I walk through the door
At end of day
And immediately glance
Out the large bay window
In our kitchen
And inspect the tomatoes
Growing in a hanging pot
From the wooden superstructure
Which hovers over our patio.
I see the green fruit are turning orange,
Reflecting the ceaseless movement of life,
And recognize the promise of sustenance
But at that moment, I also trace
Within that soft, warm touch of comfort
The dark tapestry of generations,
Even an odd wisp of immortality,
Providing sweet memories at the dying of the day.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Summer supper
At the end of the day yesterday, I called Cindy at home and asked her what she and Kate wanted for supper. Cindy informed me that Kate wanted pasta with a lemon sauce, goat cheese and fresh basil. I considered that and Cindy informed me further that Kate was willing to allow us to add to the mix with whatever we wished. I thought that was nice of her and started thinking about other things which could be added. Cindy suggested mushrooms. I was actually thinking about shrimp, but a little dubious of where I could get good shrimp. Most of the grocery stores around here seem to lack a good supply of shrimp these days.
I suggested we could use some of the cherry tomatoes off of our bush. Cindy thought that all sounded pretty good.
So I drove down to Ingles and picked up a lemon, cheese, a bag of salad, some pasta and some mushrooms and a few other items we need around the house.
When I got home, Kate, who had not been feeling very well all day, rallied and took over. Within a few minutes, she had sauted the mushrooms, cooked the pasta, added the lemon sauce and taken the basil which I had picked from our patio garden and added it to the pasta. That evening we had a nice little meal of pasta and vegetables with a salad and I opened a bottle of red wine. It was nice.
After supper, Kate and I drove over to the Jones' house and swam a bit in their pool. Unfortunately, the red wine and my cold got in the way of my swimming and I ran out of steam pretty quickly. It was alright.
That was a nice summer evening.
I suggested we could use some of the cherry tomatoes off of our bush. Cindy thought that all sounded pretty good.
So I drove down to Ingles and picked up a lemon, cheese, a bag of salad, some pasta and some mushrooms and a few other items we need around the house.
When I got home, Kate, who had not been feeling very well all day, rallied and took over. Within a few minutes, she had sauted the mushrooms, cooked the pasta, added the lemon sauce and taken the basil which I had picked from our patio garden and added it to the pasta. That evening we had a nice little meal of pasta and vegetables with a salad and I opened a bottle of red wine. It was nice.
After supper, Kate and I drove over to the Jones' house and swam a bit in their pool. Unfortunately, the red wine and my cold got in the way of my swimming and I ran out of steam pretty quickly. It was alright.
That was a nice summer evening.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Local agriculture
I think I may have mentioned that Cindy and I stopped at the Plant Emporium about a week ago and bought a hanging plant for a friend of Cindy's at Griffin Tech. While we were there we found that they had a wide variety of tomato plants. I found a cherry tomato plant which was in a hanging basket and it was just covered up with tomatoes. Cindy and I looked at it closely and realized that there seemed to be about thirty or forty cherry tomatoes on the plant. When we realized that the cost of the plant was only $10.00, the tomatoes seemed to be a pretty good deal.
Recently, I have been picking the tomatoes off the plant as they turn an orange red color. Right now we have about fifteen on our window, turning a deep shade of red. There are probably about ten on the plant which will need to be picked soon. There are still quite a few green ones which will turn orange soon. There has been a recent salmonella scare in Georgia for some tomatoes which came from Florida. It is good to have some home-grown tomatoes we can use in their stead.
I could use a few extra tomato plants of such healthy status. We could start selling them on the street if we had a few more such plants. So far, the tomatoes we have been able to harvest off our two bushes have been pretty good [meaning they actually taste like something, unlike the grocery store variety].
They are always better than what you get at the grocery store. What I need now are some good Georgia peaches. And some Broadbent's bacon. Maybe I'll make a trip to the Dekalb Farmer's Market.
I would sure like to find some local fruit and vegetables and freeze them.
Recently, I have been picking the tomatoes off the plant as they turn an orange red color. Right now we have about fifteen on our window, turning a deep shade of red. There are probably about ten on the plant which will need to be picked soon. There are still quite a few green ones which will turn orange soon. There has been a recent salmonella scare in Georgia for some tomatoes which came from Florida. It is good to have some home-grown tomatoes we can use in their stead.
I could use a few extra tomato plants of such healthy status. We could start selling them on the street if we had a few more such plants. So far, the tomatoes we have been able to harvest off our two bushes have been pretty good [meaning they actually taste like something, unlike the grocery store variety].
They are always better than what you get at the grocery store. What I need now are some good Georgia peaches. And some Broadbent's bacon. Maybe I'll make a trip to the Dekalb Farmer's Market.
I would sure like to find some local fruit and vegetables and freeze them.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Comedy & Australia
George Carlin died. My introduction to the comedy of George Carlin was a comedy album he put out in the early 70's. The album was full of expletives and talked about his being fired from a job as a comedian for saying certain words which were prohibited at the time. The irony of the routine was the fact that he had been fired from a job in Las Vegas for using words on stage which were being used by gamblers in the casino next door. At the time, George Carlin was doing a routine which used a lot of curse words and drug use references. For a group of young teenagers, that was really hot.
Of course, it was only a few years later that Richard Pryor came on the scene and really stretched the boundaries of this stuff. I know Flip Wilson had a variety show and he was very funny. But then he had Richard Pryor on the show and he took it even further. Of course, in those days, comedy albums were the cutting edge on those routines. That is, if you weren't going to the actual shows of the comedians.
I guess the real place for this stuff is on the internet or in books. Steve Martin, who I saw at the Great Southeast Music Hall, as the underside of a two comedian act with Martin Mull, has become pretty big with books and plays and other assorted things.
Anyway, it is kind of sad when someone like George Carlin passes. In his honor, I would like to say that the weather in Griffin is clear today, followed by scattered darkness. A partial score on the College World Series: Fresno State 4.
That's what I remember. In that regard, my Aunt Meg is still mentally confused about her whereabouts. She still thinks she is in Australia. She "saw" a dead kangaroo on the side of the road. After going to get an MRI, she requested the 'A' book of the encyclopedia so she could look up St. Petersburg, Australia. She is apparently in good health, other than her mental problems. I suppose thinking you are in Australia is not that bad.
Of course, it was only a few years later that Richard Pryor came on the scene and really stretched the boundaries of this stuff. I know Flip Wilson had a variety show and he was very funny. But then he had Richard Pryor on the show and he took it even further. Of course, in those days, comedy albums were the cutting edge on those routines. That is, if you weren't going to the actual shows of the comedians.
I guess the real place for this stuff is on the internet or in books. Steve Martin, who I saw at the Great Southeast Music Hall, as the underside of a two comedian act with Martin Mull, has become pretty big with books and plays and other assorted things.
Anyway, it is kind of sad when someone like George Carlin passes. In his honor, I would like to say that the weather in Griffin is clear today, followed by scattered darkness. A partial score on the College World Series: Fresno State 4.
That's what I remember. In that regard, my Aunt Meg is still mentally confused about her whereabouts. She still thinks she is in Australia. She "saw" a dead kangaroo on the side of the road. After going to get an MRI, she requested the 'A' book of the encyclopedia so she could look up St. Petersburg, Australia. She is apparently in good health, other than her mental problems. I suppose thinking you are in Australia is not that bad.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Defense/Art Piece
There is a white pain at the top of your brain
And your skin prickles with electrical current
And you can barely feel the burn in your legs
And your back as you await the concert clap
As the offense breaks the huddle
And you are staring at the linemen
Trying to burn holes in their helmets
Walking sideways to the line of scrimmage
To your position across from your foe
And the quarterback is yelling drivel
Only the cadence has sense
The rest is nonsense
Until the appointed noise strikes
And suddenly the world is in motion
Swirling around you, a Disney ride
Of motion and grunting and lights
And you are watching the player in front of you
But trying to sort out the leather ball
As they play confidence tricks around you
And there is a river flow of humanity
Swirling up and around and past you
Fox and hounds, fox and hounds
To the bleat, bleat of your heart
And you are caught in the flow
Following the pieces of the ballet
Trying to catch the performance art
In which you might be an important part
Moving with this partner, taking another
Following the brown object which calls the dance
Until the ball is before you, near you
And you are lunging for its shadow
Catching the piece, making sense
Of the swirling dance in which you find yourself,
Until you catch ahold of the dancer
And take him to ground
Like a fox at the hounds
Where the sound of the official's whistle
Blowing in your earpiece
Signals the end of the dance.
And your skin prickles with electrical current
And you can barely feel the burn in your legs
And your back as you await the concert clap
As the offense breaks the huddle
And you are staring at the linemen
Trying to burn holes in their helmets
Walking sideways to the line of scrimmage
To your position across from your foe
And the quarterback is yelling drivel
Only the cadence has sense
The rest is nonsense
Until the appointed noise strikes
And suddenly the world is in motion
Swirling around you, a Disney ride
Of motion and grunting and lights
And you are watching the player in front of you
But trying to sort out the leather ball
As they play confidence tricks around you
And there is a river flow of humanity
Swirling up and around and past you
Fox and hounds, fox and hounds
To the bleat, bleat of your heart
And you are caught in the flow
Following the pieces of the ballet
Trying to catch the performance art
In which you might be an important part
Moving with this partner, taking another
Following the brown object which calls the dance
Until the ball is before you, near you
And you are lunging for its shadow
Catching the piece, making sense
Of the swirling dance in which you find yourself,
Until you catch ahold of the dancer
And take him to ground
Like a fox at the hounds
Where the sound of the official's whistle
Blowing in your earpiece
Signals the end of the dance.
Filling the page
Given my most recent posting, I bet you are wondering how I choose the topics upon which I write. Me too. I know Cindy always wonders how my mind works. I do too, sometimes. One of the idiocyncracies I have is a habit of talking out conversations in my brain. Commonly, I think out dialogues in my brain, thinking out scenes and what not. Sometimes, the dialogues become so real that I just start speaking them out.
When this happens, people around me will wonder what I am talking about or to whom I am speaking. I guess most people are polite enough to refrain from asking me what I am talking about. Cindy has a tendency to ask me what I was saying. Often the answer is just some little scene I am speaking out in my mind, which won't amount to anything.
Its just something I do from time to time.
I was reading about some compilations of writings by Hemingway. One is his writings on fishing. The other is his writings on hunting. I remember rereading "The Sun Also Rises" a couple of years ago. The first time I read it was in high school, and I remember being somewhat bored by the plot. I am not sure I made it through the book. This time, however, I finished the book. I remember thinking that the story really didn't take off until the main character and his buddies go to Spain to go fishing. That is when the description really takes off. I get the impression that Hemingway was good at it because it was something he really liked.
I guess that is understandable. He would be better at something he really liked to write about. Perhaps that is why my writings about the farm seem to be better than some of my other writing. I get the impression, when I write these things, that sometimes I am just trying to fill up the page. You might be thinking that right now.
Then I will go on to something else.
When this happens, people around me will wonder what I am talking about or to whom I am speaking. I guess most people are polite enough to refrain from asking me what I am talking about. Cindy has a tendency to ask me what I was saying. Often the answer is just some little scene I am speaking out in my mind, which won't amount to anything.
Its just something I do from time to time.
I was reading about some compilations of writings by Hemingway. One is his writings on fishing. The other is his writings on hunting. I remember rereading "The Sun Also Rises" a couple of years ago. The first time I read it was in high school, and I remember being somewhat bored by the plot. I am not sure I made it through the book. This time, however, I finished the book. I remember thinking that the story really didn't take off until the main character and his buddies go to Spain to go fishing. That is when the description really takes off. I get the impression that Hemingway was good at it because it was something he really liked.
I guess that is understandable. He would be better at something he really liked to write about. Perhaps that is why my writings about the farm seem to be better than some of my other writing. I get the impression, when I write these things, that sometimes I am just trying to fill up the page. You might be thinking that right now.
Then I will go on to something else.
Groceries and Supermarkets
I went to the local Kroger store to buy some groceries and renew a prescription for Cindy and me. Our Kroger is getting rather tattered around the edges. They had no green onions. I couldn't imagine why they didn't have green onions. Some of the shelves were bare of certain items. I was kind of sad. They used to be the best grocery in Griffin.
They are not tattered around the edges like Piggly Wiggly. Piggly Wiggly is old school. Sure the lights seem a little dim. The produce seems a little worn for the ware. But at a Piggly Wiggly you find all sorts of variety on the shelves. It has a small town feel about it. And seems to include a lot of brands you don't find everywhere else.
This holds true particularly when you go to the beach. I love beach-side Piggly Wigglys. The Piggly Wiggly in Apalachicola is superb. And they smoke meats on the weekend. The Piggly Wiggly in Darien is cool as well. They even had sushi in their fish cooler. Imagine.
Anyway, I went to the pharmacy and most of the customers seemed to be elderly people buying a whole bushel of drugs. Their grocery carts blocked the line for pharmaceuticals. There was someone there who bore the appearance of an alcoholic or meth addict, trying to get blood pressure medicine. I guess if you are a meth addict, you need your blood pressure medicine to counteract the effect of the meth.
Supermarket chains are interesting to me. Publix is probably the cleanest and best stocked of the bunch around here, although I really like the ones in Florida better. Krogers used to be the best around here for a long time, but it seems like they have fallen by the wayside a bit. Ingles is getting bigger around here and I seem to shop more in there these days. Mainly because they are cheaper than our Piggly Wiggly and because it is the next closest of the supermarkets.
The configuration of the entrances into Ingles is a civil engineer's nightmare. U.S. 19 expands to four lanes at the same time the entrance from 19/41 takes a right turn into U.S. 19 at the same time you arrive at the first entrance to Ingles. The configuration of the traffic lanes at the intersection is as confusing as that sentence. As you drive south on 19, you have to look over your right shoulder and make sure no traffic is blitzing down from 41 on to 19. You have to drive relatively slowly and carefully, which is counterintuitive since you are driving in response to a green traffic light and traveling on a highway which is expanding from two lanes to four. If you are careful and don't veer into the path of an oncoming car or hit a car in front of you, you can work your way into the lane of traffic which enters into the Ingles parking lot. Every time I drive to Ingles I think about this. It is a continuous opportunity for disaster.
We used to have a Winn Dixie's in Griffin, but it is long gone. Winn Dixie's used to be a good chain, but they fell by the wayside as well. Apparently, the best grocery store in Griffin in the old days was an A&P. So I have heard. I don't think I ever saw an A&P since the one that used to be Clarksville. We used to shop at one in Indianapolis when I was a boy.
Well, that is enough about grocery stores. I need to go on to more important things at this point.
They are not tattered around the edges like Piggly Wiggly. Piggly Wiggly is old school. Sure the lights seem a little dim. The produce seems a little worn for the ware. But at a Piggly Wiggly you find all sorts of variety on the shelves. It has a small town feel about it. And seems to include a lot of brands you don't find everywhere else.
This holds true particularly when you go to the beach. I love beach-side Piggly Wigglys. The Piggly Wiggly in Apalachicola is superb. And they smoke meats on the weekend. The Piggly Wiggly in Darien is cool as well. They even had sushi in their fish cooler. Imagine.
Anyway, I went to the pharmacy and most of the customers seemed to be elderly people buying a whole bushel of drugs. Their grocery carts blocked the line for pharmaceuticals. There was someone there who bore the appearance of an alcoholic or meth addict, trying to get blood pressure medicine. I guess if you are a meth addict, you need your blood pressure medicine to counteract the effect of the meth.
Supermarket chains are interesting to me. Publix is probably the cleanest and best stocked of the bunch around here, although I really like the ones in Florida better. Krogers used to be the best around here for a long time, but it seems like they have fallen by the wayside a bit. Ingles is getting bigger around here and I seem to shop more in there these days. Mainly because they are cheaper than our Piggly Wiggly and because it is the next closest of the supermarkets.
The configuration of the entrances into Ingles is a civil engineer's nightmare. U.S. 19 expands to four lanes at the same time the entrance from 19/41 takes a right turn into U.S. 19 at the same time you arrive at the first entrance to Ingles. The configuration of the traffic lanes at the intersection is as confusing as that sentence. As you drive south on 19, you have to look over your right shoulder and make sure no traffic is blitzing down from 41 on to 19. You have to drive relatively slowly and carefully, which is counterintuitive since you are driving in response to a green traffic light and traveling on a highway which is expanding from two lanes to four. If you are careful and don't veer into the path of an oncoming car or hit a car in front of you, you can work your way into the lane of traffic which enters into the Ingles parking lot. Every time I drive to Ingles I think about this. It is a continuous opportunity for disaster.
We used to have a Winn Dixie's in Griffin, but it is long gone. Winn Dixie's used to be a good chain, but they fell by the wayside as well. Apparently, the best grocery store in Griffin in the old days was an A&P. So I have heard. I don't think I ever saw an A&P since the one that used to be Clarksville. We used to shop at one in Indianapolis when I was a boy.
Well, that is enough about grocery stores. I need to go on to more important things at this point.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Summer colds and allergies
What is going on? Cindy, Kate and I have spent the past three or four days trying to get the house straight for company on the weekend. Meanwhile, I have tried to keep collecting money at the office, calling people and running down payment on invoices. I must say that it has been interesting to see some real estate closings come up and actually close this month. I don't know what is happening, what is causing the bump in the business. Its nice though.
One or two of Kate's friends is coming to visit, although I am not sure they will stay with us. It is all very much up in the air at this point. I know Kate wants to take them to different places in Atlanta. I don't think she cares about showing them around Griffin. Saturday is supposed to be a little wet, but the temperature is supposed to get down to 82. That would be nice.
I can tell it is getting cooler because the air conditioning in this office is freezing me out. That is ironic since the air conditioning was not working up until last week sometime.
I feel like I have a cold. It may be allergies. I know I got up around 5:00 this morning and went into the living room. I lay down on the couch and almost immediately my sinuses started filling up. I looked around and found a little bud vase with some small flowers in it. I assumed since those were the only flowers in the area that that was what was setting me off. So I moved them to the other side of the room. I can't say that I felt that much better, but I didn't get worse.
Today the radio personalities were talking about the kind of tomatoes which were causing salmonella poisoning. I brought my mom and dad some tomatoes on Sunday and my sister immediately assumed that they were bad. No such luck. We have been eating them as they reddened up for several weeks now. They not only taste better then what you get at the grocery store but they are free. They are a little slow in ripening, but we seem to get one or two ready to eat every day.
I would like to take a nap right now. I don't think it is going to happen.
One or two of Kate's friends is coming to visit, although I am not sure they will stay with us. It is all very much up in the air at this point. I know Kate wants to take them to different places in Atlanta. I don't think she cares about showing them around Griffin. Saturday is supposed to be a little wet, but the temperature is supposed to get down to 82. That would be nice.
I can tell it is getting cooler because the air conditioning in this office is freezing me out. That is ironic since the air conditioning was not working up until last week sometime.
I feel like I have a cold. It may be allergies. I know I got up around 5:00 this morning and went into the living room. I lay down on the couch and almost immediately my sinuses started filling up. I looked around and found a little bud vase with some small flowers in it. I assumed since those were the only flowers in the area that that was what was setting me off. So I moved them to the other side of the room. I can't say that I felt that much better, but I didn't get worse.
Today the radio personalities were talking about the kind of tomatoes which were causing salmonella poisoning. I brought my mom and dad some tomatoes on Sunday and my sister immediately assumed that they were bad. No such luck. We have been eating them as they reddened up for several weeks now. They not only taste better then what you get at the grocery store but they are free. They are a little slow in ripening, but we seem to get one or two ready to eat every day.
I would like to take a nap right now. I don't think it is going to happen.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Nesting
The universe lies on the head of a pin
Colors: blue, red, yellow and pink
Gender positive, gender neutral,
I can tell you its a girl;
I've got a gift.
Don't tell me; I don't want to know yet.
Fix up the spare bedroom.
Next to our bedroom?
We're going to have to get rid of the dog.
You're kidding me.
We've got to paint.
Honey, I've got to have this.
We've bought a ton of that stuff already.
I know, I know.
Look, we've got to have this.
Now look at this picture:
How pastoral, yet kitchy;
The bears are on a picnic
And baby bear makes three.
Its time to settle in.
Just relax, ok?
Colors: blue, red, yellow and pink
Gender positive, gender neutral,
I can tell you its a girl;
I've got a gift.
Don't tell me; I don't want to know yet.
Fix up the spare bedroom.
Next to our bedroom?
We're going to have to get rid of the dog.
You're kidding me.
We've got to paint.
Honey, I've got to have this.
We've bought a ton of that stuff already.
I know, I know.
Look, we've got to have this.
Now look at this picture:
How pastoral, yet kitchy;
The bears are on a picnic
And baby bear makes three.
Its time to settle in.
Just relax, ok?
Monday, June 16, 2008
My life dribbles out
I am Elvis gyrating his hips on Ed Sullivan. I am four mop-haired boys from Liverpool singing and playing on the same stage several years later to the screams of millions. I am walking around in a daze, inspecting intercontinental missiles in the soft, spring grass on a cub scout tour of Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville, Alabama. I am wandering around my father’s IBM offices in Indianapolis and Huntsville and Atlanta, trying to figure out how it all fits together: three rooms full of computer. I am typing this page out on a small plastic box full of electronics, the boxes the size of two small carry-on suitcases.
I am eating barbecue with vegetables and corncakes with my family in the Pic-a-rib restaurant across from the old wooden railroad station in Clarksville, Tennessee. I am catching an L&N train from the white Queen Anne-style station in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, bound for Marietta, Georgia. In the blackness of our midnight departure, I am thrilled to board the train, my father waiting for us on the tracks in Marietta.
I am sitting on a blanket in the infield with mom and dad and Frank, watching the tube-shaped race cars, with the old Offenhauser engines, screaming around the track in Indianapolis. I am running down the field with a junior-sized football at Murphy Candler Park in the fall sunshine. I am waiting my turn at bat. I am eating sandwiches at Lum's restaurant in my cleats and uniform, with the smell of line chalk and bermuda grass following me around the room. I am chasing around with my friends, teammates and siblings, like the nuisances we are, while our parents drink beer and laugh and enjoy the opportunity to act like adults having fun together.
I am walking off the football field in Athens, my head down, after a loss to Cedar Shoals High School, holding the hand of a little African-American boy from Athens, who is offering me an unexpectedly potent brand of hero worship. I am re-living the same experience in Georgetown, Virginia, on the campus of Georgetown University, five years later, leaving the sight of my last football game as a participant. My dad is in tears; my mom is just beaming.
I am staring with wonder at a little female baby in the nursery window of Piedmont Hospital and combing her blonde hair to get her ready for school. I am making a sandwich for her lunch and leaving the paper on the cheese, as an unintended surprise. I am driving a beat up old Volkswagen Jetta to school, singing folk songs with my daughter because the radio doesn't work.
I am walking through the wet and cold of the French Quarter in New Orleans in January with someone I, maybe, barely knew from years past but now is completing my thoughts and sentences, and I, hers. I am waiting nervously at the front of a modern Methodist church in Irvine, California and trying to catch her eye as she stares at the floor and tries to navigate the walk down the aisle toward me on her father's arm.
I am throwing my portly catcher's body toward a foul ball in the late spring dust on the Dundee Park infield in Griffin. I am speaking a sermon based on the events of my life and the changes I have seen in forty years of life to the congregation of First Presbyterian Church, Griffin.
I am looking forward to a hearing in court tomorrow and driving around the state of Georgia, selling the homes of those who can not make the necessary payments. I am trying to keep the payments of our house current to escape the call of the foreclosure sale.
I am catching the Allman Brothers in concert with friends of mine in Roanoke, Virginia and hearing the sounds of REM coming from the second floor nightclub above me as I walk through downtown Athens, Georgia toward the Varsity.
I am visiting my great-grandmothers in their nursing homes. I am listening to my grandfather cough through his emphysema. I stare at the familiar, but blank faces of my dead grandmothers at their funerals in the dead of winter, both times. I am wondering at a little wooden box carefully placed in a small marble crypt in New Orleans in September. I am JFK in Dallas and RFK in Los Angeles and MLK in Memphis.
I am two planes flying deliberately from Logan Airport and sailing incomprehensively into the twin towers in New York, while I watch in the semi-darkness of morning breakfast on the bayou in Bayou Lacombe. Another plane from Logan Airport in Boston is winging me surely across the Atlantic to Heathrow Airport, where a train trip into London leaves me with the feeling that I am very, very far away from who I was and what I know and those who love me.
I am watching my daughter walk down the corridor toward a waiting plane and a semester spent studying in Prague.
What waits ahead?
I am eating barbecue with vegetables and corncakes with my family in the Pic-a-rib restaurant across from the old wooden railroad station in Clarksville, Tennessee. I am catching an L&N train from the white Queen Anne-style station in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, bound for Marietta, Georgia. In the blackness of our midnight departure, I am thrilled to board the train, my father waiting for us on the tracks in Marietta.
I am sitting on a blanket in the infield with mom and dad and Frank, watching the tube-shaped race cars, with the old Offenhauser engines, screaming around the track in Indianapolis. I am running down the field with a junior-sized football at Murphy Candler Park in the fall sunshine. I am waiting my turn at bat. I am eating sandwiches at Lum's restaurant in my cleats and uniform, with the smell of line chalk and bermuda grass following me around the room. I am chasing around with my friends, teammates and siblings, like the nuisances we are, while our parents drink beer and laugh and enjoy the opportunity to act like adults having fun together.
I am walking off the football field in Athens, my head down, after a loss to Cedar Shoals High School, holding the hand of a little African-American boy from Athens, who is offering me an unexpectedly potent brand of hero worship. I am re-living the same experience in Georgetown, Virginia, on the campus of Georgetown University, five years later, leaving the sight of my last football game as a participant. My dad is in tears; my mom is just beaming.
I am staring with wonder at a little female baby in the nursery window of Piedmont Hospital and combing her blonde hair to get her ready for school. I am making a sandwich for her lunch and leaving the paper on the cheese, as an unintended surprise. I am driving a beat up old Volkswagen Jetta to school, singing folk songs with my daughter because the radio doesn't work.
I am walking through the wet and cold of the French Quarter in New Orleans in January with someone I, maybe, barely knew from years past but now is completing my thoughts and sentences, and I, hers. I am waiting nervously at the front of a modern Methodist church in Irvine, California and trying to catch her eye as she stares at the floor and tries to navigate the walk down the aisle toward me on her father's arm.
I am throwing my portly catcher's body toward a foul ball in the late spring dust on the Dundee Park infield in Griffin. I am speaking a sermon based on the events of my life and the changes I have seen in forty years of life to the congregation of First Presbyterian Church, Griffin.
I am looking forward to a hearing in court tomorrow and driving around the state of Georgia, selling the homes of those who can not make the necessary payments. I am trying to keep the payments of our house current to escape the call of the foreclosure sale.
I am catching the Allman Brothers in concert with friends of mine in Roanoke, Virginia and hearing the sounds of REM coming from the second floor nightclub above me as I walk through downtown Athens, Georgia toward the Varsity.
I am visiting my great-grandmothers in their nursing homes. I am listening to my grandfather cough through his emphysema. I stare at the familiar, but blank faces of my dead grandmothers at their funerals in the dead of winter, both times. I am wondering at a little wooden box carefully placed in a small marble crypt in New Orleans in September. I am JFK in Dallas and RFK in Los Angeles and MLK in Memphis.
I am two planes flying deliberately from Logan Airport and sailing incomprehensively into the twin towers in New York, while I watch in the semi-darkness of morning breakfast on the bayou in Bayou Lacombe. Another plane from Logan Airport in Boston is winging me surely across the Atlantic to Heathrow Airport, where a train trip into London leaves me with the feeling that I am very, very far away from who I was and what I know and those who love me.
I am watching my daughter walk down the corridor toward a waiting plane and a semester spent studying in Prague.
What waits ahead?
Bloomsday, 2008
Sometimes this stuff is a bore. Hell, I know it: quite often I'm a bore. After all, I am the one who is putting pen to paper (that is a metaphor, I'm really putting digit to keyboard). I suppose everyone can be. Of course, when you are putting words on line and publishing it, whether it is in a magazine or book or even a letter or blog like this, you get the opportunity to bore more people than you normally would in the situation where you are simply walking down the street or driving your car and just avoiding people.
The first rule of adulthood, I think, is: "better to keep your mouth shut and hide your ignorance, rather than open your mouth and abandon all pretense." That line has been written many ways and I know the sentiment can be restated several different
ways. I know Mark Twain stated that rule in one of his writings. I wish I could remember the exact Twain quote. [So good to have a brother who can help me out with those issues. See comment.]
Truth be told, I am not very good on quoting poetry or other writing. Even my own.
Coinciding with this is the first rule of walking in the big city: "don't make eye contact." This goes contrary to what I was taught at Washington and Lee where the so-called 'speaking tradition' reigns and people are supposed to speak to each other when they see them. This 'tradition' has carried through to my life here in the small city of Griffin, Georgia, where everyone speaks to each other ordinarily.
I think I mentioned once upon a time that when we arranged to go fishing with dad last year, the five of us walked in to the local Piggly Wiggly in Darien and bought drinks and snacks for the trip the following day. When we got to the checkout counter, I got involved in a pleasant conversation with the checkout girl. My brother in law and brother were a little disturbed at my willingness to speak to the clerk. The quote, as I remember it was, "Why were you talking to her; you don't know her?"
My response was that that is what you do in a small town. You converse with people. But apparently they don't do that in the big city unless you have an ulterior motive.
I know this is a corollary of the original rule which forbids you from looking in the eye of a stranger. I think, on the face, that this rule comes from the prevention of being mugged in public. But, truthfully, I think it comes from the desire to insulate yourself from others in the big city. Its just easier to avoid eye contact and not go through the motions of talking to someone else. Not as friendly, but maybe easier.
That is one of the things I do like about living in a town like Griffin. In some sense, you are expected to know other people. And show it. Granted, Cindy and I didn't grow up in Griffin like a lot of folks here, but you are still expected to say hello and know about what everyone is doing in town. Its nosy, but its familial.
At any rate, when I decided to publish these little pieces I probably realized at that time that I would be laying it all out, like a vein in my arm, for all to sample. And even the greatest writers have their days. But, I suppose I should apologize for the meaningless ramblings that I have put out from time. I am very happy to have my brother, sister, wife and daughter to correct my facts from time to time. I am also glad that they rarely correct the wordings, syntax and mode of expression. Most of them seem to be happy enough to be able to read what comes out of my rarely-edited garbage dump. And any way, I plan on continuing with this for some time. Pepys went for ten years. I could certainly give that a shot. It is kind of like aiming for 715, then 756. The only difference is that I don't have steroids to use to help me in the effort. You just plod along, day to day.
Well, today is Bloomsday. Known only to Dubliners, the afficionados of James Joyce and other English majors around the world. You might hold this as the true International Holiday for English majors. I can think of no other date in history upon which English majors could hold their holiday. In college, we were required to know only a one date: 1798, the date upon which 'Lyrical Ballads' was published by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. That is rather obtuse, even for English majors, but is the date upon which poetry became 'modern.' At least in the eyes of Dr. Sidney Coulling at Washington and Lee University.
However, today is the date upon which the novel 'Ullysses', written by the Irish writer, James Joyce, is set and upon which Leopold Bloom does walk around the city of Dublin through the action of the novel. The entire novel takes place on this day, June 16th, and several cities in the world celebrate same as 'Bloomsday.' Supposedly, you can read the novel and gain a clear picture of life in Dublin during the first part of this past century. That is why 'Ulysses' is such a fine novel.
So hoist an Irish beer, preferably a Guinness, and think on young Stephen Daedalus and poor Leopold Bloom and good Molly. They are deserving of your consideration today. Personally, I wouldn't mind having a pile of steamed mussels and a nice pint this evening. Perhaps we can arrange for that.
The first rule of adulthood, I think, is: "better to keep your mouth shut and hide your ignorance, rather than open your mouth and abandon all pretense." That line has been written many ways and I know the sentiment can be restated several different
ways. I know Mark Twain stated that rule in one of his writings. I wish I could remember the exact Twain quote. [So good to have a brother who can help me out with those issues. See comment.]
Truth be told, I am not very good on quoting poetry or other writing. Even my own.
Coinciding with this is the first rule of walking in the big city: "don't make eye contact." This goes contrary to what I was taught at Washington and Lee where the so-called 'speaking tradition' reigns and people are supposed to speak to each other when they see them. This 'tradition' has carried through to my life here in the small city of Griffin, Georgia, where everyone speaks to each other ordinarily.
I think I mentioned once upon a time that when we arranged to go fishing with dad last year, the five of us walked in to the local Piggly Wiggly in Darien and bought drinks and snacks for the trip the following day. When we got to the checkout counter, I got involved in a pleasant conversation with the checkout girl. My brother in law and brother were a little disturbed at my willingness to speak to the clerk. The quote, as I remember it was, "Why were you talking to her; you don't know her?"
My response was that that is what you do in a small town. You converse with people. But apparently they don't do that in the big city unless you have an ulterior motive.
I know this is a corollary of the original rule which forbids you from looking in the eye of a stranger. I think, on the face, that this rule comes from the prevention of being mugged in public. But, truthfully, I think it comes from the desire to insulate yourself from others in the big city. Its just easier to avoid eye contact and not go through the motions of talking to someone else. Not as friendly, but maybe easier.
That is one of the things I do like about living in a town like Griffin. In some sense, you are expected to know other people. And show it. Granted, Cindy and I didn't grow up in Griffin like a lot of folks here, but you are still expected to say hello and know about what everyone is doing in town. Its nosy, but its familial.
At any rate, when I decided to publish these little pieces I probably realized at that time that I would be laying it all out, like a vein in my arm, for all to sample. And even the greatest writers have their days. But, I suppose I should apologize for the meaningless ramblings that I have put out from time. I am very happy to have my brother, sister, wife and daughter to correct my facts from time to time. I am also glad that they rarely correct the wordings, syntax and mode of expression. Most of them seem to be happy enough to be able to read what comes out of my rarely-edited garbage dump. And any way, I plan on continuing with this for some time. Pepys went for ten years. I could certainly give that a shot. It is kind of like aiming for 715, then 756. The only difference is that I don't have steroids to use to help me in the effort. You just plod along, day to day.
Well, today is Bloomsday. Known only to Dubliners, the afficionados of James Joyce and other English majors around the world. You might hold this as the true International Holiday for English majors. I can think of no other date in history upon which English majors could hold their holiday. In college, we were required to know only a one date: 1798, the date upon which 'Lyrical Ballads' was published by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. That is rather obtuse, even for English majors, but is the date upon which poetry became 'modern.' At least in the eyes of Dr. Sidney Coulling at Washington and Lee University.
However, today is the date upon which the novel 'Ullysses', written by the Irish writer, James Joyce, is set and upon which Leopold Bloom does walk around the city of Dublin through the action of the novel. The entire novel takes place on this day, June 16th, and several cities in the world celebrate same as 'Bloomsday.' Supposedly, you can read the novel and gain a clear picture of life in Dublin during the first part of this past century. That is why 'Ulysses' is such a fine novel.
So hoist an Irish beer, preferably a Guinness, and think on young Stephen Daedalus and poor Leopold Bloom and good Molly. They are deserving of your consideration today. Personally, I wouldn't mind having a pile of steamed mussels and a nice pint this evening. Perhaps we can arrange for that.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Angelo's and a movie and the morning after
The sky was very overcast when I woke up this morning. I got up and went into the bathroom and could hear Cindy walking the dog through the house and out the back door to do his morning business. I followed her outside and took the leash from her hand. She glanced at me and trudged back into the house.
After the dog completed his business, I led him back inside and tried to pay attention to the status of the tomatoes on the bushes on the patio. I eyes were crusted with sleep. After I took the dog back in, I went back out on the patio and removed several tomatoes from the two bushes, the ones which were ripe enough to remove and place in the window sill for final ripening.
I returned back inside and went into the bedroom. I kissed Cindy on the cheek, who was reading a book in bed. She called for Tex and I opened the bedroom door so Tex could hear the summons. He trotted into the bedroom and I helped him up into the bed with Cindy.
I quickly dressed and left the house. Now I am in the office, trying to complete some work that needs to be completed before I can go back home this afternoon. I am supposed to be waiting for two clients to show up. So far, nothing. The local NPR station is broadcasting on my radio in my office. I have been munching on M&M's from my desk drawer.
Last night, Cindy and Kate and I went to Angelo's and ate a nice dinner of pasta and salad and iced tea. The air conditioning was off in the restaurant, but the fans were working and the air was not so hot as to create an appreciable sense of discomfort. On the contrary, the air was rather tolerable. Our supper together was enjoyable. We spent quite a bit to time talking after supper, drinking on our glasses of iced tea.
Afterward, we drove over to Blockbuster's to pick up a couple of movies. Later we stopped by the local Walgreen's Pharmacy and Walmart. That night, we arrived back home and Cindy and Kate watched a movie, while I laid on the couch and alternated between a movie on my portable dvd player and several naps.
I am interested to see what Cindy has planned for this afternoon. It looked like it might rain this morning, but nothing happened. Now, I am taking a little time to write on this, before I get back to work. I need to get some exercise today.
I am not feeling very poetic today. Something tells me that this entry is rather dry and prosaic.
After the dog completed his business, I led him back inside and tried to pay attention to the status of the tomatoes on the bushes on the patio. I eyes were crusted with sleep. After I took the dog back in, I went back out on the patio and removed several tomatoes from the two bushes, the ones which were ripe enough to remove and place in the window sill for final ripening.
I returned back inside and went into the bedroom. I kissed Cindy on the cheek, who was reading a book in bed. She called for Tex and I opened the bedroom door so Tex could hear the summons. He trotted into the bedroom and I helped him up into the bed with Cindy.
I quickly dressed and left the house. Now I am in the office, trying to complete some work that needs to be completed before I can go back home this afternoon. I am supposed to be waiting for two clients to show up. So far, nothing. The local NPR station is broadcasting on my radio in my office. I have been munching on M&M's from my desk drawer.
Last night, Cindy and Kate and I went to Angelo's and ate a nice dinner of pasta and salad and iced tea. The air conditioning was off in the restaurant, but the fans were working and the air was not so hot as to create an appreciable sense of discomfort. On the contrary, the air was rather tolerable. Our supper together was enjoyable. We spent quite a bit to time talking after supper, drinking on our glasses of iced tea.
Afterward, we drove over to Blockbuster's to pick up a couple of movies. Later we stopped by the local Walgreen's Pharmacy and Walmart. That night, we arrived back home and Cindy and Kate watched a movie, while I laid on the couch and alternated between a movie on my portable dvd player and several naps.
I am interested to see what Cindy has planned for this afternoon. It looked like it might rain this morning, but nothing happened. Now, I am taking a little time to write on this, before I get back to work. I need to get some exercise today.
I am not feeling very poetic today. Something tells me that this entry is rather dry and prosaic.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Fortuna's Wheel
I got up and took the dog out this morning, noticed the amount of rainfall (sparse)and made myself a breakfast of cantaloupe, country ham and biscuits. When I took a shower, I awakened Cindy and ended up moving the sprinkler and turning it on, then driving over to the Shell Station and buying whole milk for Cindy's coffee and a newspaper.
I got to the office pretty early. I removed the Griffin paper from the doorknob and unlocked the various locks on the door. I have been waiting on my client to arrive so that I might escort her to City Court this morning. She was supposed to meet me here at 8:30, but so far, no show.
I noticed that John Rauch died yesterday. He was a Georgia quarterback and coached the Oakland Raiders to the second Super Bowl. According to the brief biography on line, he wasn't a highly regarded high school football player, but came to Georgia in 1947 and lead Georgia to three straight bowl games. Georgia had a very high winning percentage when he was their starting quarterback. A lot of southern schools were recruiting football players from Pennsylvania and other northern states back then. Rauch came from Philadelphia. I wonder what these guys thought when they first came south in those days.
The cost of unleaded regular gas in Griffin has gone over 4.00 a gallon. This, despite the fact that you can still drive to McDonough and buy it for 3.87 or Macon for 3.72. The effect of local competition is limited in effect. Ordinarily, you would expect the ability to buy gasoline in McDonough for 3.87 would force prices in the surrounding areas lower, to some extent. But we are still about .19 higher.
Checks keep dribbling in. I am expecting several over the next few days. I got a new closing for Tuesday. That will be good. Another one closes the following Friday.
I just received a call from another lender with another loan by the end of the month. Fun. Are things turning around? Or is the business cycle turning toward me.
I am stuck on Fortuna's wheel. The blood has rushed to my head and I nearly passed out. But right now, it seems to be swinging head's up so that I am seeing things a little more clearly. I need to listen to some Carl Orff.
I got to the office pretty early. I removed the Griffin paper from the doorknob and unlocked the various locks on the door. I have been waiting on my client to arrive so that I might escort her to City Court this morning. She was supposed to meet me here at 8:30, but so far, no show.
I noticed that John Rauch died yesterday. He was a Georgia quarterback and coached the Oakland Raiders to the second Super Bowl. According to the brief biography on line, he wasn't a highly regarded high school football player, but came to Georgia in 1947 and lead Georgia to three straight bowl games. Georgia had a very high winning percentage when he was their starting quarterback. A lot of southern schools were recruiting football players from Pennsylvania and other northern states back then. Rauch came from Philadelphia. I wonder what these guys thought when they first came south in those days.
The cost of unleaded regular gas in Griffin has gone over 4.00 a gallon. This, despite the fact that you can still drive to McDonough and buy it for 3.87 or Macon for 3.72. The effect of local competition is limited in effect. Ordinarily, you would expect the ability to buy gasoline in McDonough for 3.87 would force prices in the surrounding areas lower, to some extent. But we are still about .19 higher.
Checks keep dribbling in. I am expecting several over the next few days. I got a new closing for Tuesday. That will be good. Another one closes the following Friday.
I just received a call from another lender with another loan by the end of the month. Fun. Are things turning around? Or is the business cycle turning toward me.
I am stuck on Fortuna's wheel. The blood has rushed to my head and I nearly passed out. But right now, it seems to be swinging head's up so that I am seeing things a little more clearly. I need to listen to some Carl Orff.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Dog days early
It is passing hot this afternoon. A technician has been around and he inspected the units (there are six). There has been no resolution. He's coming back tomorrow.
Cindy and Kate are at the movies this afternoon. Cindy is out for four weeks on Spring/Summer break. Which means that I will be the worker bee in this hive for several weeks.
Kate needs to find a job of some kind. I would be glad to offer her one of my computers to work on that. She doesn't have to work to do it. Just come in and get on the computer.
I am going home soon. I will let the dog out and cool off. I might get some beer on the way home.
They say the temperature is going down over the next few days. Oh, if it were true. It would suit me to get a little precipitation between now and the end of the week.
Cindy and Kate are at the movies this afternoon. Cindy is out for four weeks on Spring/Summer break. Which means that I will be the worker bee in this hive for several weeks.
Kate needs to find a job of some kind. I would be glad to offer her one of my computers to work on that. She doesn't have to work to do it. Just come in and get on the computer.
I am going home soon. I will let the dog out and cool off. I might get some beer on the way home.
They say the temperature is going down over the next few days. Oh, if it were true. It would suit me to get a little precipitation between now and the end of the week.
Camp Rabun and Johnny Cash, 1970
We were just boys, Terry Fritts and I,
Away from home and family,
Both for the first time,
Up in the North Georgia mountains
Learning to place fingertips to leather orb,
To set eyes to goal
And let fly, to appreciate
The sweetness of the high arc
From hands to circle to earth again.
And afterward, trudging wearily back
For suppertime and twilight in the cool night air
In our rustic wooden cabin, screens for windows,
And a counselor from East Tennessee
He, with the habit of playing Johnny Cash, "Live at Folsom Prison"
Late at night, on an old portable record player,
So that in the darkness of our bunks, we learned the lessons
Of love and leaving, crime
And punishment, and lying, listening to the cries
And laughter of prisoners housed together,
Of their yearning and betrayal,
Until the day our fathers returned for us
At the end of our two weeks
And delivered our bodies back home again.
Away from home and family,
Both for the first time,
Up in the North Georgia mountains
Learning to place fingertips to leather orb,
To set eyes to goal
And let fly, to appreciate
The sweetness of the high arc
From hands to circle to earth again.
And afterward, trudging wearily back
For suppertime and twilight in the cool night air
In our rustic wooden cabin, screens for windows,
And a counselor from East Tennessee
He, with the habit of playing Johnny Cash, "Live at Folsom Prison"
Late at night, on an old portable record player,
So that in the darkness of our bunks, we learned the lessons
Of love and leaving, crime
And punishment, and lying, listening to the cries
And laughter of prisoners housed together,
Of their yearning and betrayal,
Until the day our fathers returned for us
At the end of our two weeks
And delivered our bodies back home again.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hot days in June
Today is hot. And it is hot again here in the office. The air conditioning is not operating this afternoon, as it didn't yesterday. I came to work in a short sleeve shirt, because I knew this would happen.
The hvac dude (official title) has been here and gone. I don't know the resolution, but I do know that it is still hot. Unfortunately, I don't have much pull in trying to get this type of repair completed. My only hope is that Alan will decide that the hvac has to be on otherwise he will expire.
Of course, it is also supposed to cool down this week. I am counting on that as well. I would love a little rain. Perhaps, a lot of rain. Perhaps not the type they have been receiving in the upper Midwest. But a good soaker would be nice. Unfortunately, that Bermuda high is sitting out in the Atlantic, holding off the cold front and pushing it north of here. A nice low pressure system pulling moist air from the Gulf of Mexico, combined with a cooling front from up in Missouri and points north would be nice.
Actually, a good, tropical storm from the panhandle would be perfect, as long as it didn't do too much damage in the Redneck Riviera. Got to keep those oysters safe on the bottom of the Apalachicola Bay. And the shrimp bodies out in the gulf.
Boy, it doesn't take much to get me thinking about seafood.
Kate gets to see Carolyn tonight. That will be good. She needs some friends with which to commiserate. We all do.
I need to keep a note pad with me at all times. I think I got one of the poems running through my head last night. But lost the other one.
The hvac dude (official title) has been here and gone. I don't know the resolution, but I do know that it is still hot. Unfortunately, I don't have much pull in trying to get this type of repair completed. My only hope is that Alan will decide that the hvac has to be on otherwise he will expire.
Of course, it is also supposed to cool down this week. I am counting on that as well. I would love a little rain. Perhaps, a lot of rain. Perhaps not the type they have been receiving in the upper Midwest. But a good soaker would be nice. Unfortunately, that Bermuda high is sitting out in the Atlantic, holding off the cold front and pushing it north of here. A nice low pressure system pulling moist air from the Gulf of Mexico, combined with a cooling front from up in Missouri and points north would be nice.
Actually, a good, tropical storm from the panhandle would be perfect, as long as it didn't do too much damage in the Redneck Riviera. Got to keep those oysters safe on the bottom of the Apalachicola Bay. And the shrimp bodies out in the gulf.
Boy, it doesn't take much to get me thinking about seafood.
Kate gets to see Carolyn tonight. That will be good. She needs some friends with which to commiserate. We all do.
I need to keep a note pad with me at all times. I think I got one of the poems running through my head last night. But lost the other one.
Creation
Black markings on a pristine page:
Footfalls found in the Winter's first snow;
The nothingness collecting in drifts,
Snowflakes falling in silence.
Someone might pause, touch
And gaze, in wonder,
And claim emotional kin.
As with the crystalline individuality
Of snowflakes, we are still all alike.
Footfalls found in the Winter's first snow;
The nothingness collecting in drifts,
Snowflakes falling in silence.
Someone might pause, touch
And gaze, in wonder,
And claim emotional kin.
As with the crystalline individuality
Of snowflakes, we are still all alike.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Summer bike ride in Chickamauga
Other than the fact that I was on a bicycle
And, from time to time, there were cars and trucks
Whizzing past me, on Highway 27,
Down towards Summerville or up
Towards Fort Oglethorpe and Rossville,
My heart still beats with the wonder:
Visualizing, clearly in my mind's eye,
Teeming thousands of young men
In blue woolen and homespun cotton grays
Or browns or whatever was easy
And came to at hand,
Like chessmen on a chessboard,
Flags waving in the wind,
Horses snorting, pawing at the dirt
Wagons and caissons rumbling across
The green meadows of Indian summer,
The staccato drum beats, black powder and metal exploding,
With Longstreet's surprising presence, thrust through the trees,
And Thomas's perseverance,
Taking aim at each other
From behind the thick foliage and fallen oaks, the pines and maples
Of North Georgia
To wrest control of these few acres
Of red clay, and for what?
To scoot back down the road,
Find a moment's rest and peace,
For the time being,
To lob hastily-fashioned canisters
Down into an occupied city
Down toward the canvas tents and campfires below
Gleaming in the darkness
Until, that old devil Grant,
Could show himself
And send those tough, Midwestern farm boys
Back up the hillsides surrounding Chattanooga
To retake the high ground
And leave an adequate place
As monument to their efforts
And a significant number of gravestones,
Until peace passing could find its bearings
Among the tender leaves
Which now provide some sort of shelter
From the furnace-sun burning
My arms and legs
On this fine August morning.
And, from time to time, there were cars and trucks
Whizzing past me, on Highway 27,
Down towards Summerville or up
Towards Fort Oglethorpe and Rossville,
My heart still beats with the wonder:
Visualizing, clearly in my mind's eye,
Teeming thousands of young men
In blue woolen and homespun cotton grays
Or browns or whatever was easy
And came to at hand,
Like chessmen on a chessboard,
Flags waving in the wind,
Horses snorting, pawing at the dirt
Wagons and caissons rumbling across
The green meadows of Indian summer,
The staccato drum beats, black powder and metal exploding,
With Longstreet's surprising presence, thrust through the trees,
And Thomas's perseverance,
Taking aim at each other
From behind the thick foliage and fallen oaks, the pines and maples
Of North Georgia
To wrest control of these few acres
Of red clay, and for what?
To scoot back down the road,
Find a moment's rest and peace,
For the time being,
To lob hastily-fashioned canisters
Down into an occupied city
Down toward the canvas tents and campfires below
Gleaming in the darkness
Until, that old devil Grant,
Could show himself
And send those tough, Midwestern farm boys
Back up the hillsides surrounding Chattanooga
To retake the high ground
And leave an adequate place
As monument to their efforts
And a significant number of gravestones,
Until peace passing could find its bearings
Among the tender leaves
Which now provide some sort of shelter
From the furnace-sun burning
My arms and legs
On this fine August morning.
I don't know why
When you drive up to Chattanooga, you drive up into the North Georgia mountains. You pass by Summerville, where Howard Fenster used to paint his apocalyptic visions of the locale. You pass Dalton, which was able to convince the State Legislature to build them a public building for carpets. You drive down by Fort Oglethorpe and the Chickamauga battlefield. If you drive up through Highway 27, you really get an idea of what that part of the country was like during the latter years of the Civil War. Chickamauga was one of the first National Battlefields in America. As a result, it may be one of the best preserved. Because it lies south of Chattanooga, separated by mountains, it has escaped a lot of the development on the north and west side of Chattanooga.
However, ultimately, you come down into the valley below, where the oldest part of the city is located along the banks of the Tennessee River. I like Chattanooga. There is a lot of history there. Of course, a lot of it is located on the tops of the mountains which surround it.
For a very long time, downtown Chattanooga was dreary to drive through. About the only thing you could say for it for quite some time was that the Tennessee Department of Transportation had built enough lanes of freeway traffic to move you through it fast. The remnants of industry and developmental blight and urban decay was enough to move you north or south or west and outside the city limits. In a hurry.
But now, they have done a lot of renovation and rebuilding in downtown Chattanooga. The downtown area is quite nice to walk around, particularly around the riverside. It is a fun place to visit. Museums and art and restored houses and places to eat and drink and sleep.
However, I still remember a trip my parents made when we drove up to Chattanooga and visited the Civil War park on top of Lookout Mountain. We got up early at the old Holiday Inn along I-24, visited the Confederama to get a handle on the historical story of the battles around Chattanooga, then drove up the mountain to Point Park, overlooking Chattanooga. I remember the old cannons perched overlooking the city. There was a picture from the time of the battles, in which General Grant stood on the side of the mountain, looking over the city, smoking his cigar.
Other than our visits to the Jefferson Davis State Park in Fairview, Kentucky, and one trip we made to visit the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Park, I think that trip to Lookout Mountain was my first big historical trip. It was fun.
Of course, we moved to Atlanta soon thereafter, where we could visit all of the sites for the Battle of Atlanta, the Cyclorama, Kennesaw Mountain, the General and other places of interest.
It was only later that I would take Kate to go see Chickamauga, Fort Donelson in Dover, Tennessee, the Cumberland Gap National Park, Boonesborough and other places which I think she has tried to forget over the years. Its a shame that most of our trips to historical sites have occurred during the hot time of the summer.
I don't think she will ever forgive me for the bike trip through Chickamauga.
Now, I'd like to go out west.
However, ultimately, you come down into the valley below, where the oldest part of the city is located along the banks of the Tennessee River. I like Chattanooga. There is a lot of history there. Of course, a lot of it is located on the tops of the mountains which surround it.
For a very long time, downtown Chattanooga was dreary to drive through. About the only thing you could say for it for quite some time was that the Tennessee Department of Transportation had built enough lanes of freeway traffic to move you through it fast. The remnants of industry and developmental blight and urban decay was enough to move you north or south or west and outside the city limits. In a hurry.
But now, they have done a lot of renovation and rebuilding in downtown Chattanooga. The downtown area is quite nice to walk around, particularly around the riverside. It is a fun place to visit. Museums and art and restored houses and places to eat and drink and sleep.
However, I still remember a trip my parents made when we drove up to Chattanooga and visited the Civil War park on top of Lookout Mountain. We got up early at the old Holiday Inn along I-24, visited the Confederama to get a handle on the historical story of the battles around Chattanooga, then drove up the mountain to Point Park, overlooking Chattanooga. I remember the old cannons perched overlooking the city. There was a picture from the time of the battles, in which General Grant stood on the side of the mountain, looking over the city, smoking his cigar.
Other than our visits to the Jefferson Davis State Park in Fairview, Kentucky, and one trip we made to visit the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Park, I think that trip to Lookout Mountain was my first big historical trip. It was fun.
Of course, we moved to Atlanta soon thereafter, where we could visit all of the sites for the Battle of Atlanta, the Cyclorama, Kennesaw Mountain, the General and other places of interest.
It was only later that I would take Kate to go see Chickamauga, Fort Donelson in Dover, Tennessee, the Cumberland Gap National Park, Boonesborough and other places which I think she has tried to forget over the years. Its a shame that most of our trips to historical sites have occurred during the hot time of the summer.
I don't think she will ever forgive me for the bike trip through Chickamauga.
Now, I'd like to go out west.
Its quiet. Too quiet.
The streets are deserted. I drove past two filling stations, both of which are usually pretty full at almost any time of the day. Both filling stations had one car getting gas when I drove past. The streets remind you of a scene in an old western. I expect to see sagebrush blowing across the street.
This past weekend, downtown was busy. There were concerts and a bike tour and craft people trying to sell things. There were Japanese lanterns hanging from the tall oak tree on Solomon Street and the city workers had pasted red cellophane across the street lights to give a festive color to the street. The street was blocked off and there were tables and chairs out in the street. It really looked nice.
But now, its deserted. Even Taylor Street, which is a major east west thoroughfare, is almost empty. Is everyone on vacation? Did the rapture hit? Am I living in some Twilight Zone episode?
This past weekend, downtown was busy. There were concerts and a bike tour and craft people trying to sell things. There were Japanese lanterns hanging from the tall oak tree on Solomon Street and the city workers had pasted red cellophane across the street lights to give a festive color to the street. The street was blocked off and there were tables and chairs out in the street. It really looked nice.
But now, its deserted. Even Taylor Street, which is a major east west thoroughfare, is almost empty. Is everyone on vacation? Did the rapture hit? Am I living in some Twilight Zone episode?
!
Squeeze. Like a tube of toothpaste. Like a pastry tube. Like the narrow passage-way on Rock City's 'Fat Man's Squeeze.' Removing a lime from the neck of a beer bottle so I can put the empty bottle in the recycling can. Like trying to make a living, sometimes.
Squeeze.
Squeeze.
Fish tacos and homegrown tomatoes
I woke up this morning, early as usual, around 3:00. I found a light on in the living room, where Kate had left her bedroom and went downstairs to watch tv or a movie, and probably drink tea. I turned off the light and went back to bed, to be awakened by the shower going on from Cindy taking her morning shower. I went into the kitchen, took Tex out, then fixed my breakfast. Cindy came in to the living room after her shower and suggested (is that the right word?) that I water the plants on the patio. She gently reminded me that the tomato plant (perhaps the only plant on the patio that I really care about that much)might need water in the morning, otherwise, it might just start failing.
So, I trudged out and watered the plants on the patio. I found that one of my tomatoes had fallen off. I took it inside to try to ripen on the window in the kitchen. If not, I guess its fried green tomatoes one night this week.
I made Cindy's coffee, took my shower, dressed and waited for Cindy to come out of the bedroom. I realized that it would be somewhat of a loss to try to wake Kate to take Cindy this morning, so I just assumed the duties.
Now I am at the office, waiting for the day to start in earnest. My eyes are droopy. My limbs are dragging. I have several tasks which need to be completed this morning.
If I can get this completed, I will carry on.
Last night, Kate and I made fish tacos for supper. Now we have a ton of grilled halibut in the refrigerator. Cindy is sure we must finish it off today otherwise it needs to be thrown out. I think we could do something with it before it must leave. The fish tacos were excellent. And yes, I knew the poblano peppers would get hot if you left the seeds in. But, I wanted a little heat. Those peppers add just the right amount of heat with the pepper flavor. Or so Kate and I thought.
So, I trudged out and watered the plants on the patio. I found that one of my tomatoes had fallen off. I took it inside to try to ripen on the window in the kitchen. If not, I guess its fried green tomatoes one night this week.
I made Cindy's coffee, took my shower, dressed and waited for Cindy to come out of the bedroom. I realized that it would be somewhat of a loss to try to wake Kate to take Cindy this morning, so I just assumed the duties.
Now I am at the office, waiting for the day to start in earnest. My eyes are droopy. My limbs are dragging. I have several tasks which need to be completed this morning.
If I can get this completed, I will carry on.
Last night, Kate and I made fish tacos for supper. Now we have a ton of grilled halibut in the refrigerator. Cindy is sure we must finish it off today otherwise it needs to be thrown out. I think we could do something with it before it must leave. The fish tacos were excellent. And yes, I knew the poblano peppers would get hot if you left the seeds in. But, I wanted a little heat. Those peppers add just the right amount of heat with the pepper flavor. Or so Kate and I thought.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Heat
Well, yesterday was a hot one. Kate and I got in the car early and I got my hair cut and Kate went to meet with Cissie to deal with visiting her home while Cissie is in St. Louis and Rome. Kate will be house-sitting off and on and she wanted to arrange with Cissie for the details.
Meanwhile, Cindy was working in the back garden. Hey! We have a ripening tomato. Just orange, yet, but heading in the right direction. Today, I checked again and there is another one oranging up. Looks like around fifteen tomatoes of varying sizes and colors. Plus a few more blossoms on the plant.
Today I went to church and sang in the choir. Bill Day was back from his cruise to Alaska. I had to sluff off questions about where we have been over the last several weeks. But nevertheless. Another family joined the church. The pianist played a beautiful gospel-inflected solo. Wonderful. She has some talent and some taste. You don't get those two gifts together that often.
This weekend has been very hot. Very summery. I have eaten a lot of fresh vegetables and fruit. We finished off a real ripe watermelon from the State Farmer's Market. We need to replace that bad boy.
This time of year, it is hard to beat a good ripe watermelon. Only a big, juicy, sweet peach from Middle Georgia comes close. Maybe a few more weeks.
This week will be critical. In many ways. Sunday is Father's Day. I wish I could have helped Cindy's dad this weekend on his new deck. A little directed physical labor, a couple of beers and maybe a dip in their pool.
Actually, food wise, I am over the oysters and the hot dogs. I think I'll move on to ribs.
Its just summer, babe.
Meanwhile, Cindy was working in the back garden. Hey! We have a ripening tomato. Just orange, yet, but heading in the right direction. Today, I checked again and there is another one oranging up. Looks like around fifteen tomatoes of varying sizes and colors. Plus a few more blossoms on the plant.
Today I went to church and sang in the choir. Bill Day was back from his cruise to Alaska. I had to sluff off questions about where we have been over the last several weeks. But nevertheless. Another family joined the church. The pianist played a beautiful gospel-inflected solo. Wonderful. She has some talent and some taste. You don't get those two gifts together that often.
This weekend has been very hot. Very summery. I have eaten a lot of fresh vegetables and fruit. We finished off a real ripe watermelon from the State Farmer's Market. We need to replace that bad boy.
This time of year, it is hard to beat a good ripe watermelon. Only a big, juicy, sweet peach from Middle Georgia comes close. Maybe a few more weeks.
This week will be critical. In many ways. Sunday is Father's Day. I wish I could have helped Cindy's dad this weekend on his new deck. A little directed physical labor, a couple of beers and maybe a dip in their pool.
Actually, food wise, I am over the oysters and the hot dogs. I think I'll move on to ribs.
Its just summer, babe.
Friday, June 6, 2008
An odd place for oysters
Everyone in my little family has been thinking of the beach for about a month now. Everyone has been invisioning lying on the beach and sipping mojitos and eating seafood in a waterside restaurant. As the old commercial says, "I need a vacation."
Unfortunately, this has not been the time for a vacation. Everything has pulled us in different directions. Times have been tight. Pulling on our schedules. Dragging us off to work and other places.
But not the beach.
But last night, we stayed at a Comfort Inn in Clinton, South Carolina. A motel which just happens to be right behind a seafood restaurant. We stopped and were able to eat fried oysters and shrimp until we were satiated. The seafood was very fresh. For some place about three and a half hours away from any beach. Now I am no longer in search of the elusive shellfish dinner.
Now I just need the ability to go somewhere where the necessities of my life aren't tugging at my thoughts.
Last night, I slept on the floor on the bedspread and a pillow. I slept decently. I need to shower the crust of night time off my body and return home. At least the seafood has been handled for now.
Unfortunately, this has not been the time for a vacation. Everything has pulled us in different directions. Times have been tight. Pulling on our schedules. Dragging us off to work and other places.
But not the beach.
But last night, we stayed at a Comfort Inn in Clinton, South Carolina. A motel which just happens to be right behind a seafood restaurant. We stopped and were able to eat fried oysters and shrimp until we were satiated. The seafood was very fresh. For some place about three and a half hours away from any beach. Now I am no longer in search of the elusive shellfish dinner.
Now I just need the ability to go somewhere where the necessities of my life aren't tugging at my thoughts.
Last night, I slept on the floor on the bedspread and a pillow. I slept decently. I need to shower the crust of night time off my body and return home. At least the seafood has been handled for now.
Adieu to Clinton
I find myself in Clinton, South Carolina for probably the last time. I am reminded of the time when Mickey Maynard and I drove up from Dunwoody in our Senior year to meet with coaches and prospective football players and work through some drills and tests to see if they might want us to play football for Presbyterian College. I would have to admit that I was ill-prepared for the event. Nevertheless, after going through the series of tests and failing to impress any of the coaches, Mickey and I drove back home, stopping once to get a hamburger in Greenville at a Shoneys. Later that month, a football coach from PC called me at my parent's home to let me know that they would not be offering me a scholarship to play football, but if I wanted to, I could attend PC, play football on my own dime, and possibly earn a scholarship somewhere down the road.
I declined. PC was not on my list of colleges in which I was really interested. Later that year, I was accepted for admission at Washington and Lee, Centre College and Vanderbilt University. As it turned out, I could have played football for two out of the three schools that accepted me, and did, for four years at Washington and Lee. Washington and Lee, which had a history as the oldest football program in the South. Washington and Lee, which had competed with Virginia, Virginia Tech, Army, Tennessee, Alabama, Auburn and West Virginia. Which had won the Southern Conference in 1950, losing to undefeated Tennessee by a touchdown in Knoxville, and ended up going to the second Gator Bowl to play Wyoming. Which had been named National Champions of small college football teams in 1961.
I turned down Centre, which had upset Harvard in 1921 and won the National Championship in football. Which had a proud history of playing Kentucky and other programs in the Ohio Valley.
In some sense, if I had decided to attend and play for PC it would have been a step down.
Some of this is sour grapes. Some of this is meaningless venting. It is time to go on and leave the past behind. It just hurts.
No matter how successful you are in making rational decisions and analyzing the situation, the emotions of the moment still hurt you.
I declined. PC was not on my list of colleges in which I was really interested. Later that year, I was accepted for admission at Washington and Lee, Centre College and Vanderbilt University. As it turned out, I could have played football for two out of the three schools that accepted me, and did, for four years at Washington and Lee. Washington and Lee, which had a history as the oldest football program in the South. Washington and Lee, which had competed with Virginia, Virginia Tech, Army, Tennessee, Alabama, Auburn and West Virginia. Which had won the Southern Conference in 1950, losing to undefeated Tennessee by a touchdown in Knoxville, and ended up going to the second Gator Bowl to play Wyoming. Which had been named National Champions of small college football teams in 1961.
I turned down Centre, which had upset Harvard in 1921 and won the National Championship in football. Which had a proud history of playing Kentucky and other programs in the Ohio Valley.
In some sense, if I had decided to attend and play for PC it would have been a step down.
Some of this is sour grapes. Some of this is meaningless venting. It is time to go on and leave the past behind. It just hurts.
No matter how successful you are in making rational decisions and analyzing the situation, the emotions of the moment still hurt you.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Trials and pearls
So comes another day of trial. That might sound strange from a lawyer. I understand. But here is the rub, trials are different when they are your own. Today we drive on out of state to take on the powers that be. We have hope that things will turn out all right. But there is the sinking feeling that no one sees these things the way we do.
Perhaps the most troubling moment is when you have a certain outlook on the world around you, and then your vision is contradicted by the people around you. You expect certain things, then when things go wrong, you find that other people had a different expectation.
Life is a grind. Life is made possible by the conflict, the rubbing of two diametrically opposed forces. That pearl of great price comes with the struggle of the oyster to deal with its affliction.
Some people might say I reflect too much on oysters these days. Behind its rocky exterior is a soft, slippery being. Amorphous in aspect. Grey in color. Yet, hiding a pearl, sometimes. The product of its discomfort.
I don't think I have been an oyster long. For many years, kept close in the comfort of my family, I was able to shine. Shine on the surface. Shine with youthful exuberance as the reflection of the love of your family. But as you get older, the surface is worn away. The shine dims. As more and more people see you, consider you, they come to look at your exterior, your greying aspect. And they turn away to the sparkle and the new.
Don't they know you are working on a pearl within? Can't they see the product of your misery?
Perhaps that is why I am writing these little missives.
On we go to another trial. Work on that pearl.
Perhaps the most troubling moment is when you have a certain outlook on the world around you, and then your vision is contradicted by the people around you. You expect certain things, then when things go wrong, you find that other people had a different expectation.
Life is a grind. Life is made possible by the conflict, the rubbing of two diametrically opposed forces. That pearl of great price comes with the struggle of the oyster to deal with its affliction.
Some people might say I reflect too much on oysters these days. Behind its rocky exterior is a soft, slippery being. Amorphous in aspect. Grey in color. Yet, hiding a pearl, sometimes. The product of its discomfort.
I don't think I have been an oyster long. For many years, kept close in the comfort of my family, I was able to shine. Shine on the surface. Shine with youthful exuberance as the reflection of the love of your family. But as you get older, the surface is worn away. The shine dims. As more and more people see you, consider you, they come to look at your exterior, your greying aspect. And they turn away to the sparkle and the new.
Don't they know you are working on a pearl within? Can't they see the product of your misery?
Perhaps that is why I am writing these little missives.
On we go to another trial. Work on that pearl.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The end of the day
Today has been a long day and remains so, as I wait for a client for this evening. We work so hard to try to fill the days and there are so many clamoring for my ear. Which is good, but speaks of responsibilities that I have and the call of my work space. Sometimes the reminders of the getting and spending of life are too close in our little house. It becomes a good thing to be able to drive into town and sit at my desk and consider the tools of my necessary work. In the quiet of the moment. Only the sound of my computer running a slow hum in my ears.
I must go home and consider supper. I have three dollars in my pocket. Not much cash for lettuce. A salad might be nice.
There are three ears of corn in my ice box. A glass container filled with cucumber slices in vinegar. I have potatoes and rice and grits. What else do I have need for?
But as Frost said, I have people to see and responsibilities to meet.
It does not seem like my client is coming. I will wait a little longer.
Oh, there he is. On the phone.
I must go home and consider supper. I have three dollars in my pocket. Not much cash for lettuce. A salad might be nice.
There are three ears of corn in my ice box. A glass container filled with cucumber slices in vinegar. I have potatoes and rice and grits. What else do I have need for?
But as Frost said, I have people to see and responsibilities to meet.
It does not seem like my client is coming. I will wait a little longer.
Oh, there he is. On the phone.
Highway 129, Union County
I left White County
And ascended into the mountains
Of Union County.
The road upon which I rode
Slithered and coiled,
Riding on the back
Of so many tree-covered ridges,
Up and down,
Higher and higher
Then back down into the valleys,
Past the mountain streams and rivers,
Hidden among the oaks and poplars,
Modest beneath their leaf-cover.
The people here are tall and upright,
Hardened by such rough living,
Known to test their faith
In a God who placed them here
Among the rampant beauty
Which graciously spills out its worth,
Leaving little ground
For crops and riches,
But feeding their souls,
Who call for the poison
And wrap devilish snakes on their shoulders
Testifying to a solid trust in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ
To God himself and all the assembled, in communion,
Until that self-same judgment
Strikes and lays their bodies beneath that dark earth,
To lie among the leaves
And the whisper of the cool mountain streams
And to find a rest from their labors.
Along the tree-darkened highway,
I found a spot along a stream
Just south of Blairsville,
Where a marker spoke of the life
Of Byron Herbert Reece,
Who felt the sweetness of his mountain home
Like no other farmer-poet,
And dribbled lyric rhymes and lines
To far away places like Los Angeles and Decatur
Until the sometime loneliness of God's bitter judgment
Brought the bloody death of his parents,
Stained the breath from his lungs
And overwhelmed his winged heart,
Stealing his faith away
Leaving him with hard conclusions
In his little cabin along the stream.
Until nothing was left
But a stone tablet on a hillside,
Lines on a page
And a black metal marker along Highway 129.
The winds still blow across the ancient mountains,
Which groan as their faces fall downward
To the valleys below, passing their magnificence
Into the streams and rivers which flow
Quietly downward to the sea,
Passing the dust within which we rest, the hills above us
And soon, even the remnants of those who went before
On, necessarily, to the salty sea
From which we all take our birth.
And the markers which note our lives and passing
Will rust and fade until the dreams and visions
We held so dear are just the whisper of the water
Flowing softly over the stones and sands below
Polished and passed, like us, to the sea,
To lie in final union with those troubled souls
Who find their final peace, at last,
In the rise and fall of the ocean deep.
And ascended into the mountains
Of Union County.
The road upon which I rode
Slithered and coiled,
Riding on the back
Of so many tree-covered ridges,
Up and down,
Higher and higher
Then back down into the valleys,
Past the mountain streams and rivers,
Hidden among the oaks and poplars,
Modest beneath their leaf-cover.
The people here are tall and upright,
Hardened by such rough living,
Known to test their faith
In a God who placed them here
Among the rampant beauty
Which graciously spills out its worth,
Leaving little ground
For crops and riches,
But feeding their souls,
Who call for the poison
And wrap devilish snakes on their shoulders
Testifying to a solid trust in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ
To God himself and all the assembled, in communion,
Until that self-same judgment
Strikes and lays their bodies beneath that dark earth,
To lie among the leaves
And the whisper of the cool mountain streams
And to find a rest from their labors.
Along the tree-darkened highway,
I found a spot along a stream
Just south of Blairsville,
Where a marker spoke of the life
Of Byron Herbert Reece,
Who felt the sweetness of his mountain home
Like no other farmer-poet,
And dribbled lyric rhymes and lines
To far away places like Los Angeles and Decatur
Until the sometime loneliness of God's bitter judgment
Brought the bloody death of his parents,
Stained the breath from his lungs
And overwhelmed his winged heart,
Stealing his faith away
Leaving him with hard conclusions
In his little cabin along the stream.
Until nothing was left
But a stone tablet on a hillside,
Lines on a page
And a black metal marker along Highway 129.
The winds still blow across the ancient mountains,
Which groan as their faces fall downward
To the valleys below, passing their magnificence
Into the streams and rivers which flow
Quietly downward to the sea,
Passing the dust within which we rest, the hills above us
And soon, even the remnants of those who went before
On, necessarily, to the salty sea
From which we all take our birth.
And the markers which note our lives and passing
Will rust and fade until the dreams and visions
We held so dear are just the whisper of the water
Flowing softly over the stones and sands below
Polished and passed, like us, to the sea,
To lie in final union with those troubled souls
Who find their final peace, at last,
In the rise and fall of the ocean deep.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Summer is here for someone
The air is dry. This is not the way a Summer morning in Central Georgia should happen. It is very sunny and it will be hot later in the day. But it is very dry.
Is this the global warming that Al Gore talks about?
I know there is a line of demarcation north of the Georgia border which is keeping the front and the moist air north of us. There are supposed to be thunder storms in the afternoon every day this week. But they are supposed to be scattered. Not the kind of front we need to soak the plants and the grass in our yards.
Two years ago, we got a sufficient amount of rainfall. Of course, the Gulf Coast got even more.
I was thinking about when I was a young teenager. When school let out, we would dress early in the morning and walk up to the top of the hill. A lot of our friends and school mates would be gathering for the first full day of summer vacation. We would sit around on the side of the street and talk about next to nothing. Not a care in the world. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to plan for.
Sure, our parents would be planning trips to Florida or up to the farm in Tennessee. Money would be set aside. Telephone calls would be made to relatives.
But we were cut loose. Free as the little, chirping birds we were. The only thing we needed to worry about was what nights we would sleep in the woods and which nights we would sleep at someone's house. Or how much time we had before summer football practice started.
Everything else was watermelons, peaches, homemade ice cream and sweet iced tea. Oh, for just a little more of that.
Is this the global warming that Al Gore talks about?
I know there is a line of demarcation north of the Georgia border which is keeping the front and the moist air north of us. There are supposed to be thunder storms in the afternoon every day this week. But they are supposed to be scattered. Not the kind of front we need to soak the plants and the grass in our yards.
Two years ago, we got a sufficient amount of rainfall. Of course, the Gulf Coast got even more.
I was thinking about when I was a young teenager. When school let out, we would dress early in the morning and walk up to the top of the hill. A lot of our friends and school mates would be gathering for the first full day of summer vacation. We would sit around on the side of the street and talk about next to nothing. Not a care in the world. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to plan for.
Sure, our parents would be planning trips to Florida or up to the farm in Tennessee. Money would be set aside. Telephone calls would be made to relatives.
But we were cut loose. Free as the little, chirping birds we were. The only thing we needed to worry about was what nights we would sleep in the woods and which nights we would sleep at someone's house. Or how much time we had before summer football practice started.
Everything else was watermelons, peaches, homemade ice cream and sweet iced tea. Oh, for just a little more of that.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Tomorrow's month is here
Today is June 1st. Yesterday, we drove up to Dunwoody and Mom and Dad took us to the English pub for supper and then to a play at the Dunwoody Stage Door Players, which is shown in the theater they have made out of the old Dunwoody Elementary Cafeteria. The last time I was in the original Dunwoody Elementary Cafeteria was to attend a dance held after my graduation from Seventh Grade.
As you who read my blog will know, last month was titled "Bloody May". There were way too many bad events and occurrences which occurred in May. I am so glad that May is over at this point. I am also hopeful that June will be a better month.
I have much to do this month before I can feel like I have accomplished things. This month will be busy. Not much time for recreation or vacation. I am hopeful that many things will resolve themselves in this month. Positively. Definitely positively.
The weather was delightful today. Momma and Dad and Cindy, Kate and I sat out on the back porch and the breezes were blowing cool and it was quite delightful. I was hoping that it would rain.
It doesn't look like it has rained here in Griffin today. It was very dry when we got home. Everybody in my family is hopeful that the world will turn profitable this month. We shall pray and pray and pray. And work and work and work.
Nose to the grindstone.
As Katie Scarlett O'Hara said, "Tomorrow is another day."
As you who read my blog will know, last month was titled "Bloody May". There were way too many bad events and occurrences which occurred in May. I am so glad that May is over at this point. I am also hopeful that June will be a better month.
I have much to do this month before I can feel like I have accomplished things. This month will be busy. Not much time for recreation or vacation. I am hopeful that many things will resolve themselves in this month. Positively. Definitely positively.
The weather was delightful today. Momma and Dad and Cindy, Kate and I sat out on the back porch and the breezes were blowing cool and it was quite delightful. I was hoping that it would rain.
It doesn't look like it has rained here in Griffin today. It was very dry when we got home. Everybody in my family is hopeful that the world will turn profitable this month. We shall pray and pray and pray. And work and work and work.
Nose to the grindstone.
As Katie Scarlett O'Hara said, "Tomorrow is another day."
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