I am compelled to write a blog today. Today is the day upon which Samuel Pepys ended his ten year diary. We heard that information earlier this afternoon and Kate asked me if I was supposed to end this blog today. I explained to her that Samuel Pepys kept his diary for ten years. So, since I began this diary last year, I still have nine years to go before I can say I kept up with Sam.
Of course, the title of my blog informs you that Samuel Pepys has only length on my now. So, at this point, Sam is only nine years ahead of me. I guess the real question is whether I have the stamina to keep up with my blog for as long as Sam. We shall see.
I am hopeful that some interesting things will occur while I am writing this blog. Pepys got to write about the burning of London and the resurgence of same under Christopher Wren. There were other things that happened in London during that time frame and I can't say that I have included everything that has happened in Atlanta while I have been writing this blog. But I still have time.
I can't think of too much that has happened in Atlanta during the time I have been writing which has not been remarked upon in my blogs. I guess I might not have mentioned the tornado which hit downtown Atlanta during the SEC basketball tournament. That was interesting. They had to move the tournament to Georgia Tech and many skyscrapers in Atlanta still have glass to be replaced. The best part of the tournament turned out to be when Georgia won the tournament as underdogs. I really think the tournament victory saved the job of the coach. He will live to see another year. Maybe he can turn the program around now.
The Hawks did well this year. If they had had home court advantage over Boston, I believe they would have upset the Celtics. Of course, that was not to be. Now the Celtics will play the Lakers for the championship.
I am glad Kate is going to eat lunch with Rev. Dalstrom on Tuesday. I hope it doesn't get in the way of Foreclosure Day duties.
It is a warm sunny day in Dunwoody and we are spending the night at Mom and Dad's home. Let us celebrate the end of May. Hooray June!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Toast to the end of Bloody May
Here it is. The end of May, 2008. Bloody May. I have to punctuate this month with the statement: "good riddance."
I don't think I have had a month in which so many adverse occurrences have occurred. None of which seem to have anything to do with each other.
And there seems to be no limit to the carnage. Cyclones in Burma, China, the Midwest, Georgia. Sickness in my family, Frank's family, Susan's family, Cindy's family, Aunt Meg, Nikki. Economic disasters without end. Economic terrorism from the Middle East and South America. No one pays their bills on time. Even clients seem to be stung. No one can fulfill the missions for which we set our sights. Everything is so much more complicated. Closings don't close. Lenders are circling the wagons. There are rumors of problems beyond the surface. Promised closings disappear as quickly as they materialize. Sometimes in a day's time.
You drive around, if you can afford the gas to do so, and you see the indications of economic downslides. Businesses are closing. Nothing is taking their place. There are a lot of for sale signs, but no buyers.
Meanwhile, I can't get to where I want to be: sitting in the dying sun of afternoon, sipping on a beer and eating oysters. Digesting the hot dogs of the day. Relaxed. Not worrying whether or not the next day's mail will include checks from the clients. Not worrying about making payroll, paying the bills.
I am thinking about Toccoa, when I graduated from law school. Weekends at Lake Rabun. Cans of Miller Lite in every hand. Parties on Saturday nights at the country club. Drinking wine out of Boots Ramsey's wine cellar. Driving over to Clemson to drink some beers with the very short coeds and eat some seafood at Redd's Seafood in the adjoining town.
What the Hell? Where are all these references to seafood coming from?
I've got to get some iodine in me.
Here's to the end of Bloody May. No matter what is before us in June. It has to be better.
I don't think I have had a month in which so many adverse occurrences have occurred. None of which seem to have anything to do with each other.
And there seems to be no limit to the carnage. Cyclones in Burma, China, the Midwest, Georgia. Sickness in my family, Frank's family, Susan's family, Cindy's family, Aunt Meg, Nikki. Economic disasters without end. Economic terrorism from the Middle East and South America. No one pays their bills on time. Even clients seem to be stung. No one can fulfill the missions for which we set our sights. Everything is so much more complicated. Closings don't close. Lenders are circling the wagons. There are rumors of problems beyond the surface. Promised closings disappear as quickly as they materialize. Sometimes in a day's time.
You drive around, if you can afford the gas to do so, and you see the indications of economic downslides. Businesses are closing. Nothing is taking their place. There are a lot of for sale signs, but no buyers.
Meanwhile, I can't get to where I want to be: sitting in the dying sun of afternoon, sipping on a beer and eating oysters. Digesting the hot dogs of the day. Relaxed. Not worrying whether or not the next day's mail will include checks from the clients. Not worrying about making payroll, paying the bills.
I am thinking about Toccoa, when I graduated from law school. Weekends at Lake Rabun. Cans of Miller Lite in every hand. Parties on Saturday nights at the country club. Drinking wine out of Boots Ramsey's wine cellar. Driving over to Clemson to drink some beers with the very short coeds and eat some seafood at Redd's Seafood in the adjoining town.
What the Hell? Where are all these references to seafood coming from?
I've got to get some iodine in me.
Here's to the end of Bloody May. No matter what is before us in June. It has to be better.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Food evolution
Yesterday I made the brief statement that I had graduated from oysters to hot dogs. Cindy took offense to that, saying that there was no way to graduate from oysters to hot dogs. I think I understand what she meant when she said that and I can certainly appreciate her perspective on the controversy. When one considers the respective 'aura' or status of oysters vs. hot dogs, clearly oysters have more panache than hot dogs. Oysters are served at very fancy restaurants and are much more expensive than hot dogs generally. So I understand why Cindy might have considered it a downturn in the development of my taste to go from oysters to hot dogs.
However, we must consider the basics of oysters compared to hot dogs. For instance, an oyster is a sea creature which has been around for maybe millions of years. It is very simple in its makeup, an invertebrate with little color, a soft, wet gray mass inside a rock-like shell.
Now don't get me wrong. I love oysters. Oysters are my friends. I love them raw or broiled or steamed or in a shot glass with beer and cocktail sauce. Perhaps my favorite accompaniment to a hot sandy day at the beach or on a boat.
But let's be realistic, an oyster is an oyster. A simple sea creature which requires little processing.
A hot dog, on the other hand, is the original processed food. Almost every culture has some type of sausage. Meat, ground up, mixed with spices, stuffed in a casing. Sure it is somewhat disgusting to consider that process, but it is at least a process. There is more to it than dredging a number off the bottom of a bay or estuary.
So for that reason, I think we are safe in saying that we developed from oysters to hot dogs. No matter where you might find them.
In that regard, it has always been a topic of consideration for me as to what would have led early man to make use of an oyster for food. After all, the exterior of an oyster does not look appetizing. More like a rock. What could have led someone to say, "Hmm, I think I'll crack open this rock and eat its insides."
I've got to believe that there was a bit of serendipity involved in the process, when someone saw an oyster shell being opened, exposing the soft center. Even then, there would have to be some other chance occurrence other than just extreme hunger, before one would be moved to pick up the shell, crack it open and eat the salty, squishy meat inside. And when I say meat, I am really being generous here. There is a big difference between an oyster and a ribeye steak. Or even a crab or lobster.
No, it took quite a bit of courage to take that oyster shell in hand, crack it open and then swallow the prize inside. I've got to believe, something like Tabasco, a cracker and a decent beer had to be the second inventions in the process.
Or perhaps an oyster knife.
Hot dogs are much simpler food items to get into.
However, we must consider the basics of oysters compared to hot dogs. For instance, an oyster is a sea creature which has been around for maybe millions of years. It is very simple in its makeup, an invertebrate with little color, a soft, wet gray mass inside a rock-like shell.
Now don't get me wrong. I love oysters. Oysters are my friends. I love them raw or broiled or steamed or in a shot glass with beer and cocktail sauce. Perhaps my favorite accompaniment to a hot sandy day at the beach or on a boat.
But let's be realistic, an oyster is an oyster. A simple sea creature which requires little processing.
A hot dog, on the other hand, is the original processed food. Almost every culture has some type of sausage. Meat, ground up, mixed with spices, stuffed in a casing. Sure it is somewhat disgusting to consider that process, but it is at least a process. There is more to it than dredging a number off the bottom of a bay or estuary.
So for that reason, I think we are safe in saying that we developed from oysters to hot dogs. No matter where you might find them.
In that regard, it has always been a topic of consideration for me as to what would have led early man to make use of an oyster for food. After all, the exterior of an oyster does not look appetizing. More like a rock. What could have led someone to say, "Hmm, I think I'll crack open this rock and eat its insides."
I've got to believe that there was a bit of serendipity involved in the process, when someone saw an oyster shell being opened, exposing the soft center. Even then, there would have to be some other chance occurrence other than just extreme hunger, before one would be moved to pick up the shell, crack it open and eat the salty, squishy meat inside. And when I say meat, I am really being generous here. There is a big difference between an oyster and a ribeye steak. Or even a crab or lobster.
No, it took quite a bit of courage to take that oyster shell in hand, crack it open and then swallow the prize inside. I've got to believe, something like Tabasco, a cracker and a decent beer had to be the second inventions in the process.
Or perhaps an oyster knife.
Hot dogs are much simpler food items to get into.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Hot Dogs
As a baby,
My mother gave me a hot dog
Right out of the plastic
Packaging, newly cut,
To hold in my little fist,
And I chewed
As best I could
With new teeth,
Tiny little, white chiclets
In my mouth.
And I acquired a fresh obsession
Throughout the years,
That carried me
From ballparks in Murphy Candler Park
To Fulton County Stadium and Turner Field,
To state parks in Kentucky,
Tennessee, Mississippi and Georgia,
From City Park in Griffin, Georgia to Piedmont Park in Atlanta
And there at Costco, a stand waiting for me after I paid,
From fresh-cut backyards in Summertime
To ill-kempt vendors
Along the refuse-riddled streets
Of the French Quarter, late at night,
Or outside an office building, at lunch,
In Atlanta, Chicago or New York.
And back to my mother's kitchen,
Where a pack of hotdogs or sausages
Always seems to await me,
At lunch time or supper,
From the meat drawer
Below the beer bottles,
Right behind the dill pickles
In the refrigerator
Back home.
My mother gave me a hot dog
Right out of the plastic
Packaging, newly cut,
To hold in my little fist,
And I chewed
As best I could
With new teeth,
Tiny little, white chiclets
In my mouth.
And I acquired a fresh obsession
Throughout the years,
That carried me
From ballparks in Murphy Candler Park
To Fulton County Stadium and Turner Field,
To state parks in Kentucky,
Tennessee, Mississippi and Georgia,
From City Park in Griffin, Georgia to Piedmont Park in Atlanta
And there at Costco, a stand waiting for me after I paid,
From fresh-cut backyards in Summertime
To ill-kempt vendors
Along the refuse-riddled streets
Of the French Quarter, late at night,
Or outside an office building, at lunch,
In Atlanta, Chicago or New York.
And back to my mother's kitchen,
Where a pack of hotdogs or sausages
Always seems to await me,
At lunch time or supper,
From the meat drawer
Below the beer bottles,
Right behind the dill pickles
In the refrigerator
Back home.
Memorial Day weekend
Saturday we got the opportunity to drive up to Dunwoody and see Mom and Dad and Susan and Kevin and the girls. Kate got to spend some time with Beth and then we went down to 'Six Feet Under' and ate some seafood and drank some beer. A pretty day with a lot of fun. We stopped at Target on the way back and bought some items. As we were driving back out of the parking lot toward home, Kate called and as we talked, we saw her driving toward us in the parking area outside of Target. We stopped and talked and Kate went off to buy a toothbrush and we went home. By the time we got home, Kate was there too. An odd day.
On Sunday, we took salmon out of the freezer and then to Cissie's house and enjoyed the outdoors and ate salmon and pasta salad and hot dogs on the back porch. It was nice. The next day, Cindy, Kate and I cleaned out the attic upstairs and Kate worked on her room. Afterward, we drove over to the movie theater and watched the new Indiana Jones movie, which turned out to be a fun movie. We ate a ton of popcorn and went back for more. Later, we picked up some groceries from Kroger and I ended up grilling hotdogs on the grill.
I think I am in a real mood for hotdogs. I can't help it. I know they are not good for me. I just can't help it.
On Sunday, we took salmon out of the freezer and then to Cissie's house and enjoyed the outdoors and ate salmon and pasta salad and hot dogs on the back porch. It was nice. The next day, Cindy, Kate and I cleaned out the attic upstairs and Kate worked on her room. Afterward, we drove over to the movie theater and watched the new Indiana Jones movie, which turned out to be a fun movie. We ate a ton of popcorn and went back for more. Later, we picked up some groceries from Kroger and I ended up grilling hotdogs on the grill.
I think I am in a real mood for hotdogs. I can't help it. I know they are not good for me. I just can't help it.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Everything is the same, no matter where you go
I read some of my blogs from this time last year. One blog spoke of the tenuousness of life and our proximity to ruin. I wonder how close I am. Am I closer than last year or is relief just around the corner? I wonder. I do know that the concerns of last year are the same concerns of this year. And the limitations, both mine and of the times, are probably still the same.
This life we live is so tenuous. Still, there are compensations. I love my wife. I love my daughter. I can walk out in the backyard and enjoy the beauty of the morning or the afternoon.
I can even take out my guitar, something which I haven't done in months, and entertain the birds and squirrels with my own warbling. I might even get my family or a member of the neighborhood to come listen to me. Or even join me.
I am not sure how cognizant I am of my own talents and the ability of these talents to give me comfort. This piece and the ability to vent a bit is a simple practical comfort. The guitar sits against the wall of the study upstairs. If it had the ability to think and feel and express itself without my assistance, it might vent of its loneliness.
A guitar sits and waits and sings its joy and sorrow under the hand of a conductor or another. Its song is sweet or sad or successful depending on the hand of the player. Even the heaviest of hands can bring something to bear.
Why are oysters and a good beer still caught in my brain? If I could have some bit of communion with friends and family.
This life we live is so tenuous. Still, there are compensations. I love my wife. I love my daughter. I can walk out in the backyard and enjoy the beauty of the morning or the afternoon.
I can even take out my guitar, something which I haven't done in months, and entertain the birds and squirrels with my own warbling. I might even get my family or a member of the neighborhood to come listen to me. Or even join me.
I am not sure how cognizant I am of my own talents and the ability of these talents to give me comfort. This piece and the ability to vent a bit is a simple practical comfort. The guitar sits against the wall of the study upstairs. If it had the ability to think and feel and express itself without my assistance, it might vent of its loneliness.
A guitar sits and waits and sings its joy and sorrow under the hand of a conductor or another. Its song is sweet or sad or successful depending on the hand of the player. Even the heaviest of hands can bring something to bear.
Why are oysters and a good beer still caught in my brain? If I could have some bit of communion with friends and family.
Saturday morning in the office
Kate's roommate, Beth, came back to Atlanta yesterday afternoon, and Kate borrowed my car and drove up to be with her near Lennox Square. They ate supper and went to a concert which started, oddly, around 11:00 last night. I had been sleeping through 'What Not to Wear' and whatever Cindy was watching while I slept, when Kate texted Cindy and told her that she and Beth were at the Variety Playhouse in Little Five Points and were going into the concert. Awful late.
Cindy and I went to bed awfully late also. And the morning came early when I awoke around 6:00. I went into the kitchen and took Tex out for his morning inspection of the back yard. If I could be more awake when I take Tex out, I think I would enjoy it more. I always love the quiet of morning. The rustling sounds of birds and squirrels coming out to take advantage of the sleepy day. The light rising from the trees behind our house, shedding a golden light on dewy grass.
It rained yesterday afternoon in Griffin, but Cindy says it did nothing at our house. I am not sure. Perhaps the rain was so brief that it didn't register. I don't know. All I know is that the ground is moist and the sunshine glints off the blades of grass. Little mirrors on the ground. The flowering bushes and blossoms in the gardens in the backyard are perky with the moisture, standing straight, providing colors of pink and yellow for the morning.
Later today, my family in St. Petersburg will have a little ceremony to remember the little girl born to my cousin Nikki, who passed away so quickly after her premature birth. There is no solace other than time for such a stab in one's heart.
Earlier, I noticed that we are low on breakfast items in the pantry, and I skipped breakfast and took a shower and dressed in a casual shirt and some khaki shorts, a pair of loafers without socks. Now I am in the office, listening to the NPR broadcast and waiting for one of my clients to come in and make good a bad check. Later I will go over to the post office to check the mail again for promised payments.
If I was not so sleepy, I would take the opportunity to do some work around here, but I am missing some rest from last night and need to go back home and take a nap before the rest of the day blows past me.
I wonder when Kate will return. Or, will the eagle scream and free Cindy and I to drive up to Atlanta and meet her and Beth? I'm still waiting.
Cindy and I went to bed awfully late also. And the morning came early when I awoke around 6:00. I went into the kitchen and took Tex out for his morning inspection of the back yard. If I could be more awake when I take Tex out, I think I would enjoy it more. I always love the quiet of morning. The rustling sounds of birds and squirrels coming out to take advantage of the sleepy day. The light rising from the trees behind our house, shedding a golden light on dewy grass.
It rained yesterday afternoon in Griffin, but Cindy says it did nothing at our house. I am not sure. Perhaps the rain was so brief that it didn't register. I don't know. All I know is that the ground is moist and the sunshine glints off the blades of grass. Little mirrors on the ground. The flowering bushes and blossoms in the gardens in the backyard are perky with the moisture, standing straight, providing colors of pink and yellow for the morning.
Later today, my family in St. Petersburg will have a little ceremony to remember the little girl born to my cousin Nikki, who passed away so quickly after her premature birth. There is no solace other than time for such a stab in one's heart.
Earlier, I noticed that we are low on breakfast items in the pantry, and I skipped breakfast and took a shower and dressed in a casual shirt and some khaki shorts, a pair of loafers without socks. Now I am in the office, listening to the NPR broadcast and waiting for one of my clients to come in and make good a bad check. Later I will go over to the post office to check the mail again for promised payments.
If I was not so sleepy, I would take the opportunity to do some work around here, but I am missing some rest from last night and need to go back home and take a nap before the rest of the day blows past me.
I wonder when Kate will return. Or, will the eagle scream and free Cindy and I to drive up to Atlanta and meet her and Beth? I'm still waiting.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Bad times
I spoke with a loan officer this morning. She had laid a demand on us for documentation and it sounded pretty serious. This was for a loan which was done last August, so there really hasn't been much time since it closed, but, nevertheless, she wanted her final documents.
So I had prepared the documents and readied them for delivery. At that point, neither Patti nor I could get through the automated phone service at the lender to get in touch with her. So I sat down at the telephone and started wading through the computerized messaging system until I finally could get to a human being, who, while he couldn't help me, could transfer me to another system which could lead me to another human being who could actually help me. Of course, I still had the voice mail system to leave a message for the person I needed to talk to.
Which, thankfully, got returned relatively quickly after that. At this point, I spoke with a nice lady in Texas and commiserated about the status of the economy and the sad prospects for recovery and the continuous rise in gasoline prices. We discussed the problems we have and how the situation doesn't seem to be getting any better.
It sometimes make you yearn for the common sense of a Ross Perot, who considered the ultimate product of NAFTA, which he opined would be an eventual drain of jobs to other countries. Everyone looked at Ross Perot and thought he was funny looking and funny talking and certainly no "Bill Clinton", who, in concert with the Democrats and Republicans in Congress, agreed to NAFTA and allowed tons of jobs to ultimately end up in Asia and Central and South America and a whole lot of people in America, living in a meaner, crueler world. And no one is doing anything because we recognize that we are in a global economy and the hard solution, posited by some like Newt Gingrich, is to upgrade your economy to service and science and forget the old manufacturing jobs we lost to time and evolution and NAFTA.
Add to that mix, the actions of President Bush, Vice-President Cheney and his administration, with the basic consent of Congress, to wage war in Iraq, take control of Iraq, in a position that President Bush's father rejected because there seemed to be no practical way to extract us from Iraq if we decided to attempt to control Iraq. Now the prediction of the first President Bush has come true and we are mired in a messy situation which is too complicated for us to resolve, too ingrained in the topography of the Middle East to remove, too complex to bear a simple solution. And I am convinced that the attitude of the other Middle Eastern Countries and countries in other parts of the world who are antagonistic to us, like Venezuela, have caused a situation where the ceiling for gas prices is nowhere in sight.
And don't forget the desire of the major oil companies to make record profits on the gasoline and the desire of states to use gasoline as a source of tax revenue.
We are being held hostage by global economies and our inability to manage our micro-economy part of the over all whole. We don't grow our own food. We don't make our own clothes. We don't power our own cars.
Speaking of cars, I passed by one of the gas stations in town this morning. The price read 3.99 for unleaded. The station was full of large trucks and suv's. What are those people thinking? What are they thinking now? I put $20.00 worth in Cindy's car yesterday and it raised the level to a hair over 1/4 full. By the time I drove Cindy and me home, the gas gauge was reading something less than 1/4 full. I felt like the car was drinking the gas like Kate drinks milk sometimes.
At least I still drive a Toyota, manufactured in Missouri. How odd that you can take native pride in a Japanese car, because it was made in the USA. It is a strange world in which we live.
I did make the statement to the lady in Irving, that there were times when I got stuck in some computerized maze, trying to get to a human being to get through to my ultimate person, that I wish Dad had bypassed the thirty years in IBM and stayed on the farm. That's not really true, but just evinces my frustration with the decisions of many to allow the computers to handle the jobs of human beings.
I just want the sound of a human voice. The touch of a human hand.
So I had prepared the documents and readied them for delivery. At that point, neither Patti nor I could get through the automated phone service at the lender to get in touch with her. So I sat down at the telephone and started wading through the computerized messaging system until I finally could get to a human being, who, while he couldn't help me, could transfer me to another system which could lead me to another human being who could actually help me. Of course, I still had the voice mail system to leave a message for the person I needed to talk to.
Which, thankfully, got returned relatively quickly after that. At this point, I spoke with a nice lady in Texas and commiserated about the status of the economy and the sad prospects for recovery and the continuous rise in gasoline prices. We discussed the problems we have and how the situation doesn't seem to be getting any better.
It sometimes make you yearn for the common sense of a Ross Perot, who considered the ultimate product of NAFTA, which he opined would be an eventual drain of jobs to other countries. Everyone looked at Ross Perot and thought he was funny looking and funny talking and certainly no "Bill Clinton", who, in concert with the Democrats and Republicans in Congress, agreed to NAFTA and allowed tons of jobs to ultimately end up in Asia and Central and South America and a whole lot of people in America, living in a meaner, crueler world. And no one is doing anything because we recognize that we are in a global economy and the hard solution, posited by some like Newt Gingrich, is to upgrade your economy to service and science and forget the old manufacturing jobs we lost to time and evolution and NAFTA.
Add to that mix, the actions of President Bush, Vice-President Cheney and his administration, with the basic consent of Congress, to wage war in Iraq, take control of Iraq, in a position that President Bush's father rejected because there seemed to be no practical way to extract us from Iraq if we decided to attempt to control Iraq. Now the prediction of the first President Bush has come true and we are mired in a messy situation which is too complicated for us to resolve, too ingrained in the topography of the Middle East to remove, too complex to bear a simple solution. And I am convinced that the attitude of the other Middle Eastern Countries and countries in other parts of the world who are antagonistic to us, like Venezuela, have caused a situation where the ceiling for gas prices is nowhere in sight.
And don't forget the desire of the major oil companies to make record profits on the gasoline and the desire of states to use gasoline as a source of tax revenue.
We are being held hostage by global economies and our inability to manage our micro-economy part of the over all whole. We don't grow our own food. We don't make our own clothes. We don't power our own cars.
Speaking of cars, I passed by one of the gas stations in town this morning. The price read 3.99 for unleaded. The station was full of large trucks and suv's. What are those people thinking? What are they thinking now? I put $20.00 worth in Cindy's car yesterday and it raised the level to a hair over 1/4 full. By the time I drove Cindy and me home, the gas gauge was reading something less than 1/4 full. I felt like the car was drinking the gas like Kate drinks milk sometimes.
At least I still drive a Toyota, manufactured in Missouri. How odd that you can take native pride in a Japanese car, because it was made in the USA. It is a strange world in which we live.
I did make the statement to the lady in Irving, that there were times when I got stuck in some computerized maze, trying to get to a human being to get through to my ultimate person, that I wish Dad had bypassed the thirty years in IBM and stayed on the farm. That's not really true, but just evinces my frustration with the decisions of many to allow the computers to handle the jobs of human beings.
I just want the sound of a human voice. The touch of a human hand.
Now we wait
I got to practice in Magistrate Court for three and a half hours yesterday on a case which probably would have taken around an hour with another lawyer on the other side, but this guy is a young lawyer with a patina of arrogance which is possibly the product of youth and his upbringing. This young lawyer had his partner and his sister visiting from law school and another lawyer from town as a witness and several other witnesses and tons of documents to be tendered as evidence. Amongst this flurry of paper and people and bluster, it took three and a half hours. The courthouse was closed. The lights were out. Downtown was deserted, except for us.
I spent most of the three and a half hours attempting to wipe clean the smirk off the other attorney's face. I think I did alright in that regard. The Judge took the case under advisement and will rule later. There is definitely a lot to look over. However, I hope that it is clear that there was no showing of a case against my client. Of course, the beauty of Magistrate Court is you always have a second bite at the apple. We can always appeal if need be.
I am achieving some of the beauty of being an older lawyer. It is nice to have some knowledge readily at hand. It helps.
I spent most of the three and a half hours attempting to wipe clean the smirk off the other attorney's face. I think I did alright in that regard. The Judge took the case under advisement and will rule later. There is definitely a lot to look over. However, I hope that it is clear that there was no showing of a case against my client. Of course, the beauty of Magistrate Court is you always have a second bite at the apple. We can always appeal if need be.
I am achieving some of the beauty of being an older lawyer. It is nice to have some knowledge readily at hand. It helps.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Being ready
I am sitting waiting in the office, waiting for a hearing at the Magistrate Court this afternoon. I don't get to punch my fist into my other hand, like I did when I was playing football. I don't get to warm up by running up and down the court and throwing basketballs through the hoop, like I did when I was playing basketball. No, instead, I look over my papers and run the points I wish to make through my mind. It would be so much better if it was more physical.
In about thirty minutes, I will be with my client in the waiting room in Magistrate Court and the judge will come forward and call us in to the hearing room. We will sit down in our chairs at our respective tables. We will be given the opportunity to discuss the case between us. In this case, nothing will be resolved. Perhaps I will get a glimmer of what he thinks his case is about.
Then we will do battle.
In about thirty minutes, I will be with my client in the waiting room in Magistrate Court and the judge will come forward and call us in to the hearing room. We will sit down in our chairs at our respective tables. We will be given the opportunity to discuss the case between us. In this case, nothing will be resolved. Perhaps I will get a glimmer of what he thinks his case is about.
Then we will do battle.
Living among the dying
What brings this dark cloud along?
When I am at the beach,
Even in this place of retirement,
Where most inhabitants tread infirmly
Down the sidewalks, walkers in hand
Taking the last slow constitutional
To their own last appointments,
Even there, the coming and going
Of the living is so evident
And the recreation of life
Continues in a constant flow
Past us all, even past the remnants
On the old green benches
Reminiscing about earlier times
Remembering the days when
The blackness of death's night
Seemed so far away,
Days when even the last brief days
Of their living were just an unseen goal
Attached to a retirement account
Safe behind the red bricks of some bank building.
But life still blossoms around us
As the tide's rising flow
Crashes like thunder on the beach
And young girls still giggle
As they walk down the burning sands,
Raising the longing in our still-beating hearts
To remember those days of youth
When we too were walking endlessly down a beach
Rising to the flash of hormones and pherenomes
Like there was no end to this existance
Believing ourselves immortals from before,
Venus rising from the sands
And Triton blowing his horn.
But we soon find differently,
Even in this place where teeming life
Washes up from the ocean depths,
Blowing past our ears and eyes
Like Summer's hurricanes,
That life is so tenuous
Even in our youth
And the passing of the young
Is no different
Than the passing of the old
Despite the belief,
Forever burned in our hearts,
That it should not be so.
It should not be so.
When I am at the beach,
Even in this place of retirement,
Where most inhabitants tread infirmly
Down the sidewalks, walkers in hand
Taking the last slow constitutional
To their own last appointments,
Even there, the coming and going
Of the living is so evident
And the recreation of life
Continues in a constant flow
Past us all, even past the remnants
On the old green benches
Reminiscing about earlier times
Remembering the days when
The blackness of death's night
Seemed so far away,
Days when even the last brief days
Of their living were just an unseen goal
Attached to a retirement account
Safe behind the red bricks of some bank building.
But life still blossoms around us
As the tide's rising flow
Crashes like thunder on the beach
And young girls still giggle
As they walk down the burning sands,
Raising the longing in our still-beating hearts
To remember those days of youth
When we too were walking endlessly down a beach
Rising to the flash of hormones and pherenomes
Like there was no end to this existance
Believing ourselves immortals from before,
Venus rising from the sands
And Triton blowing his horn.
But we soon find differently,
Even in this place where teeming life
Washes up from the ocean depths,
Blowing past our ears and eyes
Like Summer's hurricanes,
That life is so tenuous
Even in our youth
And the passing of the young
Is no different
Than the passing of the old
Despite the belief,
Forever burned in our hearts,
That it should not be so.
It should not be so.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Wishing and hoping
Storms blew through Central Georgia yesterday evening, and the morning came on quite cool and sunny. It would be nice if the situations to which my little family are subject could be resolved and we could go forward from here. But there are too many issues circling our heads and we need some resolution. If these storms would blow over like last night's storms, it would be quite delightful.
I received a new title request yesterday. From an actual realtor. How strangely wonderful. I almost fell down on the floor.
It seems like I am covered up with free-loaders. People call me up all the time and ask me about something they are involved in legally. The rule is that the less amount of money the people have to pay their attorney, the more solid their case. Most of the time they don't want to hire an attorney; they just want to vent.
I've got so many things I need to deal with these days and half the secretarial help that I need to handle it.
I am supposed to close a loan this week. I sent off the documents to the lender in Jacksonville. I hope it happens.
I received a new title request yesterday. From an actual realtor. How strangely wonderful. I almost fell down on the floor.
It seems like I am covered up with free-loaders. People call me up all the time and ask me about something they are involved in legally. The rule is that the less amount of money the people have to pay their attorney, the more solid their case. Most of the time they don't want to hire an attorney; they just want to vent.
I've got so many things I need to deal with these days and half the secretarial help that I need to handle it.
I am supposed to close a loan this week. I sent off the documents to the lender in Jacksonville. I hope it happens.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Value
I drove Cindy to work this morning. Cindy had arranged for Kate to take her, but I didn't have anything scheduled and we weren't assured of Kate waking up on time to take her. As it turned out, Kate came down and appeared, dressed, with sunglasses to shield her from the morning, standing in the middle of the living room as if she were an object d'art. The heavy frown on her face belied her attitude, and when I left the room to take care of something, I came back to find her lying on the couch.
So, I took Cindy to work on my way to work. We talked softly in my car as we made our way from home to Griffin Tech. The evil of the times was the topic and how we might deal with it. By the time we arrived at the entrance to Griffin Tech, I was somewhat comforted and I told her that we would get through these times. She said she knew. There was a brief moment of comfort when we felt like these times could be endured.
No matter how you structure the partnership of your marriage, it is good to have a partner. Particularly in times like these.
So, I took Cindy to work on my way to work. We talked softly in my car as we made our way from home to Griffin Tech. The evil of the times was the topic and how we might deal with it. By the time we arrived at the entrance to Griffin Tech, I was somewhat comforted and I told her that we would get through these times. She said she knew. There was a brief moment of comfort when we felt like these times could be endured.
No matter how you structure the partnership of your marriage, it is good to have a partner. Particularly in times like these.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Dark seasons
God!
I am struck by your promises;
I try as I might to trust
To believe, to have faith
But the evil of the day
Strikes me and I am caught
Again, trying to reinvent the wheel,
So to speak.
And I can't get it out, no matter how I try,
The ability to rest in peace
Here in this place,
And believe and know
That you are there
And I am in your hands.
This is the dark season of doubt
In my soul.
Sometimes it is hard to accept the concept.
Skies do get brighter.
I know; I know; I know.
I am struck by your promises;
I try as I might to trust
To believe, to have faith
But the evil of the day
Strikes me and I am caught
Again, trying to reinvent the wheel,
So to speak.
And I can't get it out, no matter how I try,
The ability to rest in peace
Here in this place,
And believe and know
That you are there
And I am in your hands.
This is the dark season of doubt
In my soul.
Sometimes it is hard to accept the concept.
Skies do get brighter.
I know; I know; I know.
Sleepy morning.
I didn't sleep real well last night. I woke up around 2:00 in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I ended up watching a good bit of a Frank Sinatra movie on the television. I finally got back to sleep around 4:00 and slept to 6:30. I can't quantify the total amount of sleep I received over the whole time.
I came in early to try to prepare for my hearings today. I am concerned about the second one more than the first. My client called me last week and informed me that I would be handling it all by myself. Some fun. I've still got to check on some things to get ready. I left an email with my client to see if he has changed his mind.
I am waiting on the morning to start in earnest. The sun is up. I am here. I am just waiting for more life to erupt. These days, you can't expect much to happen. Just every so often.
I might add to this later. It is not very satisfactory.
Despite the sunshine and the cool breezes, my soul is creeping dreary. I wish I could make it all work, but life is getting harder to deal with the wolves at yon door and the failure of bills to be remitting. I would like some respite. It drips slowly, slowly.
In a cave with little light, the moisture of above dripping down. A musty smell. The fear of what I cannot see. The knowledge of past days, haunting my nights. I woke up this morning around 2:00. Oh, if I could sleep like I did on Saturday night and Sunday morning.
Kate's situation is still in limbo.
I came in early to try to prepare for my hearings today. I am concerned about the second one more than the first. My client called me last week and informed me that I would be handling it all by myself. Some fun. I've still got to check on some things to get ready. I left an email with my client to see if he has changed his mind.
I am waiting on the morning to start in earnest. The sun is up. I am here. I am just waiting for more life to erupt. These days, you can't expect much to happen. Just every so often.
I might add to this later. It is not very satisfactory.
Despite the sunshine and the cool breezes, my soul is creeping dreary. I wish I could make it all work, but life is getting harder to deal with the wolves at yon door and the failure of bills to be remitting. I would like some respite. It drips slowly, slowly.
In a cave with little light, the moisture of above dripping down. A musty smell. The fear of what I cannot see. The knowledge of past days, haunting my nights. I woke up this morning around 2:00. Oh, if I could sleep like I did on Saturday night and Sunday morning.
Kate's situation is still in limbo.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Pisces weekend
Saturday arose and Kate wanted to visit the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. So, we got everything ready and drove up to Atlanta. Along the way, I considered whether I wanted to actually visit the aquarium, but we finally decided to all go in.
Kate was quite impressed with the aquarium and we spent the entire afternoon looking around. Of course, Cindy is a marine fool and wanted to watch the fish and the marine animals over and over again. We were there until five thirty in the afternoon, when they closed.
When we left, Kate had wanted to go to James Joyce Irish Pub in Avondale, but I got the hankering for seafood, walking amongst it all afternoon. We finally agreed to try the restaurant on Memorial Drive, "Six Feet Under". The restaurant overlooks Oakland Cemetery and I have wanted to visit for some time.
As it turned out, the place was very interesting and the food and beer selections were excellent. Kate and Cindy and I had a nice time with each other, enjoying the food and drink and ambiance. I would like to go back. Kate wants to go and stay all day some Saturday. And invite her friends.
That night, Cindy and I slept soundly all night and woke up late. Kate says she didn't get much sleep, but she slept until nine or so.
Kate was quite impressed with the aquarium and we spent the entire afternoon looking around. Of course, Cindy is a marine fool and wanted to watch the fish and the marine animals over and over again. We were there until five thirty in the afternoon, when they closed.
When we left, Kate had wanted to go to James Joyce Irish Pub in Avondale, but I got the hankering for seafood, walking amongst it all afternoon. We finally agreed to try the restaurant on Memorial Drive, "Six Feet Under". The restaurant overlooks Oakland Cemetery and I have wanted to visit for some time.
As it turned out, the place was very interesting and the food and beer selections were excellent. Kate and Cindy and I had a nice time with each other, enjoying the food and drink and ambiance. I would like to go back. Kate wants to go and stay all day some Saturday. And invite her friends.
That night, Cindy and I slept soundly all night and woke up late. Kate says she didn't get much sleep, but she slept until nine or so.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Friday and wondering about next week
Today, I got to drive around the state searching titles and getting out in the free air. It was a pleasure to be able to drive around and see what Spring has left in different places.
Unfortunately, there was more news of troubles on the real estate front. I heard one title examiner talking about being sacked by his law firm. I could see a lot of businesses in the process of folding everywhere I went. A lot of commercial buildings, in various states of completion, where tenants for the spaces were nowhere to be seen.
I see the indication of economic terrorism all around. The cheapest gas I saw was 3.68. I heard a story about President Bush and his futile attempts to get the Saudis to produce more gas and lower the prices. The Saudis said, "no."
So we are stuck with an unending war and higher and higher gas prices. Just what we need.
And the local guard unit is now scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan next Summer. More fun.
Meanwhile, nothing going on on the office front. I have two hearings to attend to on Monday. Two more on Thursday.
Put your hand out and beg for better times. No one can give them to us other than ourselves. We are on the downhill slide, economically. And yet, the last great world power, Great Britain, has found a way to keep the pound stronger than the dollar. Fun times.
Unfortunately, there was more news of troubles on the real estate front. I heard one title examiner talking about being sacked by his law firm. I could see a lot of businesses in the process of folding everywhere I went. A lot of commercial buildings, in various states of completion, where tenants for the spaces were nowhere to be seen.
I see the indication of economic terrorism all around. The cheapest gas I saw was 3.68. I heard a story about President Bush and his futile attempts to get the Saudis to produce more gas and lower the prices. The Saudis said, "no."
So we are stuck with an unending war and higher and higher gas prices. Just what we need.
And the local guard unit is now scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan next Summer. More fun.
Meanwhile, nothing going on on the office front. I have two hearings to attend to on Monday. Two more on Thursday.
Put your hand out and beg for better times. No one can give them to us other than ourselves. We are on the downhill slide, economically. And yet, the last great world power, Great Britain, has found a way to keep the pound stronger than the dollar. Fun times.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Kick up my heels and wonder where I'll land
Well, this has been a different day. I started out with a closing on an interest in a business, which went ok, until my client started reading the fine print and realized he had given his new partner more time than he wanted to pay for his share. Then we scrambled for some understanding between the parties to realize the completion of the deal a little bit earlier than two months from now. It at least seems that the buyer is willing to try to pay him off sooner than later.
Next, Patti came in and told me she had run out of toner for her printer and needed paper before the closing at 11:00. So, off to Office Max I went, until I realized I was missing my wallet and, thusly, my id, so I would not be able to write a check. So, back I went to United Bank, to cash the check in my breastpocket, and then back to Office Max to pick up the toner and the paper.
Then back to the office to close the 11:00, which actually went off at around 12:30. Then call Kate and see if she wants to join me and eat lunch and buy a rake and a shovel at Home Depot and deliver them to Cindy for a bridal shower (I know; I know).
Then off to eat lunch with Kate, with enough time to spare to get back to the office and close my 3:00 o'clock on time, only to wonder where my cell phone is.
Could Bob have taken it by mistake?
Everything is drifting away.
At least I now know where my billfold is located (in Cindy's purse). And where I will be tomorrow (on the road). And where I am going to be in the next fifteen minutes (picking Cindy up at Griffin Tech).
Oh, and by the way, the title insurance company, which had apparently terminated my services a few weeks ago, apparently is not terminating my services, since the person who sent me the letter and would not return my calls or letter, left with several of the old members of the company, to go to another company. Weird.
But tonight is Thursday night. Life justs keeps getting weirder and weirder every day.
Well, off I go.
Next, Patti came in and told me she had run out of toner for her printer and needed paper before the closing at 11:00. So, off to Office Max I went, until I realized I was missing my wallet and, thusly, my id, so I would not be able to write a check. So, back I went to United Bank, to cash the check in my breastpocket, and then back to Office Max to pick up the toner and the paper.
Then back to the office to close the 11:00, which actually went off at around 12:30. Then call Kate and see if she wants to join me and eat lunch and buy a rake and a shovel at Home Depot and deliver them to Cindy for a bridal shower (I know; I know).
Then off to eat lunch with Kate, with enough time to spare to get back to the office and close my 3:00 o'clock on time, only to wonder where my cell phone is.
Could Bob have taken it by mistake?
Everything is drifting away.
At least I now know where my billfold is located (in Cindy's purse). And where I will be tomorrow (on the road). And where I am going to be in the next fifteen minutes (picking Cindy up at Griffin Tech).
Oh, and by the way, the title insurance company, which had apparently terminated my services a few weeks ago, apparently is not terminating my services, since the person who sent me the letter and would not return my calls or letter, left with several of the old members of the company, to go to another company. Weird.
But tonight is Thursday night. Life justs keeps getting weirder and weirder every day.
Well, off I go.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Savannah Lullaby
When I was a child,
Pirates and cowboys
And Confederate soldiers
Populated my dreams
And lulled me to sleep
Beneath a Civil War Centennial map
And the promise of
A chapter from "Treasure Island",
As read by my mother.
But now that I am older
Nothing suits me finer
Than treading the remnants
Of the ballastones you find
On River Street and Bay Street
Up from Factor's Walk
And watching down river
For the first sight of British gunboats
Or yankees off the coast,
Or the shadow of Billy Bones
Ducking back into an alleyway.
Right now,
Nothing would be better
Than a dull pewter tankard
Full of thick, dark porter,
And the sweet and savory mix of she-crab stew,
Red rice and shrimp,
Followed by the melancholy melody
Of an Irish singer's brogue,
Trailing down the streets
Once tread by pirates and
Soldiers, ship captains and stevedores.
Pirates and cowboys
And Confederate soldiers
Populated my dreams
And lulled me to sleep
Beneath a Civil War Centennial map
And the promise of
A chapter from "Treasure Island",
As read by my mother.
But now that I am older
Nothing suits me finer
Than treading the remnants
Of the ballastones you find
On River Street and Bay Street
Up from Factor's Walk
And watching down river
For the first sight of British gunboats
Or yankees off the coast,
Or the shadow of Billy Bones
Ducking back into an alleyway.
Right now,
Nothing would be better
Than a dull pewter tankard
Full of thick, dark porter,
And the sweet and savory mix of she-crab stew,
Red rice and shrimp,
Followed by the melancholy melody
Of an Irish singer's brogue,
Trailing down the streets
Once tread by pirates and
Soldiers, ship captains and stevedores.
The prospect of a port excursion
Wednesday rolled around and we didn't get much sleep, unless you count the dog and Kate. We got the trashcans out to the street and I got a number of things accomplished at the office and I suppose we should get the family to church tonight.
I don't feel very poetic today. I was reading some of my most recent poems and I like the way some of them lay on the paper. But I don't think I could come up with anything original today.
I say that, but it doesn't take much.
I wish we could go to Savannah this weekend. That would be fun. We could all spend an evening at Kevin Barry's and stay on the beach. Cindy has been looking on the internet for cheap motels on Tybee. A little Irish folk music, a tankard of Guinness, and some sea food. Maybe a Chatham Artillery Punch or two. Some she-crab stew. That sounds rather inspiring right now.
There is nothing like putting on some nice casual clothing and walking down the ballast stones to River Street for a few pints and some seafood. Hard to beat.
I would even put up with Paschal Maloney.
I don't feel very poetic today. I was reading some of my most recent poems and I like the way some of them lay on the paper. But I don't think I could come up with anything original today.
I say that, but it doesn't take much.
I wish we could go to Savannah this weekend. That would be fun. We could all spend an evening at Kevin Barry's and stay on the beach. Cindy has been looking on the internet for cheap motels on Tybee. A little Irish folk music, a tankard of Guinness, and some sea food. Maybe a Chatham Artillery Punch or two. Some she-crab stew. That sounds rather inspiring right now.
There is nothing like putting on some nice casual clothing and walking down the ballast stones to River Street for a few pints and some seafood. Hard to beat.
I would even put up with Paschal Maloney.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
First born
You know, life can be quite complicated
With two lives to entwine at any given time
With the plans and the schemes and wishes
Of two individuals, no matter how matched,
But then you add the kid, and wow,
What can you say about trying to get everyone
Gee hawing in unison, when we are now all adults
And know that we are right, all the time
In righteousness and power
And wondering why the others are so off
When we know we are right
Three adult first born
What a joke for a creator to pull.
"You got the perfect match, in spouse and child,"
They will all say at one time
But I can't quantify the irony.
With two lives to entwine at any given time
With the plans and the schemes and wishes
Of two individuals, no matter how matched,
But then you add the kid, and wow,
What can you say about trying to get everyone
Gee hawing in unison, when we are now all adults
And know that we are right, all the time
In righteousness and power
And wondering why the others are so off
When we know we are right
Three adult first born
What a joke for a creator to pull.
"You got the perfect match, in spouse and child,"
They will all say at one time
But I can't quantify the irony.
Cool and Bright
This has been a rather surprising day. I arrived around 9:00 and a new client was sitting in the lobby waiting for me with a story and a check (just what I wanted, and it isn't even Father's Day). When I got through with dealing with him, Patti was in and I gave her the check and then found out that they have scheduled a closing for tomorrow morning at 10:00. A real closing too. So I ran over to the courthouse and ran the title and now we are waiting for a couple to be available for signing a corrective deed so we can close.
Then I had three new titles to run for a law firm in Decatur, with one in Savannah. I would ordinarily back out, but it might be worth it to go to Savannah for a day. Seafood and History, a killer combination. And all on the office dime.
Of course, the three of us are now scheduled to walk for the church in the cancer walk on Friday or Saturday morning. That will be fun.
We let Kate sleep this morning, which she did like a champ. Tonight, she gets Tex as a bed partner. That may affect her sleep patterns.
Kate needs to start looking for a job for the summer. And we need to find a way to deal with the clutter issue. We have gallons of beer and wine at the house now. Tammy and Sue were quite generous with that. I would really like to eat some of my pimento cheese, but I am going to take Kate to lunch after my 1:00 o'clock closing and my meeting with criminal client three.
I am bumping along alright, but have several issues to deal with at this point. I think I am in the real mood for Mexican food right now, but the good Mexican food is a little far away, near the house.
Cindy wants to go walking around Cissie's house this afternoon. That will be fun. The weather has cooled off a bit and the sky is clear. No more thunder boomers like Saturday and no "Gone with the Wind" like Sunday.
I enjoyed meeting Kate's PC parents, Anita and Charlie Gustafson, on Sunday. Their house is really nice. But, boy, the wind was blowing the bushes and trees. I know I will remember watching a lantern hanging in the breezeway outside their den swinging back and forth as we talked in the relative safety of their den.
So, a good Tuesday, all in all, so far.
Then I had three new titles to run for a law firm in Decatur, with one in Savannah. I would ordinarily back out, but it might be worth it to go to Savannah for a day. Seafood and History, a killer combination. And all on the office dime.
Of course, the three of us are now scheduled to walk for the church in the cancer walk on Friday or Saturday morning. That will be fun.
We let Kate sleep this morning, which she did like a champ. Tonight, she gets Tex as a bed partner. That may affect her sleep patterns.
Kate needs to start looking for a job for the summer. And we need to find a way to deal with the clutter issue. We have gallons of beer and wine at the house now. Tammy and Sue were quite generous with that. I would really like to eat some of my pimento cheese, but I am going to take Kate to lunch after my 1:00 o'clock closing and my meeting with criminal client three.
I am bumping along alright, but have several issues to deal with at this point. I think I am in the real mood for Mexican food right now, but the good Mexican food is a little far away, near the house.
Cindy wants to go walking around Cissie's house this afternoon. That will be fun. The weather has cooled off a bit and the sky is clear. No more thunder boomers like Saturday and no "Gone with the Wind" like Sunday.
I enjoyed meeting Kate's PC parents, Anita and Charlie Gustafson, on Sunday. Their house is really nice. But, boy, the wind was blowing the bushes and trees. I know I will remember watching a lantern hanging in the breezeway outside their den swinging back and forth as we talked in the relative safety of their den.
So, a good Tuesday, all in all, so far.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Monday blues
Today was a pretty day, following the winds and rain of this past week. Unfortunately, the tasks of today were unavailing. Now we are stuck in Dunwoody. I say stuck. We are going to eat pizza from Mellow Mushroom. Paid for by my dad. That is hardly stuck. Greek salad as well. Not bad. You can't get that at the Dekalb County jail. Not even the Banks County jail.
Kate has neat friends. Even her friends who are professors. Her friend, Ali Titus came to see us this morning. She is very sweet. Of course, I am partial to redheads.
Kate has had many good friends at school. Now comes a new phase. We shall see what occurs. It is always fun. Never boring. And she never lets us down. Never.
Kate has neat friends. Even her friends who are professors. Her friend, Ali Titus came to see us this morning. She is very sweet. Of course, I am partial to redheads.
Kate has had many good friends at school. Now comes a new phase. We shall see what occurs. It is always fun. Never boring. And she never lets us down. Never.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Bloody May
It rained again last night. The moisture cooled everything off. This is not the rain of the Eurythmics, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart. For it is May and May is a moment of life anew, springing forth like a source of new found water from the ground. If April is the cruelest month for Eliot and Chaucer, then what is May?
The dreary rain of April has washed away the gray crust of Winter and the flowers of May are bringing home their pilgrims like the old riddle. How ironic, listen:
"April showers bring May flowers;
What do May flowers bring?
Pilgrims."
And what comprised the April story, "Canterbury Tales"? A story of pilgrims on their way to find healing at the holy site of Canterbury. Telling stories along the way.
I heard an interview with Salman Rushdie on Tuesday. He was speaking about the beginning of his desire to write. He remembered watching "The Wizard of Oz" as a child and being enchanted by the journey from gray, dour Kansas, with its sour old women and its cyclones to bright, colorful Oz. The journey from the everyday to the miraculous has become the basis for his writing. He sees everything as a journey of discovery.
So, like the childhood riddle, April is a time of pilgrimage. Of journeys. When the juices of an earlier year, lying dormant through a frozen Winter, come up from the dead, browned ground, bringing flowers and blossoms and warmth and love and life. Are we so tied to the world in which we live? Do we move ineffably to its movement? Without even thinking?
And May is horses cantering through the green fields. Lambs kicking in the hills. Jazz in the park. A chance to get out and smile at the miracle of recreation.
"But here comes the rain again. Falling on my head like a memory. Falling on my head like a new emotion."
There are dark circles under your eyes. What do you see?
Eight belles is dead. What else lies here?
The dreary rain of April has washed away the gray crust of Winter and the flowers of May are bringing home their pilgrims like the old riddle. How ironic, listen:
"April showers bring May flowers;
What do May flowers bring?
Pilgrims."
And what comprised the April story, "Canterbury Tales"? A story of pilgrims on their way to find healing at the holy site of Canterbury. Telling stories along the way.
I heard an interview with Salman Rushdie on Tuesday. He was speaking about the beginning of his desire to write. He remembered watching "The Wizard of Oz" as a child and being enchanted by the journey from gray, dour Kansas, with its sour old women and its cyclones to bright, colorful Oz. The journey from the everyday to the miraculous has become the basis for his writing. He sees everything as a journey of discovery.
So, like the childhood riddle, April is a time of pilgrimage. Of journeys. When the juices of an earlier year, lying dormant through a frozen Winter, come up from the dead, browned ground, bringing flowers and blossoms and warmth and love and life. Are we so tied to the world in which we live? Do we move ineffably to its movement? Without even thinking?
And May is horses cantering through the green fields. Lambs kicking in the hills. Jazz in the park. A chance to get out and smile at the miracle of recreation.
"But here comes the rain again. Falling on my head like a memory. Falling on my head like a new emotion."
There are dark circles under your eyes. What do you see?
Eight belles is dead. What else lies here?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The consolation of penance
When Adam and Eve were sentenced
At the end of their trial before God
It must have felt like the end of the earth
Having to leave that paradise garden
And go out and till the land, scrape the earth
But how oddly ironic Adam must have found it
When he leaned his muscled frame on that firstborne hoe
And watched the dying sun of day
Lay an orange tint across the rows
Of beans and millet and olive trees
And find that he had oddly found a way
To regain that peace he thought he had lost
When the apple was shared and the shit hit the fan.
At the end of their trial before God
It must have felt like the end of the earth
Having to leave that paradise garden
And go out and till the land, scrape the earth
But how oddly ironic Adam must have found it
When he leaned his muscled frame on that firstborne hoe
And watched the dying sun of day
Lay an orange tint across the rows
Of beans and millet and olive trees
And find that he had oddly found a way
To regain that peace he thought he had lost
When the apple was shared and the shit hit the fan.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The plan
These next few days are crucial. I need to resolve certain issues. I need to get some paperwork out. I need to get the wheels turning and moving in the direction in which my desires are pointed.
So a man walks into a doctor's office with a frog on his head. The doctor says, "What seems to be the problem?"
The frog says, "I've got this wart on my butt."
I wish people would come to see me when they promise to, rather than making me wait around forever.
The weather and the sky are beautiful, but I am stuck here, inside, waiting for the clock to tick by.
I wonder what Tex is doing.
Why does a gorilla have big nostrils? Big fingers.
It appears that the guys may be up for getting together in August. I hope it works out. John is quite generous to offer me his frequent flyer miles to get the two of us out to San Francisco and back. I hope it works out.
The life of a real estate attorney, if that is, in fact, what I am, is tenuous at times.
What do you call a lawyer buried in sand up to his neck? A good start.
I received a copy of a quiz on the history of New Orleans. It was interesting. That place is a pile of long gone by.
Of course, I wouldn't mind being back in Athens like I was yesterday. Or Apalachicola. Or St. Pete. Or St. Simons. Or Riverside Drive in Clarksville. Or in the Bluegrass Inn in Nashville. Or sitting on the green grass of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky. Thinking about the Shakers and their simple lives.
I wouldn't want the celibacy, but the simplicity is appealing.
'Tis a gift to be simple.'
Pray. Pray. Pray.
So a man walks into a doctor's office with a frog on his head. The doctor says, "What seems to be the problem?"
The frog says, "I've got this wart on my butt."
I wish people would come to see me when they promise to, rather than making me wait around forever.
The weather and the sky are beautiful, but I am stuck here, inside, waiting for the clock to tick by.
I wonder what Tex is doing.
Why does a gorilla have big nostrils? Big fingers.
It appears that the guys may be up for getting together in August. I hope it works out. John is quite generous to offer me his frequent flyer miles to get the two of us out to San Francisco and back. I hope it works out.
The life of a real estate attorney, if that is, in fact, what I am, is tenuous at times.
What do you call a lawyer buried in sand up to his neck? A good start.
I received a copy of a quiz on the history of New Orleans. It was interesting. That place is a pile of long gone by.
Of course, I wouldn't mind being back in Athens like I was yesterday. Or Apalachicola. Or St. Pete. Or St. Simons. Or Riverside Drive in Clarksville. Or in the Bluegrass Inn in Nashville. Or sitting on the green grass of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky. Thinking about the Shakers and their simple lives.
I wouldn't want the celibacy, but the simplicity is appealing.
'Tis a gift to be simple.'
Pray. Pray. Pray.
Ease in a Florida raw bar
When all things look dark
And the clouds of doom
Linger in the sky above me
And there seems to be no end
To the causes of my despair,
It is important to remember
That moment of clean sunlight
Reflecting on the water
Outside a raw bar
In Florida
Where the sea smell of the oysters
And the bite of the cocktail sauce
And Tabasco
Combine with the malty aroma
Of the beer in the glass
That I hold in my hand,
That can lift me up
To a simple, momentary high,
And to the point where I can come to acknowledge
How simply life's pleasures can be found
And what little is required
To bring one peace,
At least on a short-term basis.
And the clouds of doom
Linger in the sky above me
And there seems to be no end
To the causes of my despair,
It is important to remember
That moment of clean sunlight
Reflecting on the water
Outside a raw bar
In Florida
Where the sea smell of the oysters
And the bite of the cocktail sauce
And Tabasco
Combine with the malty aroma
Of the beer in the glass
That I hold in my hand,
That can lift me up
To a simple, momentary high,
And to the point where I can come to acknowledge
How simply life's pleasures can be found
And what little is required
To bring one peace,
At least on a short-term basis.
Doubts on the balcony
If I took the position that God didn't exist,
That all of this universe
Spun on its own axis
Irrespective of some perfect plan,
Without the least bit of supernatural assistance
From above,
That the complexity of life
And the ability to see and smell and hear and taste
And reason
Were simply the end result
Of the toss of a coin,
So to speak,
Or possibly the delusion of the one constant mind, mine,
[Thanks be offered to Monsieur Descartes],
"Thinking, therefore, being"
But then my being is just random
And my coming and going
A meaningless journey
Except, perhaps, to me,
And the living of my life
Might quietly terminate without cost
Or reason
Or consequence.
But, then, what would God say?
That all of this universe
Spun on its own axis
Irrespective of some perfect plan,
Without the least bit of supernatural assistance
From above,
That the complexity of life
And the ability to see and smell and hear and taste
And reason
Were simply the end result
Of the toss of a coin,
So to speak,
Or possibly the delusion of the one constant mind, mine,
[Thanks be offered to Monsieur Descartes],
"Thinking, therefore, being"
But then my being is just random
And my coming and going
A meaningless journey
Except, perhaps, to me,
And the living of my life
Might quietly terminate without cost
Or reason
Or consequence.
But, then, what would God say?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
First Tuesday in May
Well, this has been an odd day. It started out with Cindy oversleeping because one of the electrical circuits is acting wonky. The alarm clock was on one of the circuits which is out. So, as I left for Barnesville and my hearing in the City Court of Barnesville, Cindy was trying to scramble to get it together to go in late.
Then at the hearing in Barnesville the judge denied my motion to reopen the case to allow us to try to work a deal where my client would keep his driving privileges in the state of Georgia. I really felt ambushed.
Then my role as the Dark Angel continued today. You know, where I drive all over the state selling peoples' houses on the courthouse steps. As I drove from Barnesville to Monroe, I utilized my gps to try to get a quick route through the country to the courthouse in Walton County. The Magellan sent me eastward toward Monticello, then back northwest toward Monroe. As I drove, I suddenly realized that I was traveling in the vicinity of the Tom Baynham Alternative Senior Trip, which took place in the Spring of my senior year in High School. Back then, a number of us had been scandalized by the cost of the Senior Trip to the Bahamas and vowed to come up with an alternative to same which would be much cheaper and equally fun.
Of course, as it turned out, there was very little fun out in the country in East Georgia for a bunch of city boys from Dunwoody. We drove out the Covington Highway past Covington, then took a right down Georgia 11 to Mansfield, Georgia, and a rough deer camp back in the woods on a pond. We stopped along the way at a little hamlet called Pony Express, Georgia, to buy beer for the weekend. The hamlet consisted of a crossroads and an old store and gas pumps. The significant plus was that they had a beer cooler which kept the beer perfectly cold for consumption.
It also turned out that at the next intersection, another little hamlet called Hub, had a drive inn. That night, we drove over to Hub and drove up to the office to pay for the night's entertainment. As we pulled up to the little house to pay for the triple feature scheduled for the evening, the attendant looked in the car, saw three of us, and said, "Three Dollars, please."
With that, the three of us reached into our pockets to pay our three bucks. I handed the attendant three dollars out of my pocket and she handed me three tickets. So for a total of three dollars, the three of us got in for the night's entertainment. The Hub Drive-Inn was cheap, to say the least.
It appears that the Hub Drive Inn is no more. However, the store in Pony Express is still going strong. Yesterday, I put some gas in my tank and bought a drink and reminisced with the clerk behind the counter. At least some things stay relatively the same. You can still buy relatively cheap gas and cold beer in Pony Express, Georgia. As I drove around North Georgia, it was comforting to see that some things remain roughly the same.
Heaven knows everything else seems to change on a daily basis.
Then at the hearing in Barnesville the judge denied my motion to reopen the case to allow us to try to work a deal where my client would keep his driving privileges in the state of Georgia. I really felt ambushed.
Then my role as the Dark Angel continued today. You know, where I drive all over the state selling peoples' houses on the courthouse steps. As I drove from Barnesville to Monroe, I utilized my gps to try to get a quick route through the country to the courthouse in Walton County. The Magellan sent me eastward toward Monticello, then back northwest toward Monroe. As I drove, I suddenly realized that I was traveling in the vicinity of the Tom Baynham Alternative Senior Trip, which took place in the Spring of my senior year in High School. Back then, a number of us had been scandalized by the cost of the Senior Trip to the Bahamas and vowed to come up with an alternative to same which would be much cheaper and equally fun.
Of course, as it turned out, there was very little fun out in the country in East Georgia for a bunch of city boys from Dunwoody. We drove out the Covington Highway past Covington, then took a right down Georgia 11 to Mansfield, Georgia, and a rough deer camp back in the woods on a pond. We stopped along the way at a little hamlet called Pony Express, Georgia, to buy beer for the weekend. The hamlet consisted of a crossroads and an old store and gas pumps. The significant plus was that they had a beer cooler which kept the beer perfectly cold for consumption.
It also turned out that at the next intersection, another little hamlet called Hub, had a drive inn. That night, we drove over to Hub and drove up to the office to pay for the night's entertainment. As we pulled up to the little house to pay for the triple feature scheduled for the evening, the attendant looked in the car, saw three of us, and said, "Three Dollars, please."
With that, the three of us reached into our pockets to pay our three bucks. I handed the attendant three dollars out of my pocket and she handed me three tickets. So for a total of three dollars, the three of us got in for the night's entertainment. The Hub Drive-Inn was cheap, to say the least.
It appears that the Hub Drive Inn is no more. However, the store in Pony Express is still going strong. Yesterday, I put some gas in my tank and bought a drink and reminisced with the clerk behind the counter. At least some things stay relatively the same. You can still buy relatively cheap gas and cold beer in Pony Express, Georgia. As I drove around North Georgia, it was comforting to see that some things remain roughly the same.
Heaven knows everything else seems to change on a daily basis.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Fifth Day of May
Today is Cinco de Mayo [the fifth of May], the day on which the citizens of Mexico defeated the French Army at the Battle of Peubla. Apparently, this was an extreme upset, where the Mexican army was badly outnumbered. The holiday is celebrated as something like Mexican Independence Day. The problem with this is that apparently the French army was victorious later and it would take years before the Mexican people gained their independence from France. So, it is kind of like a fictitious Independence Day for Mexico. Of course, later the French got kicked out of Mexico and headed back to Europe. Come to think of it, France has been kicked out of just about everyplace they colonized. Think of it: North America, Canada, Louisiana, Haiti, Mexico, Algeria, Morocco, French Guiana, Viet Nam, Cambodia, Laos. There may be more. Its hard to keep up with every place out of which the French government has been kicked.
I think the Battle of San Jacinto is a better holiday than Cinco de Mayo, since that is the day upon which the Texicans defeated General Santana, in a major upset and route, and won their independence from Mexico. That independence actually stuck, although they lost their independence to the federal government in 1865. Perhaps we Norte Americanos should celebrate that day [April 21]. Kind of an alternative holiday. We could also celebrate Erastus "Deaf" Smith's birthday. He was Sam Houston's scout. He was also hearing impaired, which would give us a chance to celebrate the contribution of hearing impaired people in American history. His birthday is April 19. So we could split the difference and celebrate April 20th.
By the way. Sam Houston was born in Rockbridge County, Virginia, just north of Lexington, emigrated to Knox County, Tennessee, where he taught school, lived with the Cherokee for awhile, then after serving in government for Tennessee, moved to Texas. That's quite a span of living for one man to live. He was also President and Governor of Texas and didn't want to secede from the Union, after having joined it before the War Between the States.
Today is also the birthday of Karl Marx. Karl was not one of the Marx Brothers, although he may have had a brother or too. Personally, I like Harpo and Chico the best. Karl was one of those guys who apparently didn't work very hard in college or in his adult life, and tended to blame his troubles on the people around him. He was kicked out of Germany for his radical views on the actions of class struggles on society, then France, then Great Britain. He blamed his poverty on the actions of the middle class. Apparently, the doctors and lawyers and what not wanted to get paid for their services and he didn't have the wherewithal to do so. So rather than try to find a way to pay his bills, he tried to blame the bills on the creditors. So then we had the revolutions in Russia, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, North Korea, and else where. And then we had the revolutions in Europe and America and Asia and the Carribean and Africa and South and Central America.
Thanks Karl. Oddly, the French were involved in a lot of places where communism and socialism sprung up and caused a revolution and a whole heard of death and destruction.
Once again, Thanks Karl. Oh, and thanks France.
I think the Battle of San Jacinto is a better holiday than Cinco de Mayo, since that is the day upon which the Texicans defeated General Santana, in a major upset and route, and won their independence from Mexico. That independence actually stuck, although they lost their independence to the federal government in 1865. Perhaps we Norte Americanos should celebrate that day [April 21]. Kind of an alternative holiday. We could also celebrate Erastus "Deaf" Smith's birthday. He was Sam Houston's scout. He was also hearing impaired, which would give us a chance to celebrate the contribution of hearing impaired people in American history. His birthday is April 19. So we could split the difference and celebrate April 20th.
By the way. Sam Houston was born in Rockbridge County, Virginia, just north of Lexington, emigrated to Knox County, Tennessee, where he taught school, lived with the Cherokee for awhile, then after serving in government for Tennessee, moved to Texas. That's quite a span of living for one man to live. He was also President and Governor of Texas and didn't want to secede from the Union, after having joined it before the War Between the States.
Today is also the birthday of Karl Marx. Karl was not one of the Marx Brothers, although he may have had a brother or too. Personally, I like Harpo and Chico the best. Karl was one of those guys who apparently didn't work very hard in college or in his adult life, and tended to blame his troubles on the people around him. He was kicked out of Germany for his radical views on the actions of class struggles on society, then France, then Great Britain. He blamed his poverty on the actions of the middle class. Apparently, the doctors and lawyers and what not wanted to get paid for their services and he didn't have the wherewithal to do so. So rather than try to find a way to pay his bills, he tried to blame the bills on the creditors. So then we had the revolutions in Russia, China, Viet Nam, Cambodia, North Korea, and else where. And then we had the revolutions in Europe and America and Asia and the Carribean and Africa and South and Central America.
Thanks Karl. Oddly, the French were involved in a lot of places where communism and socialism sprung up and caused a revolution and a whole heard of death and destruction.
Once again, Thanks Karl. Oh, and thanks France.
Noises in the bathroom
Cindy and I had spent a few hours in the backyard watering the plants and enjoying the cool of the evening. At supper time, we returned inside and ultimately found our way into the bedroom to dress for bed. Cindy went into the bathroom and called for me to join her to identify a noise she was hearing in the bathroom.
I joined her in the bathroom to hear a sound which could be running water. As Cindy and I stood in the bathroom, I looked around and couldn't identify anything which could make the noise in the bathroom. So, I went back outside to the spigot outside our master bathroom. There, I could find no indication of a leak or running water from the area of the spigot.
I returned to the bedroom to inform Cindy that I could find no running water outside. She asked me if it could be under the house. I said yes, although, I really didn't want to crawl under the house to look around.
With that, I reentered the bathroom and in the quiet of the room, could hear the noise, and it seemed to be coming from the area around the lavatory. I stepped over to the right hand drawer and pulled open the drawer. I could suddenly see what was causing the noise.
I left the bathroom and walked over to Cindy. "I found out what was causing the noise in the bathroom."
Her back to me, Cindy answered, "What was that?"
"Here it is."
And with that, she turned around to face me. She then looked down in my hand, where her electric toothbrush continued to vibrate as it had when I found it in the drawer in the lavatory.
I joined her in the bathroom to hear a sound which could be running water. As Cindy and I stood in the bathroom, I looked around and couldn't identify anything which could make the noise in the bathroom. So, I went back outside to the spigot outside our master bathroom. There, I could find no indication of a leak or running water from the area of the spigot.
I returned to the bedroom to inform Cindy that I could find no running water outside. She asked me if it could be under the house. I said yes, although, I really didn't want to crawl under the house to look around.
With that, I reentered the bathroom and in the quiet of the room, could hear the noise, and it seemed to be coming from the area around the lavatory. I stepped over to the right hand drawer and pulled open the drawer. I could suddenly see what was causing the noise.
I left the bathroom and walked over to Cindy. "I found out what was causing the noise in the bathroom."
Her back to me, Cindy answered, "What was that?"
"Here it is."
And with that, she turned around to face me. She then looked down in my hand, where her electric toothbrush continued to vibrate as it had when I found it in the drawer in the lavatory.
One week to go before the big graduation weekend
Well, the barbecued pigmeat is completed and frozen in gallon freezer bags in the freezer. I have the makings for pimento cheese and will go over to the grocery later this week in order to get the required carcasses to barbecue a few chickens. If we get some help on this soiree, we should be able to feed quite a few PC graduates and their families on Saturday afternoon.
I haven't attained the position yet where I have anxiety over having enough food for everybody. That will come later.
Kate has traveled down to Edisto Island and is probably burning her body as quickly to a crisp as is possible. As I said to someone the other day, we are not genetically manufactured for sunny climes. I don't expect Kate to take sufficient efforts to protect herself. Perhaps as she gets older and the weight of mortality hangs heavier over her head, she may come to the conclusion that taking care of her body is an important task.
On the other hand, I am sure she is having a good time at the beach.
I was watching the Today Show this morning and Matt Lauer was interviewing Larry Jones, the horse trainer from Hopkinsville who trained Eight Belles. Eight Belles, of course, is the horse which came in second in the Kentucky Derby, only to compound fracture both legs and require euthanization on the track. It was interesting to listen to Mr. Jones talk about the incident, and, of course, Matt Lauer, in conjunction with an editorial in the New York Times, was trying to get Mr. Jones to admit that there was something wrong with the training of the horse.
As I listened to Larry Jones, I found few similarities between his speech patterns and mine or my mother's or my aunt's or uncle's. The only expression he used which was common was the phrase "to be perfectly honest" which is an expression which I use all the time. Unfortunately, that is a phrase which sometimes has a tendency to make one consider that what is being said is the opposite of the truth. Not that I think he was lying to Matt, but, as with many interviews on television, you often get to a point where you feel like defending the interviewee.
I felt the same way with Hillary Clinton when Meredith Viera was interviewing her this morning. It seemed like every time Hillary Clinton attempted to answer a question, Meredith would interrupt her to ask her another question. No wonder some of these interviewees get upset with the interviewers. I would too.
Not that you ordinarily get a good head of sympathy up for politicians, but it does make you wonder how they keep their cool under the circumstances.
By the way, my hands still smell faintly like smoked pork.
I haven't attained the position yet where I have anxiety over having enough food for everybody. That will come later.
Kate has traveled down to Edisto Island and is probably burning her body as quickly to a crisp as is possible. As I said to someone the other day, we are not genetically manufactured for sunny climes. I don't expect Kate to take sufficient efforts to protect herself. Perhaps as she gets older and the weight of mortality hangs heavier over her head, she may come to the conclusion that taking care of her body is an important task.
On the other hand, I am sure she is having a good time at the beach.
I was watching the Today Show this morning and Matt Lauer was interviewing Larry Jones, the horse trainer from Hopkinsville who trained Eight Belles. Eight Belles, of course, is the horse which came in second in the Kentucky Derby, only to compound fracture both legs and require euthanization on the track. It was interesting to listen to Mr. Jones talk about the incident, and, of course, Matt Lauer, in conjunction with an editorial in the New York Times, was trying to get Mr. Jones to admit that there was something wrong with the training of the horse.
As I listened to Larry Jones, I found few similarities between his speech patterns and mine or my mother's or my aunt's or uncle's. The only expression he used which was common was the phrase "to be perfectly honest" which is an expression which I use all the time. Unfortunately, that is a phrase which sometimes has a tendency to make one consider that what is being said is the opposite of the truth. Not that I think he was lying to Matt, but, as with many interviews on television, you often get to a point where you feel like defending the interviewee.
I felt the same way with Hillary Clinton when Meredith Viera was interviewing her this morning. It seemed like every time Hillary Clinton attempted to answer a question, Meredith would interrupt her to ask her another question. No wonder some of these interviewees get upset with the interviewers. I would too.
Not that you ordinarily get a good head of sympathy up for politicians, but it does make you wonder how they keep their cool under the circumstances.
By the way, my hands still smell faintly like smoked pork.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Helpmate
Being married can be a helpful thing from time to time. Cindy read my blog yesterday afternoon and knew that I was having a bad day. I picked her up at Griffin Tech and we went home. As I took the dog out in the back to do his business, Cindy came out on the patio and sat down. I brought Tex back on to the patio and we sat down together. Cindy and I read and listened to the radio on the patio, and I ended up reading poetry to her under the darkening sky. By the time it came time for supper, I was much more relaxed than before. Later that night, I slept better than I had for several days. As I said, it is nice to have a wife who cares for you.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Yes, I have.
This has been a rather disappointing day. To give you an example, it took me three tries to spell the word 'disappointing.' I am expecting a big check at the office, which was supposedly sent yesterday afternoon. It did not arrive. Cindy's mother is experiencing heart problems and may need surgery. So we may be going to Knoxville on Saturday or Friday. Three of my friends are eating together out in Northern California, but I couldn't rally anyone here to eat with me. John is flying to Chicago. The Hawks lost last night in Boston. The Braves lost again. I sat in the courtroom for about an hour only to be told by the judge that he couldn't help me and that I should go back to my client and tell him I tried. I was unable to get home to let the dog out because the line at the drive-through at United Bank was unbearably long. Patti came in with a migraine and I feel very tired for lack of sleep. I woke up around 3:45 and couldn't get to sleep. Cindy is upset about her mother and I really can't do much about it to help her. Kate is almost through with exams and other stuff at school. I still haven't heard from the bank in Jackson about the loan to the church. I am awaiting completion of a closing this afternoon, but don't know the status. The weather outside is delightful, but I am stuck inside. I am still waiting payment of bills. I was awaiting documents from Missouri for a closing and just found out the notary in Missouri forgot to put her notary seal on the warranty deed. I thought I had some business from a client but two deals have fallen through and the third is on hold till Monday. I would like to go somewhere for leisure but the damn gas is out of sight and other trips are looming. I already have too many trips planned for the next few weeks. So much of my pay is going to gasoline it isn't even funny. I lost my ability to go fishing with a friend last Friday. The reason for the loss of fishing time was due to the fact that a lot of clients were looking for work, none of which resulted in any billable work. I get the impression that a lot of my outstanding billings are due to clients waiting to receive money to pay their bills. I've got a number who shouldn't have any problem with paying, but I keep sending bills. And the p.o. box is still empty. An endless cycle.
Had enough?
Had enough?
Cultural icons I have known
I was reading the Writer's Almanac this morning, as per usual practice. That is usually the first thing I read as my day begins. Today is the birthday of Bobby Ann Mason, born in Mayfield, Kentucky. She is one of my favorites and her autobiographical book really tells a tale very familiar to me, although I didn't really grow up in Western Kentucky. She and Carolyn Gordon and Robert Penn Warren are the bards of Western Kentucky, although Warren didn't always write about the region, like Mason does.
Today is also the birthday of Terry Southern, a Texas native, who wrote "The Magic Christian", which is a satire, later made into a movie starring Peter Sellers. He also wrote "Candy", a retelling of Voltaire's "Candide", and which book may bear the honor of having been one of the few books to have been made into legitimate movies and porn movies. With all of the porno movies that came out of the book, it may be up there with Treasure Island, Huckleberry Finn, The Three Musketeers and Robin Hood for having been turned into more movies than any other pieces of fiction. Southern also wrote the screenplay to "Dr. Strangelove."
Now you are sitting there wondering how I know so much about porno movies. Its just a part of modern pop culture about which I have some passing knowledge. Leave it at that.
Well, it appears that 'The Boz' won't be able to meet with me tonight to join with Flip, Willie and Connally for an intercontinental supper. He is flying to Chicago. He also won't make an appearance at graduation next Saturday. I assured him that the icon of the Boz would continue to come up in post-graduation Presbyterian College alumni conversation. He is considering whether he should pass out rubber bracelets for the faithful or provide tattoos. As he told me earlier today, "Rubber bracelets are too temporary."
Indeed.
Today is also the birthday of Terry Southern, a Texas native, who wrote "The Magic Christian", which is a satire, later made into a movie starring Peter Sellers. He also wrote "Candy", a retelling of Voltaire's "Candide", and which book may bear the honor of having been one of the few books to have been made into legitimate movies and porn movies. With all of the porno movies that came out of the book, it may be up there with Treasure Island, Huckleberry Finn, The Three Musketeers and Robin Hood for having been turned into more movies than any other pieces of fiction. Southern also wrote the screenplay to "Dr. Strangelove."
Now you are sitting there wondering how I know so much about porno movies. Its just a part of modern pop culture about which I have some passing knowledge. Leave it at that.
Well, it appears that 'The Boz' won't be able to meet with me tonight to join with Flip, Willie and Connally for an intercontinental supper. He is flying to Chicago. He also won't make an appearance at graduation next Saturday. I assured him that the icon of the Boz would continue to come up in post-graduation Presbyterian College alumni conversation. He is considering whether he should pass out rubber bracelets for the faithful or provide tattoos. As he told me earlier today, "Rubber bracelets are too temporary."
Indeed.
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