February 13, 2026
Much like a prior post, “The 27ths of November 1984, 1986, and 1987,” February 13 is another date that three significant events for me
In 2001, twenty-five years ago today, one of the best pastors I’ve known passed away. Buffe Karraker who founded Northwest Church in Fresno. He was a no-nonsense preacher who knew the Bible and knew how you fit into it. His style was southern, lowkey, yet unyieldingly strong and forceful. Ann amazing man of God. I was fortunate to get oldest son Jason to experience him a number of times both in services and during a handful of Northwest’s annual men’s retreat. Unfortunately, Joseph only experienced one of the retreats and none of the Sunday services.
Thirty years ago tonight, my father, Raymond Willard Stone passed away. He was born on June 5, 1923, in a dirt floor house in Holland, Missouri. The house was along a dirt road, now known as E2, a dividing line between Arkansas and Missouri, just west of the Mississippi River. It’s now a field. He grew up there for many years. I remember him sharing when we visited the site in 1993, that he played in the fields and would walk down to the Muddy Mississippi to play and fish. I’m guessing a bit, but I think he was about 10-12 years old when his mother placed him and younger brother Ira in a VFW orphanage in Eaton Rapids, Michigan. They stayed there through high school.
Forty years ago tonight, Jeannette, my first wife, and I split up for the last time. We had separated twice before. The first time while we living in Madera, she moved out. Later, during our one year in Ventura while I was working for my father, I moved out for a couple months. I knew, and tried to impress on her, a third time by either one of us would be the final time for me. The separations created an insurmountable amount of unnecessary emotional and financial burdens.
I thought we were doing pretty good. In fact, when my parents visited us at our East Palo Alto Ave home during Christmas time in December 1985, I remember talking with my dad in the garage about several things. During the discussion, we talked about how Jeannette and I were getting along. I told him I was feeling really good about things, and thought we were finally over the hump in determining how to manage our relationship. Funny how things sneak up on you.
On Thursday, February 13, 1986, Jeanette informed me that she had rented an apartment, and had already started to move, buying some furniture and having it delivered there. I reminded her that this would be the final time. She was committed. I wasn’t angry, I was just finished.
I was done with arguing about issues, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue about who gets what.
We had two vehicles. One was a 1984 two tone brown Volkswagen Vanagon. We bought it new on December 31, 1984 while Jeanette was self employed doing daycare at our home. The other was a bright red 1984 Toyota Corolla that had been a rental car that Jeanette bought for me for Valentines Day, 1985. For much of our marriage, my primary car was a 1968 Volkswagen Bug. The Toyota was for me to commute to work in, now with decent radio, heating, and air conditioning.
I asked Jeanette which car she wanted. She wanted the Toyota. Fine.
I told her that I would leave the next day, Friday, Valentine’s Day, by the time she got off work. I would return Sunday evening, and by then, she should take anything and everything she might ever want, because after that, the window closes.
When I returned home, I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe I did. I still didn’t care what was or wasn’t there. No much was there. She had taken our bedroom set, which was fine with me since she got it during her first marriage. The boys bunk beds and furniture were still there because she had already bought new sets for them. The washer and dryer were gone, yet left the refrigerator. Most of the family room furniture was gone. Art work and wall photos were gone. Cabinets emptied. The large heavy console style TV was still there. Almost all the kitchen dishes, utensils, pot and pans, and cutlery were gone.
There it was. The baseline. Everything got better from there. Some things improved quickly, others took longer.
Three thirteens. All hard to deal with over the years. Nonetheless, I learned and grew from all of them.
I miss my father the most. I always will.
