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Mary Fincher
B: 1932-07-06
D: 2024-03-25
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Fincher, Mary
Joyce Plumb
B: 1940-06-06
D: 2024-03-07
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Plumb, Joyce
Ray Denny
B: 1954-06-17
D: 2024-03-23
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Denny, Ray
Jesse Vieyra
B: 1933-02-15
D: 2024-03-11
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Vieyra, Jesse
Pamela Bergez
B: 1963-07-03
D: 2024-03-17
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Bergez, Pamela
Jonathan Schweitzer
B: 1998-09-25
D: 2024-03-14
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Schweitzer, Jonathan
Tommy Gardner
B: 1950-01-04
D: 2024-03-16
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Gardner, Tommy
Louise Granger
B: 1938-07-31
D: 2024-03-09
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Granger, Louise
Benjie Quarles
B: 1965-11-27
D: 2024-03-16
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Quarles, Benjie
Tracy McJunkin
B: 1961-11-13
D: 2024-03-11
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McJunkin, Tracy
Linda Shew
B: 1951-01-26
D: 2024-03-16
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Shew, Linda
Michael Pineda
B: 1986-11-24
D: 2024-03-11
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Pineda, Michael
Lynda Troutt
B: 1939-05-09
D: 2024-03-14
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Troutt, Lynda
Daniel Wright
B: 1950-03-09
D: 2024-03-05
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Wright, Daniel
Ruthmary Gosnell
B: 1951-11-24
D: 2024-03-12
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Gosnell, Ruthmary
Marian Stoy
B: 1954-12-19
D: 2024-03-06
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Stoy, Marian
Rick Barley
B: 1964-01-17
D: 2024-03-06
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Barley, Rick
Blake Smith
B: 1975-06-06
D: 2024-01-31
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Smith, Blake
Bryan Webb
B: 1965-04-18
D: 2024-03-07
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Webb, Bryan
Octabiano Ramirez
B: 1934-04-08
D: 2024-03-03
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Ramirez, Octabiano
Walter Hewett
B: 1960-05-04
D: 2024-03-07
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Hewett, Walter

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2602 South Houston Avenue
Humble, TX 77396
Phone: 281-441-2171
Fax: 281-441-1445
Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan Kathy Hogan
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Obituary for Kathy Marie Hogan (Parsons)

Kathy Marie  Hogan (Parsons)
WHERE I’M FROM…
I grew up in the Northeast, in upstate New York, in a very small town named Sharon Springs. I lived in a big, old two-story white farmhouse, built in the 1800s. We lived in the country, so we didn’t have street names, but as long as I lived in Sharon Springs, our “street” was called the “Great Western Turnpike.” In the farmhouse lived a family of seven: Mom and Dad, Cheryl, Kathy, Susan, Mary Lee, and Kenyon. I grew up with three sisters, one brother, a few dogs, a compendium of cats, and over 100 dairy cows.
I lived a non-standard life in a world I thought was standard. It was not ordinary to the other people around me; instead, it was extraordinary. You see, I’m from the dwelling place of the four seasons, where winter snow buries Daddy’s car and snowplows build icy fortresses that block the driveway and our way out. Where I’m from, you can cut down magnificent trees at Christmas, the spruce trees and the balsam firs, but somehow Dad always found the “Charlie Brown” tree. And by hook or by crook, it was always the most beautiful tree you could ever behold. I’m from the kitchen of mixing and baking and decorating Christmas cookies, filling the house with heavenly scents. Where the ubiquitous oranges find their way to the heel of our Christmas stockings and the threat of a lump of coal is not in its place (because, of course, we were as good as gold). Where the Greatest Story Ever Told, T’was the Night Before Christmas is read, and 5 a.m. wake-up calls announce the very best day of the year.
I’m from springtime, thick with mud from falling rain and melting snow, where all await the hope of new beginnings. I’m from lilies-of-the-valley that “deck the garden walk” and lilac bushes that dispense their fragrant flowers. I’m from trees once bare, suddenly dressed in green; budding, blossoming, blooming, becoming beautiful. I’m from baby robins, baby calves, tiny kittens, and Easter baskets. I’m from Grandma’s gifts of new dresses, coats, hats, and shoes- perfect for that special day, in contrast to the typical hand-me-downs of the rest of the year. Where I’m from, springtime is sun-drenched and sweet-smelling, and oh, so unpredictable, until Ole Man Winter finally gives up his romping.
I’m from summer days of picking bouquets of wildflowers (when that was still OK) and counting the flies on the screen door (when resourcefulness was lame). I’m from “Annie-Annie-Over” and “Pigtails”, a game where you throw the ball over the house, but if it comes back to you, it’s pigtails! And I’m from Hopscotch and Skully, from borrowed bike rides down Parsons’ lane, thanks to our neighbors at the top of the hill. I’m from Barbie, Ken, Midge, and Skipper and the handmade clothes they wore, thanks to my mom. I’m from Saturday morning pancakes with genuine maple syrup. I’m from banana splits and hot-fudge sundaes of Dairyland, (not the Dairy Queen of Texas), from picking blackberries and strawberries. I’m from long walks in the woods, the collector of fossils and dreamer of dreams.


I’m from summer nights of gazing at the Milky Way and a sky filled with constellations that tell innumerable stories. Orion, the Hunter, and Cassiopeia were my constant companions, as were Pleiades, the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and so many more. Where I’m from, two weeks at Girl Scout Camp was never enough, but camp songs, s’mores, and memories of pen pals lasted forever. I’m from the recreation center, where key chains were made, and my leather purse that still contains the names of all my classmates. I’m from Glimmerglass on Otsego lake, a family favorite getaway. I’m from road trips to The Outer Banks, a camping trailer on the beach, gigantic bowls of shrimp and cocktail sauce, soft-shelled crabs and fishing for flounder in the ocean. I’m from record players who sang my favorite songs of the Beatles, the Monkees, the Beach Boys and the Rolling Stones. I’m the girl from way back then who said, “I can’t get no satisfaction,” who loved being a cheerleader at the basketball games, and who led the high school band in parades as the drum majorette, the “Maple Queen,” the “Centennial Queen,” the one who waved and smiled like a queen.
I’m from upstate, not downstate where the Big City lives. I’m from rolling hills, picturesque valleys, cultivated fields, and pastures of lands. I’m from dairy farms and Holstein cows (and cow patties, too), cow barns and silos, fields of grain, alfalfa, and corn. I’m from apples trees and pear trees, maple trees and elm trees. I’m the girl who cried when the row of beautiful Dutch elm trees succumbed to the deadly work of the elm bark beetle. I’m the girl who knows that Creation groans in suffering, just as we do, but not forever, because one day, He’ll make all things new.
Where I’m from, the vibrant and vivid season of nature’s palette is autumn with its stunning landscapes of rusty reds, amber yellows, ginger oranges and earthy browns, punctuated with pumpkins and gourds, corn stalks and haybales. I grew up between the enchanting leaf-strewn Catskill Mountains and the wild woodlands of the Adirondack Mountains, where harvest festivals and fall fairs and hayrides created a special time of community and Thanksgiving meals lasted for days.
I’m the girl who rode the big yellow school bus to school each day, a 45-minute drive (when the school was just a mile away), where Eddie, the bus driver, waited for me- always running a little late, slightly disheveled, wet hair flowing in the breeze, where Jane and I shared our dreams and sang at the top of our lungs, sometimes just creating perfect harmony. I’m from a school whose walls I knew from kindergarten to Grade 12, whose 34 classmates remained the same, with few exceptions; whose birthdays and phone numbers I knew by heart- and mostly still know. They were in so many ways, my extended family.
I’m from pavilions, mineral springhouses, and bathhouses, small cottages, hotels, and a few estates. I’m from abandoned buildings and broken-hearted, worn-out farms. Where I’m from, working hard was never enough. But, I’m the girl who looks up to the One who is in control of all things, who is always at work for our good.

I’m the girl who carried pails of milk from the milking parlor to the bulk tank, who loaded bales of hay onto the elevator so Dad could stack them and store them, and we girls could build castles and forts with them, while playing for hours in our haymow kingdom.
I’m the girl whose first job was a chambermaid, then a bus girl, and then a waitress. Where I’m from, the Hassidic Jews of New York City came for a holiday with their long black coats, wide-brimmed hats, and curly sideburns. So came the families of Orthodox Jews on Shabbat, the Sabbath Day. They said, “Katy, make the light-” because flipping the switch meant “working” on the day of rest. So, “Katy” made the light and on their happy holiday, she danced the Hava Nagila with them. Because I’m the girl who believes that heaven is made of every nation, all tribes and peoples and languages, who will one day stand before the throne, before the Lamb.

I’m the same girl whose face turns red for no apparent reason, who is sporadically shy, and ingeniously bold, occasionally nostalgic, and abundantly joyful. The same girl who accidently pulled the wrong lever on the tractor and tilled the lawn instead of mowing it. I’m that girl who drove the tractor into the electric fence, whose dad turned off the electricity, whose cows got out and stopped traffic on the “turnpike” (if you give that girl a tractor, then…). But wait, there’s more… The girl who tossed “soap” onto the freshly painted milking parlor walls, only to realize too late that the “soap” was iodine. Did you know that iodine leaved an interesting shade of yellow on the walls? Well, it does…
I’m the girl who made so many mistakes, who messed up so much, but not in all things… I’m the girl who grew up to have two great kids, Jill and Jake, the marvel of my heart, whose kind-hearted, unimaginable, marvelous lives fill me with everlasting love.
And I’m also the girl who found her way to her beloved profession because she loved her students, their natural curiosity, their adorable joy and a decade later was named the Texas Teacher of the Year, who taught for many years, who was an Education Specialist, a teacher of teachers, a curriculum coordinator and Instructional Coach, and Doctor of Philosophy in Curriculum and Instruction.
To Kylie, Emma, and Liam, my precious grandchildren, I pass this full and wonderful life, this cherished heirloom to you. Tell your stories, darlings. “Where are YOU from?”

Written by Kathy Marie Hogan, Ph.D. at the inspiration of bestselling author, Renee Watson



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