End of the day, round and round and round

I got to drive around the City of McDonough today. That was fun. When I first came to the southern crescent of Atlanta, my first stop was McDonough. At the time, McDonough was a little town in a big, predominantly agricultural county south of Atlanta. Since then, the place has become another bedroom community for South Atlanta and the county fathers have allowed the place to become inundated with tract housing and small lots and the place is awallow with traffic at any time of the day.

I left Griffin around 2:30 this afternoon and ran into the first real traffic on 155 before the I-75 interchange. From there on out it was drive around behind slow people in slow cars talking slowly on cellphones and causing a large number of traffic snarls.

Meanwhile, I had to find a county office, which turned out to be not so easy and then be redirected to another county office, in another building with no easy way to get between the two. If I only had an ultra-light.

I finally got to the County Courthouse, which enabled me to park two blocks away from the courthouse, while the jurors leaving jury duty were going to their cars. So I had a place to park, just a few blocks to navigate by foot to get to the courthouse entrance. Cindy says that was good for me.

When I finally got to the clerk's office, the atmosphere was more relaxing. If only my ride back to Griffin had been so. Now, I am tired and need sustenance. So lets go, Cindy.

Birds nesting above our cars

A barn swallow built a nest on top of our motion detector light in the carport and now the momma and daddy bird are nesting over a nest of swallow eggs. I have moved the cars out of the carport and Cindy and I are watching the progress.

It took me several days to identify the species of the bird. Fortunately, I have a Georgia bird book and could see enough of the male to determine what kind of birds were nesting there.

Cindy was excited until she found out that it was a barn swallow. Barn swallows are a nuisance. They nest, lay their eggs, the babies hatch and then come back. For the past few weeks, we have been without the motion detector light in the carport because the nest hides the motion sensor.

I spoke with Dad last night. Grandmommie had problems with nesting barn swallows. She would take a broom and sweep the nests out of the cross beams on her front porch. But the birds continued to come back. Dad said that the only solution to the problem was a 20 gauge. I wonder. I wonder if the only real solution to the problem was when they tore down the house.

I am afraid that the real reason we now have birds in the carport is due to the bird feeder in the front. I changed the seeds we use in the feeder and I suppose it is possible that the reason for the coming of the swallows is due to the type of seeds in the feeder.

We are happy to have the chickadees and the cardinals and the woodpeckers and such that congregate around the feeder. But while I like the idea of the nest in the carport, I kind of wish they had found a different place to nest other than the light fixture in the carport. It gets kind of dark at night without the light.

Of course the first critter I did battle with was the squirrels who liked the bird feeder as much as the birds. Seeing those big grey galoots out there trying to reach the bird feeder always got my hackles up. I would take the branches from which they reached for the feeder and whack them down until they had no place from which to launch their attacks on the feeder.

Cindy always thought it was real funny to see me do battle with the squirrels. We finally cut enough branches and bought a new feeder which, in union, don't allow the squirrels easy access to the food. I haven't seen a squirrel up there for quite awhile.

I wouldn't mind feeding the squirrels separately. I just like the birds outside our living room window.

Dave's funeral

Cindy and I drove over to the funeral home yesterday to pay our respects to the family and friends of Dave Williamson. The funeral home had a running series of photographs of Dave on a television screen and we stood for awhile and watched the pictures of Dave during his life running on the screen. Most of the people at the funeral home were quite young. One of Kate's friends in high school, along with her mother, who was also one of Kate's teachers, were there. We got to talk with them briefly.

I was a little shocked to see the body in the casket. The showing of the body is always a little strange to me. An odd custom. But still. He was dressed in a pastel polo shirt and a Georgia Southern hat. Perhaps it was the same hat I saw him wearing before when I ran into him and his mother in the grocery store.

We still have a picture on the refrigerator with Kate, Carolyn and Dave posing for a picture of the Spalding High "Future Problem Solvers" team. The attitudes of the photographed are humorous. I like that image much more than the one in the funeral home.

I remember driving up to Athens in 2004 to stay in the University Inn with the three of them, after their sponsor had left them to come back to Griffin. I spent the evening with them, trying to help them get prepared for their presentations the next day. I ended up sharing a room with Dave while Kate and Carolyn slept in the adjoining room.

The next morning, we walked down to the place where the competition was to be held and they participated in the presentations. It was fun and they won several awards, although they didn't win the overall competition. I think I took them over to Barberito's for lunch before we came back home. It ended up being a lot of fun with the three of them.

I always enjoy being with Kate's friends. They make me feel younger and in touch with life. Its such a shame when something like this occurs at such a young age. Our days on this earth are not guaranteed. No matter how old we are.

The weekend is over

Well, we drove up to Clinton on Saturday to bring some of Kate's stuff back home and to help with the final clean-up of Kate's apartment for graduation in two weeks. The trip was pleasant despite our forgetting we had Tex in the car as we drove up I-85 in Gwinnett County. Fortunately, Cindy remembered him and I could turn around in time to return him to Pets Are People Too, which turned out to be somewhat of a boondoggle, since they required him to have a shot which we don't think he needed and also tried to charge for a Vet examination, when we didn't request one. Cindy and I made a command decision that that was the last trip to Pets Are People Too. Unless we just don't have a choice.

Meeting up with Kate, we ended up staying at the Comfort Inn in Clinton. As it turned out we decided that the Comfort Inn was quite acceptable and it also turned out that they allow pets for an additional $10.00. Again, we decided to bring Tex and keep him in the room with us during graduation. As it turned out, if we had done that this time, it would have saved us $35.00 over the weekend and Kate could have seen Tex, as well.

At 10:00 o'clock p.m. on Saturday, Cindy and I drove into town and met Kate at 'Inklings' to enjoy some improvisation. Some of Kate's friends were in it and it was quite fun, despite the rain and our lack of one additional umbrella. We drove back to the Comfort Inn and went to sleep. We had a wonderful sleep. Cindy remarked that it was the first good sleep she had had in several weeks.

The next morning, we awoke and ate, showered and dressed and met Kate at church at First Presbyterian of Clinton. We met two delightful older ladies who told us all about the church and themselves. After church we met someone from PC who knew Kate and spoke with him for awhile. Later, we drove out to Fatz Cafe and ate lunch. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes and cheese grits and salad. Thank God for the salad.

Afterward we drove up into Greenville and found several places for a potential Mother's Day brunch after graduation. We ended up making a reservation at a place on the river downtown and really enjoyed exploring around downtown Greenville. Finding our way back out to the interstate was somewhat of a chore, but we did find our way out. And back to Georgia.

Along the way I asked Cindy if she was hungry and thought of an interesting place to get supper. I exited the interstate at Eagles Landing Parkway and drove down Rock Quarry Road until I found the Papi's Cuban Restaurant in Stockbridge. I ended up getting maduros and Cuban sandwiches and rice and black beans. I was so excited.

We got home about 8:30 last night and were watching television, when Kate called with the news that one of her classmates from Spalding High, a young man who was quite a bright, fun guy apparently died over the weekend. When I arrived at the office, I looked up the information on the Griffin Daily News website and found he died on Saturday in Statesboro, where he attended college. Kate's information was that he apparently committed suicide. Quite a shock. Kate was in tears yesterday evening.

There is really nothing one can say in a situation like this. Young people who are bright and who are prone to look deeply at their lives sometimes seem to be prone to these bouts of depression. I haven't seen this student for several years. I would hate to make a guess as to why he did what he did. There never seems to be a good answer in situations like this.

We can only pray for his family and friends who knew and loved him. The kind of desperation which leads someone to an act of this type is simply inscrutable to us, most of the time. These acts are just hard to deal with for anyone. I wish I had a good answer.

I really liked him. He was one of Kate's friends who I really enjoyed meeting and with whom I enjoyed interacting.

The Best Story I Have

My dear wife has told me that my blogs are too negative in my discussions which touch on her. I personally think that my blogs are honest, but not intended to be negative in any way. Any negative thoughts I have about my wife tend to remain stitched on the hippocampus of my cerebrum.

Nevertheless, I thought I might say a few words about the spousal unit, if only to provide myself a defense if she complains about my blogs in the future. It is so rare when I have something close at hand which I can use in my defense. It would be nice somehow to keep this close to my vest, so that it can be pulled out when needed.

Anyway, I first met Cindy when we were in World History class at Dunwoody High School. She sat in front of me in class. I will admit that she turned around to speak to me and , thusly, ignited the fire. We spoke only briefly, but obviously long enough.

Cindy was rather exotic when compared to my family. She had dark hair and dark eyes and hailed from Louisiana. This contrasted quite starkly to the usual fair blondes with light eyes you find in my family.

When I was in seventh grade, I read T. Harry Williams' biography of Huey Long. From that point forward, I was entranced with everything having to do with Louisiana. I even made the statement, on several occasions in seventh grade, that I would like to be the Governor of Louisiana. This got me little other than being voted Most Ambitious in the Seventh Grade Superlatives.

So the field was ripe for a sweet young Louisiana beauty to turn to me in World History and sweep me off my feet, so to speak.

The next most important moment between the two of us involved a morning in eleventh grade, when I ran into her in the main hallway at Dunwoody with Sue Mitchell and Ronnie Brown. I remember something about a light blue sweater dress outfit she was wearing and how it contrasted with her dark hair and eyes. I really think this was the moment when I really fell for her.

I know there was a dance when we were seniors at which we hung around each other throughout the dance. Cindy remembers a time at church when she asked me to sit with her family, but I don't remember that.

I do remember when her family moved to California in the Winter of our Senior year. And I remember walking down Nelson Street in my sophomore year at W&L and seeing that camel coat in the window, which opened the floodgates of all of those memories and caused me to write the poem which I submitted to The Arial for publication. After publication, I got Cindy's address from Sue Mitchell and mailed a copy of the magazine to her.

That, of course, opened a line of communication which lasted all the way from Sophomore year at W&L through graduation and matriculation at Georgia Law School and on to that evening in October when she called me from California and I could hear her voice again and combine my memory with the sound over the telephone.

Later that year, I was at home trying to get tickets to the Sugar Bowl game between Georgia and Penn State, when she called me and suggested I get a ticket for her. That request turned out to be easier than I thought, thanks to Mrs. Couch, and cousin Ed and I drove my Chevy Monza to New Orleans and a whole entry hall full of Sicards saying my name.

What a test of my mettle and what a precurser to later Sicard gatherings in New Orleans and other sites in and around Southeast Louisiana.

But the next few days seemed to confirm the connection we had, despite the distance and the years. We completed each others' sentences. We thought the same thoughts. We enjoyed the French Quarter despite the rain and the cold. I distinctly remember sitting at a small table in the bar at the Hotel Ponchatrain, ignoring the ticking off of the hours to the New Year. I remember sitting next to each other on the couch at Cindy's friends house. I remember walking through the Quarter after Penn State beat Georgia and listening to a young man who said he was embarrassed to be from Climax, Georgia, but wasn't embarrassed to be a Georgia Bulldog. While Cousin Ed put out firecrackers thrown at his feet.

I remember walking around Downtown Atlanta with Cindy and Ed and trying to get change for the Marta train and Cindy suddenly finding she had the twenty cents we needed for the tickets in her Bass Weejuns.

And I remember listening to a band at the Moonshadow Saloon, with Cindy tucked under my arm, and reaching down to kiss her on the top of her head. As she felt the kiss, she turned her face to me and we kissed, for real, for the first time. The rest of the night is a blur.

Eight months later we were married. That is still the best story I've got.

A scarred cork board and battered digits

This week has come to the end. Weekend. Two weeks from now, we will be preparing for a final (?) ride to Clinton, South Carolina for Kate's graduation from Presbyterian College. From there, where will she go? All of the nostalgia begins to waft over me like an unexpected cool breeze in July. Such a deceptive and alluring danger.

It would be nice if I could focus on the beauty and comfort to be found in the present. But having achieved my fifty first year on this planet, I know that the beauty and comfort to be found in the present is fleeting, and possibly reserved for the twenty year old of today who is enjoying college, running around to the calling of his heart. Thirty years from now, he will sit in his chair and ponder the lost adventures of 2008 and forget the silly heartaches and shocks that meant so much then, but are meaningless to a fifty year old.

If the person is lucky.

On the other hand, there are traumas which hit us like a nail to our forehead, which come and go and bend us to their brute pounding and affect our comings and goings in ways which are almost unseen until the damage is already done.

Sometimes our friends, if they are close, can see the damage before we can. Sometimes, we can find ourselves in conversation with a close friend, who sheepishly offers a piece of advice, to warn us of the damage they see. Most times we avoid the advice, because we know our situation so much better. And if we are young, we are inscrutable, omniscient, unbeatable. It is so rare to find yourself in a position in which you listen and learn before its too late.

But you need the nail holes in your forehead. We don't learn without the nail holes. Nothing sticks.

There is a cork board. When it is placed on the wall, the cork is unblemished, pristine. Beautiful, in its corky way.

But the cork is meaningless unless we attach something on the surface. A picture. A list. A message. A remembrance. In order to give it meaning, we have to place tacks in its skin. We have to cut its flesh with the nail holes which give it significance.

Until its tack-scarred flesh is so covered with holes, that it can no longer receive the tacks which attach its meaning. The flesh fails and we find ourselves placing the cork board in a can at the end of the driveway.

And finding a new cork board.

When I was about ten years old, I visited an alligator farm in Florida. Inside one of the pens was a huge alligator of significant years. The attendant informed us that this alligator was many years old. The interesting thing to the attendant was the fact that the alligator had managed to retain all of his toes through his many years. Apparently, it was very unusual for a male alligator to retain all of the toes on his feet through the many years of struggle.

I guess the question I have is this: Was the alligator so big and bad that he had managed to retain all of his digits against the struggles he had suffered throughout the years or was this alligator so meek that he had managed to avoid the struggles?

When I look down at my own fingers, the first thing I see is a scar on the middle finger of my left hand. The nail on this finger is broken and remains broken to this day. The scar is left from a time when I was a toddler and closed a folding chair on my hand, pinching the flesh on my finger and forever damaging the seedbed of the nail which grows on that finger. On the finger to its right is a straight line of scarring where I cut my finger on a broken lightbulb in my room when I was seventeen. I sprayed blood all over the wall. Against my middle finger is a small scar from a bout of chicken pox when I was six or seven. And finally, if I remove the ring from my ring finger on my left hand I will find the mark of said ring, where the gold band has pressed against the finger for almost twenty five years.

I guess I am like most alligators of my age. What lessons have I learned from my scars?

Thoughts

It doesn't pay to look back,
For when you examine the length
And breadth of the road
You have traveled
You might suffer a heart pang
You didn't expect
And the crystal recognition
Of the loss of some things
Quite dear to your heart
Which causes your mind to race
And your thoughts to scatter
Until your sleep is disturbed
And you find yourself
Staring at a television screen
At three in the morning
Wondering if the time for sleep
Might return to you soon,
So that you might find a bit of rest
And small comfort from the dizziness
Caused by the turn of the ever-spinning world
Upon which you lie.

Feelings of mortality, wafting over my head

When I first came to Griffin, back in February 1984, I had just left the employ of Judge Sam Whitmire in the Flint Circuit. Judge Andrew Whalen was the Chief Judge in the Griffin Circuit and the junior judge was Judge Ben Miller (an ironic title, since he had gray hair, a beard and a faint resemblance to Santa Claus). The District Attorney was Johnnie Caldwell, and his assistants were David Fowler, Paschal English and Chris Edwards. Judge Tom Lewis was the State Court judge. John Newton was the Solicitor of State Court. The law firm for which I was employed was Smalley, Cogburn and Flynt. The lawyers in the firm, other than myself, were Bob Smalley, Jack Flynt, Jake Cogburn and Crisp Flynt.

Now for the roll call:

1) Judge Whitmire died around 2000.

2) Judge Whalen died in 2007.

3) Judge Lewis died in the 1990's.

4) Bob Smalley died in 2003.

5) Jack Flynt died in 2007.

6) Judge Miller is retired.

7) David Fowler has left the circuit.

8) Paschal English is the Chief Judge of the Griffin Circuit.

9) Chris Edwards is one of the Judges in the Griffin Circuit.

10) Johnnie Caldwell is one of the Judges in the Griffin Circuit.

11) John Newton turned the office of Solicitor over to his partner, Trey Howell.

12) Jake Cogburn is suffering from cancer of the throat and is being treated with radiation and chemo-therapy.

13) Crisp Flynt suffered two minor heart attacks over the past weekend and is convalescing at home.

Is there any wonder why I am feeling rather mortal today?

No wonder I decided to eat a salad and a chicken sandwich for lunch today.

Thank God tomorrow is another day

This has been a day. It seems like every hanging chad of a case that I have lying somewhere around the office has reared its ugly head. I have received some calls from people who I haven't spoken with for a very long time.

I am very glad that the day is almost over. To church for supper, choir practice and then to bed, to bed I go.

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

"Fiddle dee dee, tomorrow is another day."

Thanks, Scarlett.

Its interesting how Margaret Mitchell could turn that phrase from something illustrating the cavalier attitude of the heroine to something proving her ability to persevere. Her mettle.

Pizza and beer on a warm April evening

We had an odd moment last night. I picked up Cindy at work to take her home. I had to run by the bank so we could sign some papers. Afterward, I had an appointment at my office and didn't really have much time to run Cindy home and get back for the appointment.

Cindy was willing to come and act as a witness for me on the appointment, so I returned to the office. A little later my client arrived and I met with her. About thirty minutes later I was able to meet with the client, Cindy and Patti in order to complete the appointment.

So, finally Cindy and I were able to drive home, discussing the possibility of supper. Cindy decided that she wanted broccoli and flat pizza. So I dropped her off at home and drove over to Ingles for broccoli and flat pizza. When I got home, I preheated the oven and readied the broccoli to be steamed in the microwave. Meanwhile, I made myself a salad and asked Cindy if she wanted to join me out on the patio.

The temperature was lovely. The air was relatively dry. I didn't see any mosquitoes. It seemed the perfect evening to sit out on the patio and enjoy the atmosphere.

But Nature Girl said no. Nature Girl said no?

Apparently, Cindy had been bitten by mosquitoes earlier and she didn't want to go through that again.

So my gardening girl sat in her chair, closed the shades and sat in the darkness of our living room reading a book.

Meanwhile, I took a book of poetry, a glass of Czech beer and my ipod out on the patio and read poems to the sounds of alternative country and traditional music. I could hear the birds twittering and chirping in the bushes and trees around me. The blossoms on the azaleas and other blooming bushes were a delightful scene.

Of course, the pizza was ultimately ready and I went back inside to eat with Cindy.

It was still kind of strange.

What is the allure of manure?

What the Hell, dog?

I mean, I understand
Your desire to escape;
If I were penned up in the house
When everyone else is free to come and go
And the only acceptable way out
Is on a leash with a chain
Around your neck,
I would want to leave too.

But when you leave, you disappear
Quickly from our sight
And you don't respond to our calling
And you are never easy to be found
Until you come rolling back into the yard
Rubbing your neck on the dry grass and leaves
And you always bear the inimitable mark
Of that deer manure you found in the woods;
I mean, every time.
And you have got to know that I have to bathe you
And remove the alluring musk of that deer manure
So what's the point?

Is the desire to disguise your natural doggy scent
When tromping through the woods
So inbred, so tacked into your dna,
So awesomely strong that you just have to do it?
Really?

Really?

Don't you remember the numerous baths over the years
Don't you remember the water and the soap
The suds in your eyes and ears
The dragging on a leash through the house
To the ever-awaiting bath tub
The struggles in the tub to remove that
Less than subtle stink from your coat?
Well, don't you?

Or is the allure of manure just too irresistable?

Gardening weekend

The weekend came and Cindy and I made use of it by buying plants and the accompanying bags of soil and compost and other things which go along with trying to reconstruct the soil of your backyard into something which will receive and cultivate these plants. There are always things you need in order to garden.

Gardening is a pursuit in which I enjoy the ultimate goal much more than I enjoy the effort to get you to the goal. Rakes, shovels and hoes, the tools of preparation, are my nemeses. While Cindy can create muscle stress and joint pains by sweeping the patio clean, I am the one, of course, who finds himself digging holes and hoeing the surface free of weeds and grasses. Not to mention lugging around forty pound bags of compost and topsoil.

When you are coming off the Lenten season of lethargy, and finding yourself in the back yard on a bright, sunny day, you want to do something to get the yard back into order. But the strain of the heavy gardening work required by the Winter season, is not my favorite part of yard work.

But the yard does look better and the patio is more tidy. I need to get the grass mowed and the refuse put in the woods and it will be quite enjoyable to sit out on the patio in the cool of the evening and enjoy the birds drinking and bathing in the birdbath and the shadows cast by the setting sun. The ultimate goal is to sit in the slow fall of darkness, under the evening lights, sipping red wine and battling the mosquitoes of Summer. Perhaps the smell of grilled meat left over from the evening's meal.

Yes, definitely. I won't even mind the dirty dishes.

Dream-time journey

I ran an errand this evening
And I turned my car to the East
And there I beheld,
With just a subtle touch of irony,
A sky of Southwestern turquoise,
As if fashioned by the wrinkled
Fingers of a wizened Navajo holy man,
And the inset moon was a bright silver peso
Lost in the sand of an old border town,
And found and reset against the stone-blue sky.

And I rolled my windows down
And I breathed deep the cool night air,
So sweet with the fragrance of Spring's flowers' blooming,
And I picked up our Mexican take-out
At the corner strip shopping center
And dreamed of that turquoise night, bejeweled with tiny, diamond stars
And found my evening rest
Out on the broad, limitless desert plain.

Journeys remembered

Today is probably the first truly magnificent day of the year. The temperature is supposed to get up to around the middle 70's. The humidity is relatively low. The skies are clear. The dogwoods are in bloom. Some of the late blooming azaleas are in flower. A lot of the deciduous trees have sprouted their tender shoots. It would be hard to beat the day we have today.

I have to drive to Milledgeville this afternoon for a closing. I am looking forward to the drive in the countryside. I'll have to keep my Allman Brothers cd in the cd player.

"You're my blue sky; you're my sunny day. Don't you know that it makes me high when you turn your love my way. Turn your love my way. Yeah, yeah."

I spent some time trying to locate an old friend, Graham Gardner, in Dallas, Texas. I finally got a fax number by calling directory assistance and sent a fax to him. This morning he returned my communication. We had a nice long conversation and decided to renew the call later in the afternoon.

Graham and I drove around the South in 1974, looking at colleges and talking to admissions personnel. Having since had the experience with Kate, I have come to realize that we were way ahead of the curve as far as making trips to visit colleges in preparation for our matriculation. Back then, people just didn't do that, unless some school was trying to recruit you as an athlete.

I remember the trip, driving up from Atlanta to Clarksville on I-24 and visiting Vanderbilt. Heading east on the old two-lane federal highway to Danville, Kentucky and Centre College. Upon the advice of the admissions personnel we crossed back over the mountains to get to I-75, so we could head down to Knoxville and UT. I remember finding parts of the road having fallen from the roadside, down the side of the Blue Ridge. Cabins on the side of the road looking like the last residence of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett.

That night in Knoxville, we stayed in a Sheraton Hotel on Cumberland Avenue and walked up and down the strip of restaurants, pizza places and bars where the students hung out. Later that night we were watching a movie in our room when all of a sudden we could see emergency lights flashing up to our window from down below. It turned out that our hotel was on fire. We quickly scooted down the stairs and watched from the parking lot as the fire fighters tried to find the source of the fire. I think it was in the kitchen of the restaurant. As you would expect.

The next morning, we headed across the Smokies through Cherokee and Hickory to Durham and Duke University and UNC, Chapel Hill. I will never forget driving over to the campus at Duke and looking at the buildings on campus at night. Those gothic buildings were quite impressive, all uplit at night. I felt like I had found a part in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

The next morning we drove over to Chapel Hill and met with the Director of Admissions for UNC. We were there at Chapel Hill for me, since I was the one with the desire to go there. However, the Director was a racist who talked about nothing but the problem caused by the new black mayor in Atlanta and other issues about black politicians in Atlanta. Blah, blah, blah.

After talking about our respective records in school and our goals, he packed us into his Volkswagen beetle, me in the back seat, Graham in the front, and drove us around campus. After finding out about our respective SAT scores, his desire to talk to me was minimized and Graham became the prime recruit.

He did take us down to the football field at Kenan Stadium, which was somewhat of an accomodation to me, and we got to walk around down on the field. But I will never forget exiting his beetle in the parking lot of the admissions office and watching him put his arm around Graham's shoulders and saying, "Graham. There is a place for you at the University of North Carolina. I want you to send your application in as soon as possible."

And turning his head around to acknowledge me, he said, "You apply too, Tom."

I could have told him there was no chance that Graham was going to attend the University of North Carolina. As soon as his acceptance at Harvard arrived, he was on his way to Cambridge.

It was a little bit later, when we were driving north from Durham up into Virginia that my mood brightened. All of a sudden, the country boys in the pickup trucks were waving at us as we passed on the highway. Later that evening, a driving rain shower hit us as we drove on toward Charlottesville. We pulled off the road into a shopping center and got the car stuck in the mud beside the entrance to the center. Out of no where, a bunch of high school students from Martinsville materialized and cheerfully pushed us out of the mud on the side of a shopping center during the driving rain storm. They wouldn't even accept any recompense. It was at that point that I realized that I appreciated Virginia a whole lot more than North Carolina. No wonder I ended up at W&L.

I still don't have much to do with UNC, Chapel Hill. I'd just about rather cheer for the damn Wahoos than UNC or Duke.

And don't get me started on Wake Forest. Kate and Cindy will chime in on that one. That is where we developed the folk wisdom that in Winston Salem: "you are on your own."

Graham and I had a nice time in Charlottesville, looking at the part of the campus designed by TJ. We didn't get to talk to anyone on campus, and it was raining a bit through our walk around the colonade, but we did get to see Monticello before we headed back to Georgia. That was fun.

Later, as we were driving back home from Virginia, my mother mentioned that our neighbor across the street had wondered if we had gone to see Washington and Lee and VMI. In response to the question, I looked in our book of colleges and found the information which would lead me to Lexington, Virginia a year later.

Well, anyway. It was quite a trip for a couple of rising seniors in high school to make without any adult supervision. Most folks would acknowledge that that was definitely a different time. I don't think I would have let Kate go off on a trip around the southeast with one of her girl friends when she was a rising senior in high school.

There were a lot of memories to store away.

Sunny morning

Today is Thursday and the times are moving a little bit faster, despite the fact that I am sitting here at my desk and nothing seems to be moving around me. There is this feeling like things are moving slowly, like molasses. The world is amber like syrup. And I am floating along.

I have things moving around and if I could get some of these clients of mine to pay their bills things would be moving in the right direction. But everybody is in the same boat these days. Nothing will resolve until the tipping point arrives and everyone takes a long, deep breath and moves on.

Cindy is sick today. She was complaining about headaches and body aches but had found out that one of her students was sick with some kind of virus with similar symptoms. We are pretty sure that that is what she has. So she is at home today. With the dog.

I am pretty sure that I am going to Columbus this afternoon. I need to pick up some forms from the courthouse and a copy of a final order in a case. Then I can come back home.

Today and tomorrow are slow days. Although I do have to drive to Milledgeville tomorrow. I foresee some time spent in study and paperwork over the next few days.

I am almost beyond notice of the beauty of the morning. The sun is out. The clouds are floating on the baby blue. The temperature is near perfect. These are the days upon which I stand when people complain about the climate in Georgia. These complaints are usually lodged in Summer when the heat and humidity of the season melt those former Yankees and any former Californians who are used to the Mediterranean climate of Southern California. I usually turn a deaf ear at this point because I know that March and April and May and September and October and November can be absolutely perfect days. Absolutely pastoral. Even the Winter and times in the Summer can be gorgeous, from time to time.

So drink some water. Eat some melons. Wait for peach season. Swim in a lake. Go to the beach.

As Duane Allman said, "Eat a Peach."

And I do know the context of that quote.

I think I'll listen to some Allman Brothers in my car.

Virginia Tech Anniversary

Flint and steel,
We are rugged individualists
And we are caught in the world of our own choosing:
Cowboys on the range,
Gunfighters on the street,
Ninja warriors in the sewers,
Comic book heroes.
Tied up tighter than Dick's hatband,
Suffering no fools
And we know who they are.
For we are fighting for our rights
And we are righteous
In our righteousness,
And all things are relative
But we know we are right
And everyone else comes up short.

A spark.
False prophets.
That inner knowledge
That leads me to that place
Of righteousness.
A prick at my thumbs,
A voice in my ear,
A dog in the neighborhood
Barking his anquish
And I hear the voice
Blowing in the wind,
And I hear the voice
Giving me my orders,
Sighting the weapon,
Pulling the trigger,
And I am somebody now
And they were wrong.

Terror and anguish.

A Bloody day.

A flame against the night's darkness.

Tax Day

Well, the dog was delivered to his new home in Pike County and I picked up Tex from the puppy farm in Pike County. All seems to be well in the canine world.

It was quite cold today, particularly for the middle of April. It is supposed to get warmer by the end of the week. But it is also supposed to rain by Friday and Saturday.
That seems to be the pattern these days. It would be nice to continue that pattern on through the Summer.

I was able to put loafers on both feet this morning, but the left is a little bit tight. They are new shoes. What do you expect?

I am waiting on my client for this morning and we will soon walk over to the courthouse for a brief moment with Judge Edwards. I have another hearing in the afternoon in Henry County. I am hopeful that I will be able to work some magic there. Maybe.

Dogs

Monday, again. Yesterday afternoon, we drove back from Knoxville. We had a Jack Russell terrier in tow, which is going to a lady in Griffin. The dog is named Roscoe and is very sweet. We got home late last night, too late to take the dog to the lady. So Roscoe slept in my room. I woke up around 5:00 and Roscoe was attached to my legs. I got up and Roscoe did too. When I came back to bed, I placed Roscoe a little closer to the head of the bed. Roscoe and I went back to sleep for an hour or two.

Later today, we will take Roscoe to his new owner. After that, I will pick up Tex from the puppy farm in Pike County. I suspect Tex's nose will be twitching when he gets in the car and particularly when he gets home. Jealousy will arise and we might see the return of indoor scent marking around the house. Tex is a French dog on both sides of his family and his personality seems to follow the characteristics of your typical Frenchman. Stubborn and jealous, he will ignore you as if you didn't exist.

I say that about Tex and the breeds from which he derives, but Molly was a Brittany, which is also a French dog, and she was sweet as could be. Tempermentally, she was probably the sweetest dog I ever had. She just wanted to love on me and be beside me all the time. She was definitely my dog.

Dogs are funny like that. They all have their own little personalities.

Market Square, Knoxville, Tennessee

Today I awoke in Knoxville, went downstairs to fix my breakfast and then took my myriad cornucopia of pills to help me with my foot condition. Afterward, I went back upstairs and played around on the computer. Apparently someone in the neighborhood has wifi access because I was able to hook up on the computer and read my emails, etc.

After awhile, I went downstairs and joined the breakfast table confab. Ultimately, we went to our respective rooms and floors and got ready for the day. Later, we drove into town and took part in the Dogwood Festival at Market Square. Cindy and her mother went into some used clothing store and her dad and I walked around looking the various booths.

We connected with Missy and Megan and talked about lunch, which was coming on with a fever. Meanwhile, we discovered some various photo booths and looked over the photographs.

Ultimately, the band on the big stage started up and I stood around and listened to them while purchases were being made behind me. The band was pretty good instrumentally, although I wasn't a big fan of their singer. The band seemed to revolve around him and he took various instruments throughout the set and left the rest of the band behind.

I ultimately left the stage area and went with Cindy to look at some of the other booths. We finally started discussing lunch and Cindy and Missy decided they really wanted to eat in a restaurant rather than finding booth food, although some of the food booths had smelled and looked pretty good.

We ended up in a Cuban restaurant which was having service problems. We sat around for almost an hour before we were served. As it turned out, the restaurant had a tiny kitchen and one cook, so it was no wonder they had a time serving us.

The food was ok and it was finally nice to get fed. After we left, Cindy's dad and I were separated from our respective wives as they left to look at other booths.

Meanwhile, we headed back toward the river and ended up standing around near two young guys with guitars trying to sing and play on the edge of the festival. They were bad. And I mean bad in the literal sense. They weren't bad instrumentally, but they yelled their lyrics and made up for their lack of vocal technique with the strength of their volume. Not a good combination.

Finally, after about thirty minutes of this, a young man came up to us and told us that he had just left the Knox County jail and didn't have any money and would we be willing to give him some money for lunch.

I felt like walking over to the musicians and telling them that I would ordinarily put the money in their guitar case in appreciation for their playing. However, these guys were so bad that I felt compelled to give this money to this dude who had just been released from the Knox County jail.

Of course, I didn't do that. My father in law opined that he would just take the money and use it on alcahol or drugs. But I kept an eye on him and saw him buy a barbecue sandwich from the Buddy's Barbecue truck.

Ah, Vindication. And I didn't have to give any money to those two dudes killing the air with their voices. Too bad I didn't make the point to them I really wanted to.

By the way, the Market Square, which is where the old City Market building was located, has various quotes from famous Knoxville writers about the old City Market building imbedded in the sidewalk. In front of the stage, there was a quote from Cormac McCarthy's "Suttree". I tried to read it, but some young mothers and their post teenage friends were standing on it and wouldn't move to let me read. They were more interested in themselves and the mindless drivel rolling off their corporate tongues. Little Phillistines.

I doubt if they would recognize the beauty of McCarthy's prose. They seemed to be more interested in themselves as objects of beauty. Whatever.

I didn't see it.

Locomotion

I have been writing a lot lately about walking. For obvious reasons. I like to walk. It is one of my favorite forms of exercise. I like hiking up in the mountains. I like walking on the beach. I even like walking around the exercise track at Airport Road in Griffin.

Lately, however, if you have been reading my blog, you will know that I was unable to walk without pain for the last week or two. This was due to some condition which my good doctor couldn't specifically diagnose, however, he treated me for several things at the same time and I am now walking without crutches and have been able to shoe both my feet.

But you know that. The problem is that I have been without the ability to locomote easily for the past week and a half and it has been rather problematic to get around town. Or anywhere for that matter.

You see, I don't often get sick or encounter a condition which causes me trouble in getting around. So it has been quite a different past week or two for me.

Interestingly, Cindy stepped forward and helped out quite a bit. All of a sudden she was cooking and walking the dog and putting dishes and glasses in the dishwasher and pushing the trashcans out to the street and back. It has been quite a show for me, while I lay on the couch with my foot on the back of the couch.

In addition, I have been taking quite a few pills per day to deal with this condition, whatever it may be, and, of course, my high blood pressure. I had two large horse pills for my blood pressure and my an infection. Then, I had two tiny, tiny pills, one white and one kind of lavender, for the other possible diagnoses on my foot condition.

But now I am better. I will continue to take the pills for a few days to ensure that my recovery is complete.

In my travels today, I got to drive to Carrollton for a hearing in the State Court of Carroll County. This was an appeal of an action in Magistrate's Court. The defendant had filed an appeal without notifying me or mailing a copy of same to me. Apparently, the defendant wanted to buy the property back from the lender but the lender was not willing to allow them to stay in the house post foreclosure. They took umbrage at this and filed their appeal.

What a lot of mess for something with very little merit. Of course, I checked the clerk's indices before the hearing today and found a deed entry a couple of years ago from the defendant to a third party, so, perhaps, this is just an elaborate way to protect a third party and protect her credit. There was a third party who attended the hearings with the defendant who remain anonymous throughout. I wonder if he was the real party in interest.

These things get rather complicated sometimes.

Anyway, I am looking forward to our trip this weekend. It will be nice to vacate for a weekend. Even if it is going to be rather wet and cold.

On to Knoxville.

Walking around

I was able to place two shoes on my two feet today. Quite an accomplishment. Kate says its quite a "step forward." Ha Ha.

When you have a condition like I have had over the last week or so, a simple thing like putting a shoe on your foot is a simple pleasure.

Walking around on both feet with out any pain. That's a good one too.

A first attempt at golf

Most people know that I am not much of a golfer. When Kate was in high school, I tried to play some in support of Kate. I would still like to play some with her if she wants. But golf has never been my forte.

However, I ran across this picture yesterday depicting a house on Skyline Drive, out in the country, south of Hopkinsville. I believe this is the same place that back in the 60's was a country club with an attached pool and golf course. When I was young, Aunt Meg and Momma used to haul the cousins all down to the pool which was located behind this building to go swimming in the Summer. After playing in the water for some time, Frank and Ed and I would walk around the back of the clubhouse to buy candy and sodas from the machines in the pro shop for the golf course.

One time when Ed, Frank and I were dropped off at the pool, we ended up in the pro shop and Ed saw a friend of his getting ready to play golf. We were invited along to watch him hit the balls around the course. All four of us ended up trying to hit the little white balls around the into the holes. We spent a nice afternoon walking around the course, pretending we were Arnold Palmer or Jack Nicklaus or Gary Player.

This, I believe, was the first time we had ever played golf. Now when you play golf as an adult you have to live up to certain expectations of dress and conduct. But when we played that day, we were barefoot, in bathing suits, and probably wearing tee-shirts. The rules were a little bit lax for us on that course. And we weren't keeping score. I think the ball-washers were just as interesting to us at that age as any other part of the golf course. Not to mention the trains blowing past on the tracks that ran along the end of the course.

I think that if I had had access to a golf course where they were as lax with the rules as they were that day, I might have ended up playing more golf when I got to be an adult. But football and baseball and basketball ended up being my sports.

Hubris

According to Garrison Keilor and the Writer's Almanac today is the day that the Titanic left Southampton for New York and also the day that Fitzgerald's book "The Great Gatsby" was published. One event was heralded as the beginning of a great accomplishment in ship-building. The other was questionable. Of course, we know that the Titanic went down and became a great symbol of man's hubris. "The Great Gatsby" went on to be perhaps the greatest American novel of the 20th century. The Titanic was built by Irish ship-builders in Belfast. "The Great Gatsby" was written by a great Irish-American from Minnesota.

"The Great Gatsby" is the novel where Gatsby strives to be something he is not so that he may win the heart of his love. He loses his struggle for Daisy and gets tangled up in the world in which she lives with her husband, Tom Buchanan. In the end he loses his life trying to fit in to the world to which he aspires.

The Titanic was considered 'unsinkable' by its designers. Unfortunately, this was found to be untrue as the design actually caused it to sink when it struck an iceberg off the coast of North America.

Tragic flaws all around. Ireland sure has produced its share.

Walking in downtown Hoptown

Hey, does anybody in my family remember walking over to Giles' Market from Dee Dee's apartment?hatTI remember walking all over Hopkinsville with Ed and Frank. I don't think we were much over ten years old at the time. Ed seemed to walk all over the place. We always seemed to end up at the Clerk's Office to get a five cent coke from Dee Dee. We always seemed to end up at the courthouse for a visit with the clerk and all of the other deputies.

Walking around town, everyone seemed to know me even if I didn't know them.

Uneeda Biscuit, baby

Sure, we both graduated from Dunwoody High School. And we are both first children in our respective families. And, hey, we both graduated as English majors from our respective colleges. And we both fell in love and married each other.

But who would have thought that the same advertising could be found painted on buildings in the towns we often call our hometowns. Look closely at the two pictures. The bottom one is an advertisement on the end of a building in Clarksville, Tennessee. I bought a painting of it for my dad for his office. The top picture is a similar advertisement found on a building in the French Quarter in New Orleans.

How about that? Imagine, they eat biscuits in both places.

Charlie's Steakhouse

I thought I would add a little reminder of the good old days when we used to drive up 41A up from Clarksville to Hopkinsville and pass Charlie's Steakhouse on the right in Oak Grove, Kentucky. When I was a kid, I always wanted to eat at Charlie's but didn't get there until I was in college. The restaurant looked nice from the outside and the steaks were very good, once I actually went in and sat down to eat. Inside, the place was pretty dark. A real old-fashioned steakhouse.

I guess the soldiers at Ft. Campbell keep it in business. As many things change so fast, it is nice to know that some things seem to remain the same.

Good old Hereford signs.

Appomattox

On this date, in 1865, a tired old gentleman from Virginia rode his gray horse eastward toward a little, red brick courthouse in Western Virginia and met with a contingent of blue-clad army officers. They met in the front parlor of a farmer named Wilmer McLean, who had moved there from near Manassas, Virginia. Mr. McLean had moved there to remove himself and his family from the vicinity of battles between the competing armies which had been fought there in 1861 and 1862. Now his family was playing host to the end of hostilities. Ironic.

The terms of the end of hostilities allowed officers to keep their sidearms and further allowed the surrendering soldiers to keep their mules and horses, if they had any. This was what the federal government allowed these men to keep of their possessions. It would be a few weeks or months before these men would find out what the federal government had allowed them to keep when they returned to their homes. A lot of them didn't have much waiting for them when they returned to their families.

Isn't it ironic that this date falls so closely to the date upon which the federal government allows us to retain some of our possessions every year?

Within a year, the gentleman from Virginia, whose home had been confiscated by the Federal government, would take a position with a small college in Lexington, Virginia, where he would serve as President until he died in 1870. His son, who would follow him as President of Washington and Lee, would later negotiate with the federal government to receive some portion of compensation for his confiscated house and the land upon which it stood across the Potomac from the capitol. Military personnel, politicians and a President would ultimately find a place of rest on the grounds of his former residence.

Meanwhile, the Virginia gentleman lies in a family crypt beneath a chapel which is situated beyond the colonnade at Washington and Lee University. We try to keep his memory, despite the changing opinions of recent days.

The site of the surrender is quite an interesting place to visit. Turning off the highway, you drive through foliage which separates the frantic cacophany of modern living from the site of the surrender. Once you pass through the green curtain, you come into a place where the clock seems to have stopped and you really grasp a sense of what it might have looked like on April 9, 1865. The only missing parts of the scene are the men, horses and mules which were congregated around the buildings.

Within four days of the scene enacted on April 9, 1865, the leader of that federal government would lie in a stranger's bed across the street from a theater in Washington, D.C., dying from a gunshot wound in the back of his head. His death would, in some sense, be one of the last casualties of the hostilities from that difference of opinion played out in the fields, rivers, and pasturelands of America. It would have been nice if the agreements which were reached on April 9, 1865 in Appomattox, Virginia could have ended all of the injuries and deaths from that argument.

Unfortunately, we still suffer.

The latest on my foot.

For those of you who care, I went back to the Doctor today. They took my blood pressure and it was virtually normal: 122/88. My heart rate was also normal. They sat me down in an examination room where I removed my sock off my left foot to reveal the redness and swelling quite evident thereon. Dr. Hitson's nurse was a little shocked.

Finally, David came in and looked at my foot. He had me remove my other sock to provide contrast with the swollen foot. He squeezed my foot at various points on the foot. He prescribed several medicines in addition to the others previously prescribed. Now I will be eating about a ton of medicine in the morning and evening every day for several more days.

After the examination, he decided I may have something like gout or a similar condition. The medicine should help with it.

I actually feel pretty good. Parts of the foot are tender and the foot does swell considerably when I walk on it for anything length of time. It seems to be better in the morning after a good night's sleep.

I will be glad when this is all over.

Go Governors!

When I was in high school my grandfather told me two cheers from when he was in school. They were:

"Chew tobacca, chew tobacca, chew tobacca spit! We think your team ain't worth _____!"

"Pork chop, pork chop, greasy, greasy! We can beat your team easy, easy!"

That went well with the two names he thought we should name children if they were born female: Alice Ophelia and Mary Luzinka.

I am not quite sure why I thought of that, but it probably has to do with these two cheers for APSU:

"Let's go Peay! Let's go Peay!" and "The Fly is open! Let's go Peay!"

Governors may be one of the more original, but appropriate mascots. The school is named after Governor Austin Peay, who was from the area, practiced law in Clarksville and apparently was very interested in education in Tennessee. To name a teacher's college in his hometown after him was quite appropriate. And while the name 'Governors' doesn't necessarily strike fear in the hearts of the opposition, I'm not quite sure which mascot names do these days.

Everybody is so concerned with making sure no one is offended by their mascots and the images of the athletic teams that borrowing the fearsome traits of anyone or anything is a questionable action. No wonder we have the Banana Slugs and the Artichokes and the Blue Hose. [No offense, Kate.]

I defend the use of the Braves by Atlanta in this way: the team began in Boston. This was one of those teams which couldn't settle on a mascot. They were the Pilgrims, the Doves, the Bees. It's almost a miracle that they settled on anything. The original Boston Braves were the citizens who dressed up as Indians and threw tea out into the harbor to protest the tax on it. They weren't real Indians, but they were a significant part of our early history in this country. So the Braves are named so, not after Native Americans, but after those guys dressed up like Braves in the days before July 4, 1776.

By the way, the Cleveland Indians were named so after a former player on the Cleveland team who was a Native American. The player died while still playing and the team wanted to honor him by calling the team the 'Indians.' So we shouldn't be too critical of that use of the name, either.

There are plenty of incidents in our history in which the European-Americans took advantage of the Native-Americans for which we should be rightfully criticized without worrying about the use of these names by colleges, high schools and professional sports franchises.

That's my little sermon for the day.

James "Fly" Williams and the beginning of APSU basketball

I know that APSU has been playing basketball since they opened the school back in the 30's, but I was flipping through the internet and found a story on famous alumni of all of the schools involved in the NCAA March Madness which just ended last night. It was interesting to see who AOL picked as representative of the graduates of the various schools. It was also interesting to see where certain people matriculated. For instance, who would have thought that the actor "Don Johnson" went to Kansas? I guess he's happy now. Goldie Hawn went to American University.

Anyway, the famous alumnus of APSU was an ag scientist who cloned the first calf in the United States. This caused me to go to the entry for APSU in Wikepedia to see who else was listed as famous alumni of the college.

As I drifted down the page, I saw a lot of athletes, politicians and celebrities. But one name stuck out: James "Fly" Williams.

When I was in high school, still trying to play basketball, Sports Illustrated had a short article one Winter about a basketball player at APSU who was in the top five of national basketball players in scoring. The story told of a young guy from the streets of Brooklyn who was convinced to come down to Clarksville, Tennessee to play college basketball. I'm sure he had no idea where Clarksville was when he agreed to go play basketball there.

Anyway, he averaged over 27 points per game and led the team in his freshman year to the NCAA's for the first time. He even led the team to the second round with a win over Jacksonville State. I remember that year because a local Atlanta station played the next game where Kentucky beat APSU and eliminated them from the competition.

All of a sudden, this little college in Clarksville, Tennessee, which was known to me only because both of my parents had graduated from the school and had lived nearby, was a hot commodity in college basketball. During those years, they even had a tall rebounder from Texas named Percy Howard, who was in the top ten of rebounding before he fell off a roof on a summer job and disappeared from college basketball. Oddly, he reappeared when he caught a touchdown pass for the Dallas Cowboys against the Pittsburgh Steelers in a Super Bowl.

The next year, the Governors again went to the NCAA's, only to get eliminated by Notre Dame. I remember watching that game, with Adrian Dantley leading Notre Dame.

But the following year, Fly Williams left APSU and went to the ABA, where he played briefly for the St. Louis Spirits. The beauty of his short time there was that it led the school and the State of Tennessee to build a large basketball arena for APSU and has kept the basketball program at APSU in the fore of small schools around the country. The governors don't usually get very far, but they do make the dance most years.

And all of that was due to the efforts of a first year assistant basketball coach and a playground phenom from Brooklyn who decided to travel down to Tennessee to play basketball.

All about feet, football and getting on my feet

This past weekend, I left work early on Friday and took Cindy to see "Leatherheads" at the local movie theater. The movie was about professional football in the 1920's when professional football was considered considerably lower than college football, which, of course, was the bailiwick of all the high-toned colleges like Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and so forth. This movie involves a college football hero from Princeton who is convinced to play for a Duluth, Minnesota professional football team. This brings money and blows life into the the dying professional football league and causes the local press to investigate the truth behind the hero from Princeton.

I liked the movie and Cindy and I had a good time at the movie and then eating supper afterward. It was a nice date. And we were back home before 9:00 o'clock.

All weekend I was resting my foot. Only on Sunday did I do anything other than sit around and rest. This morning, my foot was almost back to normal. I could actually see the veins in my foot, which was a first in about a week. I've got to believe that in a couple of days I will be able to put my shoes back on both feet. That's my goal for Friday, since I have a hearing in Carrollton on Friday morning.

Well, I have several meetings with clients this afternoon. I am looking forward to laying back down on the sofa this afternoon and taking my medicine. Of course, I am really looking forward to being over this mess.

Journey through health care

Well, the ice and elevation of my foot didn't help the swelling much and Cindy gave me her crutches to use. I decided last night, upon the further prodding of my wife and mother, that I should see the doctor. I got up in the morning and rode my butt down the stairs and took a shower. Cindy fixed me breakfast and I drove her to work and rode over to the doctor's office. My doctor was out of town so I had to come in as a walk-in patient. Which meant I got to sit in the waiting room for quite a time before they could get to me. I watched a lot of Griffin cross my path to the reception.

They finally called my name and took me back to the end of the line for examination rooms. The nurse took my pulse, temperature and blood pressure. I was normal. Imagine. That doesn't happen very often.

Finally, they took me to the x-ray room and took pictures of my foot. Oddly, everytime they tried to take my x-ray, someone called me on my cellphone. I asked if the cellphone would create a problem for the x-ray and was told that it would not.

After completion of the x-rays, they returned me to the examination room and I waited for the doctor. The doctor arrived and asked me if I had ever had the gout. No.

I was told that I didn't have a break, but seemed to have an infection. So, I left with a prescription for antibiotics and went to the office. Now, I am sitting here in the downstairs conference room waiting for twelve noon to arrive so I can drive over to Kroger to get my prescription filled.

That's it. The antibiotics are supposed to take care of it in a few days.

Cross our fingers.

Jocko's pizza with extra pepperoni and a pitcher of Tuborg

When I was a senior in high school, I had a group of buddies, most of whom were football players at Dunwoody, who used to get together to amuse ourselves in various ways. A group of us used to refer to ourselves as the 'Irish Mafia' and we would get dressed up in our Sunday best, drive over to Sandy Springs and a restaurant known as The Speakeasy and we would pretend that we were a group of mobsters. The running joke involved a situation where a couple of the guys would enter the building, look around, then motion for me to enter. After that we would sit at a darkened booth and the guys would order for me to the waitress. When we finished eating, one of the other guys would pay and the protection would ease out to check the outside of the restaurant, then escort me out.

I was never real sure what the poor waitresses thought, but it was rather amusing to pretend we were some type of group hiding out from the other 'families' and the police. Of course we were all teenagers, just barely legal, and it was just a lark for us.

Anyway, one of my buddies from the group called me today. A good number of us seemed to have a nickname. Gary DeFilippo was "Flip." I was TEB, TB, Uncle Teb and Mr. Baynham. Flip always referred to me as 'Mr. Baynham'. Mike Williams was "Willie", John Boswell was "Boz." Then there were Jim Connolly, Graham Gardner and Ronnie Brown. There were a few others who came and went depending on the weekend.

When I think back on that we were really pretty goofy. I guess we just didn't care. Oddly, a few of us attended quite a few first rate colleges: Harvard, Stanford, the Naval Academy. A couple of them actually made it out to my wedding in California. Of course, some of them were in California at the time and still live out there. But we had a good group from my high school days at the wedding.

I have been thinking about those guys lately. Apparently, a couple of them got together recently and had a mini reunion. They were talking enough about me that Flip decided to call me. I now have numbers for Flip, Willie and Jim.

Flip came to Dunwoody when we were juniors and split time with Willie at tailback. One of the few games we won that year was against Cedar Shoals. I remember Willie had a ton of yards that day, and it seemed like there were a number of long runs where I was leading Willie down the field toward the end zone. Everytime as we got near the end zone, I would try to shade the defensive back to give Willie enough room to run into the end zone. And every time, Willie would cut away from the direction in which I was shading the d-back. Every time we broke free and headed toward the goal, Willie would cut back into the field and get tackled inside the five yard line.

Upon that occurrence, Coach Jackson would replace Willie with Flip, who would drive in for the touchdown. So by the end of the game, Flip had a ton of points scored, but little yardage and Willie had a ton of yards but no touchdowns. Just the way it went.

One break we had a 'mead party' in which we bought about every bottle of mead we could find. I remember falling asleep on the couch downstairs in the basement and waking up to see Flip playing "LaGrange" by ZZ Top on my dad's Martin acoustic guitar, while several of my buddies were gatoring on the floor. That was too much of a scene; I went back to sleep.

I also remember one time when we went over to the Defillipo house and called the information line for the Great Southeast Music Hall. The recording said that we could come over that night to hear 450 pounds of the best Chicago blues around. That night about ten white boys were just enthralled to hear Willie Dixon and his band from Chicago play some excellent blues. By the end of the evening, we were down on the side of the stage, shaking hands with the band and the man himself. His fingers were like kielbasa. It was rather difficult to shake hands with such massive hands.

But I can say I saw and shook hands with the great Willie Dixon. And all my buddies were there too.

The Music Hall and Underground were my second homes on the weekends in those days. What a lot of fun. What a lot of fun.

Live music. Draft beer. And Jocko's pizza.

Hot pretzels, a bucket of beer and seats on the floor of the music hall.

What a lot of fun.

I wonder what happened to James Lewis Dorsey?

No, my left foot

My left foot. I'm beginning to think that that book and the movie they made from it should have been about me. A couple of years I developed a chronic pain in my left foot. I went to a doctor in Fayetteville whose nurse (never saw the doctor) diagnosed me with a condition called 'Morton's Neuroma.' This is a condition where the tendons in your foot get wrapped up with the nerves running alongside them. This causes swelling and pain in the foot.

At the time, the nurse gave me a shot of cortisone and told me to buy a pad for the ball of my foot. The cortisone did little but the little pads were amazing. The pain and swelling disappeared almost immediately. After awhile, I found that if I could get shoes that had a high arch support and padding for the feet, like a good athletic shoe, that I could avoid all of this swelling and pain.

Anyway, two days ago I began to have swelling and pain again in my left foot. It felt like my foot was broken. After a day of walking and what-not, the left foot swelled up to such a great degree that I didn't feel like walking anywhere. Going up stairs wasn't any fun either.

For the last two days I have been hobbling around everywhere. Yesterday, every place I stopped to step up to the courthouse steps caused more pain and swelling. Last night, I got an ice pack out and put it on my foot. I found that the ice relieved the pain and swelling so long as I wasn't walking on it.

This morning, my left foot felt almost perfect. But as I walked on it, the pain and swelling came back. Now I am wearing tennis shoes for the support and icing my foot on the floor of my office. So far, I have spoken with two clients and avoided having to get up to speak with them anywhere other than at my desk. That was a little bit embarrassing.

Well, we will just have to persevere.

The old stomping grounds

Twenty five years ago I was a brand new lawyer in the state of Georgia, practicing with a law firm in Toccoa. During those six months I drove all around the Northeast Georgia mountains and the upcountry in South Carolina.

One of the spots to which I had to travel was Carnesville, the county seat of Franklin County. Carnesville is a tiny little mountain town in a small county, planted between Elberton and Hartwell and Toccoa and Jefferson and Homer. One time back in 1982 I had to travel to the courthouse in Carnesville. When I finished with my business, I hopped in my car and headed the car back down the road toward Toccoa. I stopped at a stop sign on the corner of the courthouse square. As I stopped, I noticed an old Victorian era house across the street with a broad wrap around porch. As I glanced at the house, the screen door on the front of the house swung quickly open and a naked three or four year old boy came running out the house and around the porch. Immediately thereafter, the door closed and swung open again to reveal the child's mother following her son, with towel in hand.

That image has remained as my picture of Carnesville ever since. Today, however, I got a new image to go along with naked child and mother. When I went to Carnesville to cry out the foreclosure sale, I didn't know at which entrance from which I was supposed to cry the sale. I walked into the old courthouse and entered the clerk's office. One clerk was dealing with a man and a woman and their requirements for responding to a court summons. The other clerk was on the phone dealing with another citizen of Franklin County and their court summons. I stood in the doorway for one of the clerks to complete her task.

Finally, the clerk on the phone hung up and turned to me. I explained to her that I needed to find out from which entrance I was supposed to cry out the sale.

Her response, "We don't cry foreclosure sales in this office."

"No, no. I want to cry out the foreclosure sale."

Pause.

"Oh. Well, you'll have to ask the clerks in the real estate room."

"Ok. Thank you."

So I walked down to the other end of the courthouse and entered the deed record room. Inside there was one clerk, sitting behind a counter.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, from which entrance to the courthouse are foreclosure notices cried?"

She pointed to the nearest entrance, "That one."

"Thank you."

So I left the record room and went out in front of the courthouse. Nice to find someone in the clerk's office who knew the answer. As I began to read the foreclosure notice, a young man ran awkwardly toward me on the courthouse steps and stopped, perched next to me on the banister to the steps. I stopped reading for a second and considered his presence. He smiled sheepishly.

I continued to read the notice. When I was finished, I announced the lender's bid and looked up at the young man.

"Do you want to place a bid?"

He shook his head, "No, no. I just driving by and saw you reading and thought I'd give you someone to listen to you read."

He smiled at me and I smiled back at him. "Alright."

So I completed the cry-out and the two of us left the courthouse steps and I drove on the rest of my round-about journey from Carnesville to Dahlonega and Dawsonville and then back home.

A lot of the courthouses had changed since I was a young attorney in Toccoa, but it was a little comforting to see that in some counties the terrain was still similar to 1982. I don't feel so damn old.

Of course, it doesn't take that much to make that happen.