Shirley Willene "Sissy"--My Mommy

     My mommy was born on December 7, 1935 in McAlpin, Florida.  My granny and granddaddy didn't even have a name picked out for her. They had lost several babies to miscarriages and had a still-birth, so they didn't expect this baby to live. In the scramble for a name, they went with the most popular girl's name in the 1930s--Shirley, after Shirley Temple. For her middle name, and the name she went by, they took Granddaddy's name "Willie" and just converted it to a feminine name by adding the "ene"--thus, "Willene." Although my daddy and the neighbors called her "Willene," her family all called her "Sissy."
     Mommy spent her childhood between McAlpin and Hollywood. She used to tell me about how she and her sisters would play at the house up in McAlpin. After they swept the yard, they'd take sticks and draw playhouses in the dirt. Then they'd go and find dog weed and make themselves "babies" so they could play house. She attended elementary school in McAlpin during WWII. If I complained about the lunch she sent to school with me, she would tell me I was lucky. Granny would make big cats' head biscuits, poke a hole in one, fill it with bacon grease or cane syrup, and that was her lunch. I knew she was born and lived in a wooden house, but I imagined a white-washed house with a fence and a green yard. The reality was that she lived in an old cypress Cracker house with just a couple of rooms. Once, she pointed out the type of house she had grown up in, and I said, "Mommy, that's a shack!" "No, Donna Jo, that was home." She often spent summers up in McAlpin, and she told me about working for Uncle Vann in his tobacco field. He would pay her a penny for every four tobacco worms she'd pick off the leaves. She often told me that seeing those worms was one of the reasons she never used tobacco. I never thought about Mommy being a Depression baby, or the hard financial times her family had. She always spoke of her childhood as being happy.

The type of house Mommy was born in

 

Granny and the girls, a picture taken for my granddaddy during WWII

 

 

 

 

                           

     When she was a teenager, the family settled in Hollywood, Florida. Mommy was a typical teen. I was a lucky girl. Both of my parents grew up in South Florida, and they loved going to to beach! I used to look at the photo album she had when she was a teenager, and there were plenty of pictures of her posing in her swimsuit. She also liked sports and used to tell me about playing softball for the McArthur Dairy team. The girls were upset because the words "McArthur Dairy"on their uniforms went right across their bosoms.
     Mommy also told me about going to church as a child. She always liked singing hymns at our home, and she was involved in church teaching Sunday School and singing. Mommy had the gift of discernment, I believe. I know that the Spirit was working in my heart one Sunday morning, and she could see that I was struggling about the decision to accept Christ as my Savior. She took time that week and told me about when she was saved. She thought she had been saved as a little girl, and one Sunday, during the Lord's Supper, she took the cup and looked down at the grape juice. She told me that, to her, it looked just like blood. It was then that she realized that she was still lost; she wasn't covered by the Blood; and it was that day that she accepted Jesus as her Savior. I try not to live my life with regrets, but I do regret not accepting Jesus that Sunday morning because my salvation would have given her such joy.  Mommy made sure that we attended church, Sunday School, and Vacation Bible School. Her faith was real in her life, and others could see her faith in action. One of our neighbors said of her that Willene had broad shoulders that were always there for her to lean and to cry on. I saw Mommy counsel one of the young neighbors many times, and it seemed, to me, that she was ready to help anyone in need. When the whole Jones family would get together, I, being the eldest grandchild, got to sleep on the couch. I would listen the the soft, lilting voices of Mommy, Granny, and my aunts as they talked and cried together. Mommy seemed to be the voice of reason and faith.
     Mommy could be funny too. When Mountain Dew was first sold, my brother and I wanted to try it more than anything! But, Mommy wouldn't let us. Finally, the Coke gods intervened. She decided to treat us to a cold drink. She put in the dime, pushed the button for Co-Cola, and a Mountain Dew bottle popped out instead. Finally! We were getting a taste of Mountain Dew. No. Wrong. She went up to the man who worked at the gas station and pitched a true hissy fit. "Sir, I wanted a Co-Cola and this came out instead." "Ah, but....." "No. My children are not drinking Mountain Dew. I KNOW what Mountain Dew is and" "Wait, Ma'am. It's a soft drink." "No, don't tell me that. I know it is alcohol and I want my Co-Cola." By this time, Billy and I were sunk as far down in our seats as we could get. And there was no explaining to her that Mountain Dew was just Coke--not liquor. I'm so glad that I have never embarrassed my children like that.
     That wasn't the only embarrassing thing. Poor Mommy. She had problem with her fine, thin, straight hair. For Sunday church, she would roll up her hair early  on Saturday morning. Of course, one did not go out in curlers. Sometimes, she'd put a scarf on. Other times, she found, what she thought, was a better cover-up. It was a head-band with fake hair attached that she could comb over the curlers. I called it her "hair-hat." Unfortunately, the hair part looked like bozo-red Zak hair. And it never really covered all those curlers. Apparently, she was a woman of confidence, because she never seemed to notice the looks and titters. I'd just duck my head and pretend she didn't belong to me. That was hard to do because she never let us get out of her sight, or she'd yell out "DONNA JO! BILLY! Y'all get back here!"
     One of the habits that Mommy passed down to me is the love of reading. Mommy read all the time. Newspaper. Bible. Novels. Magazines. Non-fiction books. She encouraged my loved of reading from when I was a baby. She read the same books to me over and over, and, eventually, I began picking words out of the books and newspapers. And I was reading by age two or three. She knew that receiving a book for my birthday or Christmas was the gift I most wanted! She even ran interference for me with the librarian on the Book-Mobile. The librarian wouldn't let me check out anything but children's books, but Mommy went down there and talked her into letting me check out "adult" books (classics or historical novels--not trash!). She would have been so proud that I became an English teacher and also passed along her love of reading to my own children.

 Mommy, Donna Jo, Elisabeth (her granddaughter)

    

Incredible Journey--Part II

     Onward we go! After the graveside service, we were invited out to my cousin Steve's home for lunch. Now, I can't speak for other places, but the funeral meals in the South are awesome! I was looking forward to some of that delicious, home-made food. Unfortunately, right before the funeral began, my sister whispered to me that I had missed out. The "good" supper had been eaten the night before, after the viewing. So, Doc and I were getting leftovers. Still, we could eat and reminisce about our Granny.

 Just a sample of the supper I missed!

     When we got to Steve's, there were lots of hugs and kisses, and we were told to go in to the kitchen to get a little something to eat. I picked around the food, and I was a little suspicious about the meat. I finally asked the guys who were sitting in there at the kitchen table what exactly was the meat? Beef? Pork? Nope. Venison. Well, that wasn't sitting well with my tummy, so I passed on the deer meat. Got myself a Coke and plopped down to eat and talk.
     And there was a lot of talk! The homey Southern patois swirled around me. Snippets of this conversation. Snippets of that. "Do y'all remember when..." "My granddaughter calls me 'Honey.' I ain't gonna be called Granny."  "Cheryl, Cheryl!" "Donna Jo, you a teacher?" "Those are pictures of me riding a bull at the rodeo." "Cheryl!!" "Granny used to..."  "Sure miss Granddaddy!"  "They're having a great reunion in heaven!" "One night I was out on the lake and I saw me a UFO" "You kids settle down!" "Y'all get enough to eat?" "CHERYL!!!"
     I finished off my food and Coke. I could see where I could throw away the paper plate, but I was looking for where everyone had put their cans. Wandering into the kitchen, I was looking for the recycling bin. There at the table sat the men of the family--Uncle Larry, Clint, Steve, James. Finally, I asked, "Where do I put my Coke can? Where is your recycling bin?" Apparently, that was a funny question. They all snickered a bit, and Larry said, "Hey, just open the door. It's out yonder." So, I opened the door. There was just a drop off to the ground. "Hey, where....." Then I saw the "recycling" bin--it was a pyramid of cans, at least five feet high. " Donna Jo, just throw your can on top." They laughed. A lot. I swear I heard one of them say, "She's been Yankeefied!"  I was red-faced, but did as I was told.

 Florida Cracker Recycling

     Finally, it was time to drive home. Doc and I had a pretty uneventful ride home, well, except for one final incident. We pulled into the turnpike rest stop to get some gas. And, you guessed it, I went in to pay. Doc filled the pump. Before I could pay, he started to pull up for the next car to get to the pump. The lady inside got a little panicky--"Runner! We've got a runner!"  "Wait! Wait! I'm with him. I'm paying!" Poor Doc. Poor me. But, this was an incredible journey my brother and I had together. Actually, the only journey I think we've ever taken that was just us. Hey, Doc! Wanna do it again?

The Incredible Trip--Part One

 
My brother Billy and I are very different. People are surprised that we are siblings. However, we did take one incredible trip together. 

Billy, aka "Doc"

    In the fall of 1994, our Granny passed away. It was arranged that Billy would pick me up at the Christian school where I taught, and we would drive down to Okeechobee together for the funeral. Great plan, right?
I went in to teach a couple of classes before we left. I was dressed for the funeral in a suit. My brother came to the school office. I was in the back, and I heard the receptionist say, "Are you SURE you're here for Mrs. Davis?" "Yeah." I went up and told her that it was fine.I noticed that Doc had on shorts and a t-shirt. Not exactly what I expected for Granny's funeral. I signed out and got ready to leave. A student happened to come in at that moment and asked Billy where was he taking me. "Why the blank do you need to know?" And we were off.
    Our next stop was the gas station. I offered to fill up his tank before we got on the road. I went inside to pay and get him a cup of coffee. When I was paying, the attendant whispered to me, "Are you okay?" I told her that I was with my brother and I was just fine.
    Now on to the highway. We went about half-way with no AC. I was dying in my suit, so I asked if the AC was broken. "Nope," he replied, "I was just waiting for you to ask." That problem was solved, and the journey continued. Slowly. Very slowly. Finally, I asked why was he going so slow. "Well, I've got something under the seat, and I don't want to get pulled over." A gun. He had a gun under the seat. I could just see the headlines: "Christian School Teacher Arrested on Gun Charges." I was fine with his speed now.
    We finally made it to Okeechobee and decided to stop at the McD's for some lunch. By this time, I was really worried about his clothes. He told me he had a suit, so don't worry. We had our lunch, and I went and touched up my make-up. Billy was still in his shorts and t-shirt. I asked him when was he changing. His answer? "Right now." And he changed his clothes right in the parking lot of the McDonald's. Again, those headlines flashed in my mind: "Christian School Teacher Mooned In McD's Parking Lot."

Me

    We finally made it to the funeral home. We saw the family and paid our respects to our Granny. I sat with my sister, and we both teared up as we thought of how happy Granddaddy would be to see the "Old Critter" again.
    When the funeral was over, we made our way out to the cemetery for the grave-side service. We were one of the last cars to arrive. As we  drove up, we could see the family, including many girl cousins we didn't know well,  gathering around the grave. Funny thing, as different as we are, we both burst out singing, "I like my women a little on the trashy side, when they wear their clothes too tight and their hair is dyed."

To be continued...

Cracker Cures

      I've been fighting a nasty cold, and I started thinking of the different cures my Granny and my Grandmother would use for illnesses. My own mom was a big proponent of Vick's for any sign of a cold, especially if it was turning "chesty." My daddy actually ate Vick's when he had a cold--even though the jar clearly says not for oral consumption. His other cure was more to our liking. He'd take us to the beach so he could clear out his sinuses. Granny, who was a strict teetotaler, believed in the efficacy of a well-made, very strong, hot toddy.  Sugar, water, lemon, and a generous splash of bourbon, heated on the stove, and the fortunate sick family member would sip it from a coffee cup.
     But, the cures and medicines went beyond a hot toddy for a cold. Granny was a firm believer in Black Draught. You did not have to be "bound up," as she called it, to get a dose of the Black Draught. If you weren't happy, you needed some Black Draught. If you looked a little peaky, you needed a dose of Black Draught. If SHE was feeling peaky, YOU needed that Black Draught. I promise you, I learned to smile and act happy, because one dose of Black Draught was enough for a lifetime. And her bottle looked like it was bought back in the 1930s.
     Where Granny trusted Black Draught, my Grandmother Crenshaw was a Lydia Pinkham's Pink Pills supporter. I, fortunately, never took them, but Grandmother would try to get me to take them for all kinds of problems, but especially "Women's Problems."  (Of course, she asked about those in a whisper.)

     Granny had other cures for various aliments. She used Gentian Violet salve for rashes--on humans or animals.One summer I had blisters on my hands, and she went crazy with the Epsom Salts. I had to soak my hands twice a day in a hot Epsom Salt solution. Another summer I was stung by a puss caterpillar, and she had me soak the sting in a solution of aspirin and hot water. That actually helped the pain lessen.
     The most unusual cure I ever saw Granny administer was during the summer of 1969. My cousin woke up one night with a terrible earache. He was crying in pain. There was no way Granny was going to take him to the ER for just an earache. She went into the kitchen, got a little pot, and went back down to the back bedroom. I hear her tell my cousin to get up and go pee in the pot. "Why? Why? Why do I have to pee in the pot?" She just told him to do it, and, as we all did, he obeyed.
     Granny took that pot, put it on the stove, and heated the pee up. She got an eyedropper and took it and the pot back to the bedroom. I could hear her tell my cousin to lie down and put his head in her lap. He was suspicious and asked what she was going to do. "Why, put a dropper of this in your ear. It will stop the pain."  Then the wailing and complaining began, "Granny! Don't put pee-pee in my ear! I don't want no pee-pee in my ear!"  I have to admit, I was was laughing in the other room. She dropped it in his ear; the warm pee soothed the pain; and the night ended quietly. The night also ended with my personal vow never to let her know if I had an earache or anything else wrong with me because the cure had to be worse than the illness. 

Eternal Family Reunions

     Family reunions are always interesting and fun. The first one I remember was the J.L. Jones Family Reunion in 1960. I was only four years old, so I just remember running around and playing with the other kids. I was the oldest grandchild in the Willie Jones branch--so no close cousins to play with yet.
     I think my family got together more at funerals than planned reunions. Maybe it's a Southern thing, but I was taken to funerals from a very young age. I have a vague memory of going to my Uncle Gilly's funeral. Grandmother walked me up to view Uncle Gilly, and I loudly asked, "Why is he sleeping in that box?" Then, swish, Grandmother pulled me quickly down the aisle and back to our seats.I was on my way to learning proper funeral manners. Hush up during the viewing and the service, then speak when spoken to (as a child) at the dinner afterward.

 Bertha Mae and Aaron Skinner

      The funeral that seemed to be a huge reunion was that of my Great-Granny Skinner. Mommy, my brother, and I took the Greyhound bus from Miami to Jacksonville, then we were picked up and driven to McAlpin to stay until the funeral was over. During the couple of days leading up to the actual funeral, we met all kinds of family--from both the Jones and the Skinner sides. Meeting the ladies was always a little traumatic. They would swoop in for a little "sugar," and then, for the next hour,  I'd be wiping red lipstick off my cheeks. Many of my aunts and cousins were bosomy, and I feared I'd be smothered in their hugs.  We had our dinners at my Uncle Van's home, and what dinners they were! The women would start cooking right after breakfast for dinner at noon. Aunt Lucy's church ladies and friends had been dropping by food and desserts, but the women of the family always wanted to add a little special something. I think the food is why I associate funerals with family reunions. We would all come together to enjoy the best each lady had to offer. Black-eye peas,white acre peas, English peas,  butter beans, pole beans, greens of all kinds, ham, fried chicken, chicken and rice, pork chops, biscuits, cornbread--this was the first course. Then came the desserts, every kind from cobblers to pies to cakes, including a special treat--Coconut Cake. More funeral manners--adults chose their food first, then the kids could choose. The elder family member, in this case Uncle Van, would pray and then we could eat. The adults would sit and talk after dinner, and we kids got to run around outside and explore Uncle Van's farm. Of course, at the dinner after the funeral, we all sat quietly and talked. Well, the adults talked and the children were to stay quiet. There was a lot of laughter at the funeral dinner as family members told and retold stories about Granny Skinner and each other. I came to understand that the laughter after the tears was comforting to my family and an important part of both funerals and reunions.
     We were gone from home for a week for Granny Skinner's funeral. I knew much more about Granny Skinner after her funeral, because I had only seen her a handful of times in her life. From this trip, I understood that she had been Mommy's GRANNY, like my granny. And the way my granny spoiled me, hers had spoiled her. There were tears as we were driven back to Jacksonville to board that bus for home because the family didn't know when we'd all be together again. The tears were prophetic. The next time most of these aunts, uncles, and cousins were to be together again was  three years later at my mommy's funeral.  By that time, I realized why family reunions and funerals went together--my mommy was reunited with her Granny Jones, Granny Skinner, and Granddaddy Skinner in heaven. The ultimate family reunion!

Scarlett O'Hara--Part II

     Aunt Reba, Miami, c. 1975

     My Aunt Reba was a character. She wanted her picture made with the birthday hat on. It wasn't HER birthday, but she liked being the center of attention. One of the reasons she was the favored daughter of the James family was that she was musically gifted. She could play the piano by ear, and she later took lessons somewhere. I admit Aunt Reba was a  truly talented evangelical style pianist and organist. She and I had playing the piano in common. When I visited her home, I loved to sit and go through her music--she had probably a hundred sheet music songs, in addition to the many hymnals she played in various churches. On Sundays, after church, she and Uncle Frank would come for Sunday dinner. Afterwards, I'd sit and play the piano, and if my friend Patti was there, we'd practice singing the alto part of the hymns for choir. Aunt Reba had to get involved. She'd listen, and then tell us we were singing it all wrong. She'd push me off the piano bench, play, and sing. The playing was fine; the singing, not so much. It was NOT the alto part. In fact, it was amazing that she had such a good ear for the piano, but such a bad ear for singing. She was tone deaf when it came to vocal music. Patti and I would just sing along and then crack up later. Uncle Frank, well, he'd tell her to stop messing with us. When she didn't, he'd just lay low. He laid low a lot. 

     Before my mom died, the family always went down to Grandmother's for Sunday dinner. Aunt Reba and Uncle Frank would come by to visit. Aunt Reba was a flashy dresser, and she always had to check out and try the new styles. My Uncle Son lived with Grandmother, and he could never resist picking at Aunt Reba.He also had a habit of just yelling out rhymes he made up or funny comments.One of his favorites to shout out  was "Tussy Red, Knock 'em dead!"   One Sunday, she flounced in and announced, "I'm wearing the latest style. Elephant bells!"  Uncle Son couldn't resist the perfect set-up she had given him. He shouted, "Hey, Donna Jo and Billy--the circus has done come to town. See! There's the elephant and it's wearing a tent!" Poor Aunt Reba, but it was funny. And Uncle Son never gave up. No matter what kind of get-up she wore, he had a comment. She wore a loose caftan. And he screamed,  "Kids, look here come de bus, here come de bus!" Aunt Reba would just tell him he never had no sense and no style. Uncle Frank? He lay low. 

     Finally, the day came when I was engaged, and Aunt Reba had to have all of us down to her house for a good dinner (because Grandmother didn't cook fancy enough, according to her). My Rick was not used to someone so boisterous. Uncle Frank gave him the house tour, while I looked over the table and the food. I walked into the dining room and found Aunt Reba spraying Black Flag pesticide all over the top of a most delicious looking chocolate cake. "What are you doing, Aunt Reba!" She just calmly replied that she'd been having a problem with sugar ants, and the Black Flag would keep them off the cake. I had to ask what other foods she had sprayed--just the cake, she promised. I had to sneak off and tell everyone NOT to eat any of the poison cake. Poor Uncle Frank--he told us she'd been spraying everything for ants, and he'd been going to eat at the cafeteria because he was in fear for his life. Somehow, we managed to eat the other food and avoid the cake. I think we were all too full of her delicious dinner to have dessert. At least that's what we told her.

     Food was always a problem. After Grandmother came to live with us permanently, Aunt Reba and Uncle Frank always came for Thanksgiving Dinner. As soon as they would get to the house, the arguments would begin. Grandmother and Aunt Reba would argue about their cousins 'Lil Sis and Iney and someone falling, or being pushed, off the mule wagon. They would argue about the food Grandmother had been preparing. Aunt Reba always insisted that she make her apple salad for the table. Grandmother would say, "Now Reba, you know nobody wants that nasty apple salad." Aunt Reba would insist that it was everyone's favorite (it was NOT), and she'd practically push Grandmother out of the way to make it. She'd even bring her own fancy dish for the apple salad. Uncle Frank was only concerned that Dolly would be sure to get some of the best bits of the turkey to eat. Uncle Son would come in and egg on the arguments. I'd be playing the piano, to try to draw her out with me. But, she wouldn't budge until that apple salad was made and in its fancy bowl. When everything was ready, Daddy would pray, and we'd dig in. All arguments forgotten, as long as the food lasted. Afterwards, Grandmother would do the dishes while Aunt Reba laid up and rested from her labor on the apple salad. Uncle Son would be sitting on the front porch screaming out whatever was on his mind. And Uncle Frank, he just lay low.

Aunt Reba--my personal Scarlett O'Hara

“I’m saying this is the South. And we’re proud of our crazy people.

We don’t hide them up in the attic.We bring ’em right down to the living room and show ’em off...

 no one in the South ever asks if you have crazy people in your family.

They just ask what side they’re on.” — Julia Sugarbaker, “Designing Women”

Aunt Reba and Uncle Frank, c. 1930

     I think that Julia Sugarbaker's remark about Southerners and their "crazy" people is funny and so accurate! Crazy isn't truly mentally ill; crazy really means eccentric. And no one need ask me what side of the family my crazy people are on--it's an easy answer, BOTH SIDES! My favorite crazy relative was my Aunt Reba,  my Grandmother Crenshaw's only sister and her complete opposite.  My grandmother was a rather taciturn person; her motto was "Pass and re-pass." Aunt Reba was loud, bossy, and very out-going. Her motto was "Any attention is good attention." Please understand; Aunt Reba would not be at all offended at my telling her tales. She would absolutely be reveling in the attention. 

    The James family was a typical farming family in rural Georgia. They lived in Perkins, no longer in existence. Perkins was near Milledgeville, where the Georgia State Institution for the Insane was located. Ironic, in my opinion. They were sharecroppers, and all the kids had to work in the fields, especially when it was time to chop cotton. All of them except Aunt Reba. Apparently, Reba was the favorite daughter, as she told me many times, and she did housework and, as Grandmother would say, she laid up while the others worked hard. Aunt Reba said she didn't have to work in the fields because she was Scarlett O'Hara, and Scarlett didn't get her hands dirty when someone else could. 

     Grandmother and Aunt Reba would argue, until they both passed, about things from their childhoods and early adulthood. Apparently, Reba was quite the flirt; Grandmother, not so much. One of the earliest stories I remember their arguing about was Aunt Reba's first marriage.  She went out on a date with her beau, and they were late returning home. So, she did what any nice Southern girl would do in that situation. She eloped. She figured her daddy wouldn't be as upset when she got home from the date married, instead of just being late. Grandmother's opinion of this story was that Reba shouldn't have been going out with boys in the first place. And this was a cautionary tale for me--don't miss curfew, or you might have to marry that boy. In fact, maybe it's just better if you don't start dating  at all. 

     Sometime in the late 1920's or early 1930's, most of the James family moved to Miami.Aunt Reba took Grandmother under her wing and introduced her to Miami's nightlife. As Aunt Reba told one story, they all went out to a speakeasy in Miami. Sometime during the night, they needed to use the ladies' room. Inside was a statue of a nearly nude man, who had a fig leaf over his unmentionables. There was a sign that said, "Don't lift the leaf." Aunt Reba swears that Grandmother lifted the leaf for a little peek, and when she did so, it set off an alarm. Everyone was looking when they made a hasty retreat back out into the speakeasy. Grandmother always maintained that Aunt Reba lifted the leaf because she would never do such a thing. It's a mystery as to who lifted the leaf, but I always wished I could have seen the two of them scurrying out of that restroom--especially my quiet Grandmother.
     Aunt Reba did divorce her late-curfew husband, and I never knew him. But I knew her second husband, my Uncle Frank, very well. He was such a nice, gentle man, except when it came to Aunt Reba. Theirs was a relationship that thrived on conflict I don't think there was one thing that they held the same opinion about. I remember their bickering a lot about the amount of shoes Aunt Reba owned. I thought Uncle Frank was exaggerating until I spent the night at their house. You literally could not get to her bed because the floor was covered in shoes. The closet was full of shoes. Uncle Frank had his own bedroom, and I think some of her shoes sneaked in there too. The other major source of conflict was Dolly, Uncle Frank's pekinese. That dog lived to be over 25 years old, and that only because Uncle Frank took her everywhere (except church). He carried her all the time, and she always sat on his lap or right next to him, bumping Aunt Reba out of her place.  He carried a little china dish so Dolly never missed a meal. When Dolly needed to go out, he carried her and just put her down to take care of business. Dolly was too precious to even walk by herself.  When Dolly passed, Uncle Frank had her buried in the pet cemetery in Miami. He told all of us that when he passed into glory, he wanted to be buried next to Dolly because he'd get no peace in the hereafter if he was buried near Aunt Reba. He said she'd be complaining, even when she was in Heaven. Uncle Frank did pass first, but the pet cemetery wasn't zoned for people. I know my long-suffering Uncle Frank just sighed and then enjoyed Heaven. And hoped it would be a long time before Aunt Reba joined him there.