Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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My Mother's Methods

My mother, Orianna McDonnold Coney, was a fun-loving woman. She loved to laugh, and she loved to cause others to laugh. No matter what situation arose, Mom could think of something funny about it. Now don't get the idea that she was dumb or shallow-minded. She could size up a situation very quickly, and say--or do--something to ease a tense situation.

Mom expected her children to do what was right, but she didn't force any of us to do anything. Instead of ordering us to do something, she would gently steer us in the direction she wanted us to go. Through her teasing, or some comical comment, she would have us laughing and we would go along with her wishes.

After Mom, Dad, and our brother Don moved to Dallas from Ladonia, Don attended Adamson High School. He earned a scholarship to Rice University. Knowing that his education would be expensive, Mom went to work at Rick Furniture Company in Oak Cliff to help with the finances. She had a malignancy that was treated successfully, which--I think--had an impact on my brother's career decision.

Don graduated from Rice with a law degree, then stayed to earn a medical degree. He had married, had three sons, and opened his OB/GYN office in Dallas. His youngest son, Chris, was born in Dallas. After he was three years old, Chris would spend the day with Mom occasionally. She loved having that precious little boy around. On one of those visits, as the two of them were having lunch, Chris noticed that Mom was not eating much. He questioned her about it. Mom said, "Well, son, I'm too fat and I'm trying to lose some weight." Quickly he said, "Well, I don't think you're too fat!" Mom thanked him, then put more food on her plate. They laughed and talked through the rest of the meal. After they were settled on the couch in the living room, Chris nestled up against Mom, patted her stomach, and innocently asked, "Mama Sheep, when you have the baby, will you give it to us?" Mom went back on her "lettuce only" diet, and reduced her weight to 128 pounds before their fiftieth wedding anniversary. She retained that weight for the rest of her life.

My sister Gwen married L. M. Sheffield. After he became a Baptist preacher, they didn't get to do much visiting on weekends. Getting together at our parents' house for Christmas required some planning for our family. One memorable Christmas we lived in Pleasant Grove in South Dallas, Mom and Dad lived in Oak Cliff, my husband's parents lived in Dodd City (near Bonham), and Gwen's family lived in Ada, Oklahoma. Mom called me, as she usually did, and told me the only date Gwen and L. M. would be at her house. It was the same date that Paul's parents had planned their Christmas celebration with their children, grandchildren, and other relatives. I told Mom that I would just have to see what we could do. After all, going to Mom's for lunch meant that we would not get away until 2:00 or 3:00 in the afternoon. Then we would have to drive to Dodd City, arriving at 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., eat supper, open gifts, and leave by 9:00 or 10:00 p.m., driving back to Dallas in heavy Christmas traffic. After we had decided that we COULD make it all fit, Gwen called. She said, "Lowell Ray, Mom said that the only time you and your family could be at her house is (the date that Mom had told me), but we just can't make it on that date. We had invited some missionaries to our church for that weekend and we just can't leave. Is there any way you can change your schedule?" I said, "Whoa! Wait a minute! Mom called me and said that was the only date YOU could make it. We had other plans for that weekend!" We began to compare notes, and discovered that Mom had been doing this for years. She decided when SHE wanted us to be at her house, then simply told each of us that the other could only be there on that date. From that time on, we always checked with each other to see which date was most suitable. We never told Mom we had found her out.

After Mom and Dad moved to Gainesville, I tried to go by and see them every day, at least for a few minutes. Mom loved to cook, and she wanted to share everything she cooked. I was attending college in 1987, and on one of my trips to her house, she insisted that I take a big two-handled pot of chicken and dumplings home for supper. They were still hot. It was almost time for choir practice. I had planned to go straight to choir practice from Mom's, but now I had to go by home to take the chicken and dumplings first. I pulled into the driveway, put the straps of my bucket purse over my left arm, walked around the car, opened the door, picked the pot up by both handles, used my right elbow to close the door--and the door hit the pot of chicken and dumplings, knocking it out of my right hand and dumping it into my open-topped bucket purse! What a mess! Greasy chicken broth and gooey dumplings filled every space. I felt like crying. In trying to be so good to me, Mom had caused me a lot of misery. I was late getting to choir practice that afternoon. When I told Mom, we had a good laugh over it. After that when she gave me some food to bring home, she would say, "Now, don't dump it in your purse!"

Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published: December 05, 2005