Soup Weather

Yesterday afternoon, I picked up Cindy at Griffin Tech and drove her home. After a short cuddle and a good head-patting for the dog, we decided that it would be alright if I drove to the grocery and bought the ingredients for vegetable beef soup and Mexican cornbread.

So I drove to Ingle's and bought the ingredients and came home, with a stop in between to Rite-Aid to purchase some generic Claratin for Cindy. I was fortunate to be able to find the Claratin readily, but then there was no one at the front counter who could take my money. I wandered around the store looking for a clerk. The pharmacist and his assistant were quite busy taking care of pharmaceutical requests so that they couldn't help me.

So I continued to wander the aisles of the Rite-Aid before, on my third pass, I finally encountered one of the clerks. In my growing frustration, I briskly asked her if she could check me out. She informed me, just as briskly, that the other clerk was up front and he could help me. She also informed me that they had been removing the garbage.

Well, la de da.

Anyway, I finally went back to the front and encountered the other clerk, who seemed surprised that I was there, but still took my money. How mighty big of him.

So at that point, I was released to return home and assemble the ingredients for our soup and cornbread.

The cornbread was very good and reminded me of how much I enjoy good cornbread. When I say that, notice that I talk about good cornbread, for there is a gracious plenty of the other kind. Much cornbread is dry or too sweet. I don't particularly enjoy yellow corn bread; I prefer white cornbread. That is not racial, just what I consider to be a regional preference. For instance, I prefer silver queen sweet corn to other, more sweet varieties.

But, despite Cindy's impression that I had not included grated cheese in the recipe, which I had, the cornbread was quite delightful. My grandmother once told me that cornbread was her favorite type of bread. There are so many types of bread to choose from, it is difficult to say that any one variety is my favorite. However, I must say that cornbread should stay high on my list as well. In these modern times, it seems that cornbread is relegated to a back bench in the world of breads. However, this is really a cultural bias, in my estimation, since we forget how much of the world, particularly the hispanic world, probably uses some form of corn bread as their bread staple.

At any rate, the only problem I had with the meal was the absence of green beans for the vegetable soup. With carrots, celery, onions, potatoes, red kidney beans, green peas and tomatoes, I think I had enough vegetables to authorize me to refer to the soup as "vegetable soup." All the same, I would have liked some green beans in the soup.

The soup was pretty good, although quite hot. Not hot with spice, but hot with temperature. I ended up filling two plastic bags and a tupperware bowl with soup, so we should be in soup for quite a while.

I must say I ended up with quite a mess in the kitchen and very little energy to clean it up. Cindy and I teamed up on that this morning before we left for work. All in all, it was a good first foray into soup season.

Apologies for my lack of French

I am sorry about my lack of French. It is sometimes difficult living among the frogs when you are a little British terrier. I referred to Cindy's aunt and uncle living in Beau Chien, which translates, I am told, as Beautiful Dogs. Instead, they apparently live in Beau Chene, or Beautiful Oaks.

I don't really understand the problem. I suppose the occupants want to live among the beautiful trees, rather than a bunch of pretty dogs. Or perhaps the occupants... I don't know. Anyway, I hope I didn't offend anyone.

I am just a little doggie, digging in the dirt. Sometimes I find a nice bone.

Pearl

The pherenomes kick in
And we are swept away
On a stream of hormones.
I don't recognize what
Or why; it just is.
And despite our faults
And the weaknesses
We come to acknowledge,
The idiocyncracies
Grinding like sand inside the oyster shell,
We still can love
And are touched by the tiny endearments
Which bind us together
In a true miracle:
The imposition of the holy
And eternal
On the temporary and profane.

A lustrous pearl of great price.

October air

There is so much about October to like:

The darkening world,
The color of the leaves,
The growing coolness,
Football season,
The World Series,
A trip to Florida or Louisiana,
Oysters,
Hot dogs and chili,
Corn dogs at the Spalding County Fair
Pulling out the tweeds and cardigans,
Anticipating the seasons ahead,
Bonfires lighting the darkness,
Amber beers,
A breakfast of oatmeal and tea,
Orange things,
The clarity of the air,
The amber afternoons,
Shorter days, longer nights,
Candy from strangers,
Opening your front door to the world,
Passing out the bounty,
Orange and crimson and yellow,
The coming brown season,
Lighting the night to chase the darkness,
Warming your hands with hot chocolate
And boiled peanuts.

Come hither, love, and let me hug you close.

Chilly/Chili evening in late October

Yesterday afternoon, Cindy and I drove around buying things for the house and getting ready for the Bonfire Bash at the church. The Bonfire Bash is a celebration we have had at the church for several years which is the substitute for Halloween. In years past, the Galloways hosted the party by their lake behind their house. Steve would arrange for a large pile of wood to be burned as a bonfire for the festivities. It was all quite Celtic and Druidic.

Unfortunately, this year, the Galloways would be coming back home immediately before the party started, so the place for the party was transferred to the church parking lot and the pavilion in the woods off the parking lot.

In the early afternoon, Cindy and I met one of the other members of the church in the parking lot and helped decorate the surroundings. Then, after going home to change clothes and let the dog out, we returned to the church, where I began preparing the large grill for cooking hot dogs. As I got the coals started, several young male members of the church came over to talk to me and keep an eye on their anticipated hot dogs. Apparently, they were filled with quite a bit of anticipation.

Later on, a number of members brought crockpots full of various types of chili for the supper. After we burned the first batch of hotdogs (three dozen), and then adjusted the grill for the second three dozen, I was able to eat a slaw dog, and a bowl of chili. The chili-fixing abilities of our members is actually an untapped source. Several of the varieties were quite tasty. I sampled a few varieties and had several hot dogs before I was through.

As the sun went down in the west, the air began to cool, and I put my sweatshirt on to roast marshmallows on the big fire in the pavilion. It was fun enjoying the comradery and communion. It was fun to enjoy the fire and the treats.

It was all over by 8:00, but a fun time was had by all.

Artifice and family bonds in Southeast Louisiana and beyond

We woke up on last Saturday morning and everyone was preparing for our little family excursion to Madisonville, Louisiana for the wooden boat show. Cindy's Aunt Joan and Uncle Ray drove us over to Aunt Cindy and Uncle Chuck's house in Beau Chene, where we gathered for all of the cousins and aunts and uncles and nieces and children to arrive so we could drive down Ivy Street to the manion in the woods and the dock for the yacht out back.

Several months ago, I read a diary written by a young woman who built a houseboat on a barge with her male companion, down in the bayous along the Atchafalaya. They lived for about ten years in the waters of Southeast Louisiana, living off what the river and the forest gave up for their support and subsistance. She now lives in Pike County next to some friends of ours. She is still quite self-reliant and impressive in her peaceful self-satisfaction.

I watched a film about her diary and she was present in the studios of the public television station. I was quite impressed with the film and her life. There was an air of serenity that flowed through the film and the interview.

But here we were, carrying food and drink on board a one hundred foot yacht, ready to sail down the river to downtown Madisonville for a wooden boat show. As the ship's captain cranked up the engines on the big vessel, we watched as the boat left shore among the diesel smoke and bright October sunshine.

As we floated down river, or up river, I'm not sure, I watched the cable television in the library on the second level of the yacht, trying to get coverage of a couple of football games being played in Georgia and elsewhere throughout the country. Meanwhile, lunch was served in the aft salon. I drank several beers and stepped carefully from one deck to another, impressed with the cabins, their appointments and the sheer size of the vessel. It was a beautiful yacht.

When we got to Madisonville, we quickly found ourselves the center of the boat show. People stopped and stared and took pictures. Little kids waved. I remarked to the owner of the ship that we were now part of the boat show. He agreed. Meanwhile, we tried to catch glimpses of the actual boat show along the bank, set above the crowds, as we were.

After several minutes of providing our part of the show, the captain turned the boat around and headed back home. As I examined a photograph of our hosts with the new Governor of Louisiana, I wondered how much it cost to make this short little trip up and down the river. I was later told that to fill the tank up with gas would cost around $12,000.00.

Later, we left the luxurious surroundings, the pomp and circumstance, and headed off to a little restaurant in a strip shopping center called "Rags" and ate shrimp and oyster poboys and drank beer and iced tea with the whole family. The family provided a pleasant chatter to the small restaurant. Later, at the end of our meal and the day, we stood out in the darkness of the parking lot for the strip shopping center and talked amongst ourselves. A sense of reality slowly flowed back into my brain.

That night, I drove Missy and Megan to the local Barnes and Nobles. The security guard at Beau Chien took my name down for the second and third time that day, his pencil scratching on his pad. In the bookstore, I examined all of the books about Louisiana and New Orleans in the Local Interest section. I found a book about a couple who, immediately after Hurricane Katrina, fired up their airboat and rode downriver into the flooded streets of New Orleans to help out. The sense of the story that I gleaned from the dust jacket was that they realized the need for assistance in the city immediately, and simply packed their airboat and traveled into town. No hesitation, no complicated plan. Just a simple response to an overwhelming need. If only the powers that were could have responded in the same manner.

It reminded me of a men's bible study I attended one afternoon, a long time ago. The leader of the group was trying to get us all to share our lives with each other. Progress was slow. We were Presbyterians after all. We were all stiffly wading through the thick mud of the masks we wore. As one young man finally began to slowly tell his sad story, he began to tear up and sob. Almost all of us sat there in silence, sheepishly staring with embarrassment at the young man.

But not one of the leaders. He immediately charged out of his chair and rushed to the side of the young man. He carefully placed his arms around him and asked us to pray. We closed our eyes and joined the leader in prayer for the young man. Suddenly, a small bond was formed between us that afternoon. Something real occurred despite our reticence. A communion of a spiritual nature, which manifested itself in our common prayers.

Reality, communion and love lie right below the surface. Despite the artifice. Despite the attempt to surround ourselves with the images provided by the things we have accumulated. In my better moments, I yearn for the spirit to reach for that communion when it presents itself. Like the young couple in Louisiana. Like the bible study leader ten years ago. To show love without hesitation.

Thanksgiving journey

Where the trip begins
The hills fall away
Like rumpled sheets on a morning bed.
Time to get up, sleepy head,
And the Flint, she flees away
Running out of the room
On past Thomaston and Butler
And Ellaville, on and on,
Rushing to the dying of the orange sun.

When the hills peter out,
The cotton fields then begin
And this cool November evening
Hides the lint in the ditches
The bolls stacked in blocks
On the side of Highway 19,
And the Flint, she flows on
Under the shadow of the Windsor Hotel
On through downtown Albany to the sea.

The Christmas decorations
Are draped across the country courthouses,
Standing solemnly at the stoplight
At the center of town after town;
Every thirty minutes, or so, a break
From the darkness and the stars
On our Thanksgiving journey
Through South Georgia to the sea.

And the Flint and I are running,
Growing stronger as the year grows shorter
And we are drifting on to the Gulf
Through the pinewoods of Florida,
Driving on through the growing nothingness.
The stars above us are just a gentle light,
For we both know our way southward
To the place to lay our heads by the sea.

The Gulf is so pretty;
Here where the rivers come to offer
Their bounty and provide shelter
For the families of shrimp and the oyster-beds;
The gulls scream in the Autumn wind
And the tides still crash like cannon on the sands.
Come closer, sweet thing, hold my hand,
And share a moment of deep heart solace,
The end of our journey, the end of this day,
Asleep in the tangle of rumpled bed sheets
Below the starry night, the thrashing waves,
The moonlight reflecting on the crystal sands.

Late October walk

I smelled wood smoke for the first time this afternoon
I stepped out into the amber afternoon with my dog
And could see the dogwoods in transition, green and crimson,
The sugar maples slowly turning to bright orange
And I could feel the pine needles beneath my feet,
Their musk burned my nostrils as I walked.

But it is the crispness of the breeze on my face
And the clarity of the atmosphere in late October
Mixed with the swirling cream of a morning fog
Which catches my eye and halts my passing,
To stop and take notice of the slow dying of the season
And recognize the relentless onset of Winter.

Spiritual and Moral Malaise, part two

In an election year like the one in which we find ourselves, the center gets pulled in opposite directions to such an extent that it is a wonder we can survive at all. Lately, I have been hearing so much drivel, in my mind, from both sides, in which both sides seem to be attempting to paint the other side as extreme and dangerous. In my opinion, neither candidate seems ready to lead the nation out of the malais in which we find ourselves. Unfortunately, the economic situation is global in scope and will take a strong, intelligent president, working in concert with the rest of the world.

It did occur to me that no matter who is elected president, the ultimate winner will suffer as a result of the state of the economy. I have stated on several occasions that whoever wins will probably be a one term president, and suffer from the downward pull of the economic situation.

Most of us out here are looking to the government to affect conditions to the extent where the economy can right itself. Depending on our political orientation, we are looking for more governmental assistance or less. But the economy of this country depends on so many factors outside our control, and anything that the government can or even should do is limited.

At the same time, there are many things which the government has done over the past twenty years which have adversely affected the economy. For instance, the deregulation of the banking industry has twice caused severe problems where the lenders were allowed to make loans which were not prudent which ultimately led to the closing of banks and savings and loans. The first such instance occurred during the Reagan administration. Now the second Bush administration has seen a similar occurence. Both situations were caused by the infusion of capital into an industry which was experiencing less regulation than before. No one was watching the banks and savings and loans closely and the banks and savings and loans suffered as a result. I suppose that if we all placed our money in our mattresses we wouldn't have the problem.

The second large governmental occurence which adversely affected our economy was the bipartisan effort to pass NAFTA, which occurred during the Clinton administration. The ultimate result of that legislation becomes crystal clear when you drive through the Piedmont region of the Southeast. Every little town in Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina and Alabama, which depended on textiles in the past for its economy and well-being, is now suffering. It is really sad to drive through such small towns in this region and see what has happened. Unfortunately, as the economy has suffered, the industry which replaced it has also suffered. The end result is a spike in unemployment in the area.

It has worried me for some time when I realized that so much of our manufacturing ability was being outsourced and removed to other countries. We have done the same with agriculture. You go to the grocery and most of our produce comes from Central and South America. The only produce item we seem to lead in production is corn. We should have plenty of corn for cheap feed and consumption. But more and more of that seems to go to bio-fuel and corn sweeteners. The end result is higher prices for the corn and a continuance of the use of corn sweeteners in processed foods in this country. The cost of beef and pork goes up and we, as a country, continue to get fatter and fatter.

When the dollar dropped in value, other countries jumped in and started taking up the economic slack. In some sense, this was good, because it infused a lot of foreign money into our economy which had allowed it to thrive in earlier years. But the problem has continued as the global economy has slipped. Suddenly, there is not so much foreign money to invest and keep us afloat. In addition, the quality of products which were flooded into our Wal-Marts and grocery stores, seemed to be cheaper, in the main. Suddenly, we started having problems with recalls on goods from China. Everything that used to be manufactured in the USA was now made in Asia.

We live in a global economy and nothing will change this in the future, short of other countries refusing to supply us with the things we buy. In that regard, gas prices have recently decreased to the point where OPEC is meeting soon to decide whether it is in their best interest to reduce production so that the price will climb again. Cindy and I bought gas in Slidell, Louisiana for $2.49 on Sunday. You can buy gas in Barnesville for $2.39. The present price of gas is slipping down toward $2.00 a gallon, as the per barrel price of oil slips to $70 a barrel. How long will this go on until the countries which don't like us, like Iran, Venezuela, Russia and others decide to limit the price so they can continue to make a living off of our inability to provide for ourselves?

Before the American voters retired him in November, 1979, President Carter deliverd a speech in which he mourned the spiritual and moral malaise in the country at the time. He predicted that the country would soon go on a self-centered sprint where greed and the desire to accumulate personal wealth would overwhelm the ethical nature and spirit of cooperation of our country. That prediction came true in a big way. The end result was the lack of energy self-reliance and the closing of numerous savings and loans and lenders. Don't forget the recent actions of the company which got the congressional bailout and then turned around and held a corporate retreat in a spa in California. Is there any better example of the spiritual and moral malaise of this country?

In 1994, Congress mandated that the FED needed to more closely regulate Wall Street. That was a predominately Republican congress, working with a Democratic President. In light of the joyride the economy was riding at the time, the chairman of the FED refused to do so. The short term result was a continuance of the joy ride. The long term result was the inability to manage the ride. Now we are suffering and the Congress continues to pay out of our treasury for the negative results, with money they are printing, but not earning.

Add to this the money, lives and resources we are expending in the Middle East to manage the affairs of countries and fight terrorism. We spend billions of dollars on propping up governments, providing services, providing security, and the terrorists seem to just exit to another country. We don't even get a price break on fuel oil from the countries we serve. What is the end result of all this expenditure and who pays the bill?

The end result of all this is that we are back in that malaise that President Carter referred to in 1979. The government is running on higher and higher deficits and the ability of average citizens of these United States to manage their own personal economies is weaker and weaker. It would be nice if we could point to one party or the other,like some Republicans have attempted to do with pointing fingers at Senator Obama and Congressman Frank and ACORN, and say that they are to blame. The truth of the matter is that we are all to blame.

President Truman had a sign on his desk which said, "The Buck Stops Here." Before he became President on Roosevelt's death, President Truman was an inexperienced politician from Missouri, who had ties to corrupt politicians in Missouri. He had little to support his position as the highest elected official in the United States. But he understood the job he had before him and he took responsibility for his own actions. He also seemed to understood his limitations. Perhaps the best we can hope for is a President and other elected representatives who do the best they can and understand their own limitations.

There have been many great moments in politics in the history of our country. The first great moment came when Thomas Jefferson wrote that "all men are created equal." The second great moment came when George Washington refused to be appointed King of his new country. The third great moment came when the new United States agreed to be bound by the constitution they created. All the problems and weaknesses present in this country over the centuries were resolved when its citizens acknowledged, through struggle, strife and compromise, that we all have a part in this enterprise and that we are all bound by the laws of this nation.

Its not a Republican thing or a Democratic thing; its an American thing. We all need to put shoulder to plow and push.

A trip to Louisiana in October

We drove down to Louisiana this past weekend. We left around 2:30 in the afternoon. One thing about recessions, they make it easier to cut loose from work. We finally made it through the doldrums of South Alabama and pulled into Mobile. Or Saraland, actually. I spied a sign for a seafood restaurant. We pulled in and found that we were still in Happy Hour and the oysters were two for one.

So two plates of a dozen raw were laid before me. Glorious.

We continued on through the Mississippi darkness, west toward Bayou Lacombe. Blackie and Boudreaux were barking in the front yard. I got to drink that beer Cindy wouldn't let me drink in Mobile. ESPN was still predicting a Red Sox victory in seven, much to my chagrin. We finally went to sleep with the ceiling fan whirring over our heads.

I woke up the next morning and laid out on the couch in the living room, reading a book about the end of colonialism in Algeria, waiting for everyone to wake up. Cindy's Aunt Joan asked me if I wanted coffee. I thanked her, no thank you. She asked me what I wanted for breakfast. I requested orange juice and toast. Apple juice was available. That was appropriate for Fall.

We headed in to New Orleans on I-10. The gas prices were down to 2.69. We rode through New Orleans East and the Ninth Ward. I don't know what was sadder, seeing the houses in disrepair and abandoned, or seeing the people living in the houses.

We made our way down to Canal Street and rode around One Canal Place until we found the entrance to the parking garage for Sacks Fifth Avenue. We parked and strolled in. Cindy looked at the Chanel Counter. We decided to wait until later. We walked out on the street and went looking for Royal Street. We looked around some antique stores and art-sellers. I was getting hungry.

We started asking around for directions to the Napolean House. Cindy was slick. She combined our searches for directions with forays into the antique stores. We did get lunch, but Cindy also got a fleur de lis pin and a business card with information about a gold and pearl pin.

But we finally made it to the Napolean House and ate Shrimp Remoulade on avacado halves with a bowl of gumbo and french bread slices. I drank two and one half Dixie's while Cindy drank a Pimms Cup. We sat across from each other, with our knees touching and enjoyed the ambiance. It is a very old restaurant, originally the residence of the mayor of New Orleans. He promised it to Napolean after the battle of Waterloo. The British had other ideas.

Later, we made our way down to Jackson Square and found a green umbrella for Katie Scott and covered our fronts with powdered sugar at the Cafe du Monde. Cindy had been wanting fresh coffee and decided that two orders of begnets and coffee and chocolate milk for ten dollars was a better deal than Starbucks.

We walked down Decatur Street to the Jax Brewery and we looked in Perlis. They had pretty, over-priced polo shirts, decorated with crawfish and fleur de lis. Fortunately, next door there was a store which sold polo shirts with fleur de lis and they were cheaper and the proceeds went to rebuild New Orleans. That seemed a better investment.

We finally made our way back to the parking garage and drove back over I-10 to Slidell and on to Bayou Lacombe.

As we sat together at the little round table at the Napolean House, Cindy smiled and thanked me for loving her city as much as she did. That was a small favor.

That night, we went to Mandina's on the northshore and ate shrimp po boys and then visited the rest of the family at Aunt Cindy and Uncle Chuck's house in Mandeville.

I do enjoy it there and wish Kate could be with us.

Indiana

Flatter than a pancake
Miles and miles of dark brown dirt
A tree here, a tree there, trees along the fencerows
Cross over the river
The sun shining yellow in the true blue sky

Honest people giving an honest day's work
Shaking hands, looking you square in the eye
They all liked Johnny
Just a farm boy on the run
Grinning as he wrapped his arm around the district attorney
He should have stayed away from Chicago

A tractor is churning up the dust
Drive shaft rolling, purring,
An engineer from Rose-Hulman
Is tweaking an Offenhauser engine
Setting it free to fly around the oval,
Round and round and round,
Chasing that checkered flag.

It is time again to join the Winter's dance:
The pass, the movement, the follow-through
Squeak, squeak, squeak on the hardwood floor,
Feint left, switch hands, jump and let fly,
The sweet arc toward the hoop, the return to earth:
A Hoosier homecoming.

An orange leaf floats down the brown river
A cardinal sits perched on a barbed wire fence
Staring at the whispy clouds in the broad blue sky
Waiting for the next big blow of Winter
White on white on white,
Fade to dark in a star-blown night.

Distraction

I must stop now, sit and dream
Leave me be, so my thoughts
Might unfetter and fly to their destination.

It is not that I don't appreciate your presence
But your nearness provides impediment to my attention,
Your sweet-flowered scent, a shackle to my yearning heart.

Fall and a ride through the country

Here I am on the edge of Halloween, Thanksgiving and the endless trouping of holidays and I am enjoying the cooler weather and the dry crisp air. The rains came for several days and are supposed to reappear on Friday. That small bit of moisture has allowed the leaves to remain on the trees for now.

But we are travelling through the country toward Louisiana tomorrow and I am anticipating a gracious bounty of seafood and beer and sweet tea. A little ride through the bayous and across Lake Ponchatrain. Enjoying the stories and the company and the in-laws.

Even the gas prices are cooperating. I smile, I smile like sunshine.

Reality will return on Monday, when I find my way back to calendar call in Spalding Superior Court.

Global economics

Is there any better example of global economics than the email I received yesterday which provided me with a link to a company in Russia which apparently sold kitchen appliances? I was flipping through my spam, looking for something noteworthy which had been inadvertantly sent to my spam box, when I came accross an email which appeared to be written completely in Russian. I opened the email and followed the link to the opening page of the link. On that link was information in a foreign language which I recognized as Russian. Down the page were a series of pictures of refrigerators, which were identified by their American manufacturers. They were in alphabetical order: Amana, Frigidaire, GE, Whirlpool. I couldn't tell how much they were being sold for, but it appeared that if I understood Russian, I could order a brand new American refrigerator from this company.

The only question I had was whether I could get a better deal by ordering my appliance from Russia, rather than going to the time and trouble of driving down to the Sears outlet and buying one from the local dealer.

It makes me want to learn a little Russian.

A night at the fair

Kate came home yesterday afternoon for her Fall Break and decided that she wanted to attend the Spalding County Fair. So after I extracted myself from the office, I drove home and changed clothes and we made our way to the fair. In years past, and it has been quite a few years past, the time around the fair was usually a dry patch, weather-wise, and the dust usually was an impediment to your enjoyment. However, it rained heavily on Wednesday and the ground was somewhat wet and muddy from the rain and the comings and goings of the fair-goers.

We arrived at the fairgrounds in the late afternoon, and the sun was still relatively high in the western sky. We paid our fifteen dollars to the man in the booth and stepped gingerly over the patches of mud and wet grass. There didn't seem to be a definite path onto the midway and we ended up working our way around the carnival headquarters onto the path.

When we finally found ourselves in the midst of the fun, we worked our way back to the exhibition halls. My first favorite place is always the farm animals, although, the number of exhibited farm animals has shrunk considerably from 1984, when I first attended the Spalding County Fair. There were two adult cows, two calves, two pigs, several goats and some guinea fowl. We watched the flies buzzing on the dark black coat of the Angus calf for awhile and enjoyed the general domestic smell, then worked our way back to the exhibition halls.

In years past, I could hold Cindy's attention for at least thirty minutes or so with the horticultural exhibit from the respective garden clubs; however, there was no such exhibit at this fair. Instead, the relative schools in Spalding County and Pike County had brought art works for exhibit and judging. That turned out to be the most interesting part of the exhibits. A number of our friends and acquaintances had children whose art was displayed.

After we finally got to the end of the exhibitions, we could finally work our way down to the real reason for visiting the fair: the corndogs. I worked my way down to the end of the line and followed the diminishing line to the front of the corndog stand. Ordering five of these precious golden pieces of food on a stick, we found a picnic table on which to enjoy our repast in the dying light of Autumn.

After finishing my corndogs, Cindy decided that she needed a lemonade from the lemonade stand we had passed when we first entered the midway. So I worked my way through the crowd and down to the stand, which sat in a low point of the midway, a perfect collection point for the rainwater from the day before. I purchased the lemonade and returned it to Cindy through the mud.

After that, the three of us worked our way down the midway past the rides, as Kate took pictures of the sights. Later that night, after a visit to "The Pig" for some groceries and necessities, we went home and Kate showed us some of her pictures of the fair. She has quite an eye.

After watching the thrill and concern and joy on the faces of the patrons for several hours, we finally made our way back toward the entrance to the fair. Ironically, just as we were going to purchase cotton candy for Cindy and a funnel cake for Kate, the sky fell on us and we ran to one of the carny game booths to escape a thirty minute rain shower. Our spot under the awning cost me five dollars so Kate could have two tries to knock over three milk bottles and win a stuffed tiger face. Kate really didn't want to try, and her ambivalence showed in her efforts to knock over the bottles; however, the rain finally stopped and we could slog our way through the mud to the exit from the fair.

Interestingly, as we passed the animals again, I noticed that one of the goats had parked himself, feet and all, in his feed trough, and poked his head through the fence in order to allow himself a bite from the feed trough in the calf's enclosure. It seems that the grass is always greener, no matter where you are.

I finally worked my way back through the darkness and the mud to the car and was able to extract the vehicle from the parking area and work our way back to the street in front of the fairgrounds. All in all, it was quite fun.

The South Shall Rise Again

I was watching the Tonight Show last night and Jay had Dennis Miller and a golfer from Milton, Florida named "Boo". After Jay had finished with Dennis Miller he brought on this golfer and started talking to him about the Ryder Cup, which the American team had won several weeks ago. Boo was clearly a Southerner and showed his background distinctly by his drawl and his manner of responding to Jay's questions.

After several minutes of responding to Jay's questions, Dennis Miller broke in to the conversation and asked Boo this question: "If given the choice, would you rather play for the American team or the South."

At this question, Boo suddenly stammered the beginning of an answer, but was clearly flustered. After several attempts to answer the question, Dennis interrupted him and told that, "That's alright, you don't have to choose."

And with that it is clear that the possibility of a Second War Between the States still exists today.

The next few days

If I am sitting in front of my computer, writing on my blog, at 1:33 in the afternoon, then it would suggest that I have way too much time on my hands at this particular moment. Of course, I am waiting on returned phone calls from several different people, so that may account for some of the extra time on my hands. At the same time, if the real estate business were still strong, I have a feeling I would either be getting ready for a closing or preparing the documents for one down the road.

In the meantime, I am awaiting a new client at 2:00 and then my slate is clean for the time being until it comes to the point where I need to go pick up Cindy at Griffin Tech.

I need to pick up Kate's shoes and her pants at the various places around town. I need to get everything ready so Cindy and I can travel to Clinton tomorrow afternoon. At this point, I would like to leave on Saturday morning and only spend one night in Clinton, but I don't think that is feasible at this point. I have three gallon plastic containers of barbecue, two of which are headed for Clinton. I also have one quart bottle of home-made barbecue sauce. I am never really certain how many people like the barbecue sauce, since everyone seems to like the gloppy, sweet barbecue sauce, or something like it. But I persevere.

As I have stated before, my present favorite barbecue in Georgia, other than my own, is found in Columbus (at Country's) and Pine Mountain (at Three Little Pigs). That comes after sampling quite a few plates of barbecue everywhere from Darien to Columbus and from LaGrange to Carnesville, and everything else in between. I am not a snob, although I must say that the place on Georgia 16 between Jackson and Griffin which went out of business when they widened Georgia 16 is thankfully gone, in my opinion. And I can tell the difference between something mediocre and something better than average. Not to mention the just plain bad.

The accoutrement of barbecue can be important. For instance, burgoo is usually better than brunswick stew, although there are notable exceptions (Harold's is supreme, with crackling corn bread). I would prefer corn cakes to white bread; white bread seems to be giving up on the presentation. Whereas, corn cakes, hot with butter are wonderful. Regular corn muffins are excellent if not too dry.

Most barbecue around here is served with brunswick stew and cole slaw. With slaw, again, I am not much of a snob; however, I prefer a good vinegar-y barbecue slaw over the sweet kind. My momma has a recipe from a Huntsville, Alabama cookbook which is quite tasty.

Potato salad is my preference with barbecue, because the starch and the sweetness of the potato salad cuts the heat of the barbecue sauce. I have enjoyed good old vegetables with my barbecue ever since I was a kid and we would go to the Pic-A-Rib in Clarksville, Tennessee, across from the train station. Country's serves a nice selection of vegetables with their barbecue and have fresh vegetables from the garden in the late Spring and early Summer.

Anyway, Saturday we will chop and heat it up and serve it before the game. That will be fun.

The attitude of the stars

It has been warm and breezy all day and the temperature is nice and October-y (yes, I know that is not a word, but felt like using the coined word, anyway). I found out that W&L is playing VMI in the Lee-Jackson lacrosse game at the VMI stadium on October 25, the same day that the football team is playing at Wilson Field. I think, if I had an extra $500 laying around that I would drive up to Lexington and watch some football and some lacrosse on that Saturday afternoon in late October.

I haven't been to Lexington since Kate was a Senior in High School. That was fun to visit the colleges and imagine myself, through Kate, at some sanctuary of higher education. I would love to see the new Stadium and all of the new athletic accoutrement at W&L. Maybe run into the new President, who was a Senior when I was a lowly Freshman. Take communion at the First Presbyterian Church with the ghost of Stonewall Jackson haunting the grey walls inside the sanctuary.

I would love to stroll around the downtown area and see my old apartment on Nelson Street, eat at the Southern Inn and walk past the College Town Shop, where I first spied the brown coat which reminded me of Cindy and sent me romantically spinning on a path toward a wedding in Southern California and twenty five plus years of marriage. The older I get the more sentimental I become.

When Cindy and I drove up to Sewanee for the football game last month, it was quite a nostalgia shot seeing the north side of Lookout Mountain and Covenant College sitting up on top of the mountain. I remember always thinking it could stand in for Shangra-la in some remake of Lost Horizon. It was fun to drive on and see Nikkajack Lake and all of the boaters on the lake on a pretty Saturday morning. Then to get up to Monteagle and enjoy the trees and buildings of Sewanee.

The only thing that would have made it better would have involved driving on to St. Bethlehem and enjoying a restful evening in the farmhouse. Of course, I could have slept in the bed at my house and we have a sufficient number of pictures and nick-nacks in order to remind me of the walls at the farmhouse, now demolished.

But I could have sat out under the stars and imagined the cattle lowing and the chickens rustling, even if they were no longer there. I could have seen the lights above us from Dunlop Lane, as we got off at the Rossview Road exit and headed northward to Dunlop Lane and the white frame house on the hill. The lights would have been on in anticipation of our arrival, even if Grandmommie was asleep in her chair in front of the 10:00 o'clock evening news from Nashville and WSM or WLAC.

But she would have sprung from her chair and hugged us and sent us on our way upstairs to the rooms on the second floor and a good night's sleep at the farm. As I said, I can still sleep in the bed I would have slept in at the farm. However, there is something about the placement of the bed in my house, as opposed to the front bedroom at the farm, which makes it a little less easy to get a good night's sleep.

A little stardust and the soft, sad music of the cattle.