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Janice Cleo 'Poet' Reynolds

Janice Cleo 'Poet' Reynolds[1, 2, 3, 4]

Female 1937 - 2021  (83 years)

Personal Information    |    Media    |    Notes    |    Sources    |    All    |    PDF

  • Name Janice Cleo 'Poet' Reynolds 
    Born 20 Apr 1937  Pittsylvania County, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Gender Female 
    Died 2021 
    Person ID I7761  My Reynolds Line | Descendants Hugh Pittsylvania Reynolds, Thomas Carter of Goochland
    Last Modified 15 Jul 2021 

    DNA Tests  1 person has linked a DNA test to Janice Cleo 'Poet' Reynolds 

    Father Robert Edwin Reynolds,   b. 21 Jul 1912, Pittsylvania County, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 7 Aug 1997, Danville, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 85 years) 
    Mother Nannie Richardson Kendrick,   b. 1 Feb 1917, Pittsylvania Co., Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 3 Aug 1999, Pittsylvania County, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 82 years) 
    Married 3 Feb 1934  Callands, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Family ID F2660  Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

    Family William Garfield Doss,   b. 28 Jun 1933, Franklin County, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 27 Nov 2009, Dry Fork, Virginia Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 76 years) 
    • Janice Doss - Facebook

      Old, yellowed hand written on lined notebook paper - from many, many years ago...

      The little one room clapboard church was symbolic of the community it served. Paint peeling, one window patched with a long strip of adhesive tape, a roof that should have been repaired last year. Grass that struggled vainly during the week to reach that saintly domain, only to be ruthlessly trodden into the earth each Lord's Day by the countless little feet that ran in wild abandon upon release from within. As long as any one could remember, Brother Plybon had patiently raked and sewn new seed around the church each year, never complaining when the harvest of his labors was demolished.. During rainy weather, someone had thrown a plank from the front steps to the grassy area beyond.
      Inside, straight back pews stood in neat rows with narrow isles down each side. Near the front, the pews became shorter and this was where the children all sat during revivals under the watchful eye of the preacher. Two steps up and the pulpit area began with three short pews for the choir. To the right of the choir sat the ancient old piano where Miss Piney , with eyes closed, waited for the spirit that flowed through her fingertips and brought forth the hymns the congregation sang.
      In spite of all this, the little church held a dignity peculiarly all its own. Nestled in a grove of old oak trees that seemed to hover protectively around it, the little church had stood for more than 70 odd years. Poverty, depression, drought, sickness, death, despair - all the ailments of the community, sooner or later, came to its door, anguish bottled up for a lifetime spilled over before its impoverished altar. And still it stood firm. Eventually the clapboard would be painted, the roof repaired, the window replaced. Worn and weathered, the little church passed the final test, the test of time. It had learned to endure.

      Janice Doss
      1 hr

      Preacher Larkin was letting 'em have it again, arms flailing, sweat pouring, he beat the air with his fists and passed the Good Word to his fellow man. Night flies buzzed around the bare bulb and at least one in the audience seemed to be more engrossed in their progress than in the good man's words. Jenny Randolph was convinced that each time Preacher hit a high pitch, one of the larger ones, flying in wild abandon plunged swiftly toward some spot in the audience where it was quickly squashed between two hands. From somewhere in the back came an answering clap followed by "Amen!." Preacher Larkin had reached the height of his powers and the faster he went, the more suicide flights came from the ceiling.
      Guiltily, remembering her Grandma's views on people who didn't pay attention when the Lord's word was being revealed, Jenny brought her attention back to the sermon. Old men nodded and young men gazed in rapt attention as with face contorted, the good brother brought his message to his flock.
      "Ah-h-h, I tell you, the Lord takes care of His own. Ah-h-h, I tell you brother, Live your life so that you can call on the Lord. Ah-h-h, The good book tells us, Ah-h that if any among you asks for bread, will He cast him a stone. Ah-h-h, I tell you, the Lord does not give stones, Ah-h-h the Lord loves those who live by His word. Ah-h-h, it may look like a stone, it may feel look like a stone and when you go to bite it may be hard like a stone. Ah-h-h His way is not always easy, but His path is not hard to find, and Brother, you take that bread that looks like a stone and sink your teeth into it . " Brother Larkin's body became very still, as with arms outstretched, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "My brethren, you'll find a bread the sweetness and tenderness you've never tasted before. A bread that will sustain you all the days of your life. The Lord loves you. Don't settle for the stones of the devil. Give your life to the Lord. Put your future in His hands.
      As we stand and sing our invitational hymn, come, and let His blood wash away your sins. Be washed in the blood of the Lamb. -janice
     1. Living
     2. Living
    Last Modified 23 Jun 2020 
    Family ID F4896  Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  • Photos
    Robert Edwin Reynolds Family
    Robert Edwin Reynolds Family
    7409 Edwin's Family.jpg
    Janice Reynolds [Doss] Snapshot
    Janice Reynolds [Doss] Snapshot
    J Doss.jpg
    Janice Reynolds
    Janice Reynolds
    Janice Doss.jpg
    Janice Reynolds
    Janice Reynolds
    Janice & Husband.jpg
    William Garfield Doss and Wife, Janice Reynolds, with Son, Tommy Doss
    William Garfield Doss and Wife, Janice Reynolds, with Son, Tommy Doss
    William Garfield and Janice Doss w-son, Tommy 1981.jpg
    Nannie with Wesley and Janice Reynolds
    Nannie with Wesley and Janice Reynolds
    Nannie Kendrick-Wes & Janice.jpg
    Janice Reynolds with Wm. Garfield Doss, Jr. 'Billy'
    Janice Reynolds with Wm. Garfield Doss, Jr. 'Billy'
    Janice Rey, w-Wm Garfield Doss, Jr Billy.jpg
    Birthday for Emma 1959- Janice & Son, Billy Doss
    Birthday for Emma 1959- Janice & Son, Billy Doss
    bday prty f-Grandma Emma at Bobby's house 55 yrs ago w-Rbt E Rey, Emma R.- Billy Doss& JaniceR.jpg
    Janice Reynolds Doss Family
    Janice Reynolds Doss Family
    Janice Doss' Image -2.jpg
    Wesley Holmes Reynolds and Sister Janice
    Wesley Holmes Reynolds and Sister Janice
    Janice Doss (nee Reynolds)
    Janice Doss (nee Reynolds)
    Janice Cleo & Wesley Reynolds, Brother and Sister
    Janice Cleo & Wesley Reynolds, Brother and Sister

    Nannie Richardson Kendrick w-Son Wesley and Daughter Janice
    Nannie Richardson Kendrick w-Son Wesley and Daughter Janice
    Nannie Kendrick-Wes & Janice.jpg

  • Notes 
    • My Stairway Built with Prayer

      When I go to God in prayer,
      I know that I will find Him there,
      That he watches from above
      And gives me His unfailing love.
      Don't let me pray and say Amen
      And never think of Him again,
      But let me talk to Him each day
      And follow Him in every way.
      Build a stairway with my prayer,
      That I can climb and find Him there.
      High above the highest cloud,
      Above the clamor of the crowd.
      There I can more clearly see
      The plan that He has made for me.
      Seek forgiveness for my sin
      Find new strength, begin again.

      He calms my soul, He stills my fears,
      He heals my grief, He dries my tears,
      He's been there down through the years,
      In my stairway built with prayer.

      He gives me gifts beyond compare,
      I see His blessings everywhere.
      The beauty of the rising sun,
      The golden sky when day is done.
      The fields of green, the gentle rain,
      The wind that surfs the fields of grain.
      The stillness when the robin sings,
      And promises another Spring.

      I'm His child, He died for me,
      He shed His blood in agony,
      That from my sin I might be free,
      Oh, the cost was Calvary.

      And someday, when I climb that stair,
      There'll be an open doorway there,
      He'll motion me to come on in,
      I'll live forever more with Him.

      Build a stairway with your prayer,
      He'll be waiting, He'll meet you there.


      Just to Touch the Hem of His Garment

      When we sing, sometimes we raise
      Our hand to God to give Him praise,
      And when we pray, our heads we bow
      Before that great and shining power.
      To thank Him for His love and grace
      And seek forgiveness on His face.
      There comes a time, though, when we pray,
      We may travel back to a long ago day.
      In our hearts we see Him standing there
      In the garment that held so much power.
      And like the woman who braved the crowd,
      Amid the shouts and pleas so loud,
      We just reach out and seek to touch
      His garment that can mean so much.
      Let me, dear Lord, when I pray
      Be like that woman on that day,
      With quiet faith, reach out to touch
      The hem of His garment that can mean so much.
      Oh, would that He would turn to me
      And all pain and worry would then cease,
      As He restores a lasting peace.
      "Daughter, your faith has healed you,
      Go in peace." Luke 8:48
    • Jan 2020
      Janice Doss
      Janice Doss "A land of rich fertile valleys guarded by friendly mountains, tranquil flowing streams, exuberant rivers, changing seasons and verdant forests. And yet, all of these are not her greatest natural resources. Drive along her country roads and you'll find them in the"big" houses and the small houses. Ghosts of them linger on in the abandoned forlorn old cabins held captive by vines slowly devouring them, their pride broken. All of them once shielded and protected the county's most valuable resource - her children. Close your eyes, be still, and the softness of some summer's eve, you'll see them. Boys and girls chasing fireflies in the moonlight. playing fox in the window packing the earth bare with their constant motion. The old car tire swing moves again in the dappled sunlight beneath the oak tree. Grass hopper houses made with ragweed, frog houses molded with wet sand. Jack rocks moving like magic on nimble hands. Rabbit tobacco rolled in paper sack, lit up, quickly puffed and extinquished as memories of the "keen peach tree switch" creep in. Grapevines on the hill, grasped with a running start soar hundreds of feet in the air before the free fall to the top of the small pines below. Watching baby crows from the top of the tallest tree. An old metal wheel guided by a stick with a loop of wire was as good as driving a '42 Ford. Barrels held stationary at the top of a hill while one climbs on before it begins to roll. Faster and faster, the feet fly to stay on top. Close your eyes and feel it still...Oh, what danger, Oh, what thrills!
      Janice Doss Tons of water brought from the creek to fill the wash pot. Cows to bring up for milking, aching arms moving the dasher faster as the golden butter forms. Apples and "roastin ears" on the flu pipe at the tobacco barn and the chance to spend the night.. Berries to pick, apple trees to climb, long dusty roads where bicycles go to "fur" off places Fishponds for swimming and fishing. Baseball games in the pasture. basketball against the stable. Lining up in the front row at revivals. Layering leaves and apples in the wooden bin for winter. Bowls of oatmeal on the warming shelf. Watching the slow movement of King Karo syrup poured on the wedge of butter waiting to be sopped up with hot biscuits, Jack frost to crush and ice to skate on during long walks to meet the school bus. Gathering 'round the kitchen table with its aladdin lamp to do homework and wait for skillet fudge. Cod-liver oil to keep you healthy and castor oil when you weren't. Molded by the house and all that it held, bound together as a family. The children are gone now. The potter's job is finished and its wheel is still. And the years gone by have proved the meddle of its product. Pittsylvania
      Janice Doss Count's greatest resource. Her children, Her destiny. -janice doss (Originally in Vol. 2 of the Pittsylvania County Heritage book.
    • 24 JAN 2020 By Janice
      Janice Doss
      18 hrs

      June, 2004: CLCC Church Western States Trip:
      Lasting Impressions: That Nature, undisturbed, achieves a perfection not found in anything else.
      The strange beauty in the dignity and starkness of the pines destroyed by fire as they stand sheltering the small seedlings who have come to take their place. Seedlings now, that someday will stand tall and proud for those who come after us.
      The serenity of the lakes as they lay, like a Master painter's palette with their soft shades of turquoise and blue and green.
      The sixth sense of the buffalo as they wandered safely through the boiling, bubbling springs and geysers.
      The loneliness of the eagles in the tree tops of the burned out forests waiting for eaglets that will not return. Imagining the furious strength of the fire that wrought such destruction.
      Rivers and branches that fold back upon themselves as they wind through the valleys.
      God has not deserted our world. We have only to look for him and His presence is evident. The Master Gardener's creations are everywhere. The mountain tops, the fertile valleys, the tiny creatures that live in His garden, the quiet cleanliness of the forests, and dotted here and there, the ingenuity of man. All of these come from Him and the Gardener does not desert what He has created.
      Americans do not have to travel abroad to see the wonders of the world. There are no other mountains more majestic, no other deserts more arid and, no other cities where the ingenuity of man is more evident than those in America..
      Away from the cares and stress of everyday living, we recapture again that wondrous state of childhood and feel the excitement of yesteryear at the sight of a buffalo, the anticipation in the search for the sight of an elk, standing in the rain waiting for Old Faithful, the laughter and easy give and take among friends, the obvious love and concern of fellow Christians - all these are perhaps the closest we get to that childhood innocence of long ago. We need to occasionally recapture the simple dreams and joy of discovery that we all had as children. (To be continued, click my Comment below)

      November 6, 1999: E-Mail between a mother and her son: Subject: What we hold in our hands. Statement of what you get out of life. Mother: "It's mostly what you put into it." Answer: "I can give you one for that. Fill one hand with wishes and one hand with "crap" and see which hand is the fullest."
      Mother: "Well, I have one for that, I've been holding both for most of my life. And let me tell you something else, sometimes it takes years to figure out which is which. But, once you do, it's up to you to not let them get unbalanced. You'll never completely get rid of the "crap." Tears won't wash it away. A little always sticks. Little by little, you add to your garden of dreams. Weed it every now and then. Remember, no matter how beautiful, some things simply won't grow in your garden - there's no use wasting time on them Work on the ones that do, use the "crap" for fertilizer, you''ll never run out. Look at your hands often - be sure of what you hold."
    • Janice Reynolds, Facebook

      I wonder if you knew
      I said a prayer for you.
      You sat alone among a crowd,
      I could almost hear your thoughts out loud.
      I feel the pain you're going through,
      My friend, I've traveled that road, too.
      And so I ask the Lord above
      To touch you with His healing love,
      To hold you close, and give you peace,
      In Him, you'll find a sweet release. Amen.
    • Thank you Lord for another Spring:
      I shall go out while the dew that has caressed and protected through the dark night, still glistens, awaiting the warmth of the rising sun. I shall watch as the tulips and butter cups and the tiny buds on the dogwood tree awaken as they were meant to do. The grass is slowly turning green as it was meant to do. The primroses given to me more than 60 years ago still thrive as they were meant to do. Mama's shamrocks and Aunt Nannie's tiger lily and Ma Emma's painfully plain tiny little plant still in its original black iron pot that has withstood decades of winter, awaits summer when it will put on its delicate pink prom dress and bring delight, as it was meant to do. The tiny petals fall like snowflakes from the pear trees and skitter across the lawn, as they were meant to do. In my Lord's Garden of Eden everything performed as it was meant to do - except man. Only man chose not to obey his Creator. Springtime, when all creation rises to the tasks for which it was created, except man. I look around me and I feel the amazing love of my Creator who still loves all He has created, even man. Thank you, Lord, for loving me and help me to walk in your Garden someday and be as I was meant to be.
    • Janice on Facebook:
      On the Lighter Side:
      Most of us reading this have already stood on top of the hill - a few are still on the way up but they sort of need to know what it's like on the other side, huh? Most of us stand there a pretty good while just looking back. All of our lives we've been climbing and now there's no more "up." So, we stand there looking back, maybe wistfully, but sooner or later we have to start - or get pushed down the other side.

      I wake up every morning at 4:00, no matter what. Before retirement I'd lay there and dream of the time to come when I could sleep late. Now my eyes just pop open and they're always right on the clock. First thing I do is try to remember to roll-l-l off the bed. And this isn't always easy on grandma's tall bed. If you roll too fast, it's quite a ways down, not to mention the three steps you'll hit on the way .

      Well, when I finally make it up, I move on to the kitchen to get that first cup of coffee (I put the water in the pot last night to hurry things along). It's also the one I'm not supposed to have. But that's okay. Live dangerously, be defiant, drink it anyway. (Oh, the things you get to do on the down side of the hill that nobody has to know about!) Really!

      Well, that done, it's vitamin time. Ah, choices. We now live for choices, don't we? There's the one-a-day, don't know what's in it, the print's so small and I lost my magnifying glass. But it says one-a-day, so down it goes. Then there's the E - E-diaphoral - not E-diaphairall, there's a difference, you know. And they tell me you need a little C along with the E. It just rebels without a partner.
      Good idea to add a little COQ10 for the old ticker that worked too hard on the way up.. And then there's Kyolic, folic acid and the B vitamins. These are the anti-socials. Refuse to cooperate if they're combined with anything else. Sort of like a lot of people, you know! Then, there's that big old calcium waiting. A maverick for sure, maybe it will help, maybe it won't. Might be better to just drink a quart of whole milk with a big slice of cheese and some of that yogurt with the little critters in it.

      Ah, now it's time for breakfast. I'm so full of vitamins, I'd forgotten about breakfast. On the way up the hill, breakfast was my favorite meal. Bacon , eggs, grits with sugar and butter, toast with jelly, hot chocolate. My doctor put a stop to that, called it a cholesterol nightmare! Now, it's oatmeal with a little applesauce, not forgetting the cinnamon that gives a kick in the butt to wake up the insulin. Grapefruit - oh, how I loved grapefruit. Now, I have to count the hours on my fingers of when I last took those medicines it lies in wait for and try to sneak one in every now and then. And speaking of the other half, he's sitting right across in front of you and says that's the best sausage he believes he's ever eaten and asks you to hand him those pear preserves for his buttered biscuit! (be sure to tune in tomorrow for more exciting news from the down side of the hill!)
    • Mankind:
      Some men are born hard with an insensate core, undisturbed, indeed, unaware of other men;s existence except in relation to themselves. Even as a suckling at their mother's breast, they bite and tug with rapacious and greedy gulps, beginning a life of drawing sustenance from others. Their faith is only in themselves and their ability to outwit their fellow man. They laugh at love and compassion and think it is only for fools.

      There are others made hard by life's circumstances, of inordinate strength and supreme intelligence, their eyes open to the world as it really is. The evil in man, no matter how disguised, is always apparent to them. They lead lonely lives because they accept life as it really is and choose to forge their own destiny, confident in their ability to do so. Their faith has been hard won, but it is enduring.

      And then there's the simple man, always accepting things at face value, living on an unrippled surface, unaware of the sharks circling beneath. Perhaps they are the lucky ones because they never delve beneath the surface, live quiet and oft times joyful lives, accepting the seasons of life as they do the changing seasons of the weather.. Their faith comes easily, unquestioned,, a quiet, strong foundation that has always been there, cushioning the hard times and bringing joy in the good times. Surely, such is a gift from God who knows our strengths and our weaknesses and does not test us beyond what we can endure. . -janice
    • 15 Jun 2020
      Janice Doss
      14 hrs

      To Our 2020 Graduates:
      In the sea of your life, since the day you were born, a ship has been headed your way. You have never had, nor will you ever have, the power to stop or delay her, for she moves on the relentless waves of Time. Her name is Destiny. Many harbors with many names await her. Good Times Harbor where flashing lights and sounds of gaiety beckon, but the ship never leaves the harbor and the fun and games always end. Easy Life Harbor that promises no hard work, no risks and no accomplishments. Drifter's Harbor where the ship stays close to shore, always moving, yet never going anywhere. And somewhere along that shore line in a small and obscure cove where few ships dock, there is one called Opportunity.
      Look to the horizon, for Destiny is headed your way. She anchors for only a short time and she may not come again. Those who board at Opportunity must be prepared for years of hard work, think for themselves, and stand alone when conscience so dictates. They know that success bought by the sacrifice of the inner self is hollow and meaningless.
      May the storms of your life be conquered with courage and your dreams reflected in calm seas. And may love always be the wind in your sails. -janice

      And, If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. (James1;5)
    • There were few hugs and so
      It took me years to know,
      My Daddy loved me so.
      T'was in the work he did,
      Seven mouths to feed,
      No time for fun and games,
      The work was never done.
      School starting in the fall,
      New shoes for one and all,
      Christmas just ahead,
      Did he face those months with dread?
      I hope someday that then
      I'll see my Dad again,
      I'll say "Dear Dad, I know
      That you loved us so."
      In loving memory of Robert Edwin Reynolds, who holds a special place in my heart. Happy Father's Day, Dad.
    • The Seasons of Our Lives
      The seasons of our lives come and go.
      There are many harvests and we make many mistakes.
      In the rush of our lives, we often plant before we plow. The rows are crooked and the plants askew, when we could have plowed and planted them straight.
      We neglect the weeds and lose the crop.
      We sow seeds of hate and bitterness when we could have sown those of love and kindness.
      We shake our fists at a cloudless sky and curse the drought, yet we never acknowledge thanks for the rain.
      We often stumble over the rows of what we have planted, destroying the sees of what would have been a bountiful crop.
      And when hunger comes, we often find what we have planted we cannot eat.
      Each year, we begin again. Someday, will we stand before rows that are clean and straight and proud, and will feed the soul the manna it longs for. -janice 2014

    • Janice Doss

      Danville City Employees Federal Credit Union
      Studied at Weaver Airline School, Kansas City, Mo.
      Went to Callands High School
      Lives in Dry Fork, Virginia

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      Janice Doss
      Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye
      She paused at the door and looked again out over the fields. The old walnut tree had been there since the beginning of time and had once sheltered a separate unused kitchen with an upstairs room where Mama stored and shelled its walnuts and where children loved to play. Its limbs had reached out strong and steady, bearing all of the chin-ups her brother performed on the bar beneath its branches. It now stood black and barren waiting for the Spri? See More
      Deidre Reynolds Stone
      Janice I absolutely love this story. I could see all the things you wrote about. It brought tears to my eyes and brought back wonderful memories I have of being there with Granny and Grandpa. You are such a talented writer and your stories and poems sh? See More


      Write a comment?

      Janice Doss
      Chapter 4: The Last Goodbye
      The dining room, which had later doubled as her father's bedroom, was empty now. It suddenly dawned on her how few personal things her father possessed. They had all been held in the top drawer of his chest of drawers and on the three shelves on the wall above it. And yet, she still remembered how he had treasured the ring the children had given him and that he later lost it in the garden when he lost weight. How much he had loved his wristwatches. His arms had been spotted and old but he still wore his watches proudly and although his fingers were bent with age, he had always kept his nails spotlessly clean and shaped. Blue was his favorite color and for many years the room had been blue. The clock that had hung above the door was now gone. He had always had a need to know the time - even in the hospital in the middle of the night. Gone was his bed that everybody had sat on, threw their coats and other belongings on, laid their babies on to change their diapers, and piled their Christmas presents on. Had this bothered him, she wondered. It would have bothered her. Had he wanted more space, more privacy? If he had, he had never said so. Maybe he liked it here in the center of the house. Here he could lie and hear what was going on in the kitchen or in the living room or on the porch. Through here, Nannie came in the mornings on her way to fix their breakfast. Upon really thinking about it, she decided that it had been exactly where he would have chosen to be.
      The wrap around porch with its louvered windows had been the heart of the house in the summer time. She could still remember the excitement of watching it being built. The framing had been laid with many little sections and Daddy and Pa John had poured the cement. How did it ever dry without a hand or foot print?
      Prior to the addition, they had entered the house from the back, going up the "tree trunk" steps Daddy had made. In early days it had been used as an ordinary porch. Children sat on the ledge with their feet hanging off wondering if they dare jump when Mama wasn't looking, or if they should take the chance of pushing another one off. The shelf between the posts had held the wash pan and soap and it was here that the sticky tobacco gum was removed after a day in the fields. The wringer washer and the tubs that had to be filled with water from the spring sat on the end. Later it had been enclosed. The porch had always been adorned with flower pots on the shelves and in hanging pots. It had held the deep freeze, which gave forth so much good food for Sunday's table. The shelf was still there in the corner where "Mitzi" the cat sat, watching the bumblebees and hummingbirds on lazy summer days. The dearest memory she had of her youngest brother was here, and she could see him again as he sat on the porch on a Sunday afternoon, teasing his brothers and merrily laughing as he moved the feet that were never still. And she wished she had had the answer to her Mother's words at his death. "Why? Why?" Will there ever be an answer to all of our "Whys"? (just one more chapter, promise!) -janice
    • Chapter 3: The Last Goodbye
      The boy's room held the memories of brothers that had filled the home with their boisterousness. Their teasing, their rough play, their clashes with their father. All different, all loved. Oh, how their mother had loved them. She heard again the uncontrollable giggles that sometimes came at bedtime and the more Daddy warned them to stop the more they giggled.. What would the house have been like without them. For one last time she bent to look from the low window to the mailbox as she had done so many times before. She noticed the scars on the window sill where her sister had beat with an old case knife while preaching to her make believe congregation. Slowly, she laid her fingers on the wall and whispered a silent goodbye.
      Her mother's bedroom was the hardest to leave. The essence of all that she had been still lingered there. It was where she had slept for most of the years of her life, where the new babies had lay in their cribs under their mother's watchful eye., where children had gathered before additions were made to the house. It was where her mother had sewn, and quilted, ironed and lay on the cool linoleum after lunch for short naps during hard days. It had sheltered youth and old age, sickness and health. It was the one room in the house that was truly hers. Her mind's eye saw again the cool criss-cross curtains and the cluttered night table and her mother curled in sleep in the early dawn of her last days. This room had held the dreams of a young woman, the special joy that a new baby brings and the agony of the loss of not one son, but two. What had been her mother's thoughts as she lay on her bed in the corner in the long and awful nights following their deaths.
      Summer heat, winter storms, winter storms, people storms - the old house and its occupants had endured them all. And when the sun shone again, they had gone forth in their world in the daily business of living. Catching the bus in the morning, coming home at night to bring up the wash-water and fill the wood box and help with the little ones, going after the cows for Mama to milk, sauntering slowly amid the quiet of the fields away from the commotion of her brothers and sisters, stopping to daydream at the foot of the huge old pine tree along the way. It was here that she had come to know the beauty of solitude and its healing balm to the spirit.
      The kitchen had been the gathering place for the family in winter. It had held the wood cook stove and later a big tall heater and she could still see her father in his long-john underwear putting wood in to keep the room warm. The space between the floor and the chimney had been big enough for children to peep through watching for Santa. The water table by the window was now gone. (to be continued) -janice
    • Janice Doss
      Chapter 2 of The Last Goodbye
      She entered alone and moved from room to room saying goodbye. She did not see what was there, but only what had once been. Her father still sat in the rocker on the porch. She heard again the quick answer, the dry humor, the laugh so like his mothers that came from deep in his throat, caught for just a second then burst forth. Once again he waited in anxious anticipation for his Christmas gift boxes, his knife ready to open them in the privacy his corner afforded. He never knew later who gave him what, but, somehow it didn't seem to matter. Mama would know. His voice still rang out in the sounds of his youth and in the outbursts of his anger. He still rode the bright red tractor like a young god perched upon his mount. Cussing, swearing, working, providing for his family, hard on the outside but oh, so vulnerable on the inside. Forever etched in her mind, the picture of him on his knees beside his bed crying out in agony, "I can't see your eyes. I can't see your eyes." as he saw again the beautiful blue eyes of his son closing in death. Forever etched on her heart, his pleas for answers to questions that she could not give. There was an inner peace of the soul he had longed for and never found. Why had she not talked to him more, listened to him more, hugged him and said the simple words. "I love you." She touched her fingers to her lips and laid them against the wall where his chair had set and silently whispered, "I love you, Daddy. Wherever you are, I love you."
      Her mother was everywhere, cooking, tidying, sewing, cleaning. She stood at the kitchen sink and watered the window plants or leaned to take the corn bread from the oven. She held a tiny baby in her arms and rolled the little wisps of hair around her finger to form a tiny curl. She knew that her babies were the prettiest of them all. She sat at a table, now long gone, and worked by an Aladdin lamp, helping children to read, patching the clothes they
      would need for tomorrow.. She poured tomatoes in the mason jars lined up on the table and turned the tops until they broke through the rubber lining. And when she laughed, it was quick and sudden as if it were an after thought and the expression on her face was like it must have been as a girl. Carefree, unguarded, uninhibited. And then it was gone, as if she suddenly remembered more serious things.
      Beginning in the upstairs bedroom that she had shared with her sister, she stood silently and saw again the bed in the corner, the dresser that held the precious personal items that were so hard to come by, the clothes on the rod in the corner protected by her mother's old Dutch-girl quilt. It hadn't held the pinks, the blues, the yellows and the reds she longed for, but the navys, the grays, and the browns that were more serviceable and could be ordered from the Sears catalog. She suddenly thought of the pink angora sweater one of her friends had once worn. Oh, how she had loved that sweater. She had begged a little of the fuzz and years later found a little round ball of it in an old school book. She paused to listen for the whip-poor- wills and chickadees that had serenaded the night and felt again the sweltering heat that hadn't seem to matter so much then. She moved for the last time across the bright linoleum and touched her fingers to her lips and then laid them against the wall in her silent goodbye. (to be continued)
    • The Last Goodbye
      The day was overcast and cold. The car moved slowly down the rough and rutted driveway that had once been kept raked and smooth. The pine tree that her father had so proudly planted as the first to line the driveway, and the only one that had survived her mother's unyielding determination that they be cut, was now gone. Abandoned, lonely, and no longer needed, it had stretched its aging limbs into the swirling wind of the summer storm, let go of its roots, and simply flown away.
      To one unattached emotionally to the house, it was a forlorn sight. Grass grown tall and heavy lay thickly over the uneven ground riddled by moles. The garage, vacated long ago by the richly colored car that the lady of the house had once been so proud of and the big banged up Chevy that had been her Dad's "real" car, was now bare and empty. The house which had once held so much life and energy stood still and silent now, empty and abandoned, its pride broken. No rockers or gliders beckoned from its porches. No hanging planters, colorful and fragrant, tended by loving hands swayed in the breeze. No children played in its shadows. And no one came to sweep the cobwebs from its walls.
      Most conspicuous in their absence was the panorama of plants and shrubs that had framed the house. Coached and trained and trimmed and fed, they had put on a command performance during the summer months. They thrived in old pots and kettles among rocks and supporting anchors and rewarded their owner with the best that they could give. A few jugs were still strewn here and there, like tombstones in the graveyard of all that had once meant so much.
      The car stopped and the woman got out and stood for a moment, slowly surveying the house she had grown up in, the house that her mother and father had worked so hard for, and had lived in for nearly fifty-five years. Strong and young and vibrant they had been, looking to the future with such hope, caring for the children that came at intervals and brought such happiness. The house was always happy when it held a new baby. She closed her eyes and felt again that wonderful feeling when Daddy hugged Mama and Mama stood on tiptoe to hug him back. Daddy teasing Mama in the rare moments when nothing else demanded their attention. When he grew old, she had prayed that he not be left in this world alone without Mama, for his sake and for theirs. Always she had known the depth of his love for her and yet it had seemed to be something apart from him, just there, demanding nothing.
      Memory moved on and she saw them later, middle aged, struggling to manage it all, perhaps disillusioned as most people are at some point in life, but still doing the best that they could. Children, children, everywhere. Crying, laughing, playing, fighting, working, wanting. The old house witnessed it all, the good and the bad. Love, anger, sorrow, joy, grief, pain patience, goodness, meanness, the list could go on and on And they endured. And the old house endured, binding them together as a family for all time. And finally, they began to go. One by one, they left, molded by the house and all that it held, the potter's wheel was stilled and only the years ahead would prove the mettle of the clay. (to be continued) -janice

  • Sources 
    1. [S141] Sandra June Reynolds.
      Janice is Sister of Wesley Holmes Reynolds

    2. [S89] Facebook,
      Gift to a dear friend to add to her collection during a difficult time in her life several years ago.:

      This little rooster, according to the information on the bottom, is one of a pair of designs by Andrea in 1983. The original cost was $129 for the pair. I spied it at a yard sale, cost: 25 cents. As I examined it, I thought about how like life it really was. It had been valued and treasured by someone at one time, then over the years it was tossed about, broken, and separated from it's mate. Suffering all the hardships the years had brought it no longer held the interest of anyone and ended up on a table at a humiliating price of 25 cents. It looked so forlorn, yet it still stood proud, still defiantly beautiful in it's determination to hold on to the sunshine of life. So, I took it home to see what I could do for it. It's tail, symbolic of its pride was broken, but is now restored. True, you can still see the broken line reminding us of the broken parts of our lives and the struggle to put them back together again. You have to look closely to see that a tiny piece is still missing, reminding us that there are some things in life we simply can't fix. It's comb, holding its life's blood is still nipped, reminding us that there are some wounds to the heart that never heal. We just paint them over and trust that there's a reason why. The lovely golden spots representing the youthful energy,, the glory and the sheer exuberance of living were mostly gone on one side, but there was always the other side. .
      I took it to Hobby Lobby and bought paint to match the color of the comb. I then used glossy fingernail polish to give it back it's natural sheen. One side still has the golden spots of sunshine, the other is blank. Life has two sides, you know. The side that lives in the sunshine with it's lovely golden glow that we show to others, and the other side that only we know. We all wrestle with the storms of life and when they are over, we try to put the broken parts back together again.
      When I had done all that I could do to restore the lovely little rooster and give it back it's pride and dignity, I thought of a quote from Ernest Hemingway in A Farewell to Arms.:" The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." (Isn't the little rooster beautiful now!!!)
      Written by Janice Reynolds Doss
      Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye
      She paused at the door and looked again out over the fields. The old walnut tree had been there since the beginning of time and had once sheltered a separate unused kitchen with an upstairs room where Mama stored and shelled its walnuts and where children loved to play. Its limbs had reached out strong and steady, bearing all of the chin-ups her brother performed on the bar beneath its branches. It now stood black and barren waiting for the Spring. She looked beyond to the June apple tree that had provided the first apples that went into the wonderful lazy apple pie her mother had made. She looked to where the gardens had been, where once the path crossing the foot log to the spring had wound. Where bicycles had circled and little boys had skated on the ice in winter and played ball behind the barn in summer, where little girls had played grown-up with their dolls in the summer sun, not knowing that all too soon they really would be all grown up, where Mama and Daddy had wrestled with the trials of life and raised their children, all together as a family under this roof. Mama's voice drifted in the stillness calling, "Supper's ready" and Daddy admonished them to all "get quiet as they gathered round the old claw foot table.
      Silently she touched her fingers to her lips and placed them softly on the door and whispered the last "Goodbye."
      There's a wreath on the door,
      They don't live there any more.
      But they do, you know,
      The old house knows it's so.
      Just be still and listen on a soft summer's eve. You'll hear the children's laughter as they pluck lighting bugs from the air. You'll hear someone calling, "Supper's ready," and you'll feel the softest breeze as they rush to the door. You'll hear someone say, "Y'all get quiet now." And you'll know they're there. As long as you remember, they'll be there.

    3. [S89] Facebook, Janice Cleo Doss (nee Reynolds ).
      That "me" I used to know.
      Up at dawn, so much to do
      And loving it all 'till the day was through.
      Waiting for sunshine to dry up the dew,,
      So I could mow half the day through.
      Tending my flowers that I loved so,
      So much joy in watching them grow.
      Cooking and waiting for family to come,
      Anticipating all of their fun.
      Stealing hours, with pen in hand,
      Tearing it up and beginning again.
      Doing the laundry, taking care of a home,
      Where or where has it all gone?
      Going to church and bowing to pray
      Always made for a much better day.
      I look in the mirror, now all that I see
      Is an ugly old lady staring back at me.
      Now I sit watching the days go by,
      Sometimes I doze, sometimes I cry,
      Sometimes I smile at days gone by.
      Hear laughter again, small voices at play,
      Feel sadness again as they all went away.
      I've taken for granted the simple blessings of life,
      Not knowing that someday there would come strife.
      Though I want "Me" again, I do also know
      It is the way all life has to go.
      Maybe I'll find "Me" someday once again
      She may be waiting for me at my journey's end.
      But, I'm a stubborn old lady and I still want to know
      Just where on earth did the real "Me" go?

    4. [S42] Obituary,
      Janice Reynolds Doss, April 20, 1937
      DIED July 11, 2021

      On Sunday, July 11, 2021, Janice Reynolds Doss, 84, of Dry Fork, Va. went home to be with the Lord and be reunited with her husband of 53.5 years, William Garfield Doss Sr., after a 26-month battle with cancer. Mrs. Doss was born in Callands, Va., to the late Robert Edwin and Nannie Kendrick Reynolds. Janice and Garfield resided in Danville for 47 years, before moving to Dry Fork in 2003.

      She is survived by three children, William G. Doss Jr., (Kimberly), Scarlett Doss Murray, and Tommy J. Doss (Cheryl) as well as six grandchildren, Lauren and Matt Doss, Katelyn Murray, and Sarah, Taylor, and Sophia Janice Doss and one special little dog, Molly.

      Also surviving are two brothers, Wesley Reynolds (Sandra) and Jackie Reynolds (Deloris) and two sisters, Betty McDaniel (Marvin) and Joyce Mahan (Blair). Two brothers, Danny Gail Reynolds and Robert Terry Reynolds predeceased her. She leaves two aunts, Claire Reynolds and Louise Hankins, and numerous nieces, nephews, and cousins.

      After marrying Garfield, his family became like her own and surviving are James Milton Doss (Shirley) and Everlena Doss Bowling (Earl and Scott) and one aunt, Ruth Walker and many of Garfield's cousins.

      Janice retired from the Danville City Employees FCU after 26 years of service and continued to work part time for seven more years. Her home and family were always the center of her life. She enjoyed traveling, crafts, gardening, cooking, canning, decorating and anything connected with family life. She was a member of the County Line Christian Church since age 12.

      Funeral services will be held on Wednesday, July 14, 2021 at 2 p.m. at County Line Christian Church with Minister Dean Ashby officiating and prayer by Wesley Reynolds. Burial will follow in the church cemetery. The family will receive friends from 12:45 until 1:45 p.m. prior to the service, and at other times they will be at the residence.

      In lieu of flowers, the family requests that memorial donations be made to the Danville Pittsylvania County Cancer Association or the Pittsylvania County Animal Shelter.

    5. [S107] Family Histories, Janice Cleo Doss (nee Reynolds ).
      Janice Doss
      April 28 at 4:19 PM

      In Memory of Mama (Nannie K. Reynolds)

      When the clouds of life are heavy and I am restful in the night, I close my eyes and memory takes me back to bright sunlight. For many years I did not see the one who walked with me. Along my childhood paths when life was easy and carefree. And when I scaled the heights, I thought I did it all alone
      But someone in the shadows always saw me safely home.
      I danced upon the edge of cliffs that I refused to see, While far below with arms outstretched, she waited there for me. And when I fell, she picked me up and gently set me down And if the way was wrong she always quietly turned me round.
      I know that she was human, but somehow I can't recall My Mama's voice in anger, memory hasn't stored at all. I never see a hollyhock, all stately standing tall, That I don't remember those that Mama planted round the yard. And every tub and broken crock was beauty in her eye, To hold the plants she loved so much and always kept close by.
      Her day began before the dawn and ended in the night, And every single thing she did, she always did just right.
      Laundry crackling in the breeze, so neat upon the line,
      Countless rows of Mason jars all filled at canning time.
      And when the winter weather kept us all inside,
      Mama made the quilts she stitched with so much love and pride.
      Oatmeal in the morning on the warming shelf
      Mama gone to milk the cows and churn the milk herself.
      Pinto beans upon the stove for children after school,
      As in the background of our lives, our Mama always moved.
      And when the little ones were born she gave them loving care,
      And when they needed her, they knew that she was always there.
      A soothing hand on fevered brow, a smile to calm the fears,
      We took for granted she was there to brush away our tears.
      She moves in memory through my mind and now I know that she
      Was beautiful in ways my childish eye could not then see.
      So fair of face, so full of grace, so little time for fun,
      She found her joy in tasks at hand, the work was never done.
      In retrospect, I wonder now, if Mama longed for more,
      As in her hand-me-down high heels, she mopped the kitchen floor.
      Bitterness and hatred against her fellow man
      As foreign to her as the language in an unknown distant land.
      And when she suffered grief that I cannot begin to know,
      Her head would bow and down her face the tears would quietly flow.
      She didn't bend, she didn't break, no bitterness displayed,
      The storms of life she conquered and continued on her way.
      Life may be a battle, but in the rounds of life,
      Mama always fought with courage and she never threw the fight.
      She never burdened others with the trials she had to bear,
      And surely in her life she carried more than her fair share.
      I know she wasn't perfect, of course, mistakes she made,
      But they are just a pebble in the pool of all she gave.
      Unrelenting years finally wore my Mama down,
      Her face is lined with living, but she seldom wears a frown,
      And though she may seem shorter and her hair 1s nearly white
      Her spirit's still a beacon in the darkest night.
      It gives me strength when mine is gone.
      I'm Mama's child, I must go on. -janice (1995)