In the first column of this series I invited readers to share some of their favorite sayings. Here’s a sampling of those received. Help yourself if you find anything useful.  

“Proper prior planning prevents pitifully poor performance.” That’s a slightly modified version of a submission from retired Navy officer John W. Hadbavny. I substituted “pitifully” for a four-letter word that rhymes with hiss. Otherwise, my 96 year-old mother might quit making biscuits. 

Lt. Comdr. Hadbavny thinks he originated “Seven P-Words to Live By,” but isn’t sure. With 21 plus years of serving our country, he’s no doubt well-versed in planning. An Ohioan by birth, he’s a Georgian by choice. Such solid thinking gives evidence he’s capable of coining useful phrases, so I’m awarding him full credit.

David Fowlkes emailed some of his maternal grandmother’s sayings, plus enlightened me on the meanings. “You can’t do everything and go to mill.” Mrs. Bertha Keesee Owen’s point was we have to let some things go, even leaving good things undone at times.

“There’s many a slip between cup and lip.” The implication is that intentions don’t always result in action. A similar vein of thought was posted on my blog in a comment by David Hardegree. “The kindness planned for tomorrow doesn’t count today.” As one whose intentions are often sidetracked by procrastination, I should tape those two sayings to my mirror.

“A whistling woman and a crowing hen – both shall come to no good end.” Grandma Owen didn’t think it was very ladylike to whistle. My mother, who whistles while she works, used to laughingly recite that same quote.

Mama’s whistling is not a full-fledged version, so may be exempt. Her faint sound is heard most often when she’s really tired. At the other end of the spectrum is the upbeat whistling style featured on The Andy Griffith Show. That’s a good tune which warmly reminds me of a great series. If you haven’t whistled in a while, try a verse or two and see how it feels.

Unadilla native Jim Hamrick shared an old saying that was new to me. “If the outhouse is a two-seater, you gotta learn to be friendly.” Jim didn’t know where it originated, but said it holds water. He was awarded extra points for a sly pun.

The practicality of a two-seat outhouse is debatable, but I guess privacy at times had to be sacrificed for urgency. And some folks probably built two-seaters to impress the neighbors. 

During my early childhood Harmony Baptist Church had a multi-seat, cement-block outhouse, one side for men and the other for women. With that upscale facility plus a concrete baptismal pool, it was obvious we were an affluent congregation. Sermons on humility helped temper our pride.

Another common feature of churches during that era was the cement picnic tables. Harmony’s were shared, perhaps jointly owned, with Smyrna United Methodist Church. The long slab, probably 50 feet or more, was shaded by pines bordering the unpaved parking area. Sturdiness was essential for supporting tons of country fare.

Reverend Wayne Searfoss pastored Harmony for a while during the 1950s. I remember him mostly because of newsletters he later sent from Mexico and occasional return visits. Decades of mission work kept him south of the border. A story from his Harmony days played out near those picnic tables. 

Ice cream was churned by hand back then. Electric churns had not been invented or perhaps were kept secret from rural Georgia. Brother Searfoss decided to automate the process at a church dinner. He jacked up his car and ran a rubber belt from his tire to the churn, put the vehicle in gear and let it turn.

He probably concocted that Rube Goldberg setup for entertainment purposes. One version of that story ends with the jack collapsing and the car ramming the outhouse. A deacon’s wife, exposed to a shocked congregation, reportedly asked without flinching, “Is the ice cream ready?” 

I’m out of space, which is probably a blessing as I have no idea how to wrap up these rambling musings. I guess that proves the wisdom of an old sailor I hope to meet one day – “Proper prior planning prevents pitifully poor performance.”

My apologies, sir, for the slight modification. I was writing under the influence of biscuits.