More Unique Than Buttons

MORE UNIQUE THAN BUTTONS

An Autobiography by Sue Latham

Copyright 2016

Printed by Authority Publishing, Gold River, California

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by Byron Mason Photography

Smashwords Edition

Previous Publications:

I Am Reminded, 2002

Ponderings, 1997

Another New Day, 1995

My Brand New Day, 1975

DEDICATION

To my late husband, Ed, who expressed his steadfast love for his dear Lord, and endearing love for me, during more than 62 years of marriage.

To my children, whose adventures have given me delight, amusement and laughter.

To my numerous grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchild who have blessed my life.

To my dear friends who love me and have provided substance for my writings.

To my dear Lord who gave me the gift of writing, which I didn’t discover in my early years.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Introduction

Hello, World!

My Family

A Shy, Sickly Girl

From Arkansas To The Golden State

My Baseball-Playing Stepfather

School, Fun And Games

Meeting My Future Husband

An Eight-Wheeled Courtship

Fireworks Proposal

A June Bride

White Trellises And A Picket Fence

Graduation And Career

From Aircraft To Pulpit

A Baby By The Seaside

Disneyland And A Baby Boy

Desert Living

The Mildest Climate

A Long Wait

Resuming My Career

Country Living

Birth Of Northern California Ladies’ Retreat

Career Advancement

Career, Toastmasters, Teaching, Training

Our 40th Wedding Anniversary

Happy Home Owners Again

Retirement

Our Golden Wedding Anniversary Year

A Second Career

Becoming A Caregiver

Suddenly Alone

Writing and Travel

My Favorite Things

In Summary

Epilogue

FOREWORD

More unique than a button—that’s my mom!

She played with buttons from her mother’s button box as a young girl. She would sort them by shape, color, size, number of holes, style and any other identifying features—(that is probably where her knack for organization was developed). But, there was always at least one button that didn’t match another—that’s my mom. One of a kind!

Mom had spent her entire adult life with my father. She respected him, and carried out her role as a preacher’s wife, and mother, while often working full time. She went to evening college classes to earn her degree. She has pursued creative endeavors throughout her lifetime resulting in books, articles, devotionals, organizing ladies’ events, mentoring, and public speaking. She has a great sense of humor, and never misses an April 1st joke on at least one of us kids (usually Jim).

But, once my dad was gone, I never could have imagined she would flourish as a widow. She has shown courage, strength, resilience and independence in her new role. She has embraced life alone without self-pity. She has traveled to Christian events, went on a cruise with my son, flew cross-country to visit my brother in Arkansas, and spent two weeks in Branson, Missouri, alone. She began mentoring others as coordinators of the annual Northern California Ladies’ Retreat at Lassen Pines to take her place. She has had to make new decisions with running a home alone and has met those challenges fully. She also is an avid computer user, in her 80s! I am very proud of her!

I could not have asked for a more respected, beautiful and godly woman as my mother. She taught me diligence, self-confidence and unconditional love. Thank you, God, for the gift.

My mom is amazing.

With love and admiration,

Susan Copeland

INTRODUCTION

The buttons on the cover of this book are from my mother’s big round metal button box and from my big round metal button box. Our button boxes probably contained large fruitcakes before becoming button boxes.

The title of this book, More Unique Than Buttons, was planned long before its pages were written.

Buttons are unique. God created each of us as unique beings. Buttons come in different sizes, colors and shapes. So do we! If you look closely, you’ll see that even buttons that appear similar have slight differences. Our size, color or shape may appear similar to that of another person, but careful examination shows unique differences in each of us. Even identical twins reveal slight differences.

Not only do we vary in appearance, but in skill, talent and personality. We may perform similar tasks, but accomplish those tasks using different tools or methods. Our talents and personalities are not the same. We may wear similar clothing, but the garments do not fit the same on each body.

Buttons and people are each designed to serve a special purpose. Many of us seem to be all-purpose, and can perform multiple tasks. Others are very heavy-duty, and have been blessed with strength and stamina. A few appear beautiful, but are delicate and fragile. We are all useful in our Lord’s work.

Some buttons are designed to be used on a variety of garments; they are multipurpose. Others are large and sturdy, designed for heavy coats or work clothes. A few are lovely and fragile, to be used on delicate fabrics. Each serves its purpose successfully.

My friend Gayla Price summarizes buttons like this: Buttons come in all sizes and shapes and while rarely praised they quietly decorate and serve the needs of the garment to which they are securely attached. Buttons not for show are indispensable, for they give the garment value and purpose, making it useful—something to be desired. Buttons prove closure where things need not be open and bring sides together when they shouldn’t be apart.

She adds, Buttons have also revitalized a garment otherwise tired and worn out; what was once forgotten now born again stirring the imagination of all who see it. Sue Latham has done this with her books and in her life. She has and continues to make a difference in many lives.

My mother sewed as a young girl. She may have had her button box long before she married my daddy. Our family could not afford to buy many toys for my sister and me as we were growing up. But in my early years I discovered my mother’s button box held treasures of many sizes, shapes and colors. Most were made of glass, plastic, metal, shell or wood. Fascination with buttons has persisted throughout my lifetime.

Mama’s buttons accumulated through the years and provided untold hours of creativity and amusement for my sister and me. Every time a garment wore out, my mother cut the buttons off and placed them in her big round metal button box.

I had fun putting all the buttons of the same color together. Then I’d separate them according to size, color, style and the number of holes in each button. Sometimes I aligned them in a long row, other times I placed them in round or square designs. The possibilities were limitless.

We looped string through the holes of big buttons and played a spinner game. We held each end of the looped string, tossed the button over and over, then pulled the string and watched the button spin rapidly.

Buttons are not used only to fasten clothing. They create games, adorn crafts, and make beautiful earrings and other jewelry. My Aunt Lorene purchased hundreds of buttons at a button factory in Arkansas. She made beautiful necklaces using buttons enhanced with beads or pearls. I have several she created for me, plus those she had made for my mother.

You’ll read later about me playing in castoff shells behind a button factory when we lived in Conway, Arkansas.

My entire family seemed to share my fascination with buttons. In my very early years, I recall several of my relatives telling me to button my lip. Although I had hundreds of buttons to choose from, I never did find one that would button my lip!

Button factories cut, mold, smooth and refine the buttons. They punch as many holes as needed to complete the button’s purpose.

God created us, molds us, smoothes out our rough edges, and refines us to better serve Him. He constantly refines us through his word, to be more useful in His kingdom.

I am unique! You are unique! More unique than buttons!

MORE UNIQUE THAN BUTTONS

People are often like buttons,

no two of us are exactly the same;

Though we may have similar characteristics

or be called by the very same name.

But, God made each of us different

with qualities and appearance unique.

You won’t find another just like us

if through the whole world you seek.

We may share the same kind of talent,

wear similar hairstyles or clothes;

Then looking more closely you soon see

we’re unique in our pose or our nose.

Let’s not spend our time and our effort

trying to imitate someone on earth.

Instead, let’s be more like our Jesus,

Who bought us and knows our true worth.

Yes, we are more unique than buttons;

made in His image, but different—each one.

We are precious; let Him shape and mold us

for His work on us is not yet done.

—Sue Latham

HELLO, WORLD!

COLD WINTER SNOW covered the uneven ground like drifting sand dunes. Shiny icicles dangled quietly from rooftops and eaves. Earmuffs and scarves topped the Christmas sales at the only dry goods store in town. Most children had already scribbled their letters to Santa. Children in those days usually asked Mr. Claus for a dolly or a little red wagon. Some would add, If you can, Santa, please bring me an apple, an orange, or some nuts. The small-town weekly newspaper printed a lot of the children’s letters to Santa.

Christmas trees peeked through front windows of old houses—old family homes. In those days, decorations of popcorn strings or looped, colored construction-paper garlands hugged the trees with spiraled arms. Glistening silver-foil icicles draped from outstretched branches. Angels, with wings outspread in preparation for flight, posed gracefully on the highest tips of the fragrant green trees.

Five days before Christmas, a 20-year-old expectant mother lay in the front bedroom of an aging white house in the small town of Ozark, Arkansas. Betty June, her 18-month-old daughter was being cared for by relatives. Her labor had begun in the night, hours earlier. Flickering coal oil lamps dimly lit the room where she winced with each pain. The old country doctor made house calls in those days. Dr. Hansbury now stood by to help with the baby’s birth.

Time dragged as the mother moaned or screamed with each strong contraction. Finally, the baby’s head worked its way into the birth canal. Subsequent contractions made no progress in pushing the baby into the world. The doctor attempted pulling and twisting the infant’s head and neck with forceps in an effort to free it from the safety of its warm womb. Eventually, the baby arrived and was quickly wrapped in a warm blanket. The exhausted mother was relieved that her labor was over, and her fragile baby girl had appeared. The date was December 20, 1933.

That exhausted mother was my mother, Beulah Nevia (Tarver) Currier. That struggling baby girl was me!

My 18-month-old sister, Betty June, named me Patsy Sue. Double names were quite common, and still are, in southern areas of the United States. So, family and friends always called us Betty June and Patsy Sue. Youngsters who couldn’t remember our names frequently called both of us Betty Sue. They knew they would always get an answer with that!

Most family members called me Patsy Sue, and my sister Betty June. Betty was never called by a nickname, but my name lent itself to many nicknames. Uncles and friends called me Suez Canal, Suzie Q, Sweet Sue, Sioux City Sue and Susie. After the popularity of Johnny Cash’s song, A Boy Named Sue, some said they always thought of that song when they saw me.

Years later I discovered my birth was not registered in Franklin County, Arkansas, or anywhere else. That occurred frequently in those days, with home births. You’ll read about that in a later chapter.

BIRTH POEM

In days of old, the babies chose

the day they would be born.

Mothers had no power to say

if they’d come at night or morn.

Parents didn’t know ahead of time

whether to expect a boy or girl.

Nor if they should knit rompers,

or find pink combs for curls.

Most births occurred in bedrooms

of the family’s old country homes.

With relatives or a country doctor—

and remember, there were no phones.

Country doctors made house calls then;

now that’s a thing of the past.

Mothers just prayed their labor

would produce a baby really fast.

No hospitals housed modern equipment

for births or when you were ill.

And, if a person had located one,

most couldn’t have paid the bill.

C-Sections were not so common,

and some babies didn’t survive.

But, despite problems with my birth,

I’m just glad that I’m alive.

—Sue Latham

MY FAMILY

ALTHOUGH THIS IS my story, it is important that you know a little bit about my mother—and you’ll read more about her later.

Mama was born to my grandpa Thomas Otho Tarver (24 July 1886 to 19 June 1967) and grandma Tennie Avery Rummage Tarver (19 September 1891 to 30 October 1977) on February 2, 1913, in Denning, Arkansas. She was named Beulah Nevia (pronounced knee-vay). My Grandma Tarver knew someone else named Nevia, and liked that name. It remains an uncommon name, although one of my granddaughters now wears that name.

My mother had three younger sisters: Freddie Lee, Naomi Ruth, and Emily Lorene. Her older sister, Maude Agnes, died when my mother was three months old.

My Aunt Freddie was always a bit headstrong, and lived a tumultuous life. She had several marriages and many children. Ruth was more down-to-earth and had an enduring marriage. Ruth spent many years working as a waitress—a good one!

Lorene divorced when her daughter was about two years old. She worked as a maid and cook for a doctor and his family until she remarried. Her cooking made your mouth water in anticipation. Her second marriage lasted until her military husband died when their son was a teen.

Lorene had a heart of love, and enjoyed helping others. Through the years, she helped my mother out of many difficult personal and financial situations. During the periodic times my mother lived in Ozark, Arkansas, Lorene spent a great deal of time and energy transporting and caring for her.

My mother married my daddy, James David (Jack) Currier in August 1931. She was 18, and daddy was 23. She was mothering two little girls by the time she was 20. At some point in my toddler years, they divorced. They later remarried—only to get a final divorce when I was nine years old.

In the crevices of my very early memory, there is little recollection of my mother’s personality. It wasn’t until later that I began to recognize her personality traits. Family members have said she always had a quick temper, even as a child. Others said she always appeared angry, and spoke her mind without concern for others.

My mother had a very dominant personality, and so did my sister, Betty June. My sister had an unbelievable imagination, and exercised it daily. She delighted in creating frightening stories to tell me. Gullible me! I believed everything she said. Everything scared me: bears, the boogieman, and other things that were going to get me.

As toddlers, Mama made dresses for my sister and me out of large flour sacks. Whenever she bought twenty-five pound sacks of flour, she carefully chose bags with tiny flowers or a pattern suitable for little girls’ dresses. Her seamstress skills were excellent.

Mama also played the piano, and especially enjoyed playing hymns. Although unhappy most of the time, she seemed happiest when sitting at the piano.

Store-bought toys were rarely found in our home.