WHISKEY COLORED EYES
They saw things differently than us. I didn’t pay it much mind as a kid… wish I could have. Most of those whiskey-colored eyes are resting now. I remember them though, how they looked at things, how their tired eyes took a deep drink of a cotton field. They saw it in a way only eyes that have worked it, looked at it up close and over a lifetime can.
They seemed drawn to it, although they cussed it regularly. Eyes flanked by deep lines, worn by perpetual squinting in the punishing sun, scanning right to left – left to right slowly. Then up, always up, and back and forth. They mumbled about the weather, but it looked to me like there were looking for a sign from God, a miracle.
The miracle was that their families didn’t starve to death.
How many years did those eyes tear from the smoke and clouds of a year’s crop being burned? There was always work, hard work, that was a guarantee… getting paid for it wasn’t. Surviving on close to nothing most of your life has a way of making a person strong, hard, faithful. For some, like my grandpa, the faith misplaced.
I could be wrong, but it didn’t look like peace or joy of the desert farm fields that reflected in those eyes. I couldn’t grasp at the time that behind that tough as nails exterior, those eyes hid sadness mixed with fear. I don’t guess he gave a lot of thought to faith across the better part of his life.
I didn’t know him when he pulled the cotton sack behind him along with dad and uncles. By the time I knew him the days of sharecropping in Arkansas were a distant memory for him. He was old then, but he still did the only thing he ever knew how to; pick cotton. He drove the machines across the dusty southwest for miles and years.
Troy’s days of running moonshine to help put the clothes on the backs and shoes on the feet, at least for winter time, of his nine offspring he rarely talked about. Old habits die hard, the fifth he carried in his dusty coat pocket when he drove cotton pickers spoke to that fact.
Those half Cherokee brown eyes had little compassion or sympathy for others, seemed even less so after my grandma died too young. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say she was the best part of him.
I suppose he did the best he could do. I recall a few times his eyes didn’t look cross with anger or impatience. He seemed more content when smoking catfish he caught from the irrigation ditch out back of his trailer that was smack in the middle of a farm field and nowhere. After a few beers, he’d play his harmonica so long and hard he’s huff and puff like he’d sprinted a marathon.
My car broke down the day of his funeral. I never told my dad I was a little relieved. I was just going out of respect for him anyway. I think about him sometimes when I’m sad for no good reason. I’m told he did find his faith in God at the end. I suspect he knew that truth all along, probably explains why he was the way he was…
Sometimes the lessons and examples along the path of life aren’t wrapped in fine silk…
David Rupert
Tuesday, April 29, 2014 @ 8:14 pm
My grandpa died — the yellow skin was all the evidence the doctors needed. he was a scrapper, drinking to help him fight. My mother bailed him out of jail when he was 71 for fighting in a bar. Funny, as a boy, all I remember is that he loved me. he taught me to ride a bike and how to garden. I still have his sign that was in the kitchen above the old gas stove. “Jesus never fails”
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:38 pm
Holy, Moly, David. I knew you and I were kin spirits…
Thomas Mason
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 3:56 am
What a great memory you have about your grandfather, Floyd. That was a time when a man was a man, and everyone knew it. I can’t imagine a time like that. The closest thing I can relate to was when I was a teenager and I traveled to Texas one summer with my aunt and uncle and cousin five years younger than me. It was as close to a farm as any could be just minutes from the metropolitan city called Dallas. I lost both my grandfathers: one before I was born and the other one when I was barely ten. I wish I knew them. Their old pictures describe them as men from an era I’ve only read about in history books.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:43 pm
Awe, but you have their blood chasing through your veins. Not perfect, but striving, just like every one of us born in this flesh. But that doesn’t make it any less meaningful in our lives. We’re all more alike than we are different, regardless of what the lost world is selling. We could be blood brothers, Thomas. Probably are… But we are brothers where it counts for eternity! We’ll tell some stories, my friend…
TC Avey
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 7:14 am
Life can be so hard…so cruel. We work, we live, we die.
Reminds me of Ecc.
The best of me is found in Christ.
Out side of Him, I’ve “thought” I’ve had good times, but nothing compares to a relationship with Him.
My heart aches for those who don’t have that relationship. I know too many whiskey colored eyes.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:44 pm
Some how I knew you did… funny how our Master works. I’m glad to be in it with you, TC.
Dan Black
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 5:41 pm
Amen about that, “the best of me is found in Christ.” So true for each of us.
Floyd
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 6:12 pm
Good call, Dan. TC has a way with words!
Bill (cycelguy)
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 7:19 am
Some memories are good; some not so. Mine of my grandfather are the best. It was his influence that led me to follow Jesus. Unlike you had, my father was not an example. I do like your last few words: they say he found his faith in God at the end. We can pray for that can’t we?
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:46 pm
Yes, sir! If my Father reaches out His hand to any, I’m relieved. He has called us to love and strive for mercy. We pray and leave the rest up to Him. Yes, sir. We can pray. It is our honor.
Caleb Suko
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:02 am
Wrapped in silk? No the best lessons are never wrapped in silk at best they’re wrapped in burlap! But what they produce in our lives is much better than silk, they produce qualities like patience, graciousness and the strength to have joy in the rough times of life.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:48 pm
Very well said, my missionary friend. His grace and mercy are found in the toughest of times, when we, the weak, are bound to be looking for it. His will is perfect. And yes, burlap is exactly how He would pronounce Himself! Thanks, Caleb.
Jason Stasyszen
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 12:53 pm
That’s pretty rough, Floyd. Amazing how people can respond to life much differently. Hard things happen to everyone, and some endure greater trials, but faith and knowing God makes such a distinct difference, especially when you’re on the other side of the situation. You can see how God used it and find your hope. Thanks Floyd.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:51 pm
Indeed I can, Jason. It’s not perfect, but our Father makes beautiful things out of dirt… I’ll bet you know that song, hug? Thanks, Jason!
Dolly@Soulstops
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 4:01 pm
Floyd,
Your words are haunting as I think about your grandfather and his hard life…and to lose a wife young, well any time, is so very hard…I don’t recall ever meeting either grandfather but my mom said I met her dad when I was very young…and yes, the best lessons are never wrapped in silk…your words coincide with Malcolm Gladwell’s book, David and Goliath, which I just started listening to on CD, from the library…I think you would like this book.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:54 pm
I have the book sitting on our kitchen counter. I’m writing a manuscript, very much in the flavor of this post, but I am intending to read it. I’ve enjoyed so much of his other work. I’m encouraged to know you were haunted… That’s exactly how I feel looking back and striving to relate it. Thanks, Dolly.
Lynn Morrissey
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 5:35 pm
Very, very poignant Floyd. You never really know someone until you’ve walked in his shoes. Life is hard for hardscrabble lives, and those were very tough times. REalistically, I don’t think I have any idea. My grandmother used to tell me about the Depression, though, and I think it affected my father all his life. God reaches out to us in all our troubles, and I’m so glad your grandpa found faith in the Lord before he died. He speaks through you now. You are so gifted at telling stories that changes lives.
God bless you.
Lynn
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 10:57 pm
Awe, Lynn. I guess everything happens for His purpose, but I so appreciate your good will and heart. We all get tough times, but in them we learn to lean on Him. My heart prays for you in your season of tribulation, sister. God bless. And thanks for reaching out to others in your own time of need. Bless you, sister.
Lisa notes
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 5:45 pm
“Sometimes the lessons and examples along the path of life aren’t wrapped in fine silk…Some have whiskey colored eyes… and breath.”
I wish I could have understood that more when I was younger and judgmental. 🙁 I wasted a lot of time being that way instead of getting behind someone’s eyes and trying to understand why they were the way they were. Grace, so thankful now for grace for all of us!
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:00 pm
You’re not alone, Lisa. I too wish I could have strived sooner to see the pain and heartbreak accompanied by fear. Instead, I spent more than my fair share of time looking to judge the paths of the people that I’d never walked… and thank God I never had too because of their honor… We just didn’t know it was honor… Thanks, Lisa.
Cynthia
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 5:49 pm
“Sometimes the lessons and examples along the path of life aren’t wrapped in fine silk…. Some have whiskey colored eyes… and breath.”
Floyd, these lines spoke to my heart and took me back…. You know, most of the lessons that I learned while growing up in Oklahoma, had nothing to do with what folks like to call, “the finer things” in life. Nope! I was raised by hard-working country folks(my grandparents), who began their young married lives together in a “chicken-coop” with dirt floors. My grandmother would talk about how far they had come, because they had floors with carpet, now. Smiles! She said it was better than sweeping the dirt floors of a chicken coop. My grandparents were humble Christian folks who understood hard work and slap in face. But, you know what? It didn’t kill their joy for life. Even when things were tight, they just prayed and asked the Lord to make a way. I would listen to the stories of hardship, joy and pain with rapt attention. It was like walking in their shoes, which made me appreciative of my life…and, sad about what they had to overcome to get where they were, back then. Well, they are both gone-on and I miss them so much, that it hurts. But, I cherish the time I had with them, the love and the togetherness. One day, I’ll see them, again! Much joy!
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:04 pm
Your grandparents had great wisdom, Cynthia. I don’t mean it as disrespect to mine, but yours had the wisdom of God on their side. None of us are perfect, and I’m pleading the 5th! But we are blessed through the blessing of our ancestors. I can’t imagine being any more blessed than you, sister. Truth sticks to the ribs to the young… Thanks, Cynthia. You have a story to tell, and no one can tell it like you! What a gift and heart!
Bobby
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 6:07 pm
As I was reading about what you had to say about our Dads Dad, It set my mind a whirlin. When I was young, I used to dream about beatin the … out of him. Mainly because of how he treated our Dad when he was young and how he still treated him as a young man. Even as a boy, I could tell this man had no respect. And I wanted to give it to him. But eventually I got older and kind of changed my tune. I like to think everybody has a purpose in life and I believe his purpose for me was to make me totally sick of being around belligerent drunks.
So I guess even in his hillbilly mentality, even he had a purpose. That seems sad, but that’s just some honest input. There is one final lesson to be learned from ole Troy, God is a very patient God, full of mercy and grace and our Grandpa is a prime example of that. What leads me to believe his conversion was real was when he got a hold of all his kids while he was in the hospital and apologized to each and every one and told them he did what he thought was right, even though it was wrong and that he loved them. So it seems as hard and deep as those lines in his face were there was a softening by Gods Spirit.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:08 pm
Yeah, thank you, my brother. I so avoided him I didn’t know all the story… but you of all people know that when it came to my time I was all about me! The path of a fool. I remember your words. They’re with me still… and forever. You, me, our family, we’re rough around the edges, but we know Truth… I guess our loved ones did something right, and the best they could… Thanks, Bobby.
Diane
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 6:35 pm
My the stories I have heard from your Brother on this particular individual.
I didn’t know either of my Grampas. One died before I was born and the other died when I was 4 I had met one of them once, and he was my Dads Dad Robert. One time and that memory will be with me forever. In my eyes he was strong, funny, and caring, I felt this way because being abandoned by my siblings on that particular evening, while screaming because of some tick, it was Grampa Messer that came to my rescue, he calmed me down, picked me up and just plain fixed the situation. And that was it. We went back to Spokane and he died.
A lot of that generation from back where we are all originated from, your family and mine were just raised to be silent and non communicative . I have a lot of conversations with my Dad on these matters now that he is way older. And he just says “Well Diane…. It was what it was 🙂
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:12 pm
“It was what it was.” Leave it to Virgil! Your dad and mine were cut from stone. Not perfect, but more perfect than we are and this society in so many ways. I couldn’t tell the whole story of my life without telling my time with your dad. Turns out he didn’t hate me, he just wanted the most for me… That’s love. A love this society can’t begin to grasp… Tell your dad I’m thinking about him… and still respecting him with all I am… Thanks, Diane.
Nancy Kehr
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 7:01 pm
Hey Floyd….. I have a few hard memories like yours. So glad God brings perspective. After all HE came to seek and to save those which were lost. Some just seem more lost than others. Changing eras is also tough on people…Some just retreat out of life because they are not able or they will not choose to cope with the rapidity of change. We all wish for what is familiar…especially as times marches on. Perhaps living in his trailer out in the middle of nowhere was the best response to life that your grandfather could muster. My heart goes out to those who have lived their lived without the presence and guidance of God. Lonely and empty. Thanks for sharing your heart. thank your brother for his input as well.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:17 pm
Life’s not perfect, but He who called us is! We’re rough around the edges, even now I and we struggle to fit, but we have Truth! And it’s not blemished by men or culture; it is God’s word. Some hillbillies graduate a bit slower than others… I so appreciate your heart, Nancy. I know you had it way worse than most of us could ever imagine, but your life is His sign to the rest of the world of His sovereignty and grace!!! Thanks, Nancy!
Hazel
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 8:25 pm
Those sad eyes were suspended in the darkness of living the hard life of barely get by. Sipping the moonshine was his way to relax after a hard day and try to forget how rugged and difficult tomorrow would be. No blame, just wish he could have know how to show some tenderness to his offspring. Good post Floyd, you will see it again on my Story site!
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:21 pm
You relate to this in ways that most people can’t. I confess, I lack tenderness, but maybe our children won’t. There is no perfection in this life, except for His redemption… That is the miracle we live with daily and yet struggle to see it. Thanks, Hazel. I’m honored to be on your site, sister!
Rick Dawson
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 9:53 pm
Well told, sir – well told.
Floyd
Wednesday, April 30, 2014 @ 11:23 pm
A story you could tell to, my friend. We are living in the lap of our Father’s redemption. And you where it well, my friend. Thanks, Rick.
Pam
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 4:29 am
Beautiful, Floyd. So wonderful how you see your grandfather through your own eyes of love.
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 5:14 pm
Thanks, Pam. It’s easier to see things as we get older I think. He was just carrying on family tradition.
Chuck Allen
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 5:45 am
What a great contemplation of your grandfather’s life. It is interesting to see how our experiences shape us. I never knew either of my grandfathers and wonder what they were like and what shaped their lives.
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 5:16 pm
We really are shaped by our surroundings, I agree, Chuck. The manuscript I’m writing now is based on that premise and is in this fashion of this post. You got a clean slate, my friend! Thanks, Chuck.
Barb Raveling
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 8:30 am
Floyd, I agree with you – the best lessons aren’t wrapped in silk. I laughed when I read Caleb’s response – they’re wrapped in burlap. So true! I thank God for all the difficult people in my life because He has used them to teach me to be less difficult. 🙂
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 6:23 pm
That’s a wonderful perspective, Barb. I also liked Caleb’s response! I’ve definitely seen people in my life that I don’t want to be anything like! There’s a lesson to be learned around every corner. Thanks, Barb.
ceil
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 9:18 am
Hi Floyd! I have not been following your blog very long, but I have to say that this is one of the best posts I have ever read here. I can feel your conflicted thoughts and feelings about your grandfather. What a hard man to get close to… But instead of feeling his love, you watched his eyes. And his actions. And it all made a deep impression on you. We can all learn lessons about love both in the presence of it’s abundance, and in the difficulty of finding it.
I’m sure it was there. Your grandfather loved you the best way he could, in a life that sounds very hard on him. And in the end, you do remember him. You can bet he remembers you.
I’ll be thinking about this post for a while…
Ceil
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 6:26 pm
Thanks so much, Ceil. We all have conflict about many things and it’s not easy to figure them out as a kid, we’re usually wrong because we can’t begin to know the paths they walked before they got to us. Very well stated about learning love either by the abundance of it or the seeming lack of it. Much wisdom in you, sister.
Betty Jo
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 10:06 am
Sometimes Floyd I think we might be cousins, except my maternal grandfather, was a sharecropper in GA, rather than Arkansas. He was a hard man too, with whiskey colored eyes. When I was little, I thought he was the devil, and was scared silly of him. My parents grew in the cotton fields. Funny you should mention Cherokee, one of my dearest friends in this area is full-blooded Cherokee, and one of the most special ladies I’ve known in my life. She surprised me with a phone call and a visit day before yesterday. We hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years. Like me, she’s a widow now, lost her husband only two years ago. So, we had many years, and lots of tears to share with each other. She now lives in a cabin on a mountain side, said there is nothing there but her, bear, wild turkey and deer! Do I ever hear a photo opt in that. She wants me to come, and bring my camera, and I can hardly wait.
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 6:30 pm
Good for you, Betty Jo. So glad you got to catch up with an old friend. Our Father knew you would, that’s wonderful. I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t have to go to far back in lineage to find that we probably are related! And you know I mean by blood first! You know that look and the feel of growing up around hard southern men… Blessings to you, and don’t forget to share those pictures!
Voni
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 12:25 pm
To learn strength instead of hardness…difficult. I pray I can learn it.Glad our God has both grace and power.
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 6:36 pm
Wow. You really nailed it, Voni. I’m afraid I’ve learned as much about hardness as I have strength along the way. True strength doesn’t need to be hard. It’s the insecurities that keep us hard after having learned better. Well said. Thanks, Voni.
saleslady371
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 7:48 pm
Your words brought back memories of sitting on my grandfather’s lap when little and smelling the booze on his breath. I love that last line. My oldest daughter once told me she has memories of leaving for school every morning with my hand on her head praying for her day and coffee on my breath. Thanks for sharing such a good story.
Floyd
Thursday, May 1, 2014 @ 8:54 pm
What a wonderful legacy you’ve left for your family, Mary. What a gift you’ve passed on! Your faith has changed the lives of your grandchildren and offspring until the end of time. I don’t think you could say much better about anybody than that, sister.
That’s big! Thanks, Mary. May our Father’s blessings rest on your children and theirs forever.
Betty Draper
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 6:00 am
I never knew my Dad father except through stories from other family members. He was a drinker which caused the divorce. My Dad stayed with him, the younger brother went with his mother. I heard he was a good worker even for all his drinking and so my Dad was too. He never missed work even with hangovers clouding his mind. The musical side was from the drinking side. Oh and that side of the family was Cherokee too. In fact my Dad’s nickname was little Indian. From the stories I heard times were very hard for them…and times were hard for us growing up because Dad’s wages was left at the beer joints, but he always knew how to work. The last four years of Dad’s life was with us and because of a stroke and a brain cells dead from drinking he could not pass those stories on to us.
Now my Grandpa on my Mom’s side was whole different story, he never own a car, always walked to work, he was my hero. Mom would takes us to their house when my Dad got real mean and my Grandpa would get his shotgun our, set it by the door and when Dad came to get us he pointed it at my Dad, telling him to leave. I never seen him drunk even though I knew every pay day he had one beer. This Grandpa had soft brown eyes that smiles at us a lot. Both grandpas were good worker and both had little. These are such good stories you are writing for they always bring memories to the surface. After all is written and said, I hope my grand children can write good things about Ace and I. And if the Lord tarries they will write about them someday. That Grandpa of yours is honored by your writing brother.
Floyd
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 6:10 pm
Thanks so much for sharing that personal story, Betty. I appreciate it! You know I love real life stories about people’s lives. It’s how we learn and grow and gain isight with wisdom. Your roots and mine run blood close, no wonder I relate so well to you! Your family will share grand stories about you and Ace and the hearts for God and His mission, Betty. God used your life to break the generational tradition of hard. But I have to say, and you know I’m a simple man, I respect men who worked hard… but then that’s our heritage isn’t it? Not all bad, Betty. Thanks again for sharing your story!
Dan Black
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 5:43 pm
Everyone once in a while my wife tells me, “You sounded just like your grandpa when you said that.” Reading your post reminded me about that:)
Floyd
Friday, May 2, 2014 @ 6:11 pm
Genetics are a funny thing, aren’t they? You, like Betty, have changed the course of your bloodline, Dan. You’re a blessing to your family as well as the rest of us that get to share small parts of your life! Thanks, Dan.
Jennifer Dougan
Saturday, May 3, 2014 @ 12:07 pm
Thanks for this glimpse of your hard-working grandpa, with the sad whiskey-colored Cherokee eyes, Floyd. It reminds me of Pat Conroy’s main male characters.
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jenniferdougan.com
Floyd
Saturday, May 3, 2014 @ 12:28 pm
Thanks, Jennifer. That generation, although not nearly perfect, had a work ethic that wouldn’t quit. Not all traits they passed on were bad. I’ve never heard of Pat Conroy? I’ll have to check him or her out. Have a great weekend, Jennifer.
Floyd
Saturday, May 3, 2014 @ 12:36 pm
Oh! The guy that wrote The Prince Of Tides! I’ve never read any of his work, but read some quotes. Wow. He’s amazing. Thanks for the tip, Jennifer!
Wanda
Sunday, May 4, 2014 @ 3:18 pm
Floyd, interesting to read that he had spent some time Arkansas. Life has a way of shaping us all doesn’t it?
Floyd
Sunday, May 4, 2014 @ 4:16 pm
Life definitely has a way of shaping us. How we choose to respond to things makes all the difference, our gift of free will is so underestimated.
Yes, my grandpa, my dad, and I, were all born in Arkansas. Those roots have a way of sticking with a soul. Thanks, Wanda.
SimplyDarlene
Sunday, May 4, 2014 @ 3:37 pm
Maybe there’s a novel waiting to be written outta the nooks and crannies of this story?
My own father drowned at the bottom of a bottle after Vietnam… I have no notion of his salvation. Most times I don’t want to think much about it, yet, there is hope.
Thanks for sharing this piece.
Floyd
Sunday, May 4, 2014 @ 4:21 pm
I’m sorry to hear about your, dad, Darlene. Amazing how our personal life events shape our perspective. I respect the wisdom you chose in your own life. Thanks for sharing, that type of honesty really drives the point, sister. Your’s wasn’t wrapped in fine silk, not by a long shot.
Interestingly enough, I’m actually working on a manuscript now based on the lives of my relatives and how it effects the generations that follow. Great to hear from you, Darlene. Still waters run deep, sister. Thanks again.
June
Sunday, May 4, 2014 @ 6:03 pm
I’m glad you have memories of your grandfather, Floyd, even if they aren’t necessarily happy ones. “I suspect he knew that truth all along, probably explains why he was the way he was…” this made me think of Romans 1, God has showed us, He has manifested Himself to us and we are without excuse. I believe this truth is evident, in some way, in the life of everyone who denies God. Interesting that you saw it in your grandfather. I’m thankful that he repented in the end. Interesting, too, to learn that you’re part Cherokee. My husband is 1/2 Cherokee from his mother’s side. I suspect that the two of you may have more than a few stories to tell if you ever get to meet. Praying for strength for you this week, brother.
Floyd
Monday, May 5, 2014 @ 5:56 pm
Well said, June. I too am thankful that he turned to God in the end. One of these days I might get to talk to your husband, and yeah, I’ll bet the stories have the same plots! Thanks for the prayers, June. And same to you, sister. Thanks a bunch.
Shandra White Harris
Friday, May 9, 2014 @ 6:42 pm
Most excellent description. I, as so many can relate for differnet reasons but similar experiences. Thank you.
Floyd
Saturday, May 10, 2014 @ 10:02 am
We all have so much more in common than we realize I think. There’s wisdom to be had once we get passed the hot spots, I know you’ve learned that… Thanks, Shandra.