My Dad's Birthday

Today would have been my dad's 88th birthday had he lived this long! He was a handy man to have around as he was an air-conditioning and heating serviceman. He also knew about refrigeration and motors and electricity. It would irritate my mother to no end when he would take a small greasy engine apart and put it back together on our kitchen table. I took his talents for granted until he passed away several years ago, four days before my parent's anniversary, of a sudden heart attack. 

His funeral service verse was,

Then I heard a voice from heaven say, "Write:

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on."

"Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor,

for their deeds will follow them."

~ Revelation 14: 13,

because I made a note of it in my Bible. 

A girlfriend found this bazaar poem for work gloves somewhere and sent it to me when I was a preschool Sunday School teacher.  I had to rework it a bit so that my class could give a gift of gloves to their daddies for Father's Day; however today I'm posting this in memory of my dad!

Dad's Gloves Craft.

Supplies needed:
a computer generated copy of the poem
1 pair of men's brown jersey work gloves per child (I saw some at a salvage store for 50 cents a pair here; sometimes you can purchase them in a bundle; my Dad's favorite thing to do was to buy in bulk! *grin*)
1 brown paper lunch bag per child
a piece of brown twine, abt. 8 inches long or so
appropriate tool rubber stamps and dark brown or black dye ink pad
or black and white printed clip-art 
glue or paste, hole punch, & pinking sheers

Instructions:
Stamp tool images all over the front of the bag with the ink or color in the clip-art, cut out and glue to bag.  Trim around the pre-printed poem with pinking sheers, and paste it to the front of the bag. Then place the gloves in the bag, fold the top over a couple of times, and punch two holes in the middle about an inch apart. Thread the jute through and tie into a bow. Dad's gift is finished! 

(Note about poem: "I", in the personal sense, was written as their Sunday School teacher, but it can changed to the corporate "we", as in siblings shopping together. Use as needed.)

Father's Gloves
Author Unknown.

 I went shopping store to store
For one gift that fits all,
Some were too tall, some too wide,
But many were just too small.

 The mystery was solved when I saw
The perfect gift for every male,
It’s just the right size for their dads
And it even was on sale!

  

It fits the hands that mow the grass
And takes the garbage out.
It fits when dads are pumping gas
Or moving things about.

 It fits for this and fits for that,
And on and on you see.
I’m sure you might have a chore or two,
Or maybe even three.

 So free your hands of cuts and scrapes, dad,
On all the jobs you do.
As you slide each hand in a glove;
remember the love they have for you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

How You Live Your Dash

By Linda Ellis.

[This poem was written by Linda Ellis and a cousin, Glenn Ellsworth Ullom Hansen, a newspaper publisher in Rantoul, IL loved Linda's poem so much, that he added it to his wife's, Marguerite "Peg" Clark Hansen (1917-2001), funeral leaflet to be read during her funeral.  Here is Linda, reading her poem on a YouTube video.]

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend:
He referred to the dates on her tombstone.
From the beginning . . . to the end.
He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke of the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.

For the dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth. . .
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars . . . the house . . . the cash.
What matters is how we live and love and
How we spend our dash.


So think about this long and hard . . .
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be arranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile . . .
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's action to rehash . . .
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Thanksgiving

By Sherry Clark Long

Uncles, aunts, and cousins,
Children by the score;
Pots and pans and casseroles,
Recipes galore;

Family members gathered
With happiness to share;
Someone telling tall tales,
Laughter everywhere.

A cozy fire to warm us,
Pumpkins picked for pie;
Neighbors and acquaintances

And friends just dropping by --

Today, we're celebrating
The bounty of the earth.
We're grateful for our blessings,
For life and all its worth.

Rush Reunion 2013

♪ ♫ ♪

 A Music Jam-o

By Mrs. Dolores J. (O'Neal) Rush, 2013.

In the little Ozark Mountains

Once upon a time-o

A fellow named William Jasper Sullens

Could play the fiddle just fine-o.

It is said he could fiddle the night away

And never repeat a song-o

His son Loyd Carl would accompany him

On his little banjo. 

Hymn-sings and bluegrass music parties

Were all the rage then-oh

And after a busy day of chores

Would make one's face grin-so.

How many songs do you know?

Let's stir up music jam-o?

Come to the Rush reunion; after noon

And doh-ray-me with gram-o!

 ♪ ♫ ♪

Rev. Alexander Sullens (1830-1905) +

Martha Ritter (1831-1914) =

|

William Jasper Sullens (1850-1929) +

Nannie Cyntithia Scrivner (1857-1901) =

|

Cora Lee Sullens (1875-1955) +

William Thornton RUSH (1874-1954) =

|

Nannie Marie RUSH (1909-1996) +

Ishmael Lawrence RUSH (1906-1990) = 4 children

 ♪ ♫ ♪

 

Spring Garden Cemetery, AA Hwy & Binkley (north of 54 Hwy), Spring Garden, MO.

 

Rush Chapel Cemetery, on Rush Road (south of 54 Hwy and southeast off 17 Hwy), between Tuscumbia and Mary’s Home, MO.

 ♪  ♫  ♪

Citation: "A Music Jam-O". Written by Dolores J. Rush. Family tree researched by David W. Rush. 3 June 2013. Rush Family News, USA. 

Rush Reunion_2012

Family Picnic

By Dolores J. Rush

Mother on a summer day

Put on her apron of gingham gay

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit

And pressed her husband’s Sunday suit.

Washed the dishes, made the bed

Boxed up fried chicken, loaves of bread

A cake or pie, the butter and jam

Deviled eggs and a bit of ham.

She tied up the dog and fed the cat

Gathered the kids; their ball and bat

Grabbed lawn chairs; a quilt to sit on

Directed daddy to load the wagon.

Putt, putt to the picnic at the park

To see grandma and grandpa, cousin Fred, until dark

To have a bit of frolic and bunches of fun

To splash in the pool and roast in the sun.

Mother brought her latest project, a recipe or two

To share with her sisters and cousins too

A snippet of fabric; a start of a houseplant,

School photos to dole out to all great-aunts.

Mother had a delightful time; a visit with the folks

Her family’s day ended on a gentle note

Full of happy memories; good food; tired bodies too

They couldn’t wait till next year to begin anew.

Mom Quotes, Daddy-isms, and Nursery Rhymes

HER

Ever catch yourself doing this when you had a kid underfoot and (s)he was getting on that LAST NERVE ...

Things you said to yourself that you would never, ever say to your kids when you had them and then... you clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you just did! 😮

👦👧💖 👨👩

I was thinking of the things my dad used to say today. He was an air conditioning and heating serviceman and a trustee at church. He took care of all our church’s air-conditioning, heating and some of the plumbing and I remember that he told me “to leave a place better than I found it!” 

Dad always said his two favorite pies were "hot and cold!" His favorite cake was applesauce cake made with black walnuts. And it was especially yummy with cream cheese frosting! 

I remember playing these games as a child: Basketball; Dodge ball; Hide & Seek; Hide the Thimble; Hopscotch; Hot Potato; Hula Hoop;  Jump Rope, Kickball; Mother, May I;  Red Rover; Relay Games; Simon Says; Softball; Tag; and Who Got the Cookie from the Cookie Jar? 

My Kansas grandmother taught all her grandkids how to play "Hide the Thimble." The more the merrier in this case. She said her mother taught her how to play it.  Grandma would hide the thimble first or she would choose someone to be "It" and then all the other players had to leave the room. Grandma or one of the aunties or uncles or sometimes the oldest child stood guard at the door so there was no cheating by peeking. "It" hid the thimble in plain sight somewhere in the room. The thimble could not be hidden behind or under anything, but could be seen from any corner of the room and often "It" had to check before sitting down. When "It" called okay, then all the players came back into the room and stood in the middle of the room. The first person who spies the thimble, is the next hider. If "It" hides the thimble so well that nobody can find it, then "It" may give clues like, "You are warm" meaning someone is close to the thimble and if they are next to it and still don't see it, then they are hot. If they move away, then they are getting cold. The game is a lot of fun and I taught the game to my in-law's family. It's surprising how well a tiny silver object can blend in with the contents of a room. 

I wasn't very good at active outside games, but I did try. I surprised myself though once and everyone else I think, when I won a game of 2-ball dodgeball in sixth grade. My first bicycle was a red boys bike and the first time I crashed it on a girlfriend's hilly front yard, I couldn't sit down for a week. smile! We had a heavy metal pipe swing set in the back yard. Dad set the feet down in concrete, so we could swing high on it without it falling over. Mom bought a commercial metal slide at a rummage sale at the New Santa Fe Christian Church and it stood next to the swing set. Later, mom bought us kids a metal fort. It was two stories tall -- we could climb up to the top story by ladder and slide down a pole in one corner like a fireman. 

I collected dolls and had a Barbie doll. She was a single lady -- she never kept company with Ken at my house. My sisters and I sometimes made our Barbie doll clothes out of the tops of stray socks or stitched clothing for them by hand from bits and pieces of rescued fabric that my mother tossed out after sewing up our clothing.  

Saturday mornings were for watching cartoons. I remember when the kids in school told me about Batman. I was so excited about it and asked my mother if I could watch it. Then I missed the whole show when I fell asleep on the sofa waiting for it to come on. We didn't have a remote control; we had to get up to change the channel on our black and white TV. We didn't get a colored TV or Atari until I was in high school. Our local PBS channel was on the "U" section of our dial. I remember watching Captain Kangaroo. I loved his side-kick, Mr. Green Jeans. Once my sister was on television when she and her classmates visited our local television channel to pay a visit to Torey Time, our local children's programming. 

Mom used to say a version of this poem:

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz I wonder where the birdies is The birdies are up high in the sky Dropping whitewash down in my eye I am good, I don’t cry I’m just glad that cows don’t fly.

She also used to tell us about the peanut and the choo-choo train whose heart was all a flutter, then along came the choo-choo train and he became peanut butter!

👦👧💖 👨👩

HIS family used to quote favorite rhymes for fun. Ishmael used to say these:

"Entry, ventry, cutry, corn

Apple seed and apple thorn.

Wire, brier, limber lock,

Three geese in a flock.

One flew east, one flew west,

And one flew over the cuckoo's nest.

All the way out, you old dirty cloud,

Never saw a pretty girl, but what I liked her some."

---------------

"Let's go to bed," said Sleepyhead.

"Oh no," said Slow, "let's eat a bite before we go."

---------------

This one was accompanied by hand motions as a finger game. It never fails to amaze the little ones!

Two blackbirds

Sitting on a log,

One named "Jack"

And one named "Jill."

Fly away, Jack,

Fly away, Jill,

Come back, Jack,

Come back, Jill.

---------------

Marie's dad, Wm. Thornton, used to say this one:

"Penny-nip, clip, clap, clam, roady-hoady, brush-him-over, Peter Pan-Dan, sigh-all-lo-dy."

🎮🎲💪🎣🎯🏀🏊🎳

David said he can remember his dad saying that if he ever got into trouble at school, expect trouble at home.  How many of your parents said the same? Mine did!

David said a favorite game to play at his grandparents over their farmhouse was "Andy, Andy, Over." The object of the game involved throwing a ball over their house's roof to players on the opposite side to capture and add in team members. He said the two teams were usually divided equally, in this instance, I'll call them the A Team and Team B. Anybody could pitch the ball over from the starting team, say from Team B and as they threw it, they yelled "Andy, Andy, Over" giving warning to A Team that a ball was in the air. David said the trick was to just get it over the peak of the roof to roll or bounce a couple of times before dropping down into a catcher's hands.  The catcher and everyone else on the A Team then ran around to the other side of the house to try to tag anybody they could for their team.  The throwing team couldn't run until they saw people coming around the corner of the house and they could be coming from either side, so you had be alert. Also, Team B didn't know who held the ball, so they had to run away from everyone on the A Team. My husband said the game generally lasted about a half hour or so or until someone damaged a body part while running or getting bonked over the head with a ball. 

David said this to me tonight -- March winds bring April showers bring May flowers and June Bugs!

Got any mom quotes, daddy-isms, or fun jingles your family used to say? Please share in the comments below. 

= + = + = + = + = + = + =

Family Saints

The Ancient Ones

By Judith Wilson.

Used by permission.

It was embarrassing when your own parent got

Up on Wednesday night and testified.

But it was worse when some of the

Real ancient saints got up and cried

Or shouted or waved their hankerchiefs.

We pretended we didn’t hear what those ancient,

Glowing saints said, but we heard . . . and later

The Holy Spirit called their praises of Jesus back

To our remembrance.

It was their steadfast witness. . .

Their genuine spirits of praise . . .

Their lives which were above reproach

That made their words stick . . .to

Later be remembered in times of trial. . .

Need . . . or discouragement.

They were special . . .

And I miss

Hearing from God’s saints

Whom Your light

Had shone through.

~~ <> @ <> ~~

This poem reminded me of Great-Aunt Minnie. She was an “Amen” sister in the “Hallulejah Chorus” at Eldon Church of the Nazarene. We greatly miss her. For a little while.

Odd Bits of RUSH Trivia

Did You Know? There is a RUSH Hill and a RUSHville, MO. and also, a RUSH Center & RUSH County, KS.? Dr. Marcus Whitman (1802-1847), a missionary to the Indians in Oregon, was born in RUSHville, NY. There is a RUSH River in Virginia & a RUSH Creek in Missouri!
There is a famous signer of the Declaration of Independence, one Dr. Benjamin RUSH, however, my husband cannot find a link with our RUSH family to old Ben. And did you know that there is a RUSH Chapel United Methodist church in northern Missouri? My husband plans on being buried in the RUSH Chapel cemetery, the one located on RUSH Road in Mary’s Home, south of the Mo. capital, where many of his ancestors have already been laid to rest.

RUSH is even found in the Bible as RUSH, RUSHed, RUSHes, and RUSHing (37 times). And according to my computer dictionary, “RUSH” means = haste, reeds, dash, attack. My husband believes the American RUSH surname is derived from the Gaelic (Irish) “O’Luachrua” which means bullRUSHes or reeds.
There is also a RUSH Medical College, Chicago, IL. and a town named RUSHbrook chartered in Logan County, IL in 1834. It is a ghost town now. There is a RUSH Street in Osawatomie, KS. and a TV commercial featured RUSHCard.com
I looked in my atlas and found all these other RUSH related place names: RUSHville, IL; RUSH County and RUSHville, IN; RUSH City, RUSH River, RUSHford Village, RUSHford, and RUSHmore, MN; RUSHville, NE; RUSHville, OH; RUSH Springs, OK; RUSHton, TN; and RUSHmere, VA.
The head detective on the TV show "Cold Case" is named Lily RUSH.

In 2011, this poem was on my paternal aunt & uncle’s Christmas card. I couldn’t resist adding it to this collection of other RUSH’s. ;)

Christmas Hush
By Kay L. Halliwill.

May the quietness of Christmas,
The calm and holy hush
Of that first advent season,
Still our Christmas RUSH.

May our memories of the manger
Reassure us, ease the stress
Of troubled hearts in troubled times
With His peace and quietness.

If you know of any other bits of RUSH Trivia, such as how the RUSH band got its name, we’d love to hear it. RUSH it into the comments below.

Illustration by Mary Engelbreit.

A girlfriend found this Valentine for me at a church rummage sale!

Zerelda “Ruth” & Archie Truman Rush, Sr.

Zeralda “Ruth” Rush was born on 24 June, 1908 in Jim Henry township, Miller County, MO, to Ephraim “Ephie” David (1869-1942) and Alice Isabelle “Belle” Bittle (1877-1951) Rush. She was the eighth child of twelve and a younger sister to Ishmael L. Rush with whom she was very close. Theirs was a musical family. Ruth played a horn and I.L. played a fiddle.

Archie Truman Rush, Sr. was born to Albert “Lee” (1879-1981)and Minnie Catherine Sullens (1900-1951) Rush on 9 September, 1905 in Jim Henry Township also. He was their 3rd child of ten children.

They, third cousins, married on 28 August 1926 in St. Louis, MO. Together they had one child, Archie Trueman Rush, Jr., born 12 July, 1927. “Junior” begat three grandchildren with his wife, Jewell Mae Vernon (1927-1992).

Ruth and Archie farmed a piece of land off Rush Road in Jim Henry Twp., Eugene, MO. I’ve heard stories that Ruth was a dead aim and could shoot squirrels from her front porch for the supper-pot. As far as hobbies go, she was a quilter, crocheted doilies to sell for pocket money and could write very good poetry (see the sample below)..

She was a member of the Eldon, MO. Church of the Nazarene.

Archie died on 22 January 1993. Ruth died 11 October 1999, tragically in a car accident beside her big brother, Ishmael. Her funeral service was held at the Phillips Funeral Home in Eldon. Her pastor, Rev. Jerry Frye officiated. All were buried in the Rush Chapel Cemetery in Jim Henry, between Mary’s Home and Tuscumbia, MO.

The Poor Old Beggar
By Ruth Rush.

The night was cold and dreary, the rain was coming down,
The poor old ragged beggar lie silently on the ground.
His clothes were worn and shabby, his hair was all unkempt,
His body tired and weary; for nights he hadn’t slept.

No one seemed to love him; he had tried but all in vain
To find a place of shelter, but everywhere the same.
The finest homes he hunted, and asked for a bite to eat,
Always “No” for an answer; was made to walk the streets.

He came to a humble dwelling, the steps were tumbled down.
He knocked upon the door and this is what he found:
A smile from the nicest lady with music in her words,
The most hearty welcome that he had ever heard.

“Madam, I hate to bother, but please, just a bite or two,
I’m so weak and hungry; I know not what to do;
I know you must be busy." “Hush,” said the lady fair,
Dinner just now is ready, with you I’ll gladly share.”

He thanked her very kindly as he sat with trembling hands,
He thought she was the nicest that lived throughout the land,
He kept his eyes upon her and watched her all the time.
“What makes her so different?” was the thought that crossed his mind.

She finished up the dinner and showed him where to sit,
She bowed her head in reverence as her hands together clasped.
The meal was not the finest, but was eaten with great delight
By the lady who had fixed it, and the beggar at the right.

She began to talk of Jesus and His love for everyone,
How He died upon the cross, and her heart to Him was won.
The beggar sat in silence and listened to her words
His heart beat fast and heavy; that Name somewhere he’d heard.

“The name again,” he asked her, “Jesus, did you say?”
I thank you for your kindness, I must now be on my way.”
“Just a minute, Mister beggar, I’ve a Book here on the stand.
Take it with you, please sir, and read it when you can.

“Here’s a coat I’ll give you; it will help to keep you warm.
Then I want you to pray, sir, for God to keep you from all harm.”
He bowed his head and thanked her, his eyes were filled with tears;
He thought: “I’m just a beggar, I wonder why she cares?”

The door was closed behind him, the lady knelt in prayer;
“Father, I’ve done my best, Save him out there somewhere.”
The beggar walked in haste, no one did he see,
His eyes toward the ground, his thoughts—eternity.

His mind began to wonder, the sun was sinking low;
He turned into the park, no other place to go.
He slept upon a bench and shivered from the cold;
“God keep you from all harm” rang out so clear and bold.

The nights were spent in misery, the days were sadder still;
He roamed the streets and highways and climbed the rugged hills.
He opened up his bundle he’d carried for many miles,
And found his mother’s picture with the happiest little smile.

He looked into her face, then clasped it to his breast;
“I’ll open up the Book and read it while I rest.”
He scanned through its pages, read how Christ had died,
How they spat upon His face and stabbed Him in the side.

He read within its pages, He died for all mankind;
“I’ll prepare for you a home and will come for you some time.”
His heart was oh, so hungry, as he went upon his way.
He heard the sweetest music and listened while they prayed.

He looked his trousers over, he felt his bearded face,
His hair was long and stringy, he seemed quite out of place.
The preacher took his text, and talked on Love Divine,
How everyone must meet the Christ out there some time.

The beggar sat and listened, he knew it was for him.
He staggered to the altar, God saved him from all sin.
The beggar rose with victory, his hands were lifted high,
His heart was overflowing, his face was toward the sky.

The people grouped around him and listened while he told,
How for years he’d been a beggar and slept out in the cold.
His mother’s name was mentioned, how she prayed and talked to God,
How his heart was hungry to walk the path she’d trod.

Today he is a preacher, he never knows defeat,
Because of God and mother and the lady down the street.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
A Lovely Couple
By Zerelda Ruth Rush.

There's the sweetest little couple
A' living on the hill.
To everyone, she's Aunt Cora,
And he is Uncle Bill.

When you near that little cottage
Where this humble couple dwells;
And you view their smiling faces,
Your heart begins to swell.

They make you feel so welcome
From the richest to the poor;
The stranger on the highway,
Or the beggar at the door.

To each it is a pleasure
To lay aside their hat;
And sit for hours and hours
Together with them chat.

We think it is a treat
When he gets you by the arm;
And shows you all his pets
That he has there on the farm.

He has them trained most perfect
They understand somehow;
The hen knows when to cackle
And the cat when to meow.

Old Boss, she knows the minute
When feeding time is near;
But keeps right on a grazing
As if she didn't hear. . .

Bill coming down the path.
The buckets swinging high;
Or hear him gently calling
As he comes passing by.

She hears him say, "Come on, Boss,
Or I'll not feed you now;
If you don't mind, I'll trade you off
And get another cow."

She smiles and switched her tail
And continues with her chew;
She isn't worried a bit.
She knew he would come to . . .

Drive her to the stall,
And pet her on the head
And say, "Now, Boss, you know,
I haven't meant a word I said."

The old red rooster looking on,
Was standing by the barn;
Bill's loving on all his pets, 
He waits patiently to be fed corn.

Nearby, you hear Cora laugh a little bit,
Then she gives a little sigh.
Her mother-love shines like gold.
For those who just came by.

She hasn't time for all the pets
Just one to her is a thrill;
The one she married years ago
And that is Uncle Bill.