The last day in November

The stress of Kate's seminar presentation is over. The biggest problem she had yesterday was trying to get in touch with Cindy and me. She had a lot of friends and professors in attendance at the seminar and she apparently did very well. Not that we had any doubts.

Now she and her female buddies from PC are going to Greenville tonight to watch a movie and eat a nice meal. That sounds nice but she needs money in her checking account to handle the cost. So Daddy will take care of that.

Today's calender entry is about Winston Churchill, whose birthday we celebrate today. Churchill was born to an English aristocrat and an American mother. He was related to the Duke of Marlborough (Spencers) and is a distant relative to Princess Diana, the former Princess of Wales. Due to his dicey lineage, Churchill was on the edge of the aristocracy his entire life. As a young man, he covered the Boer war in South Africa as a correspondent. He was captured by the Boers and held for a twenty five pound ransom. Apparently, the price for an English journalist was pretty low. Also it was apparent that no one really cared about journalists captured in the field, because Churchill escaped rather than wait for ransom to be paid. Churchill became the exemplification of that old saw about young men being liberals and old men being conservatives, because he was a member of the Liberal party as a young member of parliament and was later a Tory when he was Prime Minister.

I truthfully think that he probably played both ends against the other. He was a liberal who was appointed the First Lord of the Admiralty and apparently had a low opinion of the Royal Navy. In the entry on my calender, it quotes Churchill as saying, "Don't talk to me about naval tradition. It's nothing but rum, sodomy and the lash." He also apparently had quite enough of Field Marshall Montgomery, saying that he was "in defeat, unbeatable-in victory, unbearable."

Juxtapose against that his early distate for Adolph Hitler, who was beloved by many Englishmen, including the Prince of Wales, Edward VIII. Hitler was seen by many as the voice of conservativism in Germany, in opposition to the communists. Clearly, both sides were the bad guys in that battle.

Since he seemed to battle against both sides in Parliament, I suppose that it is appropriate that Parliament kicked him out as Prime Minister immediately after the war. His opinions were lauded in America, however, and he coined the phrase 'iron curtain' in a speech in Missouri. He had a strong relationship with FDR as well. That may have been the most prominent element in the winning of WWII. Those guys got along even when few of the allied commanders could agree.

Tomorrow brings us December: the birthday and celebration month. Just a matter of days.

Adverbs, again?

Cindy wanted me to write a piece for her benefit about adverbs. Cindy is convinced that adverbs, as a part of speech, are on the way out. And need to be preserved. Personally, I think adverbs are overrated. The formula for an adverb is to take a noun, verb or adjective and add -ly to the end. Of course, some adverbs are ornery and don't require an -ly at the end. Then again, some words are adverbs and some are not but they basically have the same meaning and function. For instance, "the kid ran fast." Or, "the kid ran quickly." ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

Now, Cindy deals with grammar issues all of the time. It has become her raison detre. However, I find that a practiced lack of grammatical expertise goes over better sometimes when you are dealing with clients and other folks.

Of course, Cindy is the adverb queen. She rarely corrects my language, if not for adverb use. Now there is the over-use of the word 'thing', I suppose. I hear a little bit about that from time to time. However, Cindy is quite happy to correct our rustic language. So it is a good thing to be lasse faire with your language around Cindy so she will have something to do. Something she can enjoy.

By the by, Cindy, the quote on my calender from C. S. Lewis talks about the desire of most folks to commit 'verbicide,' which he defines as the murder of a word. Lewis talks about how people seem to prefer a word to describe approval or disapproval of things, rather than specifically describing them. In this way the words become "purely evaluative-useless synonyms for good and bad." Lewis uses the word villain to exemplify this murder of words.

The word 'Villian' came from an Old French word meaning a peasant or serf who was tied to a farm or 'villa.' Later, the word became associated with a churlish, dishonest peasant, a response, I suppose, to the association by the land-owner that his farm workers were churlish and dishonest. Finally, the word evolved to mean simply a bad person. The association with the farm was completely lost to us.

I don't know if there are any other words like this, but I suppose there are probably many.

At this point, Cindy and I will acknowledge that there are not many people who are interested enough in the derivation and evolution of words that they would want to go on and on with this discussion or, for that matter, listen or read it. Thank God Cindy and I have each other. Otherwise, we would be doing this kind of stuff all alone. One on probably one coast and one on the other.

Thankfully, Cindy and I found ourselves this morning, looking up words on the Oxford English Dictionary, checking the derivation and various versions of certain words. Just having a happy old time. Most people would just roll their eyes and ignore us. I got a little linguistic cuddle out of it instead.

By the way, I included the picture of John Stuart Mill at the top of the page just to give you something to look at while you read about language. I didn't have a picture of Cindy, the Queen of Adverbs, to grace the top. Perhaps I should have. Maybe later.

C S Lewis

Today is the birthday of C S Lewis. Any English major who has a knowledge of 20th century English writers probably knows C. S. Lewis. Lewis wrote a series of children's books set during WWII in England. The books were set out in the country and involved children who were sent out into the country to avoid the blitz in London. Lewis used this setting for an allegorical tale which retold the Christian gospel through animals and mythological creatures and children. It is similar to J.R.R. Tolkien's Ring stories, but is probably more openly Christian than Tolkien's stories. My wife might disagree with that.

Lewis and Tolkien were contemporaries and colleagues in Cambridge. They were members of a group called the 'Inklings.' The American version of this group probably would be the 'Fugitives' from Vanderbilt University, although the Fugitives were not expressly Christian. But both groups came up about the same time and were supporting of each other and produced some mighty writers.

When I was in college, I read a book by C. S. Lewis for a literature of the supernatural seminar I took as a freshman. At that point, the Tolkien books were cultish and I really didn't like that type of fantasy literature. Cindy would kill me but I have never read any of Tolkien's books. I have read quite a few of Lewis's offerings.

Of course, Lewis wrote a ton of Christian apologetics. Lewis was close to John Stuart Mill in the sense that he really took things very seriously. I remember a story that one of my professors told about John Stuart Mill. Apparently, his father raised him as a Utilitarian and wouldn't allow him to experience anything influence which didn't have a utilitarian use. Mill was only allowed the pleasure of music. Everything else was forbidden him.

However, as a teenager, Mill realized that since there were only a finite number of notes that his one source of pleasure was also finite. He had a breakdown and broke with utilitarianism. Unfortunately for Mill the blues and jazz weren't invented. I think the creativity of blues and jazz might have perked him up a bit.

Of course, I think I might be tempted to say to Mill, "Get over it!"

Lewis shared a lot of Mill's seriousness about such things. I think a sense of humor is very important. Comedy will ride you over a lot of life's bumps. Remember that Kate.

But you knew that already. Read Aristophanes and Sophocles. You can learn a lot.

Family pictures from the west of England

I typed 'Baynham' in the web browser as I am want to do from time to time and picked up a website for some family pictures of Baynhams who are probably distantly related to me. I particularly like the old dude with the dog. That is James Baynham. There is no mention of the name of the dog. The picture is interesting to me because the man looks very young in his face but he has this bushy white (or blonde) neck beard. The picture of the Army group in the middle is a photograph of the members of the King's Shropshire Light Infantry (from the 40's I think) and John Baynham is fourth from the left on the second row. The soldier dressed in the garb from WWI is Henry Baynham.

I know that my particular branch of the Baynham family had been sent to America long before these members of the family were born, but it is nice to find some relations, even if they are somewhat distant.

I wonder sometimes if there are physical resemblances between my family and these distant relatives. I don't know if there are. I often think that my grandfather looked more like most of these distant relations. I don't know how you would figure that. I suppose you could have a computer evaluate the various features in these photographs and match them to photographs of my family.

I know I have a card in my office attached to a picture of Kate for an old soccer goalie from the Luton Hatters from the 50's named Ron Baynham. I have been told that he looks something like me. I guess that is in the eye of the beholder.

Stress and the test

Kate is stressing out a bit this afternoon. She has her presentation tomorrow for her senior seminar. She has been stressed out about this for some time. I am sure she will do fine.

Mike Gallagher sent me a video game where you shoot a picture of Ossama Bin Laden in a liquor store. Over and beyond the chauvinistic implications involved in the game, the game does have a tendency to reduce some stress. I told Kate that she might use this game for that purpose. Nothing like shooting off a few bad guys to reduce the stress level.

Anyway, I am sure she will do fine tomorrow and I wish she would not freak out about these things. But as I have stated previously, she comes by it honestly.

Kate, do some walking hither and yon. Watch some comedy. Take a hot bath. Breath deeply.

Computer problems

Today is Wednesday and I have been trying to work on the computers in my office. I worked on trying to get the wifi internet connection back up and running but without success. Yesterday I had downloaded firefox on my computer and have been trying to get everything back up and running on my internet connection on that computer without complete success. I have also been working on the other computer in the reception. Fortunately, that one works.

Computers are fun. I am not afraid of them and am willing to work on same when I need to. However, I don't like muddling through the morass when I don't really know what I need to know about them. This wifi situation has been like that.I would hate to have to get an expert in to work on it. Perhaps I can wait until Kate comes home from school and she can fiddle with it. It works otherwise.

Well, I need to work on other things. Tata for now.

Memories of the beginnings of investment bankers I have known

I attended college with a fellow from Pennsylvania who played football with me at W&L. This fellow ultimately ended up as an investment banker in Orange County, California. However, I remember him most as the happy go lucky strong safety, with a good bit of talent but little discipline for studies or practice before the games.

When we were seniors, our last football game was scheduled against Georgetown University on their campus, located just outside of the District of Columbia. Two years before, we had driven up to Georgetown, stayed at a fancy hotel in Alexandria operated by a W&L grad, and whipped the Hoyas by about forty points. I remember slowly driving through downtown Georgetown after the game, watching the downtown liven up with Saturday revelers, and seeing all the nightclubs and taverns going full tilt.

When we were seniors, the game would have more importance. Not only was this to be the last game of our careers, but Georgetown had a much better team than in previous years. As the Friday afternoon before the game arrived, we dressed in our suits and ties, packed our bags and congregated in front of the team bus which would take us to Alexandria for the evening. At the appointed hour, the team members and coaches gathered together and milled around the bus waiting as the coaches conducted a head count of the team members. As we the head count was completed, word got out among the players that one member of the team was missing: the senior strong safety from Pennsylvania.

The coaches got immediately angry at the missing team member and quickly sent various team members and coaches around the campus looking for our missing senior strong safety. As time continued to tick off the clock, word began to spread around among the players that there was a good reason why our senior strong safety was missing. Apparently, he had already driven to DC in his own car to spend some time with his long time girl friend the night before the game.

After having given the senior strong safety sufficient time to show himself, the coaches finally made the determination that he would not show and the bus headed up toward DC. Miraculously, the senior strong safety did in fact show up at the hotel the next morning, with some lame excuse about sleeping through the time for the bus trip. The coaches quickly informed him that he would not start this last game of his senior year.

Unfortunately, the Georgetown offense was quite proficient that year and the need for the expertise of this particular senior strong safety became quickly apparent to the defensive coaches. However, it was only after halftime that he would find himself put into the game.

That game ended up being quite a dramatic game, the tale of which should be told later. I'll save that tale for a later time. Finally, the game ended, we headed back to Lexington and most of us seniors went on to graduate the following June. Unfortunately, that particular senior strong safety was not to graduate with the rest of his class that June. Apparently, his cavalier attitude during his football career was mirrored in his studies, as well. Nevertheless, somehow that senior strong safety was able to come back the next Fall to work on his graduation requirements and was ultimately able to graduate as an English major by the end of the next year (how he ended up as an English major after four years of study I still don't understand). His adventures as an assistant coach to the football team during that subsequent year are an interesting story as well.

It was only later after he graduated from W&L that he would travel westward to the land of John Wayne and the California Republican Party and become the successful investment banker that he has become. Odd. Still don't know how that happened.

He and Jack Reeves, who was the idol to the young defense when he was the senior leader of the defensive line, did show up for our wedding. We still have pictures of quite a large W&L contingent that hot, moist afternoon in August, 1983. Everybody from W&L looked rather crisp and cool despite the fact that it was unbearably hot and humid that afternoon. I was really happy that they would take the time to come to the wedding.

Anyway, those were the humble beginnings of one California investment banker. I think Jack Reeves is back in Virginia now.

"The law is an ass"

According to my calender, on this date in 1784, an Englishman used creativity to avoid taxation. The Parliament had levied a tax on horses. This Englishman, in order to avoid the tax, rode a cow to market in Stockport. I don't know if he had the last laugh or if the tax-collectors ultimately were able to collect tax on the cow. Tax collectors and judges can be quite creative when it comes to levying taxes and fines and such.

Parliament had to be quite creative themselves in coming up with new things to tax back in those days. The desire to wrest control of North America caused quite a lot of hardship and expense on France and England in the seventeenth century. That struggle actually led to the American Revolution and the French Revolution and the ultimate loss of most of the British Empire in North America. The instrument which led to the struggle and strife was the taxation power of the Chancellory of the Exchequer. William Pitt was elected the youngest Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer. In order to pay for all the military struggles with France, the Chancellory had to levy taxes any way they could. Pretty soon everything you produced or used in the British Empire was taxed one way or another. Ergo, the Revolutionary War and American Independence.

This all reminds me of a law case I read when I was in law school which arose in Sydney, Australia. A begger had been arrested for riding a horse in a public park in Sydney. The begger argued that he was riding a bird and not a horse. The begger argued that he was sitting on a cushion which was filled with down. Since down came from a fowl, and a definition of a bird was an animal with feathers and two legs, the animal upon which the begger rode was a bird. The appellate court in Australia overruled the conviction on the factual basis that the begger was not riding a horse, but, instead, was, by definition, riding a bird. Since the animal was a bird and the statute didn't proscribe the riding of birds, the conviction was overruled.

That reminds me of a ruling entered by Judge Whalen in a drug case several years ago. The Sheriff had received a tip that a Fed/Ex package was enroute to delivery to a citizen of Spalding County, which package contained illegal drugs. Rather than acquire a search warrant and search the van, the sheriff's deputy stopped the van, opened the package, found the drugs, resealed the package and followed the delivery van to the residence and arrested the recipient after delivery.

When the case came before the judge, the defendant argued, rightfully, that the deputy sheriff should have acquired a search warrant before conducting the search. A Motion to Suppress was filed by the defendant and argued and Judge Whalen grudgingly granted the Motion. However, Judge Whalen, being the former prosecutor that he was, inserted an editorial jab at the law and the appellate courts by including a quote from Shakespeare, saying, "If that is the law, then the law is an ass."

That quote may not be exact, but you get the idea. Judge Whalen was quite humorous from time to time. His funeral earlier this year ended up being a succession of humorous lawyer stories. I have known quite a few humorous judges and district attorneys and assorted lawyers in my time. It may seem strange to most laymen, but I enjoy the company of lawyers more than most others. We always seem to have the best stories.

When I was a first year law student, we could always get my criminal law professor, Professor Kurtz off task if we could just get him to start telling lawyer jokes. There were at least three or four instances in which he wasted the entire class period in telling us lawyer jokes. He was the Woody Allen of the Georgia School of Law.

I had a contracts professor in my first year who always had the students stand and answer questions in the socratic method popularized in the movie, 'Paper Chase.' During the second quarter, Professor Holmes got off the socratic method and delivered his lessons in lecture form. When we began the third quarter, Professor Holmes began the first class by calling on one of the students. The chosen student inquired if Professor Holmes wanted him to stand. Professor Holmes responded, "or kneel."

Professor Holmes was also the faculty member who ran the March Madness lottery. I remember seeing Professor Holmes flipping a coin in front of the law library to see who would have the first choice of team in the lottery. I also remember that Mike McDaniel, who has been an assistant district attorney in Dekalb County for a long time, had the second choice when we were third year law students. We all piled into his apartment with a case of beer and some pizza to cheer Georgetown University over UNC. I don't think I have cheered for a team in the championship game, short of UK, of course, like we cheered for Patrick Ewing and the Georgetown Hoyas. Unfortunately, UNC won on an errant pass by one of the Georgetown guards, which was intercepted at the end of the game by one of the UNC guards. I have hated UNC since I was a freshman at W&L and UVA made it to the championship game in the ACC tournament. All of the students from Virginia were excited to have UVA showing anything in the ACC tournament. Hell, UVA had played us earlier in the year in Lexington.

Of course, UVA lost its allure when the damn wahoos crashed our party at the Pines at Randolph Macon and the security guards made us fold up our private party with the girls from Randy Mac because we had too many 'men' at the party. The Pines were private cabins on the campus at Randoph Macon which could be rented by the students for private parties. The only problem was you had to limit the occupants of the cabin to a specific number as registered when you reserved the cabin.

I will never forget sitting on the grass on that August evening, playing my guitar for a sweet young thing, and some other football players from W&L, only to hear the obnoxious noise of the security guards calling for us to close the party and seeing all the damn wahoos flushing out of the cabin like a bunch of circus clowns leaving a miniature car. Don grabbed the stereo and all of our records and I not only lost the girl in the grass but somewhere in the process lost my copy of 'Derek & the Domino's Layla and other Love Songs.'

Yeah, a bunch of damn wahoo clowns.

In the old days, there were W&L, UVA, VMI and VPI. All those sister institutions which played each other in athletics and competed for students in Virginia. I have to remember sometimes when I refer to the damn wahoos, because a number of my friends from W&L ended up going to law school in Charlottesville.

Callifudge

The word for today is: callifudge. This is an old English word for a trick, hoax or swindle. There are so many old words which are no longer in congress in the English language which words are quite sufficient and lend a word which sounds more like what it describes. Callifudge is one of these. I would assume that callifudge is akin to the phrase 'fudging' the figures. It sounds a little more old-fashioned, but has an alliterative quality which rolls off the tongue nicely.

What a callifudge!

It truly sounds better than trick or hoax. It probably conveys a level of meaning which is less than fraud, but more than a simple trick. Perhaps a harmless hoax. Perhaps a little more than a practical joke. A little less than a con.

Callifudge!

Rain, rain, please stay awhile

This morning arose, again, with a dreary drizzle. We have had so little rain over the past months that it actually is nice to receive a morning with drizzle. It does create a problem for walking the dog; however, that is such a small concern.

I will say this: Tex has a few peculiarities which really bother me from time to time. First of all, Tex does not like to walk on fallen leaves and pine straw. I think he likes to see what he is walking on. Next, Tex does not like the rain. However, when he needs to go, he loves to park himself somewhere near the house and sit until the urge to purge comes. Both of these peculiarities present problems. First of all, if you need to get Tex into the yard to do his business and it is Autumn or Winter, he is going to balk at walking in the leaves or pinestraw. This presents the problem of dragging Tex into the yard, against his wishes, until he finds a smooth area to relieve himself. Next, if it is raining, Tex will skulk into the yard next to the house, providing himself with shelter but usually leaving the walker out in the open to get damp. Then, Tex will take his own d____ time about it, thus allowing the precipitation to thoroughly dampen the walker. Fun.

Regardless, it is good to get some rain again.

Yesterday afternoon, I took a nap after lunch and Cindy showered and dressed. Around four thirty, I came down stairs and we drove over to church for the 'hanging of the greens'. Last year, the church scheduled a service on the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving to decorate the church, eat some homemade soup and cornbread and have a little service to remind us of the significance of the decorations. Cindy and I enjoyed last year's service and this year's service was no exception.

AC and Sue Hutson provided soup and cornbread which warmed the bones from the cold of late November. Then we followed that with a short service and the decoration of the sanctuary and narthex. After a good evening of fellowship, food and worship, we came home.

Now comes the bad part. Later that night, Cindy began to experience gastric difficulties. This morning, she is at home trying to recover. At lunch time, I will go to the grocery and buy provisions. I hope she gets better soon.

Thanks to Scarlett

Yesterday, we worked on avoiding having to come home. After assisting Kevin and Susan and Frank and the girls to get their stuff downstairs and out the door and headed homeward, Cindy, Kate and I then worked on trying to get the car packed for our return home, doing this in such a round a bout way as to nearly obviate the task.

We were finally able to say goodbye to mom and dad and head the car into Apalachicola for one more time of Christmas shopping, browsing and trying to keep warm against the cold November winds blowing from toward Pensacola. We ate our last meal of seafood from the coast at the Apalachicola Grill, an old place on the corner, where the road (98) takes an abrupt left, and creating one of the more unusual traffic patterns. This intersection is right at the center of town and 98, as said previously, goes to a stop, then quick turn to the left toward Mexico Beach, St. Joes, and Panama City. The drivers heading west have the right of way. Everyone else must stop and wait. Kind of odd.

At the restaurant, now apparently owned by some women living an alternative lifestyle judging by the rainbow flags in profusion and the absence of men working on the staff, I ate a soft-shelled crab sandwich. It reminded me of my first soft shell crab experience. We were eating in Dunwoody with my parents at one of those places in Dunwoody Village which cannot stay open in one restaurant, but changes every few months. Anyway, I ordered the soft-shelled crab. Upon delivery from the kitchen, I put the ordinary condiments on the crab and then started eating said crustacean whole. My mother, who was born in Florida and should know better, opined that I should not eat the whole thing. I tried to inform her that soft-shelled crabs are, in fact, eaten whole. She spent the rest of our meal watching me with a mixture of horror and concern on her face, as I ate the crabs.

I will admit it does take a little bit of effort on your part to eat whole what is ordinarily taken a part, the hard parts removed, and then eaten carefully to avoid the ingestion of shell. I will admit that eating crabs in their soft-shell version is somewhat easier than picking apart the meat from the shell and eating the meat. However, it also requires some mental effort on the part of the eater to forget that the soft part around the meat, would be hard and inedible if the crab were left to its own devices. Of course, I suppose that if left to his own devices, the crab would prefer not being ingested at all.

Nevertheless, Kate, Cindy and I all agreed that we had eaten enough oysters and other seafood this week. The oystermen can relax. At least until Christmas Eve.

Now today, the sky is dreary and there is a solid mist falling on the world of Central Georgia. As Kate finished packing her automobile, I called her to the driveway, where I pointed out the late November beauty to be seen from the driveway in her little house in Griffin. The browns, oranges and russets were magnificent. I reminded her that beauty was all around her for the examination. And that she should come home and enjoy the beauty in her own home town.

I don't know what was different. Perhaps it was the dreariness of the day. Perhaps it was the absence of anything at home to await us when we arrived. Perhaps it was just the realization that Kate will be graduating from college soon and that, perhaps, she will be packing and bidding adieu more permanently soon. At any rate, there was something more permanent about her leaving today. I tried to make her leaving a bit more profound. Perhaps more than the normal hug and wave from the end of the driveway.

Oh well. Tomorrow is another day.

What lies before us

When I woke up this morning, my sheet was wrapped around and underneath me. The sun had come up and I could hear what sounded like the rest of the house up and running around. I brushed my teeth, put on a pair of sleep shorts and came up stairs. Someone had taken the time to prepare hot cinnamon rolls and so I took advantage of the possibilities and ate cinnamon rolls and pulp-less orange juice. Am I the only one who likes a full-pulped glass of orange juice? Don't they realize that pulp in your orange juice makes the orange juice actually taste like real squeezed orange juice?
Its like crunchy peanut butter. You need the crunch to add the true flavor of the peanut.

The Thomas E. Baynham III family is now, no, was in a modified magic puppy pile, but Cindy has now abandoned the puppy pile and is pronouncing her requirements of the kid from the entrance to Kate's room.

This may be the first interactive, shared responsibility blog of this blog spot. Does Kate have anything to add?

Yes, indeed. I would like nothing more than to be able to sit on the beach with my family sipping on bloody mary's, but rather, my mother insists that I get all gussied up for a picture, excuse me, portrait. I think this her payback for the fact that I refused to pay a $20 sitting fee for senior portraits that would have looked horrible anyways. que sera sera.

Dad, anything else?

Yes, why no senior picture, Kate? Was it money problems or a distrust of the photographers?

I guess I will have to come back later and correct all the spelling errors. Kate, as you may have noticed is coming closer to becoming an effete alcoholic.

An effete alcoholic is one who gets consistently and adequately drunk on hoity toity drinks. Beer alcoholics are ones who are usually older white guys. Wine alcoholics are usually old dudes on the street or people who spend an inordinate time in the wine regions of California. The guys who drink sterno work in the kitchens of hotels. Effete alcoholics end up drinking martinis or cosmopolitans, depending on gender.

Kate says that when she drinks she only drinks the cheapest beers available if left to her own devices. She promises only to drink like an effete alcoholic if drinking on someone elses' money.

I am sure this whole conversation disturbs her mother. I suppose the fact that Kate picked Hunter S. Thompson as one of her idols is troubling. I also suppose that my picking Ernest Hemingway as one of mine was troubling to my parents. It is hard to find a modern American writer to pick for a writing idol. I suppose my regard for Walker Percy was a good choice.

Any choice for an idol is bound to provide problems. Idols per se are troublesome.

Thanksgiving morning hullaballoo

About five in the morning Cindy or the storm which woke Cindy woke me up. Cindy went into straight Katrina mode and started dressing to wake up the house so we could evacuate to the safest highground, which, given the location of St. George Island, Florida, would be about four hours away in Americus, Georgia. That would involve quite a haul. While she rearranged our room for easy abandonment, I started to wake up.

Fortunately, by the time she got the television on and was able to get an emergency wheather channel to tell us it was really windy and wet, the storm subsided and I rolled over and turned off my light and went to bed.

This has been an example of how Cindy and I handle emergencies.

St. George Thanksgiving

After waiting until 5:30 in the afternoon to leave yesterday, Kate and i gassed up the car and headed toward Columbus and Phoenix City. We stopped to eat at Country's Barbecue on the Chattahoochee River. Unfortunately, it was all you can eat chicken night and the place was packed. After about an hour, we got back on the road. We did stop to get topped off with gas at 2.94 a gallon, but then we dove into the blackness of East Alabama. And I do mean 'blackness,' for there didn't seem to be many streetlights or headlights in East Alabama as we headed south towar Eufala and Dothan an Panama City (the Redneck Riveria). As we passed through South Phoenix City, Alabama, Kate and I came across Cafe 431 in a strip shopping center. This little bistro looked rather promising and trendy, at least by its name. However, the presence of a painted concrete rooster in front of same kind of detracted from the 'coolness' of the place. Neither Kate nor I could quite figure out where the owners were going with the name and the chicken.


As we drove toward the coast, we drove through an awful lot of nothing. Punctuated, however, with the pretty city of Eufala and the larger expanse of Dothan. Kate was a little concerned with the route we were taking, since my instincts didn't always jibe with mapquest. There was a particularly troublesome time at the northern environs of Dothan when I decided to take a left rather than a right, as proposed by mapquest. I think Kate was afraid we might end up in Dothan forever. After several hours of driving in the darkness, we finally motored into the center of Panama City, then took two extreme rights and ended up driving through another great expanse of darkness which lead us through an air force base, the deserted downtowns of Mexico Beach and St. Joseph. By the time 12:30 rolled around, we had made it to St. George Island.

Cindy was somewhat awake as we arrived on the second floor of the condo. She seemed a little bleary, no, perhaps, a lot bleary as I took off my contacts and clothes and popped into bed. The next thing I knew it was morning and I found my way upstairs to breakfast and the rest of the family.

Frank and Maggie and Lily arrived this afternoon, while Kate and Cindy and I were shopping and looking around the stores before we headed into Boss Oyster for the tradional beginning of Thanksgiving. As you can imagine, I ate my three dozen roasted oysters (delicious) and came back to the condo for brownies and vanilla ice cream. Now everyone is upstairs and I am taking the time to sit at Kate's computer and write down a little bit about the day and the week and the time we will share for the next couple of days.

I love Apalachicola. It is so old Florida and really ends up being a throwback to what Florida was like when it was still part of the established part of a state which was predominately frontier. The docks are full of shrimp boats and the oysters are still plentiful. Some things change a tad, but more remains the same.

It was nice to sit with the crowd and enjoy each other. We do get along pretty well when we get the chance to be there with each other. It is too bad we don't get together more often.

Well tomorrow is bloody mary morning, which Kate has been looking forward to for awhile. The afternoon will be turkey and dressing and football and more people than you can shake a stick at. Quite a crowd. Friday should be fun, with more time spent in town with the family and the afternoon watching Santa Claus coming into town on a shrimp boat, which is what Santa does in these environs.

Saturday will come soon enough, and we will head back to Griffin. Sunday afternoon will come and Kate will be going back to Clinton until Christmas. The days fly.

Too many options

Well, today I need to get my clothes packed and Tex packed off to the pet boarding place and get the car packed and then pack some gasoline in the Toyota and head down to St. George Island. Unfortunately, there are too many options available for routes from Griffin to St. George. I am seriously considering going to Panama City and cutting eastward from there to Apalachicola. Patti says it only takes them four hours to get to Panama City from Lamar County, going the eastern Alabama route. I think I'll try it and take Kate out to eat at the barbecue place in Columbus. That should be a good start. Good barbecue followed by the best oysters around. Who needs, and I realize I have said this before, yes, who needs turkey?

Ok, ok, the turkey does help with the dressing.

There are many possible recipe options as far as dressing is concerned for turkey at Thanksgiving. I have had many different types of dressing and I have pretty much liked them all. With some notable exceptions. There was one recipe I remember which was too dependant on pre-canned and pre-made ingredients. I know it was easy and helped with the preparation of the feast. However, this is a time for real cooking, not just assembling ingredients.

But truthfully, I am not that picky. Just hungry, mostly. I even liked the turkey and dressing they served in the cafeterias of old. However, my grandmother's recipe is superlative. Fashioned into 'pones', which is an Indian word, I believe, and frozen, then reheated and served with turkey and gravy, this dressing recipe is wonderful. I would be willing to throw Martha Stewart, Paula Deen, and anybody else you might want to throw into the mix together and let them come up with something to match my grandmother's dressing, and I think they would all fail. As much as I like those guys there is little chance for them to come up with something to beat the Platonic ideal.

Come Thursday, Frank and I will jockey for position to see who can eat the highest number of pones at one meal. If Kevin wants to join in he is welcome. This is work for men, not boys.

But leave the oysters to me.

And there better not be a red tide or anything else which would adversely affect the crop in Apalachicola Bay. Come Wednesday morning, I want to see those boys standing in their oyster boats, each with a tall stack of oysters propped on their bows, riding the water, tongs in hand. And working at it. Because, I will be there to be served. You all should make some money this week.

I love months with 'r's' in them.

FUBALL, sports and the Swing

I liked this picture. It is from the victory of my alma mater against the Bridgewater Eagles. I used to refer to them as the 'Beagles'. We would eat the beagles every year. I am glad that the universe has been restored and we are now beating Bridgewater like we used to. When I played, we had never lost to the Eagles. I even scored against Bridgewater in my senior season (a safety, where I tackled the punter in the end zone).

Bridgewater was where I first saw the bizarre spectacle of women playing field hockey. How odd. I wish I had a picture of that. It reminded me more of the croquet match in Alice in Wonderland, where the chess pieces play croquet with live flamingos. The last time I saw something resembling that was when I watched a lacrosse match at UGA. Those bulldogs had no idea how to play lacrosse. Wacking at each other and at the ball with their lacrosse sticks, trying futilly to pick up the ball from the ground and carry it goalward.

It was good to consider something athletically that I was certain my college would defeat one of the big state universities if they were to play each other. Back then, we consistently beat UVA and UNC and Duke and came close to beating Maryland in the rain at Scott Stadium in College Park(who ended up Number #1 that year)in my Freshman year. We had a great time sitting in the stadium at UVA watching the blue and white take apart the damn wahoos that year. I'm still not sure how we secreted that cooler full of beer into the stands without anyone stopping us. I do know that Pearl Light is a sad choice when picking a beer for an athletic event. I spent more than half the game in, or going to or coming back from the men's room.

Truthfully, I loved to sit in the Spring sunshine, looking out over the Blue Ridge, with a cup of coke topped with a little Kentucky sour mash, watching the boys whoop up on UVA and UNC and Duke in lacrosse. There was a real sense of accomplishment there. Particularly when we got to beat one of those schools which turned me down for admission. During my years there we consistently did that. W&L is still tough in lacrosse, even though they don't play the big boys anymore. We do regularly whip the VMI's every year in the Lee-Jackson game.

I also enjoyed driving my convertible up to the baseball field across from the Liberty Hall ruins, with a twelve pack of beer to watch an afternoon baseball game. Top down, fleecy clouds, sunshine. We might even watch the game played. If the team wasn't playing well, we could walk down to Wilson field to watch the lacrosse game. I really think that the short Spring semester was critical to making us forget the cold, dreary Winters in Lexington and the ideas that came to us from time to time of transferring to warmer climes, like Miami or UGA.

And we are pretty hot in wrestling, swimming, golf and tennis and all of the women's sports (oddly, since it wasn't that long ago when we were all male).

Anyway, "cheer, cheer for Washington and Lee. We're going to win another victory." The W&L Swing. Far and away, the best fight song of all time. Particularly as played by a Dixieland Jazz Band. Listen to Pete Fountain handle it back in the 60's. Pretty hot. That fight song was made for a hot Dixieland Jazz Band.

Oysters, dancing in our heads

It is after five in the afternoon and I am sitting at my desk killing time until I go home and let the dog do his business, the only question being which part of the yard do I let him create in. Right now, I am thinking about oysters. When I was young, my contact with oysters occurred on Christmas Eve when my father would have his annual bowl of oyster stew for his birthday. For my brother and I, Christmas Eve was the day when we ate pot pies from Swanson and watched our dad open up the packages containing the items my mother had picked out for him. It always seemed a little sad. Too many shirts and ties, not enough toys.

My dad always had oyster stew for his birthday. It has come to my attention that the injesting of oysters on Christmas Eve is an Irish custom. This would make sense in context. My paternal grandmother's family was from Dublin (the Cooley side, anyway). Her father was a groceryman, who could get oysters even if no one else could. He had the connections. So, if anyone in Montgomery County, Tennessee was going to eat oysters on Christmas Eve, and continue the Irish custom, it would be my family.

For several years now, my parents have been renting a house in St. George Island, Florida for the week of Thanksgiving. From the first year, when everyone was together on Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving, we would drive in to Apalachicola and eat at 'Boss Oyster.' Boss Oyster has a large seafood menu; however, their main menu item is the oysters which are harvested in Apalachicola Bay, just inside St. George Island. In the first year, I ordered a menu item called "Roasted Oyster Feast." When everyone else's order arrived, my oysters were nowhere to be found. The waitress realized that they hadn't put in my order. She went back into the kitchen, got my order fixed and came back and pulled up a stool next to my chair and shucked oysters for me until I had finished the four dozen on my tray. Ever thereafter, I have been the show, eating several dozen oysters while everyone else ate their piddling meals.

I always feel better after that first night's meal. I really don't need turkey the next day. Truthfully, after that first meal, everything else is just surplus.

So, tomorrow night, Kate and I will drive down in my trusty Toyota Solara to the Redneck Riviera, and sleep a good sleep, with visions of oysters dancing through our heads. Dancing oysters.

I do love oysters, but it still boggles my mind to think of the first guy who ate one, back in pre-history. He was either very hungry or very loaded.

A friendly visit

I had to drive over to the Spalding Hospital this afternoon to meet with some borrowers for a real estate closing. The borrowers were supposed to meet with me at my offices, but the husband went into the intensive care unit of the hospital and could not meet with me. This morning the wife called me and we arranged to meet at the hospital after he was released to a regular room from ICU.

As I entered the hospital, a lot of people were walking around talking. I walked to the elevator and went down to the first floor. His room was several rooms down the hallway. I caught the eye of his wife and shook hands with her. A relative was in the room visiting and he took the opportunity to leave us to our business. I entered the room and said hello to the patient.

I pulled the papers and assured the borrowers that there wouldn't be a lot of documents to sign. Truthfully, in the great scheme of closing packages the package we were working with was a small package. However, to two borrowers trying to take care of business in a hospital room, it probably looked like a large stack of papers.

At any rate, I pushed paper for awhile while the wife began to glare at me a bit. At one point a nurse came in, introduced herself and identified herself as the nurse. I responded by identifying myself as 'the lawyer.' A few chuckles here.

Next, two ladies showed up and one of them excused themselves for interrupting the 'doctor.' I then again identified myself as 'the lawyer' and they felt better about interrupting me. I thought I was better dressed than a doctor, and wasn't wearing a white coat (or a pink crustaceon, for that matter, which is a nod to Jimmy Buffett, who was making a nod to Marty Robbins).

I finally left the room and was walking down the hallway to the elevator. I made notice of the fact that the air conditioning seemed to be running and had a nice conversation with someone in the elevator about airconditioners in hospitals and the state of the weather for the next couple of days all the way down the entrance hall to the hospital. As I walked past the gift shop, I waved to an elderly friend of mine who was manning the hospitality desk at the entrance to the hospital. As I left the hospital grounds, it occurred to me that the genuine friendliness of the people of this town was one of the main reasons why I like it so much. I don't think any of this would have ordinarily happened in a hospital in Atlanta or any other larger city. The ordinary response to a friendly comment in Atlanta, no matter where you are, is a gruff harumph and an averting of eyes.

By the way, the borrower who was in the hospital was born on the same day as my father, month, date and year. He was just born in Georgia, not Tennessee.

Football, westerns, chores and impending oysters

After watching (through my eyelids since I was asleep most of the time) the Falcons struggle (mostly with themselves) in a loss to Tampa Bay, I gave up the ghost and drove to Fayetteville to see '3:10 to Yuma' at the dollar theater. Actually the movie was $1.25, which is still very good. I like Westerns and I was looking forward to this one, since it had Russell Crowe who is one of my favorite actors these days. Interestingly, the producers got Peter Fonda to play a Pinkerton detective in the movie. I thought that was quite extraordinary, considering how many westerns his dad made in his career.

Anyway, I went to the movie and really enjoyed most of it. I guess I would have to say that I enjoyed the movie; however, the end was a little dissatisfying. The movie involves Russell Crowe playing a bandit, whose gang robs a stagecoach with the payroll for the railroad. The robbery occurs on or near the property of Christian Bale, who is a failing rancher, suffering from a drought and the financial pressures of a business man in the nearby town. Crowe is apprehended and Bale volunteers to assist in taking him to the train head for transport to Yuma for trial and hanging. Bale does this for $200 and the possibility of holding off the evil mortgage holders in town.

As the posse travels to the town where the railroad station is located, Crowe is very cordial to Bale and his son. Everyone else in the posse ends up being killed with the exception of the representative of the railroad. Crowe's gang is following behind them and when they finally make it to the railroad town, the gang shows up and they have a confrontation where Bale and Crowe work their way through town to the railroad station. As they are surrounded by the gang and the train pulls into the station, Bale confesses to Crowe that he was not a hero in the Civil War, but was wounded by friendly fire during a retreat. He sees this job to take him to the train as his only chance to be a hero in the eyes of his sons. Crowe has sympathy for him and decides to turn himself in and take the train to Yuma. Bale's son ends up stampeding a bunch of cattle to give them a distraction. Crowe and Bale go to the train where Crowe allows himself to be taken prisoner. At the last minute, the area around the train clears of cattle and Bale is shot in the back by one of the gang members.

With this, Crowe takes his pistol from his gang members and then shoots them all. The movie ends with Crowe reentering the train and taking his seat to Yuma.

I guess the only part of the movie that I really didn't believe was the end where Crowe shows himself as this person who is willing to give it all up for the benefit of a gesture in favor of Bale and his sons. Maybe with a little more character development I might have believed it. Of course, I still liked the movie.

After the movie, I went to Barnes & Nobles to look around and then ended up at Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen to eat a sausage po-boy and some red beans and rice. It was pretty good.

As I left to go home, I called down to St. George Island. Virtually everybody is there except Kate, Frank, Maggie, Lily and myself. I really felt like the poor step-children. Everyone having fun but us.

Of course I did enjoy the peace and quiet.

This evening, Kate and I will set up the dining room and I will pack for the trip. That should place us ready to go to St. George.

Time is short and I am looking forward to the drive. And the oysters.

Oysterboy!

Let them eat cake

Yesterday morning, I drove Cindy down Georgia 16 to the Chevron station at the intersection of Georgia 16 and I-75 to meet my parents and to allow her to accompany them to St. George Island in the panhandle of Florida. Cindy was looking forward to the trip and to the opportunity to eat seafood in my absence, while I worked, waited for Kate to arrive from college, worked on the house, and drove down to join them on Tuesday evening. It appears that Frank will be bringing Maggie and Lily up from Palm Beach Gardens and Susan and Kevin are supposed to bring the girls down from Mableton. It may be quite a packed Thanksgiving celebration.

Today, my calendar refers to St. Elizabeth of Hungary who apparently performed a miracle in which she turned bread into roses. You may remember that the New Testament refers to Christ's miracle of turning a couple of loaves of bread into enough to feed five thousand people, with plenty to spare. You also may remember that Christ referenced simple bread into a representation of his body, broken for us sinners. Clearly, bread is important in the Christian religion; however, turning bread into roses seems to be a waste of time. Why this person was canonized is beyond me, if turning food into flowers is the basis for her sanctification. It seems quite a turning away from what Christ would have done, given his previous actions with bread. Anyway, St. Elizabeth is the patron saint of bakers, which also makes little sense. It seems she should be the patron saint of rose growers. I don't pretend to understand the comings and goings of the Catholic church, both past or present. Long live the Reformation!

There was a program on A&E about Cat Stephens, now Yusuf Islam. Apparently, Cat or Yusuf, was a very serious young man who turned away from a life of celebrity and praise and looked for significance in religion. After having a near death experience in the waters of Malibu, California, he made a deal with God in which he asked for salvation from the waters and promised God that he would dedicate himself to God's worship. After being saved from the waters of California by a push of incoming tide, Cat changed his name, began praying on a carpet in his dressing room, donated his guitars to charity and left music for the study of Islam.

I understand that for a young Englishman of Greek roots, Islam might seem familiar yet exotic. Indeed, the strict requirements of Islam might seem more 'real' for one raised on the surface of Christianity. I don't hold Islam responsible for this. I really hold modern Christianity responsible. The church has lost its hold on western culture. When it tries to exert pressure, it seems to attempt to grasp us in a manner which is over the top and against the normal sensibilities of modern man. When it tries to be gentlemanly and allow for greater freedom of choice in its dealings with the uninitiated among us, it seems inconsequential.

And lets face it, Christianity, like any religion, has been used by people for their own benefit and to support their own agendas. There are too many examples and the media is too quick to draw these out and lay their shortcomings before the eyes of the public.

I do believe in the calling of Christianity, both pragmatically and spiritually. I do believe that the life we are called to live, the things we are required to do, if practiced in reality would offer true salvation to the world, through God's son. I believe that Christianity does, in fact, provide real, tangible benefit to the world today. I am saddened when we turn away from this offering to other beliefs and other creeds, rather than taking a deeper examination into the life that Christ would have us live.

Oddly, I think it is significant that Yusuf sold his instruments and gave up his career to follow God. Is this not what Christ told the rich, young ruler in the New Testament?

The bread of life is there for all of us, richer and more filling than anything we might find offered in the rest of the world. Let us all eat cake.

Tex, the singing cowboy dog

I have made mention of my dog, Tex. Tex was 'adopted' from the Atlanta Humane Society. On the morning that Kate, Cindy and I drove up to Atlanta to look for dogs, we had travelled to Atlanta specifically to get a dog for the dog we already owned, which was Molly, my Brittany Spaniel. Molly was given to me as a gift by my friend, Don Conkle. Don or his father had a female Brittany Spaniel who was with puppies. When the puppies were born, Don allowed me to go over to his dad's house and pick out a puppie. The puppy we picked was a fat little butterball of a female, which I named Molly after several great-aunts in my family tree. I always thought it was good to name dogs after members of the family. My grandfather had named an English Setter he owned after my mother. The dog's name was Annie and she was sweet. Later, Annie had puppies and one of the puppies was given to a friend of my grandfather. He, in turn, named the dog after my grandfather.

When Molly was young she was a wild thing who never got enough exercise to cause her to want to settle down. Every picture of Molly as a young dog had a wildness in the eyes which was quite evident. There were not many pictures of Molly because Molly was always on the move. When Kate was a toddler, she was interviewed by someone at the Griffin Daily News. Kate was asked several standard questions, one of which was, what is your pet peeve? Kate answered, my dad's dog, Molly. We were never quite sure how much Kate understood about the phrase, pet peeve, but the reference to Molly seemed quite appropriate.

Anyway, when Molly was about ten years old, she was diagnosed with tumors in her intestines. The veterinarian told me she had about six months to live. Six years later, Molly was starting to feel her age and we noticed that when she was around younger dogs she perked up and ran around like a young puppie. The veterinarian suggested that we get a young dog for Molly. The advice we had received from the veterinarian in the past was so accurate and helpful, we immediately considered the possibility of getting another dog.

So the three of us headed up to the Atlanta Humane Society and looked at the dogs they had for 'adoption.' We saw big dogs, little dogs, medium sized dogs, furry dogs, skinny dogs, fat dogs, hairless dogs, every kind of dog imaginable. As Kate and Cindy and I looked over the different varieties available, I came across a short, long-eared, tan-colored dog which looked like a beagle with long ears. I inspected the information sheet which had been filled out by the young woman who had placed the dog up for 'adoption.' I found that the dog was named 'Wrecks', which we always assumed was a reference to the college alma mater of the former owner. 'Wrecks' was half Bassett Hound and half Laborador Retriever, a hybrid which apparently has become quite popular, now known as a 'bassador.' The information about the dog's house-training status was interesting since it said he was house-trained and then that entry was scratched out and then 'not house-trained' was written in its place. We didn't know what to expect.

Anyway, we took 'Wrecks' out of his pen and tried to interact with him. He seemed rather friendly and playful, and before long Kate, Cindy and I had decided that he was the one. We then filled out all of the sheets required for 'adoption' and bought him some toys, a bandana decorated with cowboys, and some treats. After approval of the adoption papers, we placed 'Wrecks' in our car and drove home.

Almost immediately from the start, we had difficulty remembering the name of the dog. We called him almost everything which remotely sounded like 'Wrecks' except the actual name. Having already named one dog, 'Georgia', I quickly decided that there would be no dog named 'Wrecks' in my house, so we had changed his name to 'Rex', a good traditional dog name. Nevertheless, we never could adjust to the name.

As we sat around our living room, playing with the dog, calling him whatever came to mind, I suddenly came out with 'Tex'. As soon as I called him Tex, the dog began to bark loudly and jumped up into the air, like we had said the magic word. As we watched his cavorting, I turned to Cindy and informed her that it appeared that the dog wanted to be called 'Tex." That is how our dog named himself.

Tex has been a good dog. It was appropriate that he was called 'Tex' since we had bought him a cowboy bandana at his adoption and his fur was the same burnt orange color they are partial to at the University of Texas in Austin. Tex is also a singing cowboy. He likes to sing any song that has his name mentioned in it, including the Texas fight song and Yellow Rose of Texas. He prefers country and western and if he is feeling up to it will sing without any music to sing with. As he gets older and whiter, he would much rather sit in a chair and sleep. I suppose that any dog with as much hound dog as Tex would appreciate a good song and a nap.

And Tex does like peanut butter.

Riddle for the day

My riddle for the afternoon is, in looking at these three pictures what do the three things or persons depicted in the photographs have in common?

The answer is this: The third picture is a photograph of a structure which was designed and built by my father-in-law on his property on the hills overlooking the Tennessee River and Lake Loudon, in Knoxville, Tennessee. Knoxville was settled by Scots-Irish pioneers who established two different colleges in the area: Maryville College and the University of Tennessee. While my father-in-law is an architect, he built the structure by hand out of native materials (pine lumber, brick and a found oxygen tank, cut and fashioned into a bell). The structure sits above the river and has no present use as far as I know. Nevertheless, the structure shows quite a bit of artistry of design and the bell is fun to ring, if you happen to have a rubber hammer.

The second picture is the interior of a hand-built stone church building which is located on an island in Scotland. The building is constructed out of native stone. The stone church building sits above the waters of the North Sea, overlooking the ocean. The building was formerly a house of worship for the native Scots, but recently has been kept as a historic shrine to the early establishment of the Christian church in Scotland. Interestingly enough, the saint for whom the church building is named supposedly raced another early saint by boat over the sea from Ireland to establish the church on this particular island. The other saint was winning the race until, at the last minute, the loser cut a finger off of his hand and threw it onto the beach, thus winning the race.

The first picture is a photograph of my daughter, Shelley Mckay Baynham, showing the lingering effects of dance classes from her earlier years. As is exemplified by her full name, Shelley has Scottish heritage too. As can be seen in the photograph, Shelley has some artistic bent to her as well. Shelley is the granddaughter of the builder of the first building shown in these pictures. Shelley is also named after her great great grandmother, Shelley McKay Cooley, who was a pretty red-headed girl from Bowling Green, Kentucky, but who hailed by lineage from the highlands of Scotland. Shelley McKay also settled in Tennessee for her education and attended church in the First Presbyterian Church of Clarksville, Tennessee, a descendant church of the original Church of Scotland, and another church built of the native stone and brick found in the region surrounding Montgomery County, Tennessee.

So as you can see, the persons, places and things depicted in each of these pictures do have quite a bit in common.

The winds of November

Today is a blustery day in which the temperature is predicted to be lower than the average for this day. My calender talks about an old English word: flaws. Apparently, this is a word which described sudden gusts of wind. We travelled through the Autumn for such a long time in such delightful weather, where neither the air conditioner nor the heater was required, but now find ourselves in a time where the temperature has dropped so that the high today is supposed to be in the middle fifties. As I understand it, that is lower than the average high for this time of year. However, I can remember many times in Georgia where the temperature was much milder than you would expect in the rest of the country.

I come from the mid-South, where snow can fall in late November and stay for months at a time. I remember particularly my grandmother's funeral when the grey skies brought cold temperatures followed by a blizzard of snow. It never got very warm the entire time we were there for that sad task. But here in Georgia, we might get snow in November, followed by warm days which allow you to spend the day outside in such pursuits as you might expect in the Spring or even Summer. This can happen even in December and January. That is one of the things which makes Georgia so appealing.

Of course, we need some rain, desperately. I wouldn't mind a good week of rainfall. The ground could use it and the reservoirs in North Georgia could definitely use it. I know the news programs use the absolutely worst film footage to exemplify the problem, but I have seen it myself. The level of Lake Lanier in Gainesville is drastically dropped. Lake Allatoona is the same. And I recently travelled over the Chattahoochee River twice south and west of Atlanta, and they both seemed to be riding quite high into Alabama and Florida. As far as I could tell, those states have no one to blame if they have water problems.

Well, enough weather talk. Perhaps I will find a better topic later in the day.

Be thou my vision

After flooding the internet yesterday and today with various messages to the child prommising that everything would soon be ok and that the child would find happiness within several days, I was finally able to speak with the child and found that several situations had changed for the child since we last spoke. First and foremost, I found that the child was able to talk relatively normally, which was a great improvement over what she had been able to manage over the past several days. As I conversed with the child I found that I could understand virtually everything the child said and that the child seemed to have cleared the phlegm out of her throat almost completely.

Now, having said that, I will state that as soon as I mentioned the newfound clarity of her voice and the hope that I harbored that she had recovered from her ailments, the child was happy to offer a few wayward coughs, a strong clearing of the throat and a recovered tonal quality which suggested that the presence of a large pile of mucusy surplus was retaking residence in her esophagus. Once again, the imposition of a measured amount of sympathy on my part and the child was back to near her normal verbal clarity.

Secondly, the child admitted that she was presently involved in the process of printing her paper for her seminar course and would, thereafter, turn same in to her professor. I took this as a good thing, but the child was ready, no, happy to warn me that she will thereafter have to complete a practice of the oral presentation of her seminar paper tomorrow, which, of course, let me know that the worst part of this class, at least, in the mind of the child, involves the oral presentation which awaits her after Thanksgiving.

Apparently, this oral offering involves the verbal presentation of her research paper, for which she has been preparing for several months, in the presence of numerous convicted felons, Hollywood hangers-on, the board of pardons and paroles for the State of South Carolina, and most of her former elementary school teachers. As I understand it, all of these inquisitors will be privy to a dossier on the child, prepared by the FBI and CIA, and elucidating all her failings. I further understand that the participants will also be outfitted with surveillance glasses which will allow the inquisitors to see every little detail having to do with the child. I think the heat will be turned up in the room to a level extremely uncomfortable to normal humans and most chimpanzees. I am sure questions will also be raised upon the completion of her presentation. Always questions.

After the practice of her presentation is completed, the child will not be able to return home until she is able to attend and complete two classes in other departments of the college, which classes will meet on Monday afternoon. These classes are a mere trifle compared to the irritation involved in completing the requirements of her seminar course; however, the fact that the child must attend these classes at all, during a week dedicated to thanksgiving, family and feasting, places the child and her trusty Volvo in the road between Clinton, South Carolina and Griffin, Georgia, at a time in which the child will have to fight traffic as if she were a member of King Arthur's round table and were facing a scaly third-cousin of Puff the Magic Dragon. And let it be said that this dragon will not hold sealing wax, jacks, small rubber balls or other things which a young child might find amusing, but instead will offer the wayward knight, just a young child after all, with the heat and flame of his awesome breath and leave same gasping for air and wishing for the sweet scent one might expect to find in the early Spring somewhere in the mountains of Austria. The extent to which the child will suffer is difficult to estimate at this time or even comprehend. The South Carolina Department of Transportation and its Georgia counterpart offer no information which might provide some glimpse of the horror or the length of time these horrors might continue.

As you can see, there are many paths upon which the child must lay the bottoms of her feet until she is able to leave the brutal world of modern college education and seat herself in my Toyota Solara for transport to the beachs of Northwest Florida, a good plate of fresh oysters and a tall glass of beer (pivo, if you will). I tried to assure the child that there is respite around the corner, but her world is bleak and black at this point and offers no succor. I fear she may wither. I offer the poetry of Keats ("La Belle Dame Sans Merci")as exemplification of her condition.

To Shelley, prior to Thanksgiving holiday

Today is the day upon which Kate will turn in her seminar paper, the largest part of her grade in the Senior Seminar class she has been taking over the past semester. Kate has been fretting and struggling with this for quite some time, but the time for turning it in is at hand and now she should be in a place where she can breathe a little easier and go on to the next task. I look forward to seeing her on Monday and driving with her down to St. George Island on Tuesday evening. She has been fretting about the trip, thinking that she would do nothing but prepare for her oral presentation, but I bet she will be able to spend some time walking on the beach and eating seafood and enjoying the crowd. I bet.

A time like this is necessary to ensure that we have the opportunity to recreate, take stock and give thanks for what we have and what gifts we have been given.

So relax, you are on the down hill side of this thing, puddin'.

Our American family

I would like to start this blog entry off with a statement which is clearly a lie: When this country began, the people who created it were all one big happy family. Now, having said that, I would like to point out a few problems with that statement. First of all, as our former President said, "It depends what your definition of 'is' is." When you examine that statement, you have to look at if from several different perspectives. For instance, we need to pick a time period when this country began. Let's say that we begin at the time when the original inhabitants walked across that land bridge in Alaska and settled in North America. While the first Americans may have had some family genetic similarities, I don't even really believe that they all saw themselves as family. I suspect that the early Native-Americans just crossed into North America from Asia, looking for a few good wooly mammoths for eating, maybe some little critters which would provide easy prey and a warm place of shelter from the cold. Some were related, others not. The end result was a hodge podge of people groups (tribes) which fought each other for places to settle, food, shelter and good climate. The ultimate result was a large number of tribal groups who were related genetically, but unrelated in their own understanding. They were different tribes, for God's sake, and they didn't even share a tribal history which bound them together, like the tribe of Israelites in the Middle East.

If we begin with the arrival of the first Europeans, then the water gets really muddy. First of all, the Europeans were fighting each other for supremacy over the New World. To say that they were a united group would be comical. Not only did they struggle with each other, but the attempted to eradicate the Native peoples who were already here. And they damn well came pretty close to accompishing that task. Perhaps the only indication of a stated desire for union and a realization of their family status was the Mayflower Compact, which was a 'constitution' created by the Pilgrims who settled in Massachusetts, thinking they were in Virginia, and really only included the English settlers in their little group. The compact didn't include the Native Americans in Massachusetts, or the Europeans in any other part of the New World. Nobody else was included.

After the Europeans were allowed to simmer, stew and multiply for several centuries in the New World, the next true declaration of union occurred when the Continental Congress met in Philadelphia and declared their independence from Great Britian. Thomas Jefferson was basically given the task of creating the declaration because John Adams was unpopular and the proponents of independence needed the consent of the southern states. For an union of Americans, the group that met in Philadelphia was a contentious bunch that was dragged into independence by a group of liberals from Massachusetts, aristocrats from Virginia and merchants from Pennsylvania and New York.

When the Declaration was read on July 4, 1776, a lot of people in the American colonies would object to their inclusion in the new 'nation.' It would take several years before the colonies would be united into one United States of America. Even then, a lot of the colonist who didn't want to be included headed back to Britian or re-settled into the other British colonies like Nova Scotia, Canada, Bermuda, etc. The Native American tribes who participated in the Revolution had an opportunity to join the family, but most of them had no clue that there was a new family moved in to the neighborhood.

Again, we can look at this union of peoples when the federal Constitution was established. At this point, you can probably say that the group of people who were joined together were at least willing to acknowledge a family relationship through the new constitution. Of course, a lot of people groups were left out of this family. For instance, women, unpropertied men, slaves, and Native Americans in areas unsettled by European Americans were left out of the family. Those Native Americans who found themselves in the unsettled areas would soon find themselves thrown out of the family and given new digs in Oklahoma and other places in the western part of America. These members of the American tapestry were ultimately moved hither and yon until their presence in the American landscape became so small that the government was willing to allow them to elect to assimilate and elect to become part of the American family. Slaves in America were only able to become a part of the American family after the conclusion of a Civil War, amendments to the Constitution, a long national reconstruction, and a movement for civil rights which is still working to establish everyone on an even keel. Women were included by subsequent amendment to the Constitution and civil right movement.

It is clear that if this country is a family, then the family has been only made a family by struggle and by adoption. I suppose that some might argue that the American family has emulated a lot of contentious families, where some have been pampered, some have been kicked out, others have griped about their treatment. However, I would argue that a united family is what we should emulate as the model for this American nation. I suppose that it is clear that we probably have never been a united family in this country before, or at least a united family where each member stands on an equal footing. However, again, I would argue that we should use the concept of a united family as our goal and as our model for how this country works.

Now having said that, lets discuss how a united family would act as a model for this country. When I was in college I took a class in the English Department called 'Victorian Thought.' This class involved the study of a number of writings by English writers in the Nineteenth Century. One of my favorite writers in that class was John Ruskin. Ruskin was a professor at Oxford or Cambridge and was predominately involved with architecture. However, he wrote a piece in which he argued for a paternalistic business structure in commercial and industrial matters.

Ruskin wrote at a time when the industrial revolution in England was beginning to create some of the negative impact on English life. Ruskin felt that the proper solution was to run a business as a family, with the owner acting as the father and the workers representing the children. Ruskin's concept was based on a idealized version of the family, but was intended to use that ideal as the goal toward the business was operated.

I remember discussing that concept in class and one of my classmates, the son of a banking family in southern Ohio, objecting to the concept. He basically said that in the real world that wouldn't work. I argued with him, saying that my father worked for a very paternalistic company, IBM, that did quite well. Given the comparison between a small family-owned bank in Ohio and a large multi-national company like IBM, my classmate had little room to continue the argument. Of course, in the world we live in, there are many more examples of paternalistic companies which really try to take care of their employees. A lot of times these companies have started with several friends with a common interest getting together and developing a concept which sells on the open market. As the companies develop, the companies which try to take care of their employees do seem to do well.

This doesn't mean that paternalism doesn't have its limits. Just as in a family, the children have to individuate and develop in their own ways. It is a wise business owner who realizes this and governs his business accordingly. I truly think this concept has application to our government as well. In times of prosperity, the government should let loose the reins of power and allow the individual citizens which comprise the country to thrive in the high times. In times of recession, the government may need to pull the reins in and make sure that there is some control on the citizenry, so that individuals can get the help they need to build their private economies, which in turn builds the national economy. At the same time, prosperity requires regulation to, to ensure that the gains we make as individuals are not made at the expense of others.

In a family, when times get tough, the keepers of the pursestrings pull in the spending and economize. The desires and wishes of the children are kept in restraint. When times are good, we can afford to use some of that largesse for pleasure and recreation. We can also allow the children some portion of freedom. The wise father (or economist or government) makes use of both elements in order to make the family work. If our nation is to operate as a family, then the government needs to take the wise father as its guide.

Mattie Sue, in retrospect

At this point, I have attempted to immortalize my brother, brother-in-law, wife, daughter and assorted in-laws, mother, father, and dogs. I guess it is time that I spoke a little bit about my sister. Here comes, Susan.

When my sister Susan was a child, her favorite expression was, "I don't care. I like it." This was intended to refer to virtually anything Frank and I might ridicule that was of importance to Susan. In some sense, Susan hasn't changed much at all. When Susan was very small we could set her off easily by using the word "baby" in any manner which seemed to be set toward her direction. The infamous, 'baby crawl-along' was a classic way to get Susan's goat.

Then you have the time when Momma was trying to teach us how to play bridge at Dee Dee's apartment in Hopkinsville and Susan was the 'dummy' on a particular hand. I don't know why that set her off, other than the fact that she was quite young, and couldn't differentiate between an intended slight and a harmless reference in a card game. Of course, I am sure that Frank and I chuckled a bit too much when Susan was made the dummy for that hand. Needless to say, we didn't play bridge anymore that night. As a matter of fact, I don't remember playing bridge ever after that particular game.

Susan's full name is Martha Susan Baynham Miller. She was named after our great grandmother, Martha Susan Gary. Our great grandmother was usually referred to as 'Mattie Sue'. In Victorian times out in the hinterlands of Western Kentucky, being called Mattie Sue was endearing, I suppose. In suburban Dunwoody, however, calling her Mattie Sue caused quite a bit of concern on her part. Oddly, she took on this nom de jour every once and awhile when she was older. I seem to remember it appearing on the back of a sorority shirt for Kappa Delta at Rhodes. Its strange sometimes what becomes endearing over time.

The difference in ages between Susan and myself was eight years. This difference was so great that it wasn't much fun to tease her after we attained a certain age. Of course, it was not beneath Frank to crank her up good and then leave me to suffer the consequences when Momma came to determine what was going on.

There are always little endearments that one remembers. I suppose that the biggest endearment was how Susan used to refer to Frank and myself as 'my boys.' That will probably stick with me longer than most any slight that I might remember. Come to think of it, I don't really remember any slights anyway.

Of course, now she has a giant husband and giant dog to protect her. Thankfully, the husband has back problems. I think Frank and I can take him at this point. Of course Frank has back problems as well. Fortunately, even with my advanced age, I am still meaner.

All in all, she is a pretty sweet sister. Even if she was born in Alabama.

Manning the helm, what there is of it

I am sitting in my office all by myself. I am waiting on a phone call from an attorney for the City of Griffin to determine finally what will be charged on a demolition charge against some property I am trying to close this afternoon. I am also waiting to get that information so that I can incorporate same into my closing documents and send it up to the Seller, which is a bank in Doraville, so that we can get approval on the transaction and close this d---- thing today. I am also waiting on Patti to arrive, who called me earlier to let me know that her son was sick and that she would be here after she dealt with him.

I have been answering phone calls and talking to clients who arrived without warning and trying to deal with the issues of the day. This is what you do when you are a solo practioner. Kind of makes me feel like I would be well-insulated if I were practicing in some large law firm and all of the support personnel that go along with that. On the other hand, I suppose I could just leave and go home and take a nap if I wanted to. Or go out and eat a long lunch or take lunch to Cindy and eat with her. Those are the normal possibilities of a solo practioner.

Well, Patti got here so I will look to talk to her about what I know about the day and the near future. T'would be nice to close this loan and get a little extra money into the coffers for the week.

Well, it looks like I might close this d____ thing after all. It reminds of those closing attorney cartoons where everybody gets ready and then the thing falls apart. Everyone is so happy when it finally closes. It is the nature of transactional property law these days that you burn your jets three or four times before you finally close, exacerbating the participants and making you wonder yourself about your chosen profession.

At these times, you take on this pseudo-English stiff upper lip attitude and look confidently toward the future. The truth of the matter is that you are anxious about everything, wishing for the transactions to close, but also hoping for other transactions to take their place.

Faith takes you so far. Hopefully, faith will lead you to the end. Hope and faith are unsatisfactory terms but loom large when the reality of the situation paints a dark cloud on your prospects.

Humor is important. You can go quite far with a badger in your pants. Wolverines will do. I prefer wildcats, myself. Vanilla ice cream is a good salve for those scratch marks. Vanilla is more en curant than you think (Pardon the pseudo French). Vanilla, as that Canadian band says, is the finest of the flavors. And a good salve, particularly when you use a high butter content ice cream.

I know I left that helm somewhere around here. Pardon the deleted expletives in this blog. I guess the image of the sailor just got to me.

Color of Autumn

I had to drive to Barnesville this afternoon. I stopped by the house to see Cindy and help deal with the satellite installation dude (I think that was his official title, although his name was 'Damon'). After the completion of that task and taking Tex out to wait in the pen (a short sentence of incarceration), I drove down to Barnesville and the courthouse for Lamar County.

About two weeks ago, Fall finally arrived. We have been skeptical about Fall this year, since the weather has been so dry. However, it turned cool about two weeks ago, and the leaves on the trees began to turn. We fully expected the leaves to fall quickly and just have bare trees for the rest of the season. However, we have been pleasantly surprised with the amount of color the trees have retained.

Anyway, as I drove down through South Spalding and North Lamar Counties, I took notice of the wonderful colors of the deciduous trees in the area. We don't have that many maples but we do have a lot of sweetgum and dogwoods. You don't really notice it until this time of year, because the evergreens (those old southern pine trees) seem to predominate. However, at this time of year, the oranges and scarlets and yellows come out and it really becomes pretty.

As I drove back from Barnesville, I decided to take the old Dixie Highway through Milner and Orchard Hill back to Griffin. The trees along this route were really something. I hope it will last maybe a couple of weeks longer.

As we head toward the end of November and the beginning of December, I have to say that I really like early December, also, when the leaves have mostly fallen and the pine straw covers the ground. Late in the afternoon, when the sky begins to darken and the clouds look like white brushstrokes across the baby blue of the sky, I really love the utter peacefulness you feel when driving through the country. Everything softens and the coolness of the temperature and the colors on the horizon match the fallen leaves from the trees. It is hard not to find God's love in your heart at times like that. Even the velvety purple of the coming night in the eastern sky is a comfort.

Dance

Why don't you dance with me?
Do you remember when we were young
And the faintest suggestion
Of your nearness
Caught you up into my arms
And sent us dancing?
We were famous, in our day,
Any kitchen was our grand ballroom
Without a hint of music
Floating through the room
Just the music in our minds
And the flowing of emotion
In our tender hearts.

I catch your eye and you smile for me
And it begins
And it can begin again;
Why don't you dance with me?

Lancelot du Lac and bourbon on the veranda

I picked up my copy of 'Lancelot' by Walker Percy the other night and began reading it again. I can't remember why I bought the book originally, but it came out when I was a sophomore/junior in college and I remember thinking that the book was delightful. I recommended the book to several of my friends and family and I soon became a 'Johnny Appleseed' for Walker Percy's books. I enjoyed his books so much that I ended up wandering around a cemetery in Covington, Louisiana several weeks ago trying to find his gravesite.

When I reread the first few pages of 'Lancelot', I began to remember why I had loved the book so much. The main character was the owner of an old plantation house in Louisiana, a former football player and lawyer (sound familiar?). In the book the crassness of modern life is surrounding him and we discover early on in the book that he had determined that his wife was cheating on him, that his youngest daughter is not his own and that the 'Hollywood' types who are shooting a movie on the grounds of his home on River Road between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, are deflowering his daughter while he sleeps.

Sitting in his 'pigeoneirre' which his wife had fixed up as an office and study for him, Lancelot sits and broods on the world enclosing him and ultimately sets off an explosion in his house which destroys the house and kills his wife and the Hollywood director. The scene takes place in a storm which racks the house like the tempest in King Lear.

The tale is told from an asylum for the criminally insane in New Orleans to a friend of Lance's who is a priest or psychologist (one or the other or both), who doesn't speak until the end of the novel. There is a passage in which Lancelot speaks a tirade against the modern world toward the end of the book. I remember specifically loving that passage. I suppose I am almost as deluded as Lancelot, or was at the time I read the book.

There is no wonder why I identified with Lancelot and the story in the book. I must say, however, that I am not really sure how much the reader is supposed to identify with Lancelot. After all, he is a murderer serving time in an insane asylum. Is his story ironical or just what you would expect in the world we live in? Percy's protagonists are not always the most trustworthy narrators. The writer lies buried in St. Joseph's Abbey in Covington, Louisiana, so I guess I will never know.

The character of Lancelot exemplifies the perfect knight, Lancelot du Lac, of course, but also represents the cuckolded King Arthur and the raging King Lear, all rolled into one. It is a fascinating story and I am going to try to reread it if my wife will give me a little bit of time during the rearranging of our house over the next few weeks.

I read my calender this morning for the weekend entry and the one for today. I notice that they both talked about drinking, one talking about Martin Luther and his drinking tankard and the other talking about some British admiral who watered down the grog served to his seamen and became famous for spoiling their good times. I don't know why this extended weekend is so coupled with drinking. I didn't have a drink of alcahol this entire weekend.

Of course, I did begin thinking about drinking a tall glass of bourbon on the rocks when I was transported by 'Lancelot' to the world of Belle Isle, Louisiana. I couldn't help it. Just another good example of why I sometimes think I am placed in the wrong era.

I don't think that in these modern times that you are supposed to think whistfully back on times past when the 'white folks' held sway from the veranda of the 'big house.' Even in my boyhood, the last scenes of 'Goldfinger' had James Bond drinking a mint julep with the German criminal mastermind, Auric Goldfinger, on the front porch of Goldfinger's horse farm outside of Lexington, Kentucky. I guess Ian Fleming couldn't help but thumb his nose at the Kentucky 'aristocracy' and place the evildoer comfortably in that environment, offering juleps to his 'guest.' There again, the scene was completed by the best of the Bond heroines, Pussy Galore.

What a great book and movie.