Walt Disney movie, “Mary Poppins.” This theater had new, red velvet carpet on the floors and exquisite, Victorian wallpaper on the walls. It was a truly overwhelming experience that I will never forget. After living in Aurora, my family moved to California. My Dad had to attend Stanford University there. He had to take some courses in electronics, I think. Funny, I don’t remember anything at all from that period of my life. Perhaps it was during this time that I "met" my Dad's father, John Felix Boyd and my step-Grandmother, Miss Lillian. Both were very nice to both Sherran and me and I loved Grandpa's old, black cat who was huge. Grandpa John took Sherran and me to the local grocery store where a toy was sold and he bought one for Sherran and one for me. It was a yellow plastic ball, I remember, attached to a yellow plastic "string" and the object of this game was to maneuver one foot over the ball as it moved, kind of like "jump rope" for the feet. Sherran and I amused ourselves at great length with that toy, but appreciated it all the more because our Grandfather John had given it to us. After living in sunny (I guess...) California, my Dad moved my Mom, Sherran, and me to Sylvarena, Mississippi, where we stayed with my mother’s parents until my Dad built our own house which was across the street from my grandparents. We had to stay in Mississippi whilst Dad went to the Aleutian Islands to try to get us some “family housing” there. I remember the airplane trip to the Aleutian Islands. The pilot told us how close we all were to Russia. Our “family housing” consisted of single-story apartments which were built on top of a bed of crushed granite. I remember that Sherran and I went “digging for gold” in our back yard and were thrilled when we found some “fool’s gold.” At this time, my Dad was a Senior Master Sergeant in the U. S. Air Force. I remember young men from his detachment coming over to baby-sit Sherran and me. We were really horrible kids, too. I personally remember getting into an argument with one young, redheaded g. i. over the issue of when Sherran and I had to “retire to bed.” We told this young man, Austin, a red-headed man from Kentucky, “You better let us stay up as late as we want or we’ll tell our Dad and he’ll have you fired from the Air Force.” I remember this guy falling on the floor, laughing hysterically, but I also remember that he let us stay up late that night until my parents came home from a movie which is exactly what Sherran and I had wanted in the first place. I also have one memory of attending school whilst living on the Aleutian Islands. I remember it was in Social Studies class and we discussed the Pacific Ring of Fire, Iceland, Russia, and Alaska. I remember I liked that school very much. Perhaps this is the first time in which I learned to have a great love and respect for social studies, geography and history in general. After living on the Aleutian Islands, my family moved to Opa-Locka, Florida, a suburb of the great city of Miami. I loved it there. I think I was in the fifth grade during this time. I remember that it was here that I developed breasts and got my first bra.That was a very embarrassing experience for me and for my sister. I remember that this is also the time when Sherran and I first began shaving our legs. For the first few months, our legs looked like carved pot roasts. That was horrible, too. In Opa-Locka we lived on “Sesame Street.” It was a wonderful street. I had no idea that this street, in 1969, would later become famous worldwide. This was a time when Sherran and I invited our best friend, Diane Loput, over to “listen to records,” a favourite pastime for fifth graders in the ‘60s as I remember. Diane always enjoyed the romantic records, like “Last Kiss.” I liked the Monkees, the Beach Boys, and the Beatles. I guess that I always preferred the humour instead of the romance. One radio station, however, was completely obsessed with one recording group, the Turtles, I think. They would never stop playing “So Happy Together.” Every time the radio was turned on, that song was playing. I remember I loved watching Dick Clark and Paul Revere and the Raiders on “American Bandstand.” The lead singer of that group, Mark Lindsay, now resides with his wife in Cordova, Tennessee, a town that is just north of where we lived in Collierville ... at least I remember seeing that in the Commercial Appeal, a local newspaper, a few years ago. I also remember that it was here in Opa-Locka that I first had a dream to become a nun. I remember once Diane took Sherran and I roller skating and we all entered a dance contest. I won for “shimmying to ‘Wipe Out’ whilst on roller skates.” That was fun. Diane is somewhat famous now. She is married to an ex-Miami detective, now a private investigator, Ron Cacciatore. She and her daughter, Christie, have their own French beauty salon in the Fort Lauderdale area. Their clientele include the wives and/or girlfriends of the Miami Dolphins. I also remember one of my fifth grade teachers taught the class how to hula dance to Hawaiian music. I have no clue as to why we were doing this, but I remember that it was a fun experience. All of the girls had grass skirts that we put on over our blue jeans. We learned the words, “Merry Christmas,” in Hawaiian (Melekelikimaka) and a little song that went with the whole Christmas theme. I have some other memories of when I was in the fifth grade. I remember in reading class one day, we all read from the copies of the Reader’s Digest. I read an article on “teleportation.” I don’t remember if “Star Trek” had begun its weekly television series then or not. Anyway, I found this article “fascinating.” The article went into great detail about reducing one’s body to atomic particles and then being able to transport, “beam,” those particles to other places. I remember thinking then how wonderful that would be if we could just “teleport” ourselves to far-away places. More people could “see the world” and it would be neither expensive nor harm the environment. As a result, I am a profound Star Trekker (not Trekkie) and have the utmost respect for Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott. The fifth grade is the first time that I can remember when my eyesight began to fail. It was becoming harder and harder for me to see the teacher’s writing on the blackboard. My classmates really enjoyed making fun of kids who wore glasses; so, when I found out that our class had to go for eye examinations in the gym, I went up to the chart and memorised all of the letters so I wouldn’t fail the exam. I guess that this is the first experience in which I found that I have “photographic memory.” Knowing this has really been instrumental in my later life in helping me memorise academic curricula for good grades. It was whilst living in the Miami area, in 1966, that my maternal grandfather died. He had some form of cancer, I think. He was always jaundiced looking. Grandfather also had pernicious anemia. I remember that Grandfather always liked to eat eggs. He ate many eggs throughout the day, always scrambled. A funny thing happened after Grandfather died. For the longest time my first cousin, Sherry Susan Clark Tyler, daughter of Thomas Joe Clark and my mother’s younger sister, Ruby Merle Rogers Clark, couldn’t eat enough eggs. She ate them all of the time. Grandfather’s funeral was the first funeral that I ever attended. It was really scary. At the “viewing,” I remember my younger cousin, Steven Brent Hammons, son of my uncle, Thomas Lincoln Hammons and my mother’s younger sister, Dorothy Rogers Hammons, and I holding hands, scared completely to death. I remember that we both jumped and shrieked when we saw Grandfather’s arms jerk whilst he lay there in the casket in front of us. I don’t remember that we ever went back to see Grandfather after that incident. After living in the greater Miami area, my Dad retired from the Air Force and got a job with the Federal Aviation Administration at Anchorage, Alaska. We arrived at Anchorage just a year or so after a massive earthquake had struck the downtown area, levelling several downtown streets. The streets were still “under construction” when we arrived. I loved Anchorage. Anchorage was a very progressive city, or at least I thought so at the time. It had become my “other home.” I once again attracted several “ethnic” friends whilst living there. My best friend was Christina Wallace. She was, however, Caucasian. She was short like me, only she was thinner than I was. I entered the sixth grade at Mountain View Elementary school. I took my first algebra courses there. I was very good at mathematics or so my grades reflected. I made all As. Once, when some Caucasian boys kept teasing me and following me home, I asked my good friend, Henry Muldrow, a 6 foot tall, 200 pound African American friend of mine to please walk me home. I thought that just seeing Henry would scare those Caucasian boys to death and they would stop teasing me. Henry agreed to walk me home and walked up to those boys and told them to “leave little Deborah alone.” He raised a fist at them, but then seconds later, those boys scattered to the four corners of the earth. Thanks to my old friend Henry, those boys never bothered me again. God bless his soul. Another wonderful memory I have of those days at Mountain View Elementary School, was when my friend, Penny Stavenjord, and I used to spend all of our recess periods trying to devise a way to build the Enterprise NCC1701 series. We were going to build it and live in deep space, like the Russian space station Mir. Then, I graduated to Orah Dee Clark Junior High School. It was there, in the seventh grade, that I continued my studies to include Algebra II, Geometry, and French I and II. I didn’t care very much for spatial geometry. I only made a “B” in that class and my Dad was always at a complete loss as to why I made such good grades in linear algebra, but only made B's in spatial geometry. I much prefer algebra. We lived on a street that was almost all boys our age, with a few exceptions. There were the “famous Cornell brothers, Lee and John,” and their younger siblings, Cherisse, Robin, and Tony, and then there were “people like us,” our neighbors, the Holdaways. Tamarra was about our age and her little brother, Darrell, and little sister, Darlene. We all lived across the street from a huge gravel pit. Sometimes, Lee and John would give us rides on their snowmobile, down the gravel pit. At other times, a guy who didn’t live too far away from us, Steve Watson, would give us rides on his snowmobile. I really miss all of those guys and the good, clean fun we all had. I remember one very special birthday, my 13th birthday, which I wrote about in my diary. “October 29, 1968. Anchorage, Alaska. Woke up today and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to myself, ‘Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy 13th Birthday, dear Deborah. Happy Birthday to me.’ Walked to school this morning. Asked permission to use the bathroom before first period was over. ‘Felt yucky.’ Went to the bathroom and discovered that I was bleeding. I thought that I was going to have a heart attack. Screamed bloody murder (I’m sure that everyone at Clark, Jr. High heard me scream this morning). Thought I was dying. Remembered that menstruation film, the same old one that I have seen repeatedly since the fifth grade. Decided I wasn’t go to die after all. Glad God wasn’t punishing me for some horrible sin that I can’t remember committing. Life goes on.” I loved my math, science, and English classes at Clark Jr. High. My math teacher, Mr. Arthur Denning, taught us math and let us feed his piranha that he kept in a fishtank on the shelf in our classroom. He also let us watch “Sesame Street” sometimes during math class. His wife had just delivered twins, I think, and he was really beginning to enjoy that show. It was great. I will always love Big Bird, Ernie, Bert, and even grouchy old Oscar. I remember when “Sesame Street” first appeared on television in 1969. Our science teacher, Mr. Craig Leuthe, made science “interesting.” He was a “wired” version of Ben Stine. Our blesséd 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Tavis, really enjoyed poetry and music. That was fine for me because I loved poetry, too. Her “thing” was interpreting contemporary poets such as Bob Dylan. Most of our classes were spent listening to Bob Dylan albums and “exploring his innermost thoughts.” I still love to listen to Bob Dylan to this day. I have also come to appreciate music of the 20s, 30s, and 40s as well as the “good time rock and roll” sounds of the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Thank you for allowing us to develop a diverse interest in music and poetry, one that I still have today. God bless your sweet, poetic and musical soul, Mrs. Tavis. I remember that it was at Clark Jr. High that I first became really attentive to the war in Viet Nam. Most of us (girls) wore copper bracelets in remembrance of prisoners of war or those who were missing in action over there at the time. I remember wearing a copper bracelet in memory of a Colonel over there, but, sadly, I cannot recall that Colonel's name to this day French class was wonderful! We always had a blast in that class. Paul Furguiele, a suave and dapper Italian guy who was a good friend, always wore clothes that looked like Frank Sinatra’s. I saw my first cumberband at that school. Of course, Paul was the one who was wearing it. Paul was like John Travolta's character in "Grease," extremely charismatic and good looking. Paul and Chris were in my French classes for three years. Our teacher, Mme. Anne Marie Collins, was a Caucasian from Morocco in northern Africa. We had perhaps too much fun in her earlier classes because we later struggled a little bit when we took French III in ninth grade and she was also our teacher. It was in her French III class that I was acculturated to the more “freer” French culture. I remember that we viewed a film on the annual bicycle races in France that wouldn’t be acceptable at all here in the South. Paul wrote the following poem to me in my 1970-1971 East High School yearbook: Love and hope are all we have, Peace and life we strive for. Hold in your heart eternal the hope and the love and never stop working for the peace and the life. Stay free and young forever, Deb. The world needs people like you. Dave and Adrian Elizondo were the Hispanic “gods” of East Anchorage High School. I think every girl at that school loved Adrian, who was my age, and Dave, his older brother. Chris(tina) and I used to follow Dave around everywhere without trying to be too “obvious”. Other entries in my yearbook are from the following friends: [My own remarks are in brackets.] “To Debbie, You are my very bestest friend. You have always been popular and I love hanging around with you ‘coz I meet people. Always remember the good times, loving Adrian [Elizondo] and big Dave [Elizondo] and little Dave [?]. Always remember those dumb 3 years of stupid Français! Remember Voss [our physical education teacher]. Thrilling, hunh? Remember the first time we saw the Elizondos. Remember Eddie Brown and Clayton [Owsley -- from Mountain View Elementary school] and Steve Adams [I remember that he was a real jerk who used to enjoy hitting me with those large, round rubber balls during dodge ball practice] and Elliot Rogers [an African American guy who used to sit in back of me at Clark Jr. High. I would give anything if I had the sketch that he drew of me, from the back, of my long, brown hair and right arm poised beneath my chin, listening intently to Mr. Leuthe trying to explain science to us so that we would understand what he was talking about and what he was talking about was the different components of electricity]! Wow! Remember my first "problem" [menstruation]! Oh, yeah! From Wendler Jr. High, in the process of moving so much, [I had begun at East High in the 9th grade, moved to the Wendler Jr. High School district for 9th grade, and then ended my 9th year at East High School again] to East again, you were always my bestest friend and always will be until I die. Memories are the greatest. Remember dumb ‘ol Mrs. Deane [our 8th grade English teacher who once gave my African American friend, Oh-Gina Allen, and me detention for “disrupting the Pledge of Allegiance.” Oh-Gina had placed fake vomit on the floor and I said “Amen.”]! Things, there’s no such word, stuff we have no stuff! Remember when Cox, Tavis, & Turner [our 8th grade team teachers at Clark Jr. High School] separated us ‘coz we talked too much and how I never got to sit close to you in Denning’s and Leuthe’s class [a combination math and science class]. Always remember your short best friend. I’ll never forget you and please never forget me! [and I never will, Chris, dear. God bless you, sweetums.] Lots of Love (and then some). Love Ya, Chris Wallace.” “Best of luck to my old friend, Debby. Remember the good old days in math and science, Mr. Leuthe.” “Dear Debbie, It’s been fun having (I think I’ll print, can’t write right) you on the bus [the co-driver with our other bus driver, “Fuzzy”] this year. Maybe I’ll get to drive you next year, if Fuzzy doesn’t, the lucky dog! Good luck, have a ball this summer, Norm “81” [our bus number].” “Debbie, with a lot of love and feelings. To a good friend from Wendler. A friend of my sister. Dig life. Don’t let it get ya down, Jackie Church.” [Jackie was one of my many hippy friends. As I flip through the pages of my yearbook, I remember running through those halls, barefooted, sometimes on my way to those “sit-ins” which protested one thing or another.] “Debbie, It’s been an ‘experience’ knowing you for the past two years. You’re great! I’m signing this May 14, Dave Elizondo’s birthday. Love & Peace, Julie [Asher] [Tom’s gal].” “Debbie, For a really sweet and ... cute chick. Good luck and be careful. Come over and stay some time, Penny Stavenjord.” “Love is costly, sex is free, we’re the class of ‘73, Charly [a guy].” [Although I did graduate a year early, in ‘73, from Whitehaven High School, Memphis, Tennessee, I only did so because I had so many credits from East Anchorage High School that I was able to “skip” the 11th grade by taking Junior English in the summer.] “To a girl who is unforgettable, Gary Drummond.” [Thank you so very kindly, Mr. Gary and God bless you, sir, and why on earth didn't YOU sign my yearbook, Mr. Brad Chapman, sir? I'm just askin'.] “Debbie, a real sweet and cute girl to have in my sophomore class of ‘73. When I first met you I thought that your sister was older than you, but I learned different. Stay cool during the summer and good luck with the boys. Your friend and mine, Nick [Kutzgard, a male neighbour of mine who was either Aleut or Aleut descent].” “To a nice and cute girl, Steve Watson” [another neighbour of mine was Steve Watson, a red headed wrestler and a very good friend who used to walk me home from Clark Jr. High School a lot. I really miss him]. Steve Watson is the guy who always took me snowmobiling down the gravel pit across from the house where we lived (613 Taylor Street) in Anchorage, Alaska. That was so fun. “Debbie, To a really sweet girl, ... who figured all the math answers out. Between Dave('s) and Mr. Armstrong, [my 8th grade Earth Science teacher who was Native American and extremely good looking and enjoyed those students who “always knew the answer.”] you’ve got it made. Thanks a lot for getting doll-face’s autograph for me. I’ll be forever indebted [the autograph was of Dave Elizondo]. See ya ‘round. Good luck from a luckless sophomore. Love Always, Lori Pickens. P. S. Remember beware of flattery, for it is merely soft soap, and soft soap is 95% lye!” “To a really good girl who is always so nice to everyone! Good luck! Doreen Kulinzna;” “I don’t know what to say so I won’t say anything, but you’re a cool person and don’t change. John Parker” [John was leaving at the end of that school year to go to North Carolina because his Dad had received a new position there]. “Debbie, to a real sweet & kooky person who is nice to have around. Have fun. Good luck. Stay sweet. It was a fun and interesting year. But not Mrs. Collins’ class. That is pure horror, especially the tests. Ech! So hard! Stay as nice, sweet, cool, kooky, funny, weird, and as far out as you are and keep smiling because remember the boys are always watching. Peace, Tina [?].” “You look like you have the personality to go along with your good looks, George Bernardy.” [What a reddish-blonde hunk George Bernardy was!] “Now that it’s over, what can I say? It’s been good, baby. I’ll come back some day, Tom Nichols.” [I only wish that I could remember what was “so good.” Ha. Ha.] Many of my teachers just signed their name in my yearbook, underneath their photograph. Besides Mr. Leuthe’s well wishes, the three other teachers who wrote something in my yearbook were Mme. Anne Marie Collins, who signed her photograph,“affectioneusment.” Milly Mucha [my physical education teacher] who signed her photograph, “the best of everything,” and my blesséd typing teacher, Mr. G. A. Justice, who wrote “to an ACE typist and a good kid, too. Best wishes.” I really loved typing. I was typing 60 wpm in the 8th grade and 65 wpm in the 9th. Now, on a good day when my fingers are really limber, I can reach speeds of 90 and 100 wpm with very few errors, too! I loved East Anchorage High School and the famous T-Birds. I would still love to have a leather jacket with an embroidered T-Bird on the back. Maybe one day... The time at East Anchorage High School was a time in which several of my friends were taking drugs, not only marijuana but hallucinogens as well; however, the majority were smoking marijuana. I remember at East Anchorage High one day, we were being given oral polio administrations and one guy in our class went up to the pencil sharpener and began to sharpen his finger. He ground it up pretty bad. He had been on L. S. D. at the time. I never did drugs. My Dad was a very heavy cigarette smoker and I was highly allergic to smoke. Alcohol and hallucinogens also never appealed to me. I was always known by my “druggie” friends as “Straight Lace Deb, she tows the line.” [And I still do.] It was at East High School that I participated in my first “sit-in.” A whole bunch of us skipped class (actually a whole bunch of us skipped a lot of the ninth grade) to sit in the halls and protest things like racial discrimination in the south and the war in Viet Nam. We weren’t against veterans, just against Nixon trying to pull one over on those vets so that they wouldn’t come home as ‘heroes,’ perceived by the “home folks” as “quitters.” We thought that perhaps old Nixon himself should be sent over there to fight and kick some Charlie butt and then maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to send everyone home until the job was done. My God, did Nixon send our guys over there, knowing the job wouldn’t get finished? I shudder to even think about that possibility. We didn’t think that Nixon ever had any faith in “our boys” concerning that war. It was hard for us to imagine Nixon sending our guys over there in the first place, to a war which was supposed to promote and enforce democracy in Southeast Asia, and then later pull “our guys” out before they could even win the war. Most the “sit ins” that my friends and I participated in concerned such issues as racial injustice in the South, prejudices of any and all kinds, religious persecutions, and violent crimes of all forms, especially wars. I remember when Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison died. A bunch of us kids skipped school that day and got on “Fuzzy’s” bus, our bus driver, and listened to the radio, KBYR and KENI, which were playing the songs of these rock and roll idols. We all cried. It was a very sad day for us. There was a popular song at the time that we especially enjoyed, “Rock and Roll Heaven.” It saddened us less to know that one day we would all be united in Heaven and that we would get to hear those rock and roll legends sing “one more time.” My parents had flown my cousin, Aubrey Dawayne Hammons, from Mississippi to Alaska as his high school graduation present. He was so excited. My best friend, Chris, was in love with him. So was Sherran’s best friend, Winona Eidson. Aubrey was very popular with the girls. In 1971, before we ventured on to my Dad’s new job in Memphis, Tennessee, at the Federal Aviation Administration there, Dad took Aubrey black bear hunting and salmon fishing. They really enjoyed the time that they spent together. I think Dad really missed the fact that he lost a son, his only son, Jeffrey. Dad drove our family “back to the lower ‘48” via the AlCan highway, a dusty road for approximately 150 miles, although the entire AlCan highway is about 1,100 miles. Dust was everywhere, in the car, on the car, on our clothes, in our hair, in our lungs, in our nose, in our eyes. My children have told me that they would like to go on an Alaskan cruise with me sometime. My Dad drove us to Haines, Alaska, where he got everyone reservations aboard the U. S. S. Wickersham. We cruised by Juneau, Alaska’s capital city, and saw some spectacular sites along the way. There was a family of young Dutch boys on the ship with us. Sherran and I tried talking to them. The only Dutch that I learned was “Ik ben iben” which means “I am well,” not too useful of a phrase to learn, I guess, but perhaps that was when I developed the interest to learn Dutch for myself. The U. S. S. Wickersham landed at Prince Rupert Island, British Columbia. Then, Dad drove us from there to Memphis, Tennessee, and this is where we have been ever since July of 1971[before later moving to Collierville, Tennessee, and later still, Hattiesburg, Mississippi].

I didn’t care for Whitehaven High School nor for Memphis, Tennessee, for that matter. This southern culture was too foreign to me. It was very hard to make friends here. Almost all of the students thought I was an Aleut Indian, not a Caucasian, and racial prejudice was rampant. For most of my classmates being “strict Baptists,” they certainly were a bunch of hypocrites.  

I got my first ever job as a sales clerk for Gus Mayer, a store in Southland Mall at Whitehaven, Tennessee, which catered to upper class women. I was just hired as Christmas help. I remember one day that I waited on Elvis Presley’s stepmother, Gladys. My boss wanted me to do everything but kiss Gladys’ feet. I refused. I wasn’t too popular of an employee after that incident. I’m just not that type of person. I don't kiss my own ass, so why would I ever kiss anyone else's? [I'm just sayin.] In 1975, I got a job at the Defence Industrial Plant Equipment Centre on Airways Boulevard where I met the man of my dreams my future husband [but our marriage only lasted for 15 years and we had a lot of trouble, so I was apparently mistaken about my "permament life partner". When I was 17 years old, I wrote a poem called "My Man" in which the "man of my dreams was NOT a red head, but a tall and handsome black haired Scotsman]. My Man By: Deborah C. Boyd 11-18-1972 My man stands before me, unclothed and inviting before the fire. His arms open wide. His mouth puckered, waiting for my kiss. He reaches out to me. We lie on the white bearskin rug on the hardwood floor. I kneel beside him and gently massage his aching muscles because he’s had a really tough day at work today. I give him a glass of red wine and feed him deep purple grapes, one at a time. I begin to rub his head, neck, and shoulders. He moans with delight as the pain begins to ease. My hands untwist the tensed and knotted muscles in his back. I kiss his spine. He turns over and I kiss his lips, place my tongue on his ears, kiss his throat, then his chest. His heart pounds wildly and I hear it as I press my ear to his chest. He clasps my hands firmly in his. We exchange our vows of love, one to the other. The light flickers to and fro there in the distance, flattering the two nude bodies lying in the foreground. We kiss. We embrace. We make love, the perfect, righteous kind of love. Our two souls unite into one flesh, one spirit. The Lord looks down upon us from His heavenly throne. With outstretched hands and righteous words upon his Fatherly lips, He blesses this precious union. “This,” God says, “is good.” Newell was five years older than me and was a hot tempered, Scottish red head from Missouri. When he finally got up the nerve to ask me out, I immediately said “yes.” On our first date, I talked about the two of us getting married. I felt in my heart that this was the man with whom God wanted me to settle down and be with and love for the rest of my natural life [but I was mistaken]. We met a few days before Thanksgiving in 1974 and were married on New Year’s Day, 1975. The wedding date was my choice. It was a small ceremony with about only 50 guests at Ridgecrest Baptist Church on Shelby Drive in Whitehaven. I didn’t want to wait and I wanted to get married on New Year’s Day to represent our “new life together.” Sherran was my “Maid of Honour.” She married her husband on September 22, Ernest Harvey Smith, a professional truck driver who died in a semi-tractor trailer truck accident in Mississippi off of I-55 a few years ago. They were married at Whitehaven United Methodist Church where I attended church services and taught “Church School.” (Baptist call it “Sunday School.”) They had to get married in this church because there wasn’t a Baptist church which would allow them to marry because Harvey had once before been married, to a woman named Sherry and they had a daughter, Amber. My marriage with Newell lasted for about fifteen years and ended in divorce on August15, 1990. We both agreed that the divorce would be on grounds of “irreconcilable differences,” although we knew otherwise. Sherran’s divorce to Harvey ended in April whereas my divorce was finalised in September. There had been so much physical and emotional abuse in our marriage by 1990, that in April, during Passover, I prayed to God for Him to remove “everything sinful from me.” He granted my wish. Unfortunately, I was not a very Christian person. I threw him out of the house just before Easter that year and told him that I wanted a divorce. Easter still remains a sensitive holiday for me and my two children. I have learned in class at the University of Memphis that this “throwing out of the husband’s belongings” has been viewed for generations as a way of granting divorce to Native American women. [Interesting.] Sherran, however, never took her spousal abuse lightly. She more often than not returned ab