I have found that sometimes when I sit down in front of the keyboard I have very little inspiration from which to draw. I suppose you, as the reader have found that out as well. Unfortunately, I don't think this is really very remarkable. I suppose that anyone who would try to write something every day would find him or herself running on empty from time to time.
Last night, I came home from a closing which was originally scheduled in Pike County, somewhere between Hollonville and Concord. The place was a cattle farm way out in the middle of nowhere. As I travelled out 362 toward Hollonville, I ran across few drivers. The sun was drifting down toward the horizon and the pastures were a vibrant green from the recent rains.
I turned off of 362 down the Concord Road toward Concord. After several miles, I cut off that road down Caldwell Bridge Road, a gravel road which is middling maintained. I saw a lot of cattle and damn few people.
I find that when I am trying to find someplace which is strange to me it takes me longer to get there than it does to return. At least that is the way it seems. Neverthless, I finally found the cattle farm and pulled off the road and up and over the hills to the house. When I got there, a guy in jeans and no shirt was mowing the yard around the house.
I knocked on the door and no one answered. About the time the guy came around the corner of the house on his riding lawnmower, he saw me and cut the engine. I asked him if he was the borrower and he said no.
I went back to my car to wait and try to contact the borrowers on my cell phone. Of course, we were too far out in the country to get a good signal. After about fifteen or twenty minutes of trying to reach the borrowers, I headed back down the gravel driveway to the road.
It occurred to me at that point that this was the same people for whom I had conducted a closing at the beginning of the month. With that in mind, and continually trying to reach them by cellphone, I headed north toward Brooks.
About the time I reached the general area of their home, I caught them on my cellphone and verified that they, indeed, were expecting me at their house. So, I continued on to their house and conducted the closing rather quickly and headed home for the evening.
Cindy and Kate had eaten so I caught a couple of hotdogs on the way and got home to relax a little before bedtime.
At ten, Cindy informed us that we were going to bed early. I dressed for bed and climbed into our bed and read until I fell asleep. That seemed fine until about 12:30 in the morning, when I woke up again. Cindy had got up out of bed and when she returned to bed and started snoring heavily, I slipped out of bed and went upstairs to try to sleep in the bed above our bedroom. After several hours of fitful thrashing and treading down the stairs to turn down the thermostat so the air conditioning would come on, I finally got comfortable enough to go to sleep.
This morning I am very tired. Fun, fun, fun. A new day of fun for Tommy.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Bills, bills, bills
This is the beginning of the new week. We will enter August this week and leave July behind us. July was basically a good month with a lot of money paid by clients and creditors paid. In turn. I am trying to make it all work and I need some cooperation from the ones around me. I am looking for help. It doesn't help when the clients don't want to pay and the assistants only come in for part of the day. I don't blame Kate; she has mono and it affects her ability to handle a full day. But Patti has no excuse and she has caused me some problems that I am still paying for.
I am on the verge of quite a week of litigation. I need to get some bills out, particularly follow-up bills on unpaid accounts. I need to get Patti involved in it. This is difficult when the simplest things seem to bog her down. If I could get Kate more involved in the smaller details it would help.
I hope that the Teague matter closes and that Hector gets his ducks in a row so we close his matters at the end of the week. That will help. It would also help if Edwards closes some time soon.
I hope I can get the money flowing smoothly. I need some help.
I am on the verge of quite a week of litigation. I need to get some bills out, particularly follow-up bills on unpaid accounts. I need to get Patti involved in it. This is difficult when the simplest things seem to bog her down. If I could get Kate more involved in the smaller details it would help.
I hope that the Teague matter closes and that Hector gets his ducks in a row so we close his matters at the end of the week. That will help. It would also help if Edwards closes some time soon.
I hope I can get the money flowing smoothly. I need some help.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Catching the breeze
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
There is so much involved
To move along in a business-like manner.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
The lines must be just so to tighten the sheets
Against the prevailing wind, or with it,
Run and tack, run and tack,
Then cut free to sail at the touch of the wind
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky,
The breeze in your face, the salt on your lips
The salt-spray kicking up from the prow.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
Eyes on the sea; eyes on the sky
Watch for ships; watch for reefs
There is no break, except when at anchor
But for the sweet flow of the water
As the knife of the prow cuts the waves before us.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
In a motorized boat, no matter the size
Or how expensive, or luxurious
We forge ahead, no concern for the breeze
Except how it presages the weather ahead.
For sure, you might look for the profile of other ships
Or rocks or coral reefs,
But no worry, as the ship churns its diesel fuel
And the screws dumbly propel the ship on its heading
Amid the smoke and vibration and noise
A good, solid blunt-instrument at sea.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
But here under sail, the world is in harmony
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
Sailing along with the flow of the sea
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
As the sails tug and touch at the wind
And pull the boat forward
Toward our next port of call.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
There is so much involved
To move along in a business-like manner.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
The lines must be just so to tighten the sheets
Against the prevailing wind, or with it,
Run and tack, run and tack,
Then cut free to sail at the touch of the wind
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky,
The breeze in your face, the salt on your lips
The salt-spray kicking up from the prow.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
Eyes on the sea; eyes on the sky
Watch for ships; watch for reefs
There is no break, except when at anchor
But for the sweet flow of the water
As the knife of the prow cuts the waves before us.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
In a motorized boat, no matter the size
Or how expensive, or luxurious
We forge ahead, no concern for the breeze
Except how it presages the weather ahead.
For sure, you might look for the profile of other ships
Or rocks or coral reefs,
But no worry, as the ship churns its diesel fuel
And the screws dumbly propel the ship on its heading
Amid the smoke and vibration and noise
A good, solid blunt-instrument at sea.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky.
But here under sail, the world is in harmony
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
Sailing along with the flow of the sea
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
As the sails tug and touch at the wind
And pull the boat forward
Toward our next port of call.
The green of the sea and the blue of the sky
Hall of Fame, Cooperstown, 2007
We were watching the Hall of Fame inductions in Cooperstown today. I turned over to it to listen to Tony Gwynne talk about his induction. I then got Cindy and Kate to turn the television over to the channel so Kate could watch Cal Ripken, Jr's induction. He was always her favorite. She remembered watching him breaking Lou Gehrig's record for consecutive games played in Baltimore and hitting a home run in front of his family and the home Baltimore crowd. It was very emotional. Then she remembered when we went to see the Braves play the Orioles at Turner Field and watching him get a plaque from the Braves management. I thought it was perfect because Kate got to see him honored and then the Braves won the game in the end. I remember calling Luke in Florida and letting him know that we were there for the Braves game and Cal Ripken's honoring and he was very jealous. Of course, his dad has taken him to quite a few games down in Florida and elsewhere.
When Kate was a little bit older than a toddler, she used to come into the dugout at my softball games to watch the games. I have always tried to take Kate to games, whether they were baseball, football, basketball or hockey games. I am glad she enjoys these games. I know she likes baseball the best. That's ok. It has always been up to me to watch the basketball games and football is still the family game.
Games are fun. Games can teach you things. Games can elicit your emotions, your character and your time. Maybe too much time. That's ok, it has provided time between the generations and forged us together in ways other things could not.
That scene in City Slickers is the most dispositive of this. When the guys explain why baseball was so important to them. It's true, baseball and the other games can provide a connection between the generations which is unbelievably important, so much more than you would expect under the circumstances.
When Kate was a little bit older than a toddler, she used to come into the dugout at my softball games to watch the games. I have always tried to take Kate to games, whether they were baseball, football, basketball or hockey games. I am glad she enjoys these games. I know she likes baseball the best. That's ok. It has always been up to me to watch the basketball games and football is still the family game.
Games are fun. Games can teach you things. Games can elicit your emotions, your character and your time. Maybe too much time. That's ok, it has provided time between the generations and forged us together in ways other things could not.
That scene in City Slickers is the most dispositive of this. When the guys explain why baseball was so important to them. It's true, baseball and the other games can provide a connection between the generations which is unbelievably important, so much more than you would expect under the circumstances.
Sunday morning garden
Sunday morning in the garden.
I awoke this morning early and read from my Bible
In preparation for the task
Of assisting Reverend Dalstrom
In leading worship this morning
I then walked out into the wet garden
Gathering the rubber hose
From its place of repose
Near the bushes planted next to the house
And stretching its length across the grass
Passing it through the path of the sunlight's wandering
Working through the cover of the thick leaves on the trees
I connect the lengths of hose
And twist the handle on the spigot
Loosing the flow of water
On the back garden
God and I in partnership this fine Summer morning,
Sitting down to rest in the cool shade of the patio
Enjoying His gifts which we both shall tend.
I awoke this morning early and read from my Bible
In preparation for the task
Of assisting Reverend Dalstrom
In leading worship this morning
I then walked out into the wet garden
Gathering the rubber hose
From its place of repose
Near the bushes planted next to the house
And stretching its length across the grass
Passing it through the path of the sunlight's wandering
Working through the cover of the thick leaves on the trees
I connect the lengths of hose
And twist the handle on the spigot
Loosing the flow of water
On the back garden
God and I in partnership this fine Summer morning,
Sitting down to rest in the cool shade of the patio
Enjoying His gifts which we both shall tend.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Hands in movement
I see it now :
Tender, slender hands
Soft, sweet flesh
Moving slowly through the flowing
Like a stream before my eyes
The sun presenting jewel shapes off the surfaces
But the hands, the tender shoots
Branching across, left to right, right to left
The slow, slender fingers
Passing on their own across my vision,
In patterns and melodies of sound and life and movement
A slow, passing symphony of touch
Touching the syrup air
Turning the heat to coolness
In its movement of peaceful joy
And the slow, slow flowing
The clock hands fluid
A harmony of thin clouds across the blue sky
A melody of parts in concert before my eyes.
Tender, slender hands
Soft, sweet flesh
Moving slowly through the flowing
Like a stream before my eyes
The sun presenting jewel shapes off the surfaces
But the hands, the tender shoots
Branching across, left to right, right to left
The slow, slender fingers
Passing on their own across my vision,
In patterns and melodies of sound and life and movement
A slow, passing symphony of touch
Touching the syrup air
Turning the heat to coolness
In its movement of peaceful joy
And the slow, slow flowing
The clock hands fluid
A harmony of thin clouds across the blue sky
A melody of parts in concert before my eyes.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Writing theory
Friday night is here. I wish I could feel like it wasn't past me already. Cindy and Kate are in the living room watching an episode of "What not to wear" which I have to confess I have already seen. I am at the computer, considering which of my most recent poems I could submit to some the Southern literary quarterlies. I would love to see some of my poems published in one of these. Cindy thinks I should submit one of my poems to several different publications.
I would love to succeed at my writing. I would love to be published. My problem is that when I have liked my work in the past, I changed my mind later. I go through a love hate relationship with all of it. It doesn't hold up to the test of time.
I look through all of the poems in my collection of blogs and I like some of them. But I seem to do better when I think about it before hand and then sit down and throw it all out very quickly. The time becomes the preparation. The actual writing occurs over a short period of time.
One of the lessons I learned in college in football was that the preparation or practice was so important and translated into the actual games, rather than trying to work it all during the games themselves. The effort has to occur prior to the actual effort.
You can't create the effort in the game without the main effort occurring in your preparation for the game. The preparation is the most important part of the game.
What this means for my poetry involves going through the idea prior to the actual writing and then doing it on paper. I think if I create a theme or a plot beforehand, the ability to put it on paper will go better.
Maybe what I need is a real journal where I put themes and plot synopses and even characters from which I can draw later.
I would love to succeed at my writing. I would love to be published. My problem is that when I have liked my work in the past, I changed my mind later. I go through a love hate relationship with all of it. It doesn't hold up to the test of time.
I look through all of the poems in my collection of blogs and I like some of them. But I seem to do better when I think about it before hand and then sit down and throw it all out very quickly. The time becomes the preparation. The actual writing occurs over a short period of time.
One of the lessons I learned in college in football was that the preparation or practice was so important and translated into the actual games, rather than trying to work it all during the games themselves. The effort has to occur prior to the actual effort.
You can't create the effort in the game without the main effort occurring in your preparation for the game. The preparation is the most important part of the game.
What this means for my poetry involves going through the idea prior to the actual writing and then doing it on paper. I think if I create a theme or a plot beforehand, the ability to put it on paper will go better.
Maybe what I need is a real journal where I put themes and plot synopses and even characters from which I can draw later.
The terror of the dogs
Bowee!!!!!
Dogs are running loose!
Going where they please;
Doing what they will.
Humans are being terrorized!
We have lost our last friends
And now we have to rely on each other:
We have no one else to blame.
The dogs only perform the tricks we taught them.
The horror!
Will we be the ones wearing the collars?
Upon whom will we rely for our daily kibble?
And the cats will ignore it all
For in their secret thoughts
Hidden behind their narrowing eyelids
They know they are in charge.
They are their own creatures
And don't care.
Dogs are running loose!
Going where they please;
Doing what they will.
Humans are being terrorized!
We have lost our last friends
And now we have to rely on each other:
We have no one else to blame.
The dogs only perform the tricks we taught them.
The horror!
Will we be the ones wearing the collars?
Upon whom will we rely for our daily kibble?
And the cats will ignore it all
For in their secret thoughts
Hidden behind their narrowing eyelids
They know they are in charge.
They are their own creatures
And don't care.
On the edge of a weekend
Friday morning. I woke up at the normal time of around 6:00 this morning. Cindy doesn't work on Fridays so the house was very quiet. Tex was sleeping with Cindy and Kate stayed asleep in her bed. I finished off the last of a book I was reading and then went downstairs for breakfast. The house was still and the morning was bathed in the golden light of morning. I showered and shaved and dressed for the day. On my way out I removed several bags of garbage and put glasses and cups in the dishwasher. Before I left, I removed a bag of trash from my car.
This morning has begun rather quietly. Only several telephone calls as I got ready for the morning's tasks. One new closing on Tuesday. One new client at 11:00 this morning.
I am looking forward to the business of this coming week, but not as much as I am looking forward to this weekend. Not that we have anything planned, but it would be nice to find something to do recreationally. Something better than sitting around or staying inside all weekend.
I have to assist Tim with the worship service. I have the children's sermon all set. I just need to get an outline for my prayer.
Well, despite the quiet and sweetness of the morning, I am not feeling very poetic. Perhaps this is the morning to get all the little things done at the office. Perhaps.
This morning has begun rather quietly. Only several telephone calls as I got ready for the morning's tasks. One new closing on Tuesday. One new client at 11:00 this morning.
I am looking forward to the business of this coming week, but not as much as I am looking forward to this weekend. Not that we have anything planned, but it would be nice to find something to do recreationally. Something better than sitting around or staying inside all weekend.
I have to assist Tim with the worship service. I have the children's sermon all set. I just need to get an outline for my prayer.
Well, despite the quiet and sweetness of the morning, I am not feeling very poetic. Perhaps this is the morning to get all the little things done at the office. Perhaps.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Country comfort
This afternoon I drove to Columbus through all the major towns in Pike County and then on through Manchester to Columbus. I spent way too much time in Columbus waiting for the borrower to come home from a doctor's appointment. I must say that I have a real good handle on the lay of the land in Muscogee County.
Anyway, when through with my closing, I wound my way to Country's barbecue for three take out meals. After handling that task, I travelled back toward Manchester and home. As the afternoon sun fell into the western horizon, the shadows of the dying day created a real feel of drama to the landscape. The green fields with cattle loping along to find new fodder. As I got closer to home, the moisture of the day rose as steam from the fields. It really looked like Autumn in the country.
In the early evening, when everyone is mostly at home, it was so peaceful and quiet on the road. There was so little stress out there. It made me want to get out of the car and walk through the fields and sit and enjoy the evening.
That is part of why I like to schedule these trips in the afternoon. They calm my nerves and settle the bumps of the day.
Anyway, when through with my closing, I wound my way to Country's barbecue for three take out meals. After handling that task, I travelled back toward Manchester and home. As the afternoon sun fell into the western horizon, the shadows of the dying day created a real feel of drama to the landscape. The green fields with cattle loping along to find new fodder. As I got closer to home, the moisture of the day rose as steam from the fields. It really looked like Autumn in the country.
In the early evening, when everyone is mostly at home, it was so peaceful and quiet on the road. There was so little stress out there. It made me want to get out of the car and walk through the fields and sit and enjoy the evening.
That is part of why I like to schedule these trips in the afternoon. They calm my nerves and settle the bumps of the day.
The horses are running
I am associated with a law firm in Gainesville, Florida concerning a class action suit in the Northern District of Georgia. I have spoken about it before. We have filed an appeal from the ruling of the judge in the district court case and now the fire is growing hotter as we get closer to needing documents filed in the District Court and in the Court of Appeals. Now there is a hearing tentatively set on August 2nd at 10:00, the same time I have a hearing in City Court of Griffin. I also have a hearing in the afternoon in the Magistrate Court. This is all preceded by an arraignment hearing in Superior Court on the day before.
Add in to all of this the problem that the attorney I have been associated with is on vacation with his family until some time in the middle of August. This makes me quite anxious.
My ability to handle the stress is stretched a bit from what it once was. As I get older, little things have a tendency to bind me up like a good sharp cheddar. Since I am on my own, my ability to delegate matters is cut off and Patti is covered up to the point where she is stretched tighter than you know what.
Well, the business is going pretty well. If real estate closings would pick up I would be back in the black for sure. I have been trying to pay off debts as I go and have been fairly successful. If I could reduce the amount of payout and increase the amount of income, I would be sitting pretty. Of course, anybody could say that.
The starting bell is ringing again. More later, around the backstretch.
Add in to all of this the problem that the attorney I have been associated with is on vacation with his family until some time in the middle of August. This makes me quite anxious.
My ability to handle the stress is stretched a bit from what it once was. As I get older, little things have a tendency to bind me up like a good sharp cheddar. Since I am on my own, my ability to delegate matters is cut off and Patti is covered up to the point where she is stretched tighter than you know what.
Well, the business is going pretty well. If real estate closings would pick up I would be back in the black for sure. I have been trying to pay off debts as I go and have been fairly successful. If I could reduce the amount of payout and increase the amount of income, I would be sitting pretty. Of course, anybody could say that.
The starting bell is ringing again. More later, around the backstretch.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Football, basketball and race
When I was a young teenager, the boys in the neighborhood used to gather in several yards, including ours, to play football. When we were youngest, we used to play tackle football, when our muscular development didn't allow us to perform much mayhem on each other. Of course, that supposition ended when my brother's collarbone cracked when trying to make a tackle on one of the neighborhood kids. This put a quietus on our tackle football games and changed our games to what we referred to as "two below".
Some might think that this was a retreat from the joy and simplicity and sheer, sweet violence with which we began. But you forget that we still played organized football in addition to our front yard competition. There is still a picture of one of Frank's teams showing Frank in a neck-collar, fit to protect his weakened neck.
This was back in the days when mother's fears didn't hold the sway and boy children weren't forced to play "soccer." This wasn't the time when the games we played weren't segregated so that basketball and football were predominately the games played by the African-American children and soccer and baseball were reserved for the Caucasian children. This is silly and an odd sideshow of what has happened as sports has been "integrated" with the rest of Southern society.
Brown v. Board of Education happened three years before I was born. Perhaps the genesis for that opinion occurred when blacks and whites played jazz with each other and when they fought in the military of this country. But truthfully, Brown was a watershed moment when the adults were forced to allow their children to go to school together. The effort to resist the action required by that series of cases still goes on.
When I played football and basketball in Dekalb County, Georgia in the early to middle Seventies, the schools in Dekalb County were still predominately segregated. The high schools, like Chamblee and Sequoyah which incorporated segregated neighborhoods, were integregated on their teams. The high schools like Dunwoody and Peachtree, which came from neighborhoods which were almost completely white, or some of the South Dekalb high schools which were predominately black, were segregated.
We played each other when we got into the playoffs, but seldom before. That was the way it was in football. Basketball was different, because we played a lot of different schools, including the teams in South Dekalb. The beginning of the re-segregation of the sports was already beginning. I remember playing Cedar Grove in football and basketball. The football team was not predominated by either race, but the basketball team was almost completely black. Already the retreat was beginning.
This retreat from basketball by the white players was just the beginning, because it prefaced the retreat of the families from the neighborhoods in that part of Dekalb County. All of a sudden, these families were moving to Rockdale County and Gwinnett County and Newton County.
When my daughter was born, I hoped that she would want to play basketball. I loved basketball when I was young. I took pride in the fact that I was from Kentucky, a state which placed a premium on basketball for all of its citizens, white or black.
But in Georgia, basketball was segregated. I know that I probably wouldn't have played basketball in high school if Dunwoody was integrated like it is now.
If the goal of integration in sports was to provide an opportunity for the students to play, I am not sure that the end result was indicative of that goal. Dunwoody has won several state championships in basketball, a sport in which the black students made up the great majority of the players on the team. Oddly, Dunwoody also has done well in baseball, a sport which has become one of the sports where whites predominate. But why can't the team pictures be more racially mixed? Why are the individual sports becoming substantially segregated, even in the same schools?
I have been told by some people that whites can't compete with blacks in sports. I think this thinking is as racist as the thinking which said that blacks couldn't be quarterbacks or coaches or owners. There is no reason why anyone can't compete in any sport, if they are gifted athletically, no matter their race.
Atlanta has become a mecca for African-Americans in this country. More and more are moving here. This action began with the interaction of the white business community with the leaders of the black community in the 60's. Now Atlanta is much more of an integrated society, and it is a great thing for our region.
But the fear of integration and the distrust of races still exists here and causes people to abandon neighborhoods and schools and the opportunity to learn more about each other and come to the ultimate realization that we are not that different. I read something recently which said that all of the races of the earth are almost essentially alike from a genetic sense. Sure we look different to each other. But the truth is that our similarities are greater than our differences.
We can learn a lot from each other. Our differences are important, but more so when combined with each other. When I was a thirteen year old boy, our team had white and black running backs. All of us were important parts on a team which ended up being second in the country in Pop Warner league football. When I was a seventeen year old, my last play in high school football occurred when I tackled one of my former teammates from that little league team. How wonderful that he was the African-American member of that team. We had fought together on a team and now were participating together in a high school game. Ironic that we both played college football.
Participation is the key. We need to get rid of the stereotypes and misaprehensions bourne of fear and distrust. We need to realize that we are stronger when we bond together as a unity of different parts.
Here is to Eddie Jackson and Blake Mitchell and George Herbert and Don Crossley. These were guys I played games with in the past. Some were black and some were white, but they played the same positions on teams together. That is a better blueprint than the one we have at this point in time.
Some might think that this was a retreat from the joy and simplicity and sheer, sweet violence with which we began. But you forget that we still played organized football in addition to our front yard competition. There is still a picture of one of Frank's teams showing Frank in a neck-collar, fit to protect his weakened neck.
This was back in the days when mother's fears didn't hold the sway and boy children weren't forced to play "soccer." This wasn't the time when the games we played weren't segregated so that basketball and football were predominately the games played by the African-American children and soccer and baseball were reserved for the Caucasian children. This is silly and an odd sideshow of what has happened as sports has been "integrated" with the rest of Southern society.
Brown v. Board of Education happened three years before I was born. Perhaps the genesis for that opinion occurred when blacks and whites played jazz with each other and when they fought in the military of this country. But truthfully, Brown was a watershed moment when the adults were forced to allow their children to go to school together. The effort to resist the action required by that series of cases still goes on.
When I played football and basketball in Dekalb County, Georgia in the early to middle Seventies, the schools in Dekalb County were still predominately segregated. The high schools, like Chamblee and Sequoyah which incorporated segregated neighborhoods, were integregated on their teams. The high schools like Dunwoody and Peachtree, which came from neighborhoods which were almost completely white, or some of the South Dekalb high schools which were predominately black, were segregated.
We played each other when we got into the playoffs, but seldom before. That was the way it was in football. Basketball was different, because we played a lot of different schools, including the teams in South Dekalb. The beginning of the re-segregation of the sports was already beginning. I remember playing Cedar Grove in football and basketball. The football team was not predominated by either race, but the basketball team was almost completely black. Already the retreat was beginning.
This retreat from basketball by the white players was just the beginning, because it prefaced the retreat of the families from the neighborhoods in that part of Dekalb County. All of a sudden, these families were moving to Rockdale County and Gwinnett County and Newton County.
When my daughter was born, I hoped that she would want to play basketball. I loved basketball when I was young. I took pride in the fact that I was from Kentucky, a state which placed a premium on basketball for all of its citizens, white or black.
But in Georgia, basketball was segregated. I know that I probably wouldn't have played basketball in high school if Dunwoody was integrated like it is now.
If the goal of integration in sports was to provide an opportunity for the students to play, I am not sure that the end result was indicative of that goal. Dunwoody has won several state championships in basketball, a sport in which the black students made up the great majority of the players on the team. Oddly, Dunwoody also has done well in baseball, a sport which has become one of the sports where whites predominate. But why can't the team pictures be more racially mixed? Why are the individual sports becoming substantially segregated, even in the same schools?
I have been told by some people that whites can't compete with blacks in sports. I think this thinking is as racist as the thinking which said that blacks couldn't be quarterbacks or coaches or owners. There is no reason why anyone can't compete in any sport, if they are gifted athletically, no matter their race.
Atlanta has become a mecca for African-Americans in this country. More and more are moving here. This action began with the interaction of the white business community with the leaders of the black community in the 60's. Now Atlanta is much more of an integrated society, and it is a great thing for our region.
But the fear of integration and the distrust of races still exists here and causes people to abandon neighborhoods and schools and the opportunity to learn more about each other and come to the ultimate realization that we are not that different. I read something recently which said that all of the races of the earth are almost essentially alike from a genetic sense. Sure we look different to each other. But the truth is that our similarities are greater than our differences.
We can learn a lot from each other. Our differences are important, but more so when combined with each other. When I was a thirteen year old boy, our team had white and black running backs. All of us were important parts on a team which ended up being second in the country in Pop Warner league football. When I was a seventeen year old, my last play in high school football occurred when I tackled one of my former teammates from that little league team. How wonderful that he was the African-American member of that team. We had fought together on a team and now were participating together in a high school game. Ironic that we both played college football.
Participation is the key. We need to get rid of the stereotypes and misaprehensions bourne of fear and distrust. We need to realize that we are stronger when we bond together as a unity of different parts.
Here is to Eddie Jackson and Blake Mitchell and George Herbert and Don Crossley. These were guys I played games with in the past. Some were black and some were white, but they played the same positions on teams together. That is a better blueprint than the one we have at this point in time.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Life as a bird
If I were a bird
What would I be?
If I say that I would be an eagle
Do I see myself as a warrior-leader
Soaring above the common everyday?
If I see myself as a falcon,
Do I fly like a missle through the deep blue
Scattering my prey like dust particles
Fleeing from my growing shadow
If I were a cardinal
Perched on a frozen tree branch
Above the solid snow
Do I set myself above the cold
As a signpost to God in the Winter dreary?
Perhaps I might chatter away
Like a blue jay
All full of myself
And my place in the garden
Or serve my place in the garden as a simple sparrow
Chittering away on the earthen floor
With a wary eye for the cat's swift pouncing.
What bird would I be?
What bird would I wish to be?
Where, indeed, is my place in God's garden?
What would I be?
If I say that I would be an eagle
Do I see myself as a warrior-leader
Soaring above the common everyday?
If I see myself as a falcon,
Do I fly like a missle through the deep blue
Scattering my prey like dust particles
Fleeing from my growing shadow
If I were a cardinal
Perched on a frozen tree branch
Above the solid snow
Do I set myself above the cold
As a signpost to God in the Winter dreary?
Perhaps I might chatter away
Like a blue jay
All full of myself
And my place in the garden
Or serve my place in the garden as a simple sparrow
Chittering away on the earthen floor
With a wary eye for the cat's swift pouncing.
What bird would I be?
What bird would I wish to be?
Where, indeed, is my place in God's garden?
Tuesday morning runaround
Well, the long nightmare is seemingly over. My in-laws have a contract on their house and they have a contingency offer on a new house. Now they can go on to a new set of problems. Tra la, tra la.
It is six o'clock and I have cleaned up the mess Tex created last night, put up the clean dishes, tried to clean up the mess Kate created last night with supper, created a clog in the kitchen sink, watered the plants, set up the sprinkler on the front garden and sat down to do this. Meanwhile, crime is still at large in the city of Baltimore and Sonny and Tubbs have watched the criminals kill each other in Miami. Now Rockford is trying to solve mysteries in Malibu/Los Angeles.
Today's schedule has been rearranged all over. Now the afternoon is all clogged up. I wonder what will happen in the early evening.
The computer is acting up on me and I think I need to end this here. I hate to do it since I really haven't done much to this point. But I am afraid I am going to lose this before I know it. It might not be much of a loss.
It is six o'clock and I have cleaned up the mess Tex created last night, put up the clean dishes, tried to clean up the mess Kate created last night with supper, created a clog in the kitchen sink, watered the plants, set up the sprinkler on the front garden and sat down to do this. Meanwhile, crime is still at large in the city of Baltimore and Sonny and Tubbs have watched the criminals kill each other in Miami. Now Rockford is trying to solve mysteries in Malibu/Los Angeles.
Today's schedule has been rearranged all over. Now the afternoon is all clogged up. I wonder what will happen in the early evening.
The computer is acting up on me and I think I need to end this here. I hate to do it since I really haven't done much to this point. But I am afraid I am going to lose this before I know it. It might not be much of a loss.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Red rutted roads
The desire to write poetry requires some feeling which isn't always present. Tonight, I tried to write about a dirt road I saw in Meriwether County, between Warm Springs and Woodbury. But it didn't come. No inspiration. Just a dirt road out in the country. It looked like it was abandoned. It led off away from the high way; the vegetation was overgrown. There was little proof of maintenance. I couldn't see any houses up the road. Not even any abandoned sharecropper cabins or some old farm house, falling in with time.
Of course, you never know what you might find down an old rutted dirt road. Deer in a field, safe from September's hunters? The dying of the day played out in pinks and oranges and purples in the western sky? The greys and browns of an old farmhouse, covered with the dark green of the kudzu?
In early Spring, you might find the great-grandchildren of the daffodils planted by some farmwife, spreading out from the remnants of the foundation. In Summer, the evening thunderstorms might cover the telephone lines with the deep green of muscadine vines,left over from earlier plantings. In Fall, the goldenrod might spring up and add its yellow to the dying of the vegetation. And the blue and grey clouds of Winter might bring a sweet melancholy to your drive.
I guess it was poetic, after all.
Of course, you never know what you might find down an old rutted dirt road. Deer in a field, safe from September's hunters? The dying of the day played out in pinks and oranges and purples in the western sky? The greys and browns of an old farmhouse, covered with the dark green of the kudzu?
In early Spring, you might find the great-grandchildren of the daffodils planted by some farmwife, spreading out from the remnants of the foundation. In Summer, the evening thunderstorms might cover the telephone lines with the deep green of muscadine vines,left over from earlier plantings. In Fall, the goldenrod might spring up and add its yellow to the dying of the vegetation. And the blue and grey clouds of Winter might bring a sweet melancholy to your drive.
I guess it was poetic, after all.
Not so early monday morning
Blither, blither, blither. Everyone in the house lost sleep last night. We all slept in separate beds so it wasn't a matter of disturbing each other. Cindy was suffering from pain in her back. Kate has mono and I woke her up much earlier than normal, so she didn't sleep as much as usual. I bought myself a book that caught my attention until after midnight. I then woke up around four this morning. I tried to go to back to sleep to no avail.
This morning may take awhile to settle into. Most folks would suggest coffee, but I'm not supposed to have caffiene and I don't drink coffee, anyway. I know I have problems, because I keep reaching for a non-existent cup of water which is not over my head above the computer. My mind is creating scenarios and life is not rising up to meet the thoughts in my head. A failure of the subjective and the objective. It would be nice if they met somewhere in the middle.
This whole thing is drifting away from me like the tide. My mind keeps bringing items to consider and my body just lets them fly by while I try to recover enough of my mind and body together to deal with them. I hear others working, interacting, moving towards the future. I am stuck at home plate, waiting for a settling of my existence which will allow me to swing.
To change the sports metaphor: gutterball, gutterball, sit down.
This morning may take awhile to settle into. Most folks would suggest coffee, but I'm not supposed to have caffiene and I don't drink coffee, anyway. I know I have problems, because I keep reaching for a non-existent cup of water which is not over my head above the computer. My mind is creating scenarios and life is not rising up to meet the thoughts in my head. A failure of the subjective and the objective. It would be nice if they met somewhere in the middle.
This whole thing is drifting away from me like the tide. My mind keeps bringing items to consider and my body just lets them fly by while I try to recover enough of my mind and body together to deal with them. I hear others working, interacting, moving towards the future. I am stuck at home plate, waiting for a settling of my existence which will allow me to swing.
To change the sports metaphor: gutterball, gutterball, sit down.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Strange venues
Stretching yourself. Today the sermon in church was about faithfulness. Not the faithfulness of God to us, but our faithfulness to God and to each other. Oddly, in the middle of a sermon about our faithfulness to God and to each other, I was able to bear witness to a little bit of faithlessness. In the middle of the last hymn,
"Great is His Faithfulness", a former mother-in-law was staring daggers at her former daughter-in-law. For her part, the former daughter-in-law didn't seem to rise to the bait. A sad little drama. Unfortunate that the words of the sermon don't seem to last very long. Not much shelf-life. Hell, that's not even indicative of shelf-life, since the words of the sermon were so fresh in our ears.
Perhaps it has more to do about how much we listen to the words of the sermon in the first place.
This afternoon, I took my niece, Lily, bowling in Gwinnett County. It took me a long time to find a bowling alley which catered to children and families. This one clearly did, since it seemed that there were at least three children on every lane. The alley was lit with flashing lights and filled with music. Children were bouncing all over the lanes and dropping balls on the alleys. I think that they need to get the kids matched up better with balls, so the weight of the balls don't cause the younger arms to drop the balls at the end of their approaches. It made me wince everytime I saw them go down.
Lily showed very little patience in something she wanted to do. When it was her time to bowl, she would pick up whichever ball met her eye, then almost ran down to the lane to throw the ball down. Her form wasn't bad. She had some decent balls. But her lack of patience really hurt her. Lily is quite athletic; I think she could be good at bowling if she worked at it.
Of course, she concentrated quite a bit on trying to get me to allow her to play in the arcade after we finished our bowling. Nevertheless, I was strong in saying, "No." As we were leaving in the parking lot, she was quick to tell me that "her daddy" had taken her to the arcade after they bowled. I told that was her daddy, not her uncle.
I must confess that when I bowled, I got progressively poorer as I went. I know it had to do with the strain on my joints. When I rolled the third or fourth ball down the lane, all of a sudden, a pain hit the joint in my right shoulder and it became harder to keep my form straight. You know, bowling is like pitching or shooting baskets. You have to keep the same form, otherwise you lose your consistency.
I started out hot. I bowled a strike in my first ball. I bowled a spare in the second. From there, the wheels came off the wagen. Clearly, fifty one years awaits me in December. I have got to do something to get myself back in better shape.
I did have fun. We all have to stretch in different ways.
"Great is His Faithfulness", a former mother-in-law was staring daggers at her former daughter-in-law. For her part, the former daughter-in-law didn't seem to rise to the bait. A sad little drama. Unfortunate that the words of the sermon don't seem to last very long. Not much shelf-life. Hell, that's not even indicative of shelf-life, since the words of the sermon were so fresh in our ears.
Perhaps it has more to do about how much we listen to the words of the sermon in the first place.
This afternoon, I took my niece, Lily, bowling in Gwinnett County. It took me a long time to find a bowling alley which catered to children and families. This one clearly did, since it seemed that there were at least three children on every lane. The alley was lit with flashing lights and filled with music. Children were bouncing all over the lanes and dropping balls on the alleys. I think that they need to get the kids matched up better with balls, so the weight of the balls don't cause the younger arms to drop the balls at the end of their approaches. It made me wince everytime I saw them go down.
Lily showed very little patience in something she wanted to do. When it was her time to bowl, she would pick up whichever ball met her eye, then almost ran down to the lane to throw the ball down. Her form wasn't bad. She had some decent balls. But her lack of patience really hurt her. Lily is quite athletic; I think she could be good at bowling if she worked at it.
Of course, she concentrated quite a bit on trying to get me to allow her to play in the arcade after we finished our bowling. Nevertheless, I was strong in saying, "No." As we were leaving in the parking lot, she was quick to tell me that "her daddy" had taken her to the arcade after they bowled. I told that was her daddy, not her uncle.
I must confess that when I bowled, I got progressively poorer as I went. I know it had to do with the strain on my joints. When I rolled the third or fourth ball down the lane, all of a sudden, a pain hit the joint in my right shoulder and it became harder to keep my form straight. You know, bowling is like pitching or shooting baskets. You have to keep the same form, otherwise you lose your consistency.
I started out hot. I bowled a strike in my first ball. I bowled a spare in the second. From there, the wheels came off the wagen. Clearly, fifty one years awaits me in December. I have got to do something to get myself back in better shape.
I did have fun. We all have to stretch in different ways.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Don't get me on bacon
Once upon a time tomatoes were so easy to trust,
Cut one open, slice it into slim cuts for a sandwich
A little homemade mayonaise with paprika, for a special touch,
Or just eat it like an apple;
Good wasn't it?
Then came global agriculture
Corporate farming
Hydroponic crop development
Over-fertilization
Run-off into the rivers and streams
Global economics
Hybridization
Supermarket chains
Spreading like kudzu all over the country
One or two on every corner, with more in the planning stages
To boldly meet the needs of the American consumer
And to be there when we needed them
To provide the fruit and vegetables we all need
But clearly harder to get your kids to eat,
At least in this generation.
And why do you think that is?
Look at what they were working on for us,
The scientists in their sterile laboratories,
Flourescent lights and stainless steel,
Publishing papers in their little journals
Spreading the news of their discoveries to others
And developing the thick, mealy, pink flesh
Which were picked early to ensure the safety of the fruit
Which sat on a truck for a long time of travel
To lie on your grocery shelf for a long time,
Giving us a long shelf-life,
To smugly await your ultimate purchase
When you finally realized
That nothing out there on the shelf of any other supermarket
On any other corner of any other development,
In any other suburb of any other megalopolis,
Was any better
And nothing is better thanks
To our failure to cultivate our own little gardens
Like our grandparents did in the Depression
And the Second World War,
Victory gardens to defeat Hitler and Mussolinni and Tojo,
And even in the Fifties,
When life was simpler,
And despite the fact that good tomatoes from the farms nearby
Were just as close as your corner green grocer
Or the farmer's market out on the highway,
We could still take the time to grow our own
So the Summer was be a special time
With bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches,
And freshly-made potato salad
And sweet iced tea with fresh, sunny lemons from Florida
Spreading the bright sunshine
Around the kitchen table with your family,
And your grandparents and cousins,
And don't get me on bacon.
Cut one open, slice it into slim cuts for a sandwich
A little homemade mayonaise with paprika, for a special touch,
Or just eat it like an apple;
Good wasn't it?
Then came global agriculture
Corporate farming
Hydroponic crop development
Over-fertilization
Run-off into the rivers and streams
Global economics
Hybridization
Supermarket chains
Spreading like kudzu all over the country
One or two on every corner, with more in the planning stages
To boldly meet the needs of the American consumer
And to be there when we needed them
To provide the fruit and vegetables we all need
But clearly harder to get your kids to eat,
At least in this generation.
And why do you think that is?
Look at what they were working on for us,
The scientists in their sterile laboratories,
Flourescent lights and stainless steel,
Publishing papers in their little journals
Spreading the news of their discoveries to others
And developing the thick, mealy, pink flesh
Which were picked early to ensure the safety of the fruit
Which sat on a truck for a long time of travel
To lie on your grocery shelf for a long time,
Giving us a long shelf-life,
To smugly await your ultimate purchase
When you finally realized
That nothing out there on the shelf of any other supermarket
On any other corner of any other development,
In any other suburb of any other megalopolis,
Was any better
And nothing is better thanks
To our failure to cultivate our own little gardens
Like our grandparents did in the Depression
And the Second World War,
Victory gardens to defeat Hitler and Mussolinni and Tojo,
And even in the Fifties,
When life was simpler,
And despite the fact that good tomatoes from the farms nearby
Were just as close as your corner green grocer
Or the farmer's market out on the highway,
We could still take the time to grow our own
So the Summer was be a special time
With bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches,
And freshly-made potato salad
And sweet iced tea with fresh, sunny lemons from Florida
Spreading the bright sunshine
Around the kitchen table with your family,
And your grandparents and cousins,
And don't get me on bacon.
The morning after Harry Potter
Last night, Cindy, Kate and I celebrated Sister Susan's birthday by eating pizza at Slice's, watching the new Harry Potter movie (Cindy and Kate for the second time) and running over to Bookland for two copies of the latest and last Harry Potter book. We were up to 12:30 in the morning. I guess Cindy and Kate had a good time. I got a little indigestion.
Now Cindy and Kate are sleeping the morning away and I am up the usual time, writing my memories from the night before. It was dark, long, lasted late and gave a rumbly in my tummy.
This morning, my choice is between a John Wayne western, "Rio Grande" and a Jimmy Cagney street-kid movie, "Angels with Dirty Faces." Some might call that a poor choice. "Rio Grande" is your typical John Ford western with all the usual actors in residence. "Angels with Dirty Faces" is also the ideal Jimmy Cagney movie, with Pat O'Brien and Humphrey Bogart on the side. It is kind of difficult but I am leaning toward the Jimmy Cagney movie.
Here is that commercial for the sleep medicine with Abraham Lincoln, the beaver and the Deep Sea Diver. Abe is ok and I'd like to shoot the beaver (or at least get rid of him), but the Deep Sea diver is a classic, kind of like the hairy dude in Star Wars without the noise.
Now I find that the Dead End kids are in this Jimmy Cagney movie. I guess all the inner city toughs are in on this production. I guess all we need is George Raft to complete the picture. Maybe he'll show up as the real bad guy in the end. I know that Pat O'Brien will show up to put everybody on the right road. It looks like Jimmy is going to help his old buddy turn them around.
If only life was that simple.
Now Cindy and Kate are sleeping the morning away and I am up the usual time, writing my memories from the night before. It was dark, long, lasted late and gave a rumbly in my tummy.
This morning, my choice is between a John Wayne western, "Rio Grande" and a Jimmy Cagney street-kid movie, "Angels with Dirty Faces." Some might call that a poor choice. "Rio Grande" is your typical John Ford western with all the usual actors in residence. "Angels with Dirty Faces" is also the ideal Jimmy Cagney movie, with Pat O'Brien and Humphrey Bogart on the side. It is kind of difficult but I am leaning toward the Jimmy Cagney movie.
Here is that commercial for the sleep medicine with Abraham Lincoln, the beaver and the Deep Sea Diver. Abe is ok and I'd like to shoot the beaver (or at least get rid of him), but the Deep Sea diver is a classic, kind of like the hairy dude in Star Wars without the noise.
Now I find that the Dead End kids are in this Jimmy Cagney movie. I guess all the inner city toughs are in on this production. I guess all we need is George Raft to complete the picture. Maybe he'll show up as the real bad guy in the end. I know that Pat O'Brien will show up to put everybody on the right road. It looks like Jimmy is going to help his old buddy turn them around.
If only life was that simple.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Pride in the Pennyroyal
The place where I was born has a number of "nicknames". I was born in Hopkinsville, which has often been known as "Hoptown." The area surrounding Hopkinsville and Clarksville was once called "The Black Patch" after the dark tobacco which was grown there as the main cash crop. The western region which lies between Bowling Green and the lands east of the twin rivers (Tennessee and Cumberland) and south of the northern Kentucky counties which lie along the Ohio River was called "The Pennyroyal" after the little flowers which grew in abundance in the area. This name was often altered to "Pennyrile" to match the odd pronounciation given to the flowers by the Scots-Irish inhabitants.
It is no wonder that I have had so many nicknames over the years. When I was born I was "Tommy." I am still Tommy to most of my family, which is fine with me. This is a very common Southernism, to call somebody by the diminuitive form of his or her name.
When I went off to first grade, I announced myself to the teacher as "Tom." I guess that was a small rite of passage for me. That nickname stayed with me for most of my life.
When I was in high school, I acquired a number of nicknames: TB, TEB, Tebby, Uncle TEB, Uncle Tebby, and Tuna (which is still strange). Variations of all of those stuck to varying degrees. Most of these nicknames were given by teammates and friends in football or basketball. They seemed to flow and ebb depending on the time of the season.
When I started playing football in college, Coach O'Connell, the linebackers coach, called everyone by the diminuitive of their name, so I became "Tommy" once again. I also became TB and "B" (so called by one of the linebackers, who was also captain in my Junior year). For awhile, I was "Moonpie" for Mike "Moonpie" Wilson, who was a lineman at the University of Georgia at the time. At the end, the coaches referred to me as "Too Tall" because I played defensive end and was considered "too small" to play in that position. The head coach would kid me about my size throughout the first part of the football season, but then started calling me too tall when I began to rack up quarterback sacks and pass blocks toward the end of the season. "Too Tall" started off as a joke and ended up being a badge of honor in the end.
When I came to Griffin, one of my friends heard my wife call me Tommy and he began to use it too. Soon, a lot of people were calling me Tommy. Then again, one of the judges always referred to me as "Thomas". That stuck for awhile. Finally, one of my clients referred to me as "Mr. Birmingham", being his mangled version of my last name. I have also been called "Mr. Tom" which is another regional Southernism.
Sometimes nicknames are the result of a joke. Sometimes they come from attempts at trying to pronounce your real name. Sometimes they are a colloquil term which places you in the region in which you live. The best ones are the ones given by friends and acquaintances which reflect a connection between you and the person imparting the nickname.
I have never minded any of them. And I must say that it is nice to come from Hoptown, which lies on the northern side of the Black Patch, in the Pennyrile Region of Western Kentucky. Today, I was looking at pictures of State Parks in Kentucky on the internet. I happened to chance upon a picture of the lake at Pennyrile State Park, where Momma and Aunt Meg used to haul all of the cousins to swim during Summer trips to Kentucky to visit our relations. It brought back fond memories of summer fun in the water despite the worries about snakes in the lake. I remember watching some men trying to catch fish with their bare hands in the lake, and wondering how many water snakes they caught instead. I remember one time when my Cousin Ed got his body or head stuck in the swinging entrance gate leading from the lake there, requiring the Park Ranger's assistance in removing him from the gate. And I remember one memorable time when we drove back from the lake in the afternoon to Hopkinsville, only to have the station wagen in which we rode to the lake explode from its carburetor and catch on fire when we arrived at Dee Dee's apartment in town.
Now, I know those kinds of occurrences are anxious disasters for the adults who have to deal with the results of such emergencies. But those things are really cool for the kids watching the fire trucks pull up into the driveway, sirens blowing and lights flashing, and the firemen jumping out to try to put out the fire. And it was especially neat for Frank and Ed and I, sitting in our prestige seats on the back steps of the apartment building, watching the whole conflagration.
What joy for little boys. What memories.
It is no wonder that I have had so many nicknames over the years. When I was born I was "Tommy." I am still Tommy to most of my family, which is fine with me. This is a very common Southernism, to call somebody by the diminuitive form of his or her name.
When I went off to first grade, I announced myself to the teacher as "Tom." I guess that was a small rite of passage for me. That nickname stayed with me for most of my life.
When I was in high school, I acquired a number of nicknames: TB, TEB, Tebby, Uncle TEB, Uncle Tebby, and Tuna (which is still strange). Variations of all of those stuck to varying degrees. Most of these nicknames were given by teammates and friends in football or basketball. They seemed to flow and ebb depending on the time of the season.
When I started playing football in college, Coach O'Connell, the linebackers coach, called everyone by the diminuitive of their name, so I became "Tommy" once again. I also became TB and "B" (so called by one of the linebackers, who was also captain in my Junior year). For awhile, I was "Moonpie" for Mike "Moonpie" Wilson, who was a lineman at the University of Georgia at the time. At the end, the coaches referred to me as "Too Tall" because I played defensive end and was considered "too small" to play in that position. The head coach would kid me about my size throughout the first part of the football season, but then started calling me too tall when I began to rack up quarterback sacks and pass blocks toward the end of the season. "Too Tall" started off as a joke and ended up being a badge of honor in the end.
When I came to Griffin, one of my friends heard my wife call me Tommy and he began to use it too. Soon, a lot of people were calling me Tommy. Then again, one of the judges always referred to me as "Thomas". That stuck for awhile. Finally, one of my clients referred to me as "Mr. Birmingham", being his mangled version of my last name. I have also been called "Mr. Tom" which is another regional Southernism.
Sometimes nicknames are the result of a joke. Sometimes they come from attempts at trying to pronounce your real name. Sometimes they are a colloquil term which places you in the region in which you live. The best ones are the ones given by friends and acquaintances which reflect a connection between you and the person imparting the nickname.
I have never minded any of them. And I must say that it is nice to come from Hoptown, which lies on the northern side of the Black Patch, in the Pennyrile Region of Western Kentucky. Today, I was looking at pictures of State Parks in Kentucky on the internet. I happened to chance upon a picture of the lake at Pennyrile State Park, where Momma and Aunt Meg used to haul all of the cousins to swim during Summer trips to Kentucky to visit our relations. It brought back fond memories of summer fun in the water despite the worries about snakes in the lake. I remember watching some men trying to catch fish with their bare hands in the lake, and wondering how many water snakes they caught instead. I remember one time when my Cousin Ed got his body or head stuck in the swinging entrance gate leading from the lake there, requiring the Park Ranger's assistance in removing him from the gate. And I remember one memorable time when we drove back from the lake in the afternoon to Hopkinsville, only to have the station wagen in which we rode to the lake explode from its carburetor and catch on fire when we arrived at Dee Dee's apartment in town.
Now, I know those kinds of occurrences are anxious disasters for the adults who have to deal with the results of such emergencies. But those things are really cool for the kids watching the fire trucks pull up into the driveway, sirens blowing and lights flashing, and the firemen jumping out to try to put out the fire. And it was especially neat for Frank and Ed and I, sitting in our prestige seats on the back steps of the apartment building, watching the whole conflagration.
What joy for little boys. What memories.
Pondering the loss of open country
I had the opportunity to drive over to McDonough this morning to search a title. The road to McDonough has changed quite a bit since I was driving Judge Whitmire back and forth between Barnesville and McDonough back in 1983 and 1984. Sometimes you lose sight of how much change occurs when you are seeing it happen before your eyes. It has been several months since I had to travel to McDonough and I noticed quite a bit of change since my last trip.
When I first was employed by Judge Whitmire as his law clerk, I was living at home and hadn't found a place to live in Barnesville. I remember one morning in January driving down toward McDonough for a term of court from Dunwoody. As I approached the Hudson Bridge Road exit, I was surrounded by snow falling sideways across the highway. I remember pulling up onto the exit ramp on Hudson Bridge Road and looking around for a service station and a pay phone (this being in the days before cell phones). On that exit, there was nothing to see. I know now that there was a motel off to my right at the time, the Safari Inn, but the snow was falling so thickly that I couldn't even see it up over my right shoulder.
Nevertheless, the snow was so thick and there was no traffic on this road in North Henry County and nothing was there to speak of. I ended up turning around and heading back north toward Dunwoody to find that the freak snow storm extended from North Henry County down to Albany, Georgia. While it was very cold in North Georgia, there was little precipitation. I called Judge Whitmire who told me he had cancelled court and advised me to stay in Dunwoody. I remember eating lunch with Cindy and mom and dad at Perimeter and enjoying the time off with the girl who would soon be my bride.
But it is truly amazing how much change has occurred on this side of the city since that snowy day in January when there was no place to stop and place a phone call in North Henry County. Now, the road there is Eagle's Landing Parkway and has a huge residential, commercial and industrial development, with a hospital, and all the associated clutter that goes along with such a huge multi-use development. Everything to the south of that is covered up with development. It is difficult to find an open meadow which isn't being converted to some other use. All of the farm land that used to cover Henry County to the north, south, east and west is almost completely gone.
Now they are building a huge residential development in North Spalding County, which will touch the southern end of another huge residential development in South Henry County. As I drove down Georgia Highway 155 toward Griffin, road contractors were working on widening the road between Griffin and McDonough, taking up huge chunks of real estate. As they worked, contractors were working to build strip shopping centers and industrial sites along the road. They seemed to be in a race to complete their work ahead of one another. I suppose they were.
And here I sit, thinking how delightful it would be to buy some home grown tomatoes and peas.
I tried to grow tomatoes this Spring and Summer. The deer came in and ate the tops of the plants as they grew. I am still trying to protect my tomato plants. I may have to borrow my brother's bow and await the return of the pestilent deer. Of course, I might have to become proficient in field dressing deer. How would Cindy like it to wake up and look out the kitchen window one morning to see a deer carcass hanging from the patio superstructure? Probably about as much as my mother-in-law enjoyed seeing the pickup truck stuck on the side walkway of her house in Knoxville. At least we could eat the venison.
This loss of open country is sad to me. I wish there was more careful planning and preservation of the open land. At least I can still buy country vegetables at Louise's or at Cracker Barrell or at Country's Barbecue in Columbus. And I can still turn up the country music on my car radio every so often, as long as Cindy and Kate aren't in the car with me.
Don't fence me in.
When I first was employed by Judge Whitmire as his law clerk, I was living at home and hadn't found a place to live in Barnesville. I remember one morning in January driving down toward McDonough for a term of court from Dunwoody. As I approached the Hudson Bridge Road exit, I was surrounded by snow falling sideways across the highway. I remember pulling up onto the exit ramp on Hudson Bridge Road and looking around for a service station and a pay phone (this being in the days before cell phones). On that exit, there was nothing to see. I know now that there was a motel off to my right at the time, the Safari Inn, but the snow was falling so thickly that I couldn't even see it up over my right shoulder.
Nevertheless, the snow was so thick and there was no traffic on this road in North Henry County and nothing was there to speak of. I ended up turning around and heading back north toward Dunwoody to find that the freak snow storm extended from North Henry County down to Albany, Georgia. While it was very cold in North Georgia, there was little precipitation. I called Judge Whitmire who told me he had cancelled court and advised me to stay in Dunwoody. I remember eating lunch with Cindy and mom and dad at Perimeter and enjoying the time off with the girl who would soon be my bride.
But it is truly amazing how much change has occurred on this side of the city since that snowy day in January when there was no place to stop and place a phone call in North Henry County. Now, the road there is Eagle's Landing Parkway and has a huge residential, commercial and industrial development, with a hospital, and all the associated clutter that goes along with such a huge multi-use development. Everything to the south of that is covered up with development. It is difficult to find an open meadow which isn't being converted to some other use. All of the farm land that used to cover Henry County to the north, south, east and west is almost completely gone.
Now they are building a huge residential development in North Spalding County, which will touch the southern end of another huge residential development in South Henry County. As I drove down Georgia Highway 155 toward Griffin, road contractors were working on widening the road between Griffin and McDonough, taking up huge chunks of real estate. As they worked, contractors were working to build strip shopping centers and industrial sites along the road. They seemed to be in a race to complete their work ahead of one another. I suppose they were.
And here I sit, thinking how delightful it would be to buy some home grown tomatoes and peas.
I tried to grow tomatoes this Spring and Summer. The deer came in and ate the tops of the plants as they grew. I am still trying to protect my tomato plants. I may have to borrow my brother's bow and await the return of the pestilent deer. Of course, I might have to become proficient in field dressing deer. How would Cindy like it to wake up and look out the kitchen window one morning to see a deer carcass hanging from the patio superstructure? Probably about as much as my mother-in-law enjoyed seeing the pickup truck stuck on the side walkway of her house in Knoxville. At least we could eat the venison.
This loss of open country is sad to me. I wish there was more careful planning and preservation of the open land. At least I can still buy country vegetables at Louise's or at Cracker Barrell or at Country's Barbecue in Columbus. And I can still turn up the country music on my car radio every so often, as long as Cindy and Kate aren't in the car with me.
Don't fence me in.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday afternoon in West Central Georgia
Yesterday I had to go meet with some people in Fortson, Georgia. Fortson is about ten miles from the Columbus/Muscogee County line and probably about the same distance from the Alabama stateline. Not knowing the distance between the two, I suggested to Cindy and Kate that we could drive to Callaway Gardens for a couple hours and then I would leave them at the Country Store and meet the borrowers at their house. Cindy and Kate agreed to go.
At around 2:00, we set off for Callaway. The weather was sunny and hot. Kate was not feeling very up the trip but she slept on the trip over. Cindy read a book. We got to Callaway around 3:00. I dropped Cindy and Kate off at the main entrance and parked the car. There were very few cars parked in the lot. Of course, it was only a Wednesday afternoon. Still, I expected a few more people at the gardens.
I went inside and negotiated the purchase of an annual membership. Cindy and Kate went outside and sat in some chairs and gazed over the inlet for the lake at the entrance area. I joined them and we tried to identify the sweet smell wafting over the water.
We didn't have a whole lot of time to enjoy the different amenities available at Callaway. We finally ended up looking over the Butterfly center and the Sibley Center before we had to leave and go drop Kate and Cindy at the General Store. We couldn't take much time in the gardens because of my time and the fact that Kate didn't have much energy from her mononucleosis.
I drove down the mountain into Hamilton and turned West on a county road toward Alabama. After driving interminably through the hilly country covered with pine trees and nothing else, I came upon an overpass for I-185. As I passed under the overpass, I stopped at a stopsign for an intersection to discover a rough looking one story cinderblock building with about thirty or so cars and trucks parked around it. There were people standing around waiting to enter the building. Despite the cares, there were no signs or indicia of what was inside the building. At the last minute, as I drove past the building, I saw some lettering written in two inch tall characters along the soffit of the end of the building: HUNTERS PUB & STEAKHOUSE.
I continued on to the home of the borrowers and met with them for the cloing. In making small talk at the closing, I found out that the little building contained the eating favorite spot in Harris County. The special for Wednesday was two for one steak dinners for $21.00.
As I returned to the General Store at Callaway, I stopped at a gas station where I bought gas for $2.759. That was about twenty cents cheaper than I could buy it in Griffin or anywhere around. As I drove on, I noticed several other places selling gas for the same amount. I still don't understand how some people can sell gas for twenty cents a gallon cheaper than others, particularly since they are all in the same area. On the way back home, I saw gas for $3.09. Where is the connection?
I got to the General Store to pay the check for Cindy and Kate. They both told me that their meals were terrible. I told them about Hunter's Pub and both decided that it would have been better to drop them off at the Pub on my way to my closing. I stopped at the Purple Cow to get Kate ice cream and get Cindy some cake. Kate was so tired from the trip that she could barely make up her mind about what kind of ice cream she wanted.
I stopped at a little Italian restaurant in Pine Mountain. The food was ok. Not great. Nevertheless, we finally got back home and everyone could relax a bit before going to bed. What an afternoon.
At around 2:00, we set off for Callaway. The weather was sunny and hot. Kate was not feeling very up the trip but she slept on the trip over. Cindy read a book. We got to Callaway around 3:00. I dropped Cindy and Kate off at the main entrance and parked the car. There were very few cars parked in the lot. Of course, it was only a Wednesday afternoon. Still, I expected a few more people at the gardens.
I went inside and negotiated the purchase of an annual membership. Cindy and Kate went outside and sat in some chairs and gazed over the inlet for the lake at the entrance area. I joined them and we tried to identify the sweet smell wafting over the water.
We didn't have a whole lot of time to enjoy the different amenities available at Callaway. We finally ended up looking over the Butterfly center and the Sibley Center before we had to leave and go drop Kate and Cindy at the General Store. We couldn't take much time in the gardens because of my time and the fact that Kate didn't have much energy from her mononucleosis.
I drove down the mountain into Hamilton and turned West on a county road toward Alabama. After driving interminably through the hilly country covered with pine trees and nothing else, I came upon an overpass for I-185. As I passed under the overpass, I stopped at a stopsign for an intersection to discover a rough looking one story cinderblock building with about thirty or so cars and trucks parked around it. There were people standing around waiting to enter the building. Despite the cares, there were no signs or indicia of what was inside the building. At the last minute, as I drove past the building, I saw some lettering written in two inch tall characters along the soffit of the end of the building: HUNTERS PUB & STEAKHOUSE.
I continued on to the home of the borrowers and met with them for the cloing. In making small talk at the closing, I found out that the little building contained the eating favorite spot in Harris County. The special for Wednesday was two for one steak dinners for $21.00.
As I returned to the General Store at Callaway, I stopped at a gas station where I bought gas for $2.759. That was about twenty cents cheaper than I could buy it in Griffin or anywhere around. As I drove on, I noticed several other places selling gas for the same amount. I still don't understand how some people can sell gas for twenty cents a gallon cheaper than others, particularly since they are all in the same area. On the way back home, I saw gas for $3.09. Where is the connection?
I got to the General Store to pay the check for Cindy and Kate. They both told me that their meals were terrible. I told them about Hunter's Pub and both decided that it would have been better to drop them off at the Pub on my way to my closing. I stopped at the Purple Cow to get Kate ice cream and get Cindy some cake. Kate was so tired from the trip that she could barely make up her mind about what kind of ice cream she wanted.
I stopped at a little Italian restaurant in Pine Mountain. The food was ok. Not great. Nevertheless, we finally got back home and everyone could relax a bit before going to bed. What an afternoon.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Some good times, present and past
Today is Wednesday, the middle of the week. The day upon which I was born. A day, allegedly full of woe. Why is that? After today, there are only two more days until the weekend. That should bring some cheer.
Today I have two closings scheduled out of the office. One is in Molena at 11:30. The other is in Harris County at 6:30. I have arranged with Cindy to go to Callaway in the early afternoon and then go to my closing nearby outside of Hamilton in Fortson. I have wanted to do this for some time. I am excited about the prospect of some down time this afternoon. It is nice to be able to combine that with some work also.
This week and the previous week have been good ones. I am relatively even-tempered right now. I could use some physical exercise, but otherwise am fine. I have a full closing set for tomorrow and another one set for Friday. I need to search a title in Henry County before the end of the week. Probably tomorrow.
I have been thinking about travelling to Clarksville and Hopkinsville sometime. I would really like to go back to the homeplace sometime in the near future. I know there will be some sadness because the farm house is gone and the farm is now owned by the county. Most of my relatives live elsewhere. But still, it has been some time since I was there. Seven years. It has been a whirl.
I was talking to Kate about a trip Cindy and I went on back in the early 90's. We had gone to visit the in-laws in Knoxville, and left Kate with them while we travelled up into Kentucky. We started off by eating lunch at the Boone Tavern in Berea. We continued on up to Lexington and west to Bardstown. We stayed in an old farmhouse which had once been the residence for a farmer who raised horses. That evening we ate supper at a little restaurant where they specialized in local foods, like ham and mushrooms and bourbon. The bourbon soaked mushrooms were a delightful appetizer. After supper we went to the Talbot Tavern and drank a bourbon and water and watched a little bit of a baseball game. It was fun. The Talbot Tavern has been around since the early 19th century and has hosted many famous people over the years. It was neat.
The next morning we awoke early and toured the Old Kentucky Home, where the song of the same name was written. We followed that up with a ride through the country which led us to the Maker's Mark Distillery. The tour of the distillery was interesting and the place where the distillery was located had a little wooden building on top of a wall that ran along the narrow road to the distillery. Apparently, at one time the farmers who sold their grain to the owners of the distillery would get paid in whiskey from the little building above the wall.
Later that afternoon, we drove into Perryville and checked in to our bed and breakfast. The B&B was in an old building which had served as a hospital during the Battle of Perryville. It had been a private girl's school as well. After checking in, we drove into Danville and toured Constitution Square, where the state of Kentucky was formed, and then drove up to Harrodsburg. That night we ate at an old restaurant/inn in Harrodsburg.
The next morning we drove into Harrodsburg and toured Fort Harrod, which included a small log cabin where Thomas Lincoln and Nancy Hanks Lincoln were wed. After touring the fort, we drove over to a little building where a lady had traditional music playing every week. We met the lady and listened to her play for awhile.
Later that afternoon, we drove up to Pleasant Hill, a former Shaker community and toured the community. We ate a delightful meal in the central building and enjoyed atmosphere among the old buildings. We then drove across the Kentucky River, viewing the pallisades. That night we returned to Knoxville.
I would like to redo that trip, with an added side trip to Hodgenville to see Abraham Lincoln's birthplace. It has been a very long time since we saw that. I was a small boy. I would also like to see the monastery where Thomas Merton lived. It is also in the area.
Someday.
Today I have two closings scheduled out of the office. One is in Molena at 11:30. The other is in Harris County at 6:30. I have arranged with Cindy to go to Callaway in the early afternoon and then go to my closing nearby outside of Hamilton in Fortson. I have wanted to do this for some time. I am excited about the prospect of some down time this afternoon. It is nice to be able to combine that with some work also.
This week and the previous week have been good ones. I am relatively even-tempered right now. I could use some physical exercise, but otherwise am fine. I have a full closing set for tomorrow and another one set for Friday. I need to search a title in Henry County before the end of the week. Probably tomorrow.
I have been thinking about travelling to Clarksville and Hopkinsville sometime. I would really like to go back to the homeplace sometime in the near future. I know there will be some sadness because the farm house is gone and the farm is now owned by the county. Most of my relatives live elsewhere. But still, it has been some time since I was there. Seven years. It has been a whirl.
I was talking to Kate about a trip Cindy and I went on back in the early 90's. We had gone to visit the in-laws in Knoxville, and left Kate with them while we travelled up into Kentucky. We started off by eating lunch at the Boone Tavern in Berea. We continued on up to Lexington and west to Bardstown. We stayed in an old farmhouse which had once been the residence for a farmer who raised horses. That evening we ate supper at a little restaurant where they specialized in local foods, like ham and mushrooms and bourbon. The bourbon soaked mushrooms were a delightful appetizer. After supper we went to the Talbot Tavern and drank a bourbon and water and watched a little bit of a baseball game. It was fun. The Talbot Tavern has been around since the early 19th century and has hosted many famous people over the years. It was neat.
The next morning we awoke early and toured the Old Kentucky Home, where the song of the same name was written. We followed that up with a ride through the country which led us to the Maker's Mark Distillery. The tour of the distillery was interesting and the place where the distillery was located had a little wooden building on top of a wall that ran along the narrow road to the distillery. Apparently, at one time the farmers who sold their grain to the owners of the distillery would get paid in whiskey from the little building above the wall.
Later that afternoon, we drove into Perryville and checked in to our bed and breakfast. The B&B was in an old building which had served as a hospital during the Battle of Perryville. It had been a private girl's school as well. After checking in, we drove into Danville and toured Constitution Square, where the state of Kentucky was formed, and then drove up to Harrodsburg. That night we ate at an old restaurant/inn in Harrodsburg.
The next morning we drove into Harrodsburg and toured Fort Harrod, which included a small log cabin where Thomas Lincoln and Nancy Hanks Lincoln were wed. After touring the fort, we drove over to a little building where a lady had traditional music playing every week. We met the lady and listened to her play for awhile.
Later that afternoon, we drove up to Pleasant Hill, a former Shaker community and toured the community. We ate a delightful meal in the central building and enjoyed atmosphere among the old buildings. We then drove across the Kentucky River, viewing the pallisades. That night we returned to Knoxville.
I would like to redo that trip, with an added side trip to Hodgenville to see Abraham Lincoln's birthplace. It has been a very long time since we saw that. I was a small boy. I would also like to see the monastery where Thomas Merton lived. It is also in the area.
Someday.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Tuesday prayers
Tuesday.I am hopeful that things are getting better. They seem to be. I wish things were a little more even and not bouncing up and down. I woke up earlier than normal today. I am not sure why. The bed was comfortable but I couldn't translate that to going back to sleep. I hope I am not going to suffer as a result of the lack of sleep today.
I wish I could take an afternoon off and go to Callaway today. I have got too much to do. I really wanted to go there this past Sunday, but ended up helping Cindy clean up the house instead. It needed to be done. Things can get out of hand quickly.
Scattered. The weather is scattered. The news had a story about a farmer in Floyd County in North Georgia who has had an inch and a half on his corn since April. His corn is very small and the plants are about half what they should be. Who would want to do that for a living?
Kroger is showing a commercial about chicken. They don't mention the steroids used to make those chicken breasts bigger. They leave that to the news story about the professional wrestler who killed his family and himself. There is a connection.
There is a connection between the stock market and the economy but not a one for one connection. There are sincere troubles which the stock market doesn't mirror. The housing market and the money market are poor right now. The lending agencies are tightening the money available. This reduces the amount of money for homes and refinancing.
It is a different world in which we live. I pray for more rain and more economic health.
I wish I could take an afternoon off and go to Callaway today. I have got too much to do. I really wanted to go there this past Sunday, but ended up helping Cindy clean up the house instead. It needed to be done. Things can get out of hand quickly.
Scattered. The weather is scattered. The news had a story about a farmer in Floyd County in North Georgia who has had an inch and a half on his corn since April. His corn is very small and the plants are about half what they should be. Who would want to do that for a living?
Kroger is showing a commercial about chicken. They don't mention the steroids used to make those chicken breasts bigger. They leave that to the news story about the professional wrestler who killed his family and himself. There is a connection.
There is a connection between the stock market and the economy but not a one for one connection. There are sincere troubles which the stock market doesn't mirror. The housing market and the money market are poor right now. The lending agencies are tightening the money available. This reduces the amount of money for homes and refinancing.
It is a different world in which we live. I pray for more rain and more economic health.
Monday, July 16, 2007
A short little piece on the struggles of life
Monday. Not a bad day all in all. We got a good bit of struggle from folks but made a little money along the way. I still don't know about Mrs. Kennedy. She is driving me crazy. I don't know what to do about her. She has a lot of work to do and is willing to pay. However, a lot of her checks are bouncing around town. She says she will make things right, but every week brings another reason to question her motives.
These next few weeks will be a struggle. I wish Kate would get better. I am afraid her problems are psychological, rather than physiological. I'm not a doctor. Tomorrow will be a good day.
I think we all want stability. Right now things are strong. Tomorrow, who knows? Life is always a struggle. Go to Genesis and find out how and why.
No one avoids the struggle.
These next few weeks will be a struggle. I wish Kate would get better. I am afraid her problems are psychological, rather than physiological. I'm not a doctor. Tomorrow will be a good day.
I think we all want stability. Right now things are strong. Tomorrow, who knows? Life is always a struggle. Go to Genesis and find out how and why.
No one avoids the struggle.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Sunday morning again
Weather is such a strange determinant of mood. I woke up this morning to a grey cloudy world. I really feel like laying in bed all day, but don't think I would gain much satisfaction from it. I will go to church and serve as usher this morning and maybe the weather and my mood will be better afterward.
Of course that is not the reason for going to church. Its just that it would be nice to have a little secondary effect from the service. I need to get my life in line. Everything seems to be out of synch.
Nevertheless, things at the office have been turned in the right direction. I seem to be getting checks for my work on a fairly regular basis. Even when things seem to be going poorly, it is still a mixed bag.
Friday, I took the afternoon off and took Cindy to a movie about Edith Piaff. There were some good things about the movie, but both of us agreed that the story was told in an overly disjointed manner which was confusing and didn't really advance or tell the story in a way which was effective. Nevertheless, we followed it up by going to a French restaurant called "Babette's Feast" and had a fairly expensive but quite enjoyable meal with a good glass of Bordeaux and shared a delightful little dessert afterward. Every once and awhile, I like to spend a little more money than perhaps I should to take Cindy to a good restaurant and share a moment of elegance and taste with the one I love over all.
I really do think there is something spiritual about this. I have been interested in the central concept of a meal with God in both the Christian religion and in Judaism. It is strange that both religions have this element in their basis. Not that eating is essential to the theology. However, it is at least ironic that both religions call on its adherents to stop, sit around a table, and take a moment corporately to join together and acknowledge the presence of God at the table.
Eating is an essential part of living. Eating is necessary to our existance. At a minimum, eating should cause us to examine the source of our sustenance. When we stop before a meal and thank God for the food in which we are about to partake, we usually thank him for the food itself, as the source of same. But it is greater than that because we ultimately acknowledge God's place in our lives.
When Cindy and I stop and spend a little more money than is necessary to acknowledge our love and importance in the lives of each other. It is a symbol of the value we place on our relationship. This was the first date Cindy and I have been on in awhile. The time and money and desire was not there. But this time, Cindy and I got dressed up, drove to Atlanta, saw a movie and ate a nice meal. I personally think that was a good investment.
From an economic standpoint, perhaps this was not the best use of our money. But sometimes you need to invest in each other, to build the relationship itself. Our love for each other will take us along when other things will not. I truly believe that.
Of course that is not the reason for going to church. Its just that it would be nice to have a little secondary effect from the service. I need to get my life in line. Everything seems to be out of synch.
Nevertheless, things at the office have been turned in the right direction. I seem to be getting checks for my work on a fairly regular basis. Even when things seem to be going poorly, it is still a mixed bag.
Friday, I took the afternoon off and took Cindy to a movie about Edith Piaff. There were some good things about the movie, but both of us agreed that the story was told in an overly disjointed manner which was confusing and didn't really advance or tell the story in a way which was effective. Nevertheless, we followed it up by going to a French restaurant called "Babette's Feast" and had a fairly expensive but quite enjoyable meal with a good glass of Bordeaux and shared a delightful little dessert afterward. Every once and awhile, I like to spend a little more money than perhaps I should to take Cindy to a good restaurant and share a moment of elegance and taste with the one I love over all.
I really do think there is something spiritual about this. I have been interested in the central concept of a meal with God in both the Christian religion and in Judaism. It is strange that both religions have this element in their basis. Not that eating is essential to the theology. However, it is at least ironic that both religions call on its adherents to stop, sit around a table, and take a moment corporately to join together and acknowledge the presence of God at the table.
Eating is an essential part of living. Eating is necessary to our existance. At a minimum, eating should cause us to examine the source of our sustenance. When we stop before a meal and thank God for the food in which we are about to partake, we usually thank him for the food itself, as the source of same. But it is greater than that because we ultimately acknowledge God's place in our lives.
When Cindy and I stop and spend a little more money than is necessary to acknowledge our love and importance in the lives of each other. It is a symbol of the value we place on our relationship. This was the first date Cindy and I have been on in awhile. The time and money and desire was not there. But this time, Cindy and I got dressed up, drove to Atlanta, saw a movie and ate a nice meal. I personally think that was a good investment.
From an economic standpoint, perhaps this was not the best use of our money. But sometimes you need to invest in each other, to build the relationship itself. Our love for each other will take us along when other things will not. I truly believe that.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Alchemy
Under the dead-brown detrius of Winter
Lies the cool, blood-red clay
Into which, in concert with the sweet season of Spring,
We push the yellow seeds of corn
And go and await their birthing.
In Summer, the blades spring up from the loam
And reach for the sun's warm calling
Until golden tassles appear above
And the ears grow their silky sweaters.
There, one of the mules got loose
And made his way to the calling of the cornfield
And lopped the ears off
From several tall stalks
With his enormous teeth
Before we caught sight of his crime
And returned him to the dark, musty stable
And his penitence.
Where, hopefully chastened from the urgings of his larcenous heart,
The old mule found his way
To a dark, cool corner
And relieved himself of his ill-gotten corn load
And returned to his stall.
Several months later,
A crisp, green blade crept up from his forgotten pile
Where bright fire-red fruit
Soon sprang up from the holy bush
To augment our suppers in the late Summer sunset.
So God will bend our wayward heels
And turn our crimes to goodness in time.
A simple sign, a small miracle from the dusty dunghill, again.
Lies the cool, blood-red clay
Into which, in concert with the sweet season of Spring,
We push the yellow seeds of corn
And go and await their birthing.
In Summer, the blades spring up from the loam
And reach for the sun's warm calling
Until golden tassles appear above
And the ears grow their silky sweaters.
There, one of the mules got loose
And made his way to the calling of the cornfield
And lopped the ears off
From several tall stalks
With his enormous teeth
Before we caught sight of his crime
And returned him to the dark, musty stable
And his penitence.
Where, hopefully chastened from the urgings of his larcenous heart,
The old mule found his way
To a dark, cool corner
And relieved himself of his ill-gotten corn load
And returned to his stall.
Several months later,
A crisp, green blade crept up from his forgotten pile
Where bright fire-red fruit
Soon sprang up from the holy bush
To augment our suppers in the late Summer sunset.
So God will bend our wayward heels
And turn our crimes to goodness in time.
A simple sign, a small miracle from the dusty dunghill, again.
The afternoon arrives and brings sunshine and sweetness and the promise of better things to come
This day has taken a turn for the better. First of all, I went to the post office and found a letter from one of my clients with a sizeable check for my services. Next, I received two title requests in the morning faxes. Secondly, I spoke with someone for whom I had performed a closing and he informed me that Fulton County had told him that they would reimburse him for costs if they had not applied a payment we had sent back in early 2006. Next, I received a compliment from one of the title examiners in the Clerk's office and a promise of cookies. Finally, I received two more title requests in the afternoon. That will pop me up a bit.
Cindy is right. I do have a tendency to guage my mood by how the office is going. I am trying to work steadily and keep the business of the office on an even keel. I feel better and just need to start regular exercise in order to keep myself straight. I really need to keep Kate and Cindy exercising regularly as well. Everyone in the house needs exercise, even Tex.
Well, it is time to go pick up Cindy. More later.
Cindy is right. I do have a tendency to guage my mood by how the office is going. I am trying to work steadily and keep the business of the office on an even keel. I feel better and just need to start regular exercise in order to keep myself straight. I really need to keep Kate and Cindy exercising regularly as well. Everyone in the house needs exercise, even Tex.
Well, it is time to go pick up Cindy. More later.
The hangover continues
No matter how much money you have in the account or how many bills were sent out or how many promises to pay you receive, there are always more tugs on the old pursestrings awaiting you or your deposits. And it seems that the creditors are getting more ridiculous and they want to put pressure on you for the most trivial reasons, like a bill of $11.00 or $51.00. And they don't want to live up to their responsiblities and they want to make it extremely difficult on you when you do make arrangements to pay their silly little bills. And they are quick to take your money and make it difficult on you, but they are slow to respond to your needs. Because that is how they make money, you know.
It is true that when you have creditors, you work for them. It is a form of voluntary servitude. And you don't get out until you don't have them in your face at all. And how do you do that? You pass on to the other side and leave your debts and your things to your children to deal with. Materialism in all of its forms is a struggle.
Shuffle off the mortal coil, as Shakespeare said. Until that day, struggle and scrimp and save and pay and pay and pay. And try to find some pleasure and joy in the blue skies and the flowers the brighten after a rain and your spouse and your child. Enjoy the rain and the snow and every little detail of the life you are given. There are some gifts for which to be thankful.
It is true that when you have creditors, you work for them. It is a form of voluntary servitude. And you don't get out until you don't have them in your face at all. And how do you do that? You pass on to the other side and leave your debts and your things to your children to deal with. Materialism in all of its forms is a struggle.
Shuffle off the mortal coil, as Shakespeare said. Until that day, struggle and scrimp and save and pay and pay and pay. And try to find some pleasure and joy in the blue skies and the flowers the brighten after a rain and your spouse and your child. Enjoy the rain and the snow and every little detail of the life you are given. There are some gifts for which to be thankful.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Not every Tuesday is equal, but there is still hope
Tuesday has always been one of my favorite days. Could it be that I have held an affinity for Tuesdays since the last full day in my mother's womb in early December, 1956? Is that too silly or just gross? No, Tuesdays seem to be the day in which you catch the week by the collar and feel like something is manageable. Not like Wednesday, when you begin to lose your grasp on the things you wanted to do and the weekend is too far away. Or Thursday, when the work of the week is coming to an end and you can feel the sheer pleasure of the coming weekend. Or Friday, when you say, "Oh, what the Hell." and head into the weekend with your head down and a survivor's grin on your face. Or Saturday, when everything speeds along with you to a point where you hopefully fall back into the peacefulness of the late afternoon's dying color. Or Sunday, when your body drags and feels the pull of gravity and you can't move they way you want to or need to and you sullenly drift toward Monday. And the beginning of another week and the hope of things accomplished.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Back from vacation
Vacation is a wonderful illusion
If...you are lucky,
And I have not been lucky from time to time,
And everything works out and you cut loose
From the norm and everything is rosy
And the sun shines brightly
Or not, if you don't want sunshine,
And the place in which you find yourself
Is beautiful and lovely
And captures your heart and sends
You flying into the bright cerrulean
Like the bluebird of happiness
Winging your way into serenity
And being carefree
And finding love
And joy
And peace.
Hah!
If your luggage isn't lost and the plane's on time
And the food isn't forgettable
And the waiter isn't snooty
Or the hostess doesn't hate you
And seats you near the kitchen
And it doesn't rain all the time
And your partner isn't sick
Or overly sad
Or wishing she were elsewhere
Or wanting something to change
Or be different, or better, in some way,
Especially you
And you could have gone somewhere else
Or at a more temperate time of the year
Or chosen a different mode of transportation
Or made reservations at a better motel
Or used a more reliable rent a car company
Or leased a bigger car or reserved a larger bed
Or it wasn't soft enough or hard enough
Or the maid was nowhere to be found
And she didn't clean your room like your mother would
Or on time
Or she knocked on your door at an inopportune time
When you were just enjoying a little moment
Of peace and quiet
Or trying to turn this whole vacation around,
If you know what I mean.
And then you returned to the grey clouds
And the rainy misery of the work a day world,
The place you set out to leave in the first place,
That always awaited you at the end of the week
Like the shadow behind the closet door,
A familiar shade, grinning in the darkness:
Bon Voyage.
If...you are lucky,
And I have not been lucky from time to time,
And everything works out and you cut loose
From the norm and everything is rosy
And the sun shines brightly
Or not, if you don't want sunshine,
And the place in which you find yourself
Is beautiful and lovely
And captures your heart and sends
You flying into the bright cerrulean
Like the bluebird of happiness
Winging your way into serenity
And being carefree
And finding love
And joy
And peace.
Hah!
If your luggage isn't lost and the plane's on time
And the food isn't forgettable
And the waiter isn't snooty
Or the hostess doesn't hate you
And seats you near the kitchen
And it doesn't rain all the time
And your partner isn't sick
Or overly sad
Or wishing she were elsewhere
Or wanting something to change
Or be different, or better, in some way,
Especially you
And you could have gone somewhere else
Or at a more temperate time of the year
Or chosen a different mode of transportation
Or made reservations at a better motel
Or used a more reliable rent a car company
Or leased a bigger car or reserved a larger bed
Or it wasn't soft enough or hard enough
Or the maid was nowhere to be found
And she didn't clean your room like your mother would
Or on time
Or she knocked on your door at an inopportune time
When you were just enjoying a little moment
Of peace and quiet
Or trying to turn this whole vacation around,
If you know what I mean.
And then you returned to the grey clouds
And the rainy misery of the work a day world,
The place you set out to leave in the first place,
That always awaited you at the end of the week
Like the shadow behind the closet door,
A familiar shade, grinning in the darkness:
Bon Voyage.
First day of work back
Today is the first day of work back from a short vacation in Knoxville. I was somewhat surprised to get to the office a little bit late and find Patti had made it in early. She apparently was sick over the long holiday weekend. She went to the doc in a box to find that she had a sickness that had apparently been bothering her for some time. She was given shots and prescriptions to take and she feels much better now after several days of rest. That is good.
Today was a little hard to get back in the swing. I started out in my bed in our bedroom but had to switch to the bed upstairs because I couldn't get to sleep. Later, in the morning, I woke up and went down stairs to let Tex out. At first I couldn't find him. It turned out Tex had slept on the brown chair in the den because someone hadn't closed up the kitchen. Tex didn't want to go out. I finally got him to go out and then he didn't really do much of anything. Oh well.
I have been trying to take care of business this morning. Pretty successful, all around. I wish I was on vacation still. Oh well.
I don't think this particular blog is going anywhere. I'll leave it here for now. Maybe I'll get more creative later.
Today was a little hard to get back in the swing. I started out in my bed in our bedroom but had to switch to the bed upstairs because I couldn't get to sleep. Later, in the morning, I woke up and went down stairs to let Tex out. At first I couldn't find him. It turned out Tex had slept on the brown chair in the den because someone hadn't closed up the kitchen. Tex didn't want to go out. I finally got him to go out and then he didn't really do much of anything. Oh well.
I have been trying to take care of business this morning. Pretty successful, all around. I wish I was on vacation still. Oh well.
I don't think this particular blog is going anywhere. I'll leave it here for now. Maybe I'll get more creative later.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Vacation in East Tennessee, 7-4-07 through 7-8-07
I have been unable to write in my blog because my father-in-law's computer would not allow me to get online into this website to write. Kate thinks that this is because of the security measures that my father-in-law has on his computer. Could be. He is somewhat paranoid.
Tuesday was interesting. I left around 9:30 with Kate to go on a foreclosure run, first to LaGrange, then to Summerville and then to Chatsworth. These trips were not really all that close but the route was planned to allow Kate and me to continue on toward our eventual goal of Knoxville. I let Kate drive, which created a little anxiety (Sorry, Kate), but we headed into Summerville which is North of Rome, then backtracked to Calhoun and then to Chatsworth.
The trip was somewhat interesting. On my route to LaGrange, I found peaches and tomatoes. I'm not sure where the peaches were from, but they turned out to be fairly ripe and the tomatoes were good. The Courthouse in LaGrange is brand new and very nice. My first stop was on the front steps of a very attractive modern building. I cried out the sale and then crossed across the street to the car. We found relatively cheap gas (around 2.74) and then got on I-85 toward Atlanta and the exit off of 85 to Summerville.
Summerville is a rough little town with a really old courthouse fronting on an old downtown which has a lot of empty commercial space. I cried out the foreclosure sale as teenagers ran their skateboards down the sidewalks across the street. The video from "Its the end of the world as we know it" by REM ran through my mind and I mentioned it to Kate. We fantasized that every driver who operated their vehicles in manners which irritated us was the one we were disposessing in the foreclosure sale. That was a little mental revenge.
Again we had to backtrack toward Rome to get a route to Calhoun which would lead us to Chatsworth. Kate was rather pessimistic about us getting to the courthouse in Chatsworth on time to cry the foreclosure sale out between the time period for sheriff's sales. That meant we had to get there before 4:00 o'clock pm. We drove through the country on a winding drawn out road that took us through the center of Calhoun, past the old Cherokee capital of New Echota, past the former residence of Chief Joseph Vann, the Cherokee Chief who negotiated with the Federal government to avoid the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. Of course, nothing he could say would help. President Jackson was bound and determined to allow his concept of God's will to work.
We got to the courthouse in Chatsworth, which sat up on a hill overlooking a valley in which the city was situated. The weather was sunny with little fleecy clouds around the horizon. It was really pretty and the weather was not too humid or hot to make the weather unbearably hot.
When I got up on near the courthouse I noticed a chicken trotting around the courthouse. That was unexpected. Nevertheless, I cried out the foreclosure sale and popped back in the car and headed it North toward Tennessee. Several hours later we pulled into Maryville, which allowed us to work our way through the 5:00 o'clock traffic to the Airport Motor Mile through the valley between Maryville and Knoxville, then onto the Pellissippi Parkway to Northshore, which led us ultimately to Cindy and her parents.
I enjoyed our trip to Knoxville. We ended up enjoying the long weekend, with a little swimming, a little walk around the Knoxville Museum of Art, followed by a little hard to hear jazz and a walk around the site of the old City Market, which is now an open air area which is struggling to revive. There are some cute shops and some good bars and a couple of decent restaurants. Most of the people there are neo-hippies and older people. Quite a change from the old days when all the farmers from the area would come into town to sell their crops and their animals and there wares.
On Saturday, we drove down to a little town south of Knoxville on US 11 (the old Lee Highway)to nose around some little shops and antique stores and then ate lunch at a storefront restaurant. The meal was somewhat of a disaster with Cindy's meal getting all screwed up. We finally got everything straight and ended up in the store next door.
At that point, we were going to drive down to Athens to visit the Mayfield Dairy Headquarters and eat some ice cream. As it turned out, the place was hard to find and closed by the time we made it into the area where the place was located. As we headed back to the house, Kate wanted ice cream, so we went back to the ice cream shop attached to the restaurant. We worked our way back up US 11 to the house.
On the way we drove through the city of Loudon. Interesting. When we first came into town, it looked deserted. A lot of old storefronts abandoned by the former occupants. There didn't seem to be any commerce going on in the town. But then we made it to the north side of town, fronting on the south side of the Tennessee River. All of a sudden there were inns and restaurants and a lot of possibilities. It really was interesting.
After we crossed over the bridge, we made it to Lenoir City and then drove through the country to Harvey Road and the route to Cindy's parents' house.
Today, we drove back home after providing support to Missy and her parents as a result of a tragic shooting of some of the members of Missy's church. When we got home, it looked like it had rained quite a bit here. That's good.
Well, tomorrow is a work day. Ta ta for now.
Tuesday was interesting. I left around 9:30 with Kate to go on a foreclosure run, first to LaGrange, then to Summerville and then to Chatsworth. These trips were not really all that close but the route was planned to allow Kate and me to continue on toward our eventual goal of Knoxville. I let Kate drive, which created a little anxiety (Sorry, Kate), but we headed into Summerville which is North of Rome, then backtracked to Calhoun and then to Chatsworth.
The trip was somewhat interesting. On my route to LaGrange, I found peaches and tomatoes. I'm not sure where the peaches were from, but they turned out to be fairly ripe and the tomatoes were good. The Courthouse in LaGrange is brand new and very nice. My first stop was on the front steps of a very attractive modern building. I cried out the sale and then crossed across the street to the car. We found relatively cheap gas (around 2.74) and then got on I-85 toward Atlanta and the exit off of 85 to Summerville.
Summerville is a rough little town with a really old courthouse fronting on an old downtown which has a lot of empty commercial space. I cried out the foreclosure sale as teenagers ran their skateboards down the sidewalks across the street. The video from "Its the end of the world as we know it" by REM ran through my mind and I mentioned it to Kate. We fantasized that every driver who operated their vehicles in manners which irritated us was the one we were disposessing in the foreclosure sale. That was a little mental revenge.
Again we had to backtrack toward Rome to get a route to Calhoun which would lead us to Chatsworth. Kate was rather pessimistic about us getting to the courthouse in Chatsworth on time to cry the foreclosure sale out between the time period for sheriff's sales. That meant we had to get there before 4:00 o'clock pm. We drove through the country on a winding drawn out road that took us through the center of Calhoun, past the old Cherokee capital of New Echota, past the former residence of Chief Joseph Vann, the Cherokee Chief who negotiated with the Federal government to avoid the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. Of course, nothing he could say would help. President Jackson was bound and determined to allow his concept of God's will to work.
We got to the courthouse in Chatsworth, which sat up on a hill overlooking a valley in which the city was situated. The weather was sunny with little fleecy clouds around the horizon. It was really pretty and the weather was not too humid or hot to make the weather unbearably hot.
When I got up on near the courthouse I noticed a chicken trotting around the courthouse. That was unexpected. Nevertheless, I cried out the foreclosure sale and popped back in the car and headed it North toward Tennessee. Several hours later we pulled into Maryville, which allowed us to work our way through the 5:00 o'clock traffic to the Airport Motor Mile through the valley between Maryville and Knoxville, then onto the Pellissippi Parkway to Northshore, which led us ultimately to Cindy and her parents.
I enjoyed our trip to Knoxville. We ended up enjoying the long weekend, with a little swimming, a little walk around the Knoxville Museum of Art, followed by a little hard to hear jazz and a walk around the site of the old City Market, which is now an open air area which is struggling to revive. There are some cute shops and some good bars and a couple of decent restaurants. Most of the people there are neo-hippies and older people. Quite a change from the old days when all the farmers from the area would come into town to sell their crops and their animals and there wares.
On Saturday, we drove down to a little town south of Knoxville on US 11 (the old Lee Highway)to nose around some little shops and antique stores and then ate lunch at a storefront restaurant. The meal was somewhat of a disaster with Cindy's meal getting all screwed up. We finally got everything straight and ended up in the store next door.
At that point, we were going to drive down to Athens to visit the Mayfield Dairy Headquarters and eat some ice cream. As it turned out, the place was hard to find and closed by the time we made it into the area where the place was located. As we headed back to the house, Kate wanted ice cream, so we went back to the ice cream shop attached to the restaurant. We worked our way back up US 11 to the house.
On the way we drove through the city of Loudon. Interesting. When we first came into town, it looked deserted. A lot of old storefronts abandoned by the former occupants. There didn't seem to be any commerce going on in the town. But then we made it to the north side of town, fronting on the south side of the Tennessee River. All of a sudden there were inns and restaurants and a lot of possibilities. It really was interesting.
After we crossed over the bridge, we made it to Lenoir City and then drove through the country to Harvey Road and the route to Cindy's parents' house.
Today, we drove back home after providing support to Missy and her parents as a result of a tragic shooting of some of the members of Missy's church. When we got home, it looked like it had rained quite a bit here. That's good.
Well, tomorrow is a work day. Ta ta for now.
Monday, July 2, 2007
A look back to the beginning
I looked through some of the older blogs in the blogsite to see what I was writing about. I apologized for the lightness and sweetness of the writing. I think I got over that after the Asian guy shot up the campus at Virginia Tech. Now I think I am writing way too heavily and too purple. Kate thinks I am laying out my veins way too much. Cindy thinks I am writing too much about my problems and the problems of my clients. I know I edit them all to some degree or another.
But blood, blood, blood. Can't help it. It's my genetic predisposition. I guess some of the best stuff are the poems which are lighter than normal. On the other hand, the writings about the farm are pretty good. At least they strike a chord.
One of these days I will have to gather all this up and edit it down to a manageable and more interesting format. I am glad I am writing more poetry. That becomes my favorites. I also like to rant and write about issues which interest me. I guess you know that.
Well, I don't want to quit, yet.
But blood, blood, blood. Can't help it. It's my genetic predisposition. I guess some of the best stuff are the poems which are lighter than normal. On the other hand, the writings about the farm are pretty good. At least they strike a chord.
One of these days I will have to gather all this up and edit it down to a manageable and more interesting format. I am glad I am writing more poetry. That becomes my favorites. I also like to rant and write about issues which interest me. I guess you know that.
Well, I don't want to quit, yet.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Rituals
Life is different these days when it comes to the ritualistic elements of our lives in society. I remember not long ago considering the ritual found in this town (and other places in the South) of stopping your car when a funeral procession passes. Cindy and I have lived in Griffin since 1984. Despite this, we still don't know a lot of people who live in this town, and they don't know us very well. Nevertheless, when a group of citizens of this town dress up in their Sunday's finest and get in their cars to form a line in honor of one of the citizens who has passed on to his or her reward, we stop what we are doing and sit in our cars on the side of the road or stop our walk down the street and stand or sit in silence as the procession passes us by. This is in honor of the person who has passed on, but also is done in honor of the people who are participating in the procession.
This exemplifies a connection between us which may not be apparent when we fail to acknowledge each other on the sidewalks or in the strip shopping centers and restaurants and athletic fields of Spalding County. But the important thing is that there is a connection, no matter how tenuous.
The depth of that connection is another matter. Stopping your car on the side of the road when a funeral procession passes by is a simple effort on your part. How much more would be involved in making a daily connection with the people of this community? How much more would be involved in participating in the funeral and going to the graveside service? Who do we do this for? How often do we do this?
This past week, former Congressman Jack Flynt passed away and his funeral was held in the sanctuary of the First Methodist Church in Griffin. First Methodist Church is a large church with a large sanctuary. If a large group of Methodists were there, the sanctuary would be full. Jack was a congressman from this area for twentysix years. He also served in the state legislature, as a district attorney, and served in the military during World War II. If you had all the people he served as a politician or public servant you would have to fill the large meadow in front of the church with the overflow. He was a lawyer for many years. If you had the fellow lawyers, like myself, who served the public with him in this state and county and city, you would have many lawyers present.
And yet the place was not full. Does our failure to honor someone who was possibly the most important person in this community for a quarter of a century or more tell us something about the depth of connection you now find in this community? Is the end of the connectedness in this small town?
I think the level of ritualistic behavior is weaker today than it was before. Perhaps the truth is that we continue to exhibit ritualistic behavior. The difference is the connectiveness of the behavior in the overall society.
I think we all exhibit ritual in our lives. This ritual may be extremely individualistic or group-centered. The basic element of ritual is a behavior or set of actions which is habitual and symbolizes or exemplifies a higher set of beliefs. It can be as individualistic as the person who exhibits the ritual or as universal as the group who practice it.
However, the beauty of ritual lies in its ability to bind us together with each other and with different generations and times. The symbolic act effectuates community. A ritual which is individualistic is counter-productive and dry. It binds us to no one. There is no sense of community and the higher order to which it points is as individualistic as the person who practices the ritual.
The problem we have today is that no one seems to practice ritual communally or consistently. Even those who practice ritual don't practice as universally or consistently as before. We are slaves to our individual rights and actions and rituals which point to no one else but ourselves. The beauty of the community created by ritual is absent and we have lost the sense of communion.
This finds no greater example than in the church. The church began as a place of community and communal support. But in this country, the church is as individualistic as the culture. We create and recreate the church over and over again. We find it hard to bind ourselves together and constantly look for elements which point out the differences between us. This is not the basic tenent of the church of Jesus Christ.
This is where we fail. We should join together to commune with God and with each other. Ritual provides a way to exhibit our love for God and our communion with each other. This is so essential, yet lost so often in modern America. I mourn for the loss of communion in America and I mourn the loss of ritual in America.
Wednesday is the Fourth of July. There are many rituals associated with Independence Day. They should aim us toward a contemplation of our connection to each other and to the patriots who went before and took the steps to bind us together as a country. We should continue those rituals to represent the ideals of the Fourth of July as explained in the Declaration of Independence. Take the time this Wednesday to exhibit those rituals to show those ideals and that sense of community created in 1776 and hopefully present in today and the future.
This exemplifies a connection between us which may not be apparent when we fail to acknowledge each other on the sidewalks or in the strip shopping centers and restaurants and athletic fields of Spalding County. But the important thing is that there is a connection, no matter how tenuous.
The depth of that connection is another matter. Stopping your car on the side of the road when a funeral procession passes by is a simple effort on your part. How much more would be involved in making a daily connection with the people of this community? How much more would be involved in participating in the funeral and going to the graveside service? Who do we do this for? How often do we do this?
This past week, former Congressman Jack Flynt passed away and his funeral was held in the sanctuary of the First Methodist Church in Griffin. First Methodist Church is a large church with a large sanctuary. If a large group of Methodists were there, the sanctuary would be full. Jack was a congressman from this area for twentysix years. He also served in the state legislature, as a district attorney, and served in the military during World War II. If you had all the people he served as a politician or public servant you would have to fill the large meadow in front of the church with the overflow. He was a lawyer for many years. If you had the fellow lawyers, like myself, who served the public with him in this state and county and city, you would have many lawyers present.
And yet the place was not full. Does our failure to honor someone who was possibly the most important person in this community for a quarter of a century or more tell us something about the depth of connection you now find in this community? Is the end of the connectedness in this small town?
I think the level of ritualistic behavior is weaker today than it was before. Perhaps the truth is that we continue to exhibit ritualistic behavior. The difference is the connectiveness of the behavior in the overall society.
I think we all exhibit ritual in our lives. This ritual may be extremely individualistic or group-centered. The basic element of ritual is a behavior or set of actions which is habitual and symbolizes or exemplifies a higher set of beliefs. It can be as individualistic as the person who exhibits the ritual or as universal as the group who practice it.
However, the beauty of ritual lies in its ability to bind us together with each other and with different generations and times. The symbolic act effectuates community. A ritual which is individualistic is counter-productive and dry. It binds us to no one. There is no sense of community and the higher order to which it points is as individualistic as the person who practices the ritual.
The problem we have today is that no one seems to practice ritual communally or consistently. Even those who practice ritual don't practice as universally or consistently as before. We are slaves to our individual rights and actions and rituals which point to no one else but ourselves. The beauty of the community created by ritual is absent and we have lost the sense of communion.
This finds no greater example than in the church. The church began as a place of community and communal support. But in this country, the church is as individualistic as the culture. We create and recreate the church over and over again. We find it hard to bind ourselves together and constantly look for elements which point out the differences between us. This is not the basic tenent of the church of Jesus Christ.
This is where we fail. We should join together to commune with God and with each other. Ritual provides a way to exhibit our love for God and our communion with each other. This is so essential, yet lost so often in modern America. I mourn for the loss of communion in America and I mourn the loss of ritual in America.
Wednesday is the Fourth of July. There are many rituals associated with Independence Day. They should aim us toward a contemplation of our connection to each other and to the patriots who went before and took the steps to bind us together as a country. We should continue those rituals to represent the ideals of the Fourth of July as explained in the Declaration of Independence. Take the time this Wednesday to exhibit those rituals to show those ideals and that sense of community created in 1776 and hopefully present in today and the future.
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