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My Brother, Junior

I was excited about it for days and when we began circling the arrivals area at the Las Vegas Airport on the Friday before Easter, I could hardly contain myself. It was our 4th time around when I spotted my brother, Farrell E. Forrest. Junior, he was to me, for he bore our father’s name and I had never called him anything else.

It has been years since we had been together, and there he stood, distinct and sorted out from the bustling crowd as though a spotlight had beamed him. Junior, my brother, my baby brother. He urged out his shy smile, released the handle of a luggage piece, and we embraced there on the walkway–Good Friday in Las Vegas.

Junior had flown from Toronto that day, although he had been in the States for a few days. His home is near Pittsburg, but for several months now he has lived in Antofagasta, Chili. He is an electrical engineer and is vice-president of something or other connected with the Dunlop Corporation. He did his college work in Ohio and immediately on graduation went to work for Dunlop (maybe one of its subsidiaries, not sure), and has continued with them until now–a couple of breaks in there I’ll write of later.

Junior is 64–doesn’t look it–at least in big sister’s eyes, and is the sweetest man you will ever meet. He is smart, humble, soft-spoken, courteous and beyond excellent as a father and grandfather. He speaks glowingly and with obvious great affection of his late wife, Rose, his only daughter, Sandy, and of his two grandchildren, Brad and Moriah.

I had emailed telling him not to eat any airport food along the way and that we would stop for dinner after picking him up. A Cheesecake Factory was near and we pulled in there, snagging a beautiful outside table where, in the picture above, you see him. We talked and ate and smiled and lingered…then it was time to go, and we drove to Lake Havasu and to the door of the London Bridge Resort Hotel.

It’s Spring Break here, and though it was 11:30 at night, the parking lot was jammed and huge boats on trailers were blocking the driveways. Young people ran about in various stages of dress and undress.

“Hope it’s not too noisy, and that you can sleep all right. It’s Spring Break here, and Lake Havasu is one of the major destinations for college students,” I mentioned at one point. He was aware of it and thought he wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping.

We would pick him up for breakfast at 8:30. Jerry helped him in with his luggage and left him standing at the check-in counter.


My devotional blog is here.Β 

By Shirley Buxton

Still full of life and ready to be on the move, Shirley at 83 years old feels blessed to have lots of energy and to be full of optimism. She was married to Jerry for 63 years, and grieves yet at his death in August of 2019. They have 4 children, 13 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren...all beautiful and highly intelligent--of course. :)

20 replies on “My Brother, Junior”

Not in of themselves, but they represent the forces of set (the Egyptian god of darkness). The color has a psychological effect that denotes an ominous presence. The opposite of black is white, as in the dove, the Prince of Peace, or the bringer of the light. Read the blog content on the black pages. Those who select that color are promoting Satanic thoughts, beliefs, and idealogies. This is not accidental.




It allows the human brain to isolate streams of information easier. In IT circles it is known as “chunking” or grouping information. The brain absorbs streams of information easier if it can be broken down into smaller parts. The psychological effect of seeing a wall of words without sequential breaks is creates a breakaway effect. The reader usually decides to abandon ship rather than try to intuit the writer’s intended stopping points.

I hate black electronic pages. Maybe I am old fashioned in that respect, since I grew up with white typing paper. I think the darkness is Satanic. Who would choose to use that background? Most of the WordPress blogs that I have seen with it delve into secular and Black Magic oriented topics. They should be avoided.

Johnny, are you serious when you refer to black electronic pages, saying you “think the darkness is satanic”?


SANDY–you need to start your own blog. That’s a great story…about the blueberry, or is it a blackberry? πŸ™‚

Where did they get those fruity names? I suppose it all started with an apple!

JOHNNY , what is it about white space that helps us so much? How do you like electronic pages that are black with white letters? I think they look classy, but I have a bit of trouble reading them.



Please try to utilize paragraph breaks in your next comment. They allow the reader to break down your thoughts into digestible pieces and this helps to avoid reader fatigue. I doubt that many would be able to read all that you have written.



As I’ve read through your blog and looked at my Dad’s pictures I noticed that he is checking his e-mail on his “Blueberry” while you are having dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. During late July of 2007 I mistakenly washed my Mother’s cell phone right before we went on vacation – she did not believe in fancy cell phones, just wanted one that she could call on and receive calls when someone wanted to get hold of her. I stood in front of Mom that afternoon, Dad was home from Chile for vacation and she was in the recliner not feeling well from one of her many, never-ending chemotherapy or radiation treatments, hung my head and confessed that I had washed her cell phone and would have to get her another one. Dad and I hopped into the car and went to the cell phone store with strict insructions that the phone had to be a small flip phone and “no fancy texting stuff”. While there Dad said to me “Sandy, when was the last time you had a new cell phone?” Of course as usual when you go into a cellular phone store its always time to “upgrade” so we set out to look at the new cell phones available for my plan. Dad said “You should get a Blackberry so you can call me directly in Chile, in case something happens to your Mom”. Ok, I didn’t need the Blackberry but it sounded like a good idea, I mean I might have to call Dad internationally for some reason or another, so I got the latest and greatest Blackberry World Edition available. I had one up on my kids! My Blackberry could get e-mail, send e-mail, text, has a web-browser – lots of neat stuff. My kids were going to be so envious of me, the MOM, and my new cell phone. I was gloating. I got home and proudly showed my Mom and kids the new Blackberry cell phone. Mom got very quiet and said “Sandy how much did you spend for that phone and how much is it per month?” (Of course the phone was horribly expensive and tripled my current bill per month, I mean come on – I was paying for the bill but in the end I’m still her kid). I did some fancy, fast explaining about all of the attributes of having a Blackberry and pointed out the fact that I could now call Dad anytime, day or night, anywhere in the world. I have to give Dad credit, he backed me up the whole way. Of course both of my kids were hanging onto every word, Mom was getting in trouble with MawMaw. My Mom hit the roof – read Dad and I the riot act and told both of us, in no uncertain terms, how foolish we both were. We both felt guilty, we had wasted money on something I didn’t need. The room was horribly quiet as we both squirmed and mumbled apologies. My Mom grew up in West Virginia, her family poor, and she wanted to go back there to visit for vacation. After a time of uneasy quiet Mom looked at me and asked had I made the reservations yet and of course I hadn’t – I was busy at the cell phone store. She looked at me and Dad, pointed her finger and raised her voice: “Sandy, you get your hind-end into that kitchen right now and get on that “Blueberry” and make those reservations!” I looked at Dad – BIG mistake, he looked at me – even bigger mistake and we both howeled with laughter. “She called it a “BlueBerry” Dad laughed and the more he laughed, the more I laughed. My Mom wouldn’t talk to either of us for the rest of the evening. A few days later Mom looked at me in the hotel room and asked why Dad and I thought it was so funny that she had called the cell phone a Blueberry. I explained and she grinned and said she could see why we laughed. My partner in crime and I were forgiven. I still look at my “Blueberry” and laugh, as well as cry. My Mom passed away a week after coming home from West Virginia. The Blueberry has come in handy, I have talked to my Dad almost everyday since August – no matter where in the world he may be.



Shirley, it was wonderful reading your blog! I hope to have as memorable visit with MY brother, who is flying to SoCal, where I live, from NY-where he lives. He’ll be here this Saturday…can’t wait!


Yep! πŸ˜€ Andrew came to work and the kids have spring break, so they all came! I’m lovin’ it! πŸ˜€ They are enjoying our new lawn! I went out and bought balls, bats, frizbees, and bubbles.



In Seymour and Diggins, Mo. live my step-mother, Betty Sue, and my half brothers.

My mom died when I was 12, my dad remarried and he and Betty had four sons. Neat, huh?

We’re leaving for Crestline in a few minutes, but later today I hope to write more about Junior.


I caution you Shirley, Las Vegas is a Luciferian sin-hole created to appeal to our sinful post-fall nature. I have been there and vowed to never return. The harlots, money-changers, and drug/alcohol peddlers seek to enslave all those who enter the dusty gates. I pray that you did not fall under the city’s Satanic spell.


Awww…what a blessing, Sis. Buxton. I envy you. πŸ™‚ I would LOVE to be with my brother right now. But, I’ll just have to wait until I get to heaven. πŸ™‚ Have a WONDERFUL visit and I look forward to hearing more details about it. I am SO happy for you! Love you!

P.S. Guess who’s at my house right now? πŸ˜€

Sister? And MY grandbabies?


Wow – Sis. Buxton, this is such a neat story, please tell us more about your brother. And – a picture of you and him together would be nice, please?
I’m so glad he came to visit you.

Love you and miss you,


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