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No, Thank You
By Julie Terry Cartner
I had sushi for lunch today, and as usual, I was offered packaged wooden chopsticks and a straw, both of which I declined. I declined the straw because I’m an environmentalist and plastic straws choke our waters and endanger sea life. Not my one straw, of course, but my one times millions of others. I’m capable of drinking water straight from the glass; I can live without the straw.
But I declined the chopsticks for a different reason. Many people have phobias, and many more have sounds or textures that just make goosebumps break out all over their skin, their shoulders draw up, and their whole bodies shudder and cringe. According to my children, I’m a weirdo, and nobody else, in the entire world, has this issue. This may be true, but I absolutely cannot stand the dryness of wood in my mouth.
Remember those special treats we got sometimes as children? Those little, individual cups full of ice cream – chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry—sometimes a combination of two or even all three of those flavors? Remember? I can see some of you smiling at the happy memory. They’d pass them out at school, or at a party, or maybe for refreshments during Cub Scouts or Brownies. I remember. I loved ice cream; I still do. But those individual cups, so convenient for parents, teachers, or scoutmasters—no need for the mess of scooping out the ice cream, no arguing about who got more than someone else, no need for bowls, simple distribution and clean up, no dishes to wash, and, to make it more convenient, no need for cutlery because those delicious containers of ice cream came with individually packed wooden spoons—those ice cream treats were a nightmare for me.
Everyone was happy. The kids got ice cream; the adults got a no muss, no fuss snack time. Everyone—except me. As much as I loved ice cream, even the thought of that wooden spoon touching my tongue was enough to put me into a full body shudder. Even as I write this, I’m still cringing.
To add to my dilemma, I was extremely shy and never wanted to draw any attention to myself. The adult me would ask for a metal or plastic spoon. The child me could no more do that than ask for a million dollars. So, my options were limited. I could decline the ice cream. I could deny myself the taste of cold, creamy goodness filling my mouth and sliding down my throat on a hot, summer day and be miserable while everyone else was enjoying the treat, or I could accept the ice cream and try to eat it without letting the spoon touch my mouth. Admittedly, I didn’t like the feel of the spoon in my hand either, but I could handle that better than I could on my tongue.
Usually, I’d accept the ice cream because, duh, who doesn’t like ice cream? In my mind, declining it would have been as attention-getting as the other options. Then I’d do my best to scoop out a bite and let it slip off the spoon and drop into my mouth without any contact of spoon to mouth. As you can imagine, this didn’t always go well, both because it could be messy and because my actions, as much as I tried to hide them, were noticeable.
Today, the whole thing sounds silly, funny even, but as a child, my shyness, paired with this phobia, was all but debilitating. Clearly from the amount of thought that went into how to deal with it, combined with the fact that over 50 years later I still remember in detail what it felt like, should tell you all you need to know.
As an adult, today, I politely declined the chopsticks. I didn’t explain why or try to figure a way around it, I simply said, “No, thank you.” I honor your right to chopsticks, or ice cream cup spoons, or even plastic straws, that’s your business; they’re just not for me.
 
Beware and Care
By Gaye Hoots
This week I had an intestinal bug that made me aware of how lucky I am. I am pushing eighty and have been fortunate to have good health and little discomfort, although I now stay in low gear and don’t push. A few days of being sick and unable to eat or do anything except sleep left me grateful for the health I usually enjoy.
My girls, grandchildren, and great-granddaughter have never been limited in what we can do physically. Jaden, my great-granddaughter, has been healthy, played soccer, and is now attending the local community college. We went through COVID with only mild cases. Mia, my six-month-old great-granddaughter is still in NICU and has made us all aware of how serious any virus or illness can be if she is exposed; it is life-threatening.
We don’t go near Tiffany or Mia if we have a sniffle or have been around colds, etc. This time of year, it seems especially bad, perhaps because of the temperature changes. School-age children circulate a plethora of viruses and share liberally. As a nurse, I am always aware of this, and since Mia was born, I am even more sensitive.
I am more protective of my health and avoid crowds when possible. Everywhere people are coughing and sneezing without remembering to cover their mouths. Using your elbow to sneeze into keeps the germs off your hands, and using sanitizer on your hands helps too. We are constantly handling doorknobs and common items that numerous others have touched.
It is good to be aware of personal space in public areas for our protection and that of others. The youngest and the oldest seem most susceptible. Be conscious of temperature changes and stay well-hydrated, as it is easier to prevent health issues than to recover from them. If you aren’t feeling well or have symptoms, stay home and treat the symptoms. If you have health issues or serious symptoms, consult your doctor and stay with your regular meds unless your doctor changes them, warning anyone who wants to visit of your symptoms
I know of several cases where older patients have been assessed and released from the ER or hospital only to have them return because the issue had not been addressed in depth. It is a good idea to keep up with local health news and be protective when grocery shopping, etc., as items are handled by many others. Keep a safe distance in case there is an uncovered cough or sneeze. Stay current with meds, medical appointments, and shots. If you go to your doctor, sit as far as possible from others in the waiting area. Remember, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

 
I Know Now Why I Became a Math Teacher
By Marie Craig
I was always so happy for the consistency and certainty of mathematics. Therefore, I majored in that and taught various math subjects. I was always frustrated with the lack of sureness of history. No one can agree on what caused the Civil War, on what is the foundation of a strong nation, or on what is the exact date of the discovery of our United States. I’ve read that Columbus thought he was in India. I guess he was too stubborn to ask for directions. We don’t even have a name of the US, just a description.
In the 16 years that I’ve been compiling and publishing eleven history books about Davie County, I have seen a lot of confusion about accurate details. When I was working on my first book about old schools in Davie County, I attempted to enter the world of history.
Example of frustration in Jerusalem Township: one source says that the citizens of the Augusta area decided to build an academy; another source says that Concord Methodist Church built it; and a third source says that J.D. Hodges designed and built it. It was called Augusta Seminary. But it occasionally is known as Augusta Academy. There was an earlier nearby school called Augusta School, which I have determined is the same as Concord School. J.D. Hodges built the brick structure, which still stands and has been returned to glory and is now a private home. He called this Hodges Business College, but he also taught across the road at Augusta Seminary. This latter school closed and was bought by Quakers who had an academy and a church in the building.
I have copies of Hodges’ ads for summer school for teachers, a boys’ school where they lodged at a nearby farmhouse with a farm scholarship, and a girls’ school with Mrs. Hodges as lady principal. J.D. Hodges was superintendent of Davie County schools for about 10 years and closed his college sometime during this era. But when he was no longer superintendent, he then opened the Business College back up but called it Augusta Academy. Augusta Public School burned in 1896 by an arsonist’s hand who also tried to burn the two other schools unsuccessfully. The Seminary/Quaker school burned in 1917. These dates range from 1887-1917. That’s a lot to happen in 30 years, and there are very few records that give details.
Cokesbury School only lasted a year or so in what is now Shady Grove Township. It was a Methodist School started about 1793. There is quite a bit of information about it. This was 100 years before the 3 schools mentioned in the previous paragraph.
It has been amazing to me that a school, teachers, hundreds of students, and learning situations could occur at a specific site, and then 80-100 years later there is very little evidence of any of this ever happening. I have wished for a time machine. Other puzzles: identifying the three academies in Mocksville and the several academies in Farmington.
What do we learn from all this?
Time goes quickly and unless things are written down and archived somewhere, valuable information is lost forever. We can’t depend upon the senior members of our county to search their memories for details. Genealogy has the same advice. I read a quote recently: “When an old person dies, it’s like a library burning down.”
Are you compiling your family history and your own personal history?