Good times in Advent

We ate lunch on Sullivan's Island at Poe's Tavern on Saturday. It was cool and breezy, but the sun was shining and I went back to the car to get my W&L cap in order to counteract the Damn Wahoo sitting at the table at the entrance. It seemed everywhere I went that day there was another damn Wahoo or someone wearing a Sewanee sweatshirt. Heavy is the head.

This morning we awoke fairly early and packed the car with more stuff than we took down to Charleston. After saying our goodbyes, Cindy and Kate and I drove up to US 17 and drove down toward Savannah. The traffic on I-95 was packed and we decided to vacate the interstate for the old Savannah highway.

After travelling several hours down the old road, we got to a stretch of road which surrounded marshes and strip clubs in the boonies, then saw the new Talmadge bridge and the sunlight glinting off the dome of the customs house in downtown Savannah.

After crossing over the Savannah River, we drove around trying to find one of the more famous restaurants for lunch, but failed, so we finally made our way down into the area of the City Market, where I finally found a parking place and then walked past a monument to Hatian afro-americans who fought to keep Savannah free of the British during the revolution, then found a place to sit at an outdoor cafe, where we could sip champagne, eat lunch and watch the people go by and listen to a band playing down the walk from the restaurant.

It was a delightful time in the shadow of the old wholesale grocery. The bones of the building were magnificent. As I sat and ate my fish sandwich and red rice and drink my sweet tea, it occurred to me that I realize appreciate Savannah as much as I enjoy Charleston. They are two sister cities and share many things, but Charleston is usually appreciated more than Savannah for its vibrant historic preservation and its class. But Savannah is more egalitarian, democratic and is beautiful in its own right.

The ride back home was delightful and the traffic wasn't too bad and we got to drive cross country to avoid more traffic jams and pick up Tex at the farm out in the country where he was kept all week. Tonight, Kate and I drove around Griffin and saw the Christmas decorations and the big wreath on the Railroad Bridge. Now I am home and feel a whole lot better.

Christmas is here. I have shopping to do, but the season has arrived.

Folly pier in fog

The first few days of Thanksgiving were spent in a fog, with trips to seafood restaurants and drizzle and wondering if the sun would ever come back again, until Thursday came and we could be truly thankful for the blue skies and sea and mild temperatures and amid the bustle of preparing the Thanksgiving meal, I could sit in the sun and feel the ocean breeze against my face and feel thankful for what I have left, for what God has given me, because so often I sit in my drowse and worry about the next day or the next week or the next month and forget the sun and the beach and eating seafood on the shore at Thanksgiving, but in the past decade and the present week. Even in my losses, there is much to be thankful about despite the evil of the day, there are still many gifts to consider. That is what these days are about, despite the worries of the next day, keeping me up and worrying the lines in my face, like the waves channeling the lines into the sand which only show when the tide is out. Still, there is beauty in the times of fog as well and a mournful sadness which offers us a quiet beauty that we don't get when the sun is high and the skies are blue. There is depth in the fog which doesn't appear on the sunny days.

Avoiding mirrors

I must append my visage,
Less of me would be
An improvement
Less jowl, less tummy
What must I do
To carve the turkey
And leave the sweetmeat
There are days
But most mirrors
And cameras give me
No comfort
For I am older than I wish
And the days have added
Their layers to my profile
Leaving me to wish
For earlier years
When my look was chiseled
Well defined
Ah, the glory days
Are in my past,
Leaving memories
My normal comfort.

Friday in downtown Charleston.

We finally moved out of the house and headed into Charleston and found our way to Hominy Grill, north of Broad. It was a long wait to get a table, but they had an amazing menu and everything was super. I had red rice, field peas with snaps and duck sausage, green beans, tomato and okra and cornbread. I wanted the shrimp bog, because it looked really good, but the desire to take advantage of their long list of vegetables compelled me to order a vegetable plate. I tasted Cindy's shrimp and grits and they were good also. I also tasted Kate's liver pudding, which was amazing.

Afterward, we drove into the market area downtown and did some shopping and I didn't find a watch band for my watch, but did find a hat which Cindy was kind enough to buy me for Christmas. When it got dark, we headed on a tour of downtown Charleston and saw the sunset over Charleston Bay, looking over across the Ashley River to the areas south of Charleston. It was orange and pink and beautiful for the end of the day. After driving around the neighborhoods south of Broad Street, we headed back to Folly and I made shrimp and grits on Paula Dean's recipe and Kate made really excellent pralines. We had a nice meal and now I am thinking about the day and trying to figure out how I will end it without doing any more damage to my waistline.

Tomorrow is another day on the coast of South Carolina. Then home on Sunday. It has been fun.

Oysters, a bottle of wine and Thanksgiving

Yesterday, we drove into town and found a parking space near the city market. After walking through the market for awhile, Kate, Dad and I walked down to Mistral, a French restaurant which is one of our favorite places in Charleston, and Kate called her momma and they met us in the restaurant. There was no one in the restaurant at the time, but by the time we had enjoyed our leisurely lunch, with a bottle of wine, the restaurant had filled up with customers.

Interestingly, the manager had graduated from W&L about seven years after I had. It was fun. Afterward, we drove around town, looking at the sights and headed back to Folly Beach. Missy and Megan got there around four thirty and we socialized until it was time to drive up to the road off Folly Road and we headed down the sandy road to Bowen Island Seafood.

We found cars parked near the collection of what looked like abandoned buildings. Exiting the car, we walked through the water collected on the sand parking lot to the walkway between the buildings. As we walked down toward a lighted plywood building, I looked through the translucent glass of a side building and saw the shadow of a man walking around. We passed him in the building and he called out to us, "Do you folks want to eat tonight?"

We answered that we did, and he suggested that we come back to him so we could place our orders. We walked into the little building and found a man in rough, casual dress who offered us self-prepared paper menus. We looked it over and I ordered the endless steamed oysters, but was told that the oysterman had not come by and we were limited to a tray at a time.

Afterward, we walked down to the lighted building and found a table which would accomodate us. We sat down at the rough table and considered the casualness of our surroundings for the evening. Later, they brought food and a tray of steamed oysters for me and we enjoyed our Thankgiving Eve repast. What a tradition.

Today, we were working on getting the different elements of our Thanksgiving supper prepared and I took a break and sat in front of the Packers and the Lions with a Mexican beer in my hand and looked out at the blue sky and water rushing to shore and felt the strong November breeze hitting me in the face from the balcony outside and realized how wonderful it was to celebrate Thanksgiving at the beach.

There are other wonderful places to celebrate Thanksgiving, but this was one of my favorites. Tomorrow we go back into Charleston and share this amazing, historical city with Missy and Megan. More tomorrow.

Tuesday before Thanksgiving, more seafood and beer

Well, today we spent the day on Folly Beach, where we drove up and around to get the lay of the land, then drove up to the road off Folly Beach Road, headed south toward Bowen Island Restaurant, and laughed together at how casual it looked. Picture this: a large collection of oddly mismatched buildings, with nothing to show that there was a restaurant in the mix, but with a large pile of oyster shells out front. Kate spotted an unlit sign which read: Sophisticate. It was beyond surreal. It was very funny though.

Later, we drove up to Piggly Wiggly and got gas, then we drove back into the village of Folly Beach and I dropped the ladies off and Papa Jack and I drove back to the condo to drop off the ten pounds of shrimp we had purchased at a seafood store at which we are planning to eat on Friday when they are planning a beer and seafood party on the dock. Should be fun.

After we deposited the shrimp in the condo, we headed back to the restaurant and sat down to eat a huge bowl of fish chowder with a nice amber beer. Then everyone went off to explore downtown, with the exception of Cindy and me, who headed back to the condo. I then picked up the rest of the party and we returned to condo unit for naps and Cindy, Kate and I went back to the Pig for groceries and provisions.

Tonight, we shared a meal of boiled shrimp, salad and macaroni and cheese. I have to make the biscuits and cornbread for the dressing tonight. I am not into it, but Cindy says Thanksgiving is on Thursday, so I must comply.

Must comply.

Went downtown, fooling around.

The morning arose and the rain was gone but a heavy fog and cloud cover was still present over the water and between us and the firmament. Soon after breakfast, we found ourselves on the beach, looking for perfect housing from the local crustaceans and the opportunity to watch some of the locals trying their hands at surfing in the rough surf. After walking up and back down the beach, we headed back up to the condo and got dressed for a day in Charleston.

After getting ourselves dressed for our travels, we headed on the road to Charleston. The first task was to find a Popeye's to buy a Cajun fried turkey for Thanksgiving. That turned out to be a herculean task as there just wasn't a Popeye's on every corner, and then when you were fortunate enough to find one, they didn't necessarily have any more Cajun fried turkeys. Fortunately, we were able find one at our second stop, a large bucket of red beans and rice, and got back on the road to lunch.

We decided to head back out toward the Atlantic coast and Sullivan's Island and Poe's Tavern. Kate drove us down to the coast and we soon found ourselves sitting at a table, drinking a beer, and enjoying the environs and hospitality of the tavern. After burgers and slaw and shrimp salad, we drove down to Fort Moultrie, for a look, then back across that big old bridge to downtown Charleston.

We got to drive around the historical residences of South of Broad, take a walk along the battery, then head around the old neighborhoods of Charleston. After driving around town for awhile, we headed back to Folly Island, got caught up in some heavy afternoon traffic, bought some liquor for later, then went back to the condo.

After some pimento cheese and other comestibles, we have settled down to some wholesome entertainments and quiet in the dark evening of our temporary digs, watching "Oh brother, where are thou?"

It is quiet now and Kate is off with friends, eating and drinking and enjoying the fun of Charleston and its suburbs. Soon, we will be slumbering to the sound of the surf beating against the shore again. Easy to sleep soundly to that nature sound.

Ah, vacation.

In which Thanksgiving vacation has begun

Saturday came and went and we were finally able to make it to Charleston, without much problem. When we got here the skies were relatively blue and the temperature was cool. After driving into Mount Pleasant, we found a motel which Cindy could agree on and checked in. At this point, we freshened up and drove over to Shem Creek for supper and a reunion, of sorts, with Michelle and Maureen Hayes. It was fun and Kate and I began seafood oddysey with a shared bucket of steamed oysters and another all for myself. After an evening of stories and food and drink, we made it back to the motel in time to watch UGA lose in the end to Kentucky. I am not so broken up about that as you might think, despite UGA being my law school alma mater. Georgia is rebuilding and Kentucky is better than normal.

The next morning, we ate breakfast from the facilities downstairs, repacked the car with our things and headed into downtown Charleston for church services at the French Protestant church (Hugenot). The church was built in 1844, on the site of the original church which was built some time in the 17th century. The inside is small but grand, filled with name plaques placed there by people with Hugenot ancestry, or their relatives, including: George and Martha Washington, WHF Fitzhugh Lee, Sidney Lanier, Lucius Quintus Cincinnatus Lamar and one with Valentine Sevier printed on it. A lot of people probably see the Valentine Sevier plaque and don't realize that he was the founder of Clarksville, Tennessee.

The service began and the church became quite full with the congregation. The pews had doors, making them private pews, very old fashioned, and the service began with a hymn sung in French. I struggled with the phonetic pronunciation guide below the French words. The rest of the service was in English and was quite enjoyable. Despite the differences, there were quite a few similarities to our modern Scots Presbyterian service. We are less liturgical, but there are quite a few bones held in common in the structure of the service.

Afterward, we were invited to participate in a congregational fellowship, complete with appetizers and a glass of wine, but the group was so large inside the little house that we just headed back outside rather than add to the crowd.

Afterward, we headed back to Mount Pleasant and enjoyed a midday meal with Kate's friend, Emily and Michelle Hayes and her daughter, Maddie and sister Maureen. More oysters and beer and other seafood and football on the big screen televisions surrounding us. I was able to change clothes and relax a bit. Afterward, the rain began in earnest and we had about an hour to kill before we could check in, so we headed out to Sullivan's Island and enjoyed a time in Poe's Tavern, a restaurant and bar in an hold beach house with a decorative bent toward Edgar Alan Poe, who lived on Sullivan's Island and died there. That was fun for two English majors.

We headed across the bridge into Charleston and backtracked to the road leading to Folly Beach. In the rain, we stood and waited for Cindy's parents to arrive. A little bit later, Kate and I sighted Cindy's dad, walking up and down the sidewalk, half a block away, trying to find the rental office, in front of which we were parked. We were able to handle that business, and find the condo for which we had reservations.

Now we are tucked in for the evening, and Monday morning is here and I am sitting here, awake, alone and listening to the ocean roar outside the glass door which leads to the balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I am flipping an imaginary coin, trying to figure whether I should go back to sleep, go drink some orange juice and eat something, read, or turn on the tv. Any suggestions? I figure today will involve quite a bit of walking around downtown Charleston and my eyesight is getting a bit blurry from lack of sleep. Maybe I will just go back and catch a catnap before the day begins in earnest.

Moving slowly on Saturday morning before vacation

It is Saturday morning. Cindy and I packed for our vacation last night. Kate is still working on moving. Reanimating, so to speak. I have been up since 6:00 this morning, which is a late start for me. I got Cindy up around 7:15. She is moving. Kate was last. I had hoped we would be on our way to the Charleston by now, it being 8:45, but obviously I am sitting here typing away while Cindy and Kate get moving toward our ultimate leaving.

This is an eternal struggle. I understand that teenagers typically do not get much sleep, are cranky, don't eat well, can be uncooperative. Kate is handling all those attributes, with the exception of the fact that she is 23, almost 24. So, the final word on that is, is this is not a phase of the teen years, this is just Kate.

Sooner or later, I will be on the road and Cindy and Kate and a pile of junk will be in the car with me. Resign myself to the process. I guess it is a good thing that we are pretty much on our own time and don't need to be in Charleston at any time other than when we need to be there.

When I get to Charleston, I will write more. I am sure.

Pity

This will be a long day, I'm afraid. I have to be in court first thing in the morning, followed by a trip to LaGrange, back to the office, then to Newnan and Jackson. I get to come home and probably pack for the next week. I feel like I am in need of rest, but don't know where or when it will come. This morning the walls are starting to cave in on me a bit. I wish I could get some good sleep without interruption. Being an adult can be such a fun thing from time to time.

I think I have pitied myself enough for the morning. Onward, outward and upward.

The passing day

We pay for our trespasses, one way or another. Forgive us our trespasses, we pray. Or at least the other denominations pray. But we do pay for our trespasses. Failings, I have made mistakes. A client told me once that you have to learn from mistakes. That everyone makes mistakes. But we must learn from our mistakes. Unfortunately, we pass to the next day, the next hour. Other mistakes. It is so hard to learn when you are going so fast. We don't seem to have enough time and leisure to consider our mistakes and learn from them. Or perhaps it is just a matter of laziness. Many things come and go past us. Every day gives us a chance to change, to learn. But every day has its failings. There is enough evil in every day.



But we must try. Pray. Hard.

Remembrance and anticipation

Its supposed to rain over the weekend. I am really in the mood for a week or two of sunshine. Today, the day started off with clouds, evolved into rainy drizzle in Jackson, then the sun came out. The sun poking through the clouds caught my eye and I felt better despite the ups and downs I had suffered through the day. I hope tomorrow is a bit more sunny throughout the day.

In the past few years, when we were in Apalachicola, it only seemed to rain at night, if it rained at all. The days were sunny and warm enough to walk down the beach and watch the dolphins play at the cut. There was boiled shrimp in the refrigerator and beer to drink and the oysters were fresh and tasted of salt water and the smells of the bay. Cut with the sharpness of cocktail sauce.

I love months with "r's". What a gift. What a gift.

On Sunday, we will take a right into the marshes from SR 17 and head down to Folly Island and the coast of Carolina. As the sun goes down over the water and the pale blue sky is replaced with a purple coverlet, we will watch the stars come out and smile. The breeze will kick up. I will fall asleep to the sound of the waves pounding the beach.

Even a little rain won't spoil the week. Just go inside the oyster bar, watch some college football and down a few beers. There are too many positive factors for the equation to go wrong. Sit and smile.

Church and the call of Carolina

We had a nice meal at church tonight. Taco soup, they said. It was chili with various additions. They had yankee cornbread (my momma knows what I mean), but it was still pretty good. Then there were various home-baked cakes on display. Kate and I wanted carrot cake but there was no knife nor plates so the carrot cake went begging. Everybody wanted carrot cake. There were carrot cake afficianados all around. People professing carrot cake. Saliva, dripping down our jaws.

But no knife and no plates, so the carrot cake remained. Sad. Schade. Whatever.

Later, Tim took questions. He had a real good scientific explanation as to why my hair was vacating my head, but no attempt at any theological explanation. He was confused. I didn't want a scientific explanation from the theology man. I wanted a theological explanation. Only Kate was willing to give me the predestination explanation. Smart alec.

Later, we heard more theological explanations about theological matters. Some were answered well. Mine was not. Bob's was not. We are still waiting.

We are all thinking about our pending vacation in South Carolina. Oysters are beckoning. Beers are sloshing in the darkness. Sloshing to the rythym of the ocean.

The call of the Atlantic awaits us. Roaring in our ears.

Feeling better, the sun is out, and oysterbeds await

What a difference a few weeks make. Three weeks ago, I got a phone call after I returned to the office from court. It was the mother of one of my clients. She was extremely agitated because her baby wasn't in court that morning. She didn't know that the court had changed the court date. Now, she wanted her money back and a new lawyer to boot. Now, her son's case is resolved, there is an end in sight, and she feels like things might someday return to normal. He is still in jail, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.

A friend of mine, when asked if he wanted his rent on a rental house paid in cash or check, replied, "I just want a promise of payment."

Promises of payment are great, but the grocery store won't cash them for you when you want to buy groceries. But, on the other hand, I still have a few more promises in my pocket.

The sun is out though. Things look a little bit better. On Saturday we drive to Charleston and start eating our annual allowance of seafood. It ain't Apalachicola, Florida, but Charleston will do.

Nicely. I am already counting the shells. Oysters and beer. Shrimp and grits. Watching the waves hit the beach. Strolling down the historic sidewalks of Charleston, South Carolina. The ghosts of pirates and colonists and confederate soldiers sharing their spot overlooking the ocean and Charleston Bay. How else should one celebrate this day of Thanksgiving? I am thankful already.

Blood, sweat and tears on the seashore

"That is to say, if you don't end up with a little mud under your fingernails, if you don't shed a little blood, you're not doing it right. "

I found this sentence in a restaurant review of a seafood restaurant near Folly Island, south of Charleston. I was reading the review with my daughter also reading, over my shoulder. Despite the fact this was the second time I had read the review, the sentence caught my eye because it paraphrased a sentence I had placed in a recipe I wrote for barbecuing pork, in which I opined that if you didn't cut yourself during the process of preparing, smoking or chopping the meat, you were probably doing something wrong.

Clearly, there is a philosophy about preparing certain savory Southern food items which requires a bit of dirt, mud and blood to be encountered. Having discovered this, I would have to suggest that I am a proponent of this philosophy and offer a corollary to that philosophy, which states that the messier the sandwich, the better the sandwich.

This is counter-intuitive, because the sandwich was invented in order to make it easier for a card player to eat something without stopping the card game and in order to present a minimum of mess. I have found over the years that my favorite sandwiches are the ones in which I have some difficulty in keeping the contents between the slices of bread before they enter my mouth. For intance, one of my favorite sandwiches is a reuben. The reuben seems to be prepared best when the Russian dressing and the sauerkraut are spilling out from between the bread and it becomes an endeavor to ensure that every bit of the sandwich is eaten.

I will be in the area where the reviewed restaurant is located. I look forward to testing the dirty nail/bloody finger philosophy of eating shellfish. I will report more later. I really look forward to it.

Lost hours

Four in the morning,
Electrical current flowing
Through my arms and chest.
My mind is trying to cut off
But nagging thoughts keep
The current running
And I will pay for this,
I know
Before I lay pillow to head
Tomorrow evening
And you can't make up sleep lost:
No, it is gone forever
And I guess I will live a bit
Shorter life for want of sleep tonight
Or is the equation of this living
Not so easily cogitated?
Who knows, there is no
Guarantee in this world
And probably no need for lack of sleep,
For the day's troubles
Will come, with or without
My nocturnal consideration.

Long day's morning after

My day began and ended very similarly, but also very different. I left the house very early and went to the office and downloaded a loan package, then headed off to Cataula, a little community between Hamilton and Callaway Gardens to the north and Columbus to the south. The GPS kept trying to head me west to Newnan and then south on I-85 and I-18 to Cataula, but I resisted and went south to Zebulon, then west to Woodbury, then south again to Manchester, then west again to Ellerslie, then up to the borrower's house. As I drove through the early morning, the skies were grey, overcast and threatening rain. By the time the GPS led me to their house, the rain had begun.

The borrowers were a retired soldier and his wife. We sat in their dining room and he had a soft jazz song playing on the stereo. There were obviously no children present, the house was tidy and clean, and the whole experience was quite peaceful and pleasant. I almost didn't want to leave, but the rest of the day beckoned, and I headed back northeast to Griffin.

This afternoon, I had another closing scheduled in Warner Robins. Later in the day, they called and wanted me to drive to Fort Valley about an hour and a half later, which was nearby. I took this closing too and tried to contact the borrower at home and work, without success. Meanwhile the loan package for both closings arrived over the internet and I headed south to Warner Robins.

I arrived for the first closing and met with the borrower. Our visit was pleasant. Afterward, I headed west to Fort Valley. Meanwhile, I kept trying to call the borrower. I finally got a hold of someone at the house, but the borrower was nowhere to be found.

I made it to Fort Valley and didn't know if the borrower would call or even care to meet with me that night. I decided to go get something to eat, but restaurants are in short supply in Fort Valley, or at least restaurants which don't have a drive-thru. I stopped at a Capt. D's and ate shrimp and green beans and baked potato. I figured that was as close as healthy as I was going to come. Meanwhile, after finishing my meal and refilling my iced tea cup, I made another call to the borrower, who just happened to answer this time. He didn't want me to come to his house. He agreed to meet me at Capt. D's. So, I took my iced tea, grabbed the closing file, and waited outside in the drizzle.

He arrived and I informed him that it would be difficult to sit inside the restaurant, so we agreed to drive down to the Burger King and sit in there. We re-entered our cars and drove to the brightly lit Burger King parking lot.

As we walked into the Burger King, I realized that there was enough light inside to perform surgery or perhaps dry wet paint on a car. I followed the borrower to a table and sat down among the high school students, children, parents and assorted adults and pulled out the papers. We went through the papers, only interrupted by a young boy selling raffle tickets. His thick accent was foreign to me but the borrower clearly understood his request and pulled out a five dollar bill and filled out the raffle tickets.

We finally completed the closing and I headed out into the dark and drizzle and finally made my way home for the evening. It was a long day, but fairly productive. As I sit here in the darkness of the early morning and think about the day, I wonder if the car feels as tired as I do. If it had feelings, I am sure it would. Four twenty two. Long day gets longer. Stretches into the next. That's a headline for you.

Court and court and court

This morning began somewhate reminicent of that scene in The Godfather where the movie producer wakes up with the horse's head in his bed. I woke up around 4:30 and there was a furry presence next to me. Apparently, at some point in the middle of the night, Tex came creeping and Cindy pulled him up in bed.

I woke up with a strange pain in my right thumb. I don't think it was a hitch-hiking injury. It just came from nowhere. I woke up and went into the living room and watched two episodes of King of the Hill before I returned to bed and the dog and my wife and a bit of slumber before the morning began, or had it already done so.

I went to work and downloaded a package for a closing which was later cancelled. I am sure Al Gore is happy with the waste of paper. Later, I rode over to the City offices and paid my light bill and went to court. I spoke with Trey, the solicitor, and worked out a deal, then sat in the courtroom and talked to a female lawyer from Sandy Springs. I filled her in with some of the local details which allowed her to finish her day early and head back to North Fulton County. Meanwhile, I was stuck until they brought the jail cases out and was able to work out something with the solicitor and my client.

At this point, I went back to the office and found that another client of mine had been arrested in Clayton County and was held because of a bench warrant issued after his case went to grand jury. This was not normal. Just a trick of the district attorney's office, which allows them to put pressure on the defendants. Later, I spoke with a friend of mine and we commiserated about the things the d.a.'s office was pulling. Apparently, he had a client who was treated the same way.

Meanwhile, I was trying to get the package for my next closing in the morning. I still don't have it and it is almost 9:30 in the evening and the closing is set for 9:00.

Tomorrow is two closings and maybe an evening with friends at J. Henry's. This weekend is getting more complicated as we go. I have court on Wednesday and Friday and I have to redo some closings which didn't go earlier. We are leaving on Saturday and going to Charleston for the week. It will be fun.

Short message for a long weekend

It was a beautiful day. Kate got to sit next to me in choir. Alto and Tenor. I think she sang tenor. I did too. We got to drive to Dunwoody and spend time with momma and Maggie and Kevin and Susan and the nuggets. We got to rake some leaves off the driveway and make a pile for Becca to hide herself in. It was fun.

This week will be quite full. Court and closings and then a trip on Saturday to Charleston. It should be fun. Oysters and beer and turkey and southern history. Hard to beat.

I am going to quit for now. Falcons got beat. But Georgia beat Auburn. That was fun. Long weekend.

Following your favorite teams is a perilous endeavor

Georgia quarterback Joe Cox just hit a sixty yard pass to one of his receivers, out on the five. The game with Auburn is tied. Fourth quarter. Almost the entire quarter left to play.

With this on my mind, you wouldn't know I have been washing and ironing clothes over the last hour. I was trying to purge some clothes. I did. I still need to finish putting things up. Well, the pass was fifty yards, and was followed by a ten yard run for a touchdown. Georgia up by seven 24-17. Still a lot of time left.

Dunwoody won first round playoff game last night against Elbert County. Is that me against Bob Smalley? I think it might be. If Georgia wins and the Falcons beat the Panthers tomorrow, that will be a pretty good weekend of victories.

I am tired. Kate is tired. Cindy is talking on the phone again. I want to give the damn dog a bath but Auburn just returned the kickoff for a touchdown. Crap.

Friday night fun

Cindy, Kate and I drove up to Hampton and I conducted a closing for a couple. Afterward, Kate drove us up to Lovejoy and over to Fayetteville. We did a little shopping at Target. There was a sign on the wall as you entered the store which said that some type of hamsters could only be purchased in multiples of five. Reading that, I needed to find these special hamsters. I went into the pet store part of Target and found a ton of food and assorted acoutrement for pets, but no hamsters. As a matter of fact, no types of pets at all.

Target was pretty much a bummer, so Kate and I drove Cindy to Marshalls and headed to Old Navy. Which was also a bummer, other than Kyle, who rang up Kate's order like the champion Old Navy employee he is, then suggested we remember his name for the next time someone decided to return to Old Navy. That could be a long time, as far as I am concerned.

At any rate, Kate and I joined Cindy at Marshalls', or actually entered the store and wandered around the store until Cindy showed herself, which took quite awhile. Marshalls' had stocked a number of really fine sweaters and shirts and jackets, but, as Cindy said, I don't really need any clothes at this point.

Which led us to the subject of what I want for birthday and Christmas. Well, first of all, oysters for Thanksgiving Eve supper. Lots of oysters. A box of Broadbent's wonderful pork products and assorted goodies. A trip to the Western Art Museum in Cartersville. Some art supplies and maybe some tickets to some bsketball and hockey this Winter. Maybe a trip to Virginia and Kentucky during basketball season.

Christmas will be here soon. Dunwoody won. Spalding did not. Newnan upset Valdosta (Titletown). Clempson beat PC. Tenersee beat APSU. Kentucky is beating up on Morehead State, although Kate says that game is over. The Hawks won.

Georgia plays Auburn tomorrow in Athens. Go Red and Black! Oldest continous rivalry in deep South. Second football game in the South (W&L v. VMI was first). Steve Galloway and I will have to get together and eat supper, watch football, and discuss the simple pleasures of life in the South: food, drink, football, religion. Friday night is still a grand time to be at a high school football game.

Driving through Georgia

I woke up pretty early this morning and drove to Cataula, Georgia, which is just north of Columbus, for a closing at 8:00 o'clock a.m. When I got there, the numbers were wrong and the borrowers didn't want to sign the documents without making changes. So, I got to head back, figuratively empty-handed, to Griffin.

When I left this morning, around six, the sun had not peeked over the horizon and it was still pretty dark in Griffin, Georgia. As I travelled through Pike County, then Meriwether County, then Harris County, the sun lightened the sky without peeking out and the sky was a soft, glowing blue all around me. There wasn't much traffic and it was quite peaceful in the car as I drove down Ga 18 toward Woodbury, then Ga 85 toward the road to Cataula.

I drove down the roads, with the commentary and news from NPR playing over the radio, and it really was a nice quiet trip through West Central Georgia. It was only later, when the closing blew up and I had to head back to the office without a completed closing package, where the driving started to get to me. It is no wonder that my mood is affected by the things that happen and my enjoyment of the drive is also skewed by the happenings.

Now, it is getting later in the afternoon, and I am ready for one closing tonight and two tomorrow. Cindy and Kate will join me on my closing tonight and we will drive over to Fayetteville to do some shopping. That will be fun. It is the time of year. I have had four closing this week and four more next week. The following week will be vacation time. And oysters. And beer. And Charleston.

The smell of coalsmoke and Christmas

Living in this part of Georgia is a treat from a meterological standpoint. Today, I drove down Georgia 16 to Turin, then down Georgia 74 to just north of Luthersville, in Meriwether County. Despite the rain in cold in other parts of the United States, the temperature hovered just below 70 degrees this afternoon, and the sky was as blue and clear as could be.

I drove over the Flint River and received a surprise when I noticed that the river had overflown its banks and was flooding the surrounding field east of the normal bounds of the river. When I crossed over the bridge, I noticed that the water level seemed to peak just below the level of the bridge. That's a lot of water.

There are still some leaves on some of the trees around here. Mostly yellow oaks and gum trees. The evergreen trees are starting to predominate. You can see cedar trees along the fencerows where the birds ate the berries and planted a new tree. In my part of the world, cedar trees were the normal Christmas tree, being so common.

When I was in college, a bunch of my buddies and I used to hold a party before exams started at Christmas time. We would walk down the ROTC trail and find a cedar tree growing out of the rocks, and we would borrow a saw from the building and grounds office and carry the tree back to the apartment along Woods Creek. We were pretty imaginative with our decorations.

Later on, we would fill a garbage can with gallons of apple cider, a fifth of bourbon and a fifth of golden grain and enjoy the lights we had bought at Kroger for the tree. It would only be a few days until exams were over and we would all disperse to our various homes and families. Still, it was nice to enjoy a little preliminary taste of Christmas in Virginia.

I do miss that, just like I miss going up to Clarksville and Hopkinsville at Christmas time. That was fun. I guess the last time I did that was when my grandmother passed away after Thanksgiving. The skies were grey and the wind was cold and there were big flakes of snow, like silver dollars, coming down in the cemetery as we headed from the gravesite to our cars and one more supper in the old dining room at the farm.

You see, I can still hold on to that magic, if only in my thoughts. My thoughts expand my universe beyond the here and now and stretch back to cedar tree Christmas trees in Virginia and Tennessee, country ham and turkey, great aunts telling family stories in the hall, and the perfect warmth of Christmas, while the cold December wind blew its fury against the old white frame farmhouse. The scream of the wind could not mar the Christmas inside, nor can the passage of the years.

Natural art

The product from the rainfall this morning
Was an amazing collection of crimson leaves
Spread out on the grass and pine straw
Beneath the Japanese maple in our yard
And there was a pattern to the leaves
Which bespoke an intelligence,
An invisible hand behind the leaves
The artist unseen around the corner
Musing on my appreciation of the art piece
He had left on the damp November grass.

November, December

We had a hard rain last night and a good number of the leaves on the Japanese maple out front of the living room fell to the ground. When the skies had cleared enough to walk out without getting soaking wet, I noticed the leaves covering the ground beneath the tree. Absolutely beautiful. The whole are under the tree was a bright crimson color. The pattern of the leaves on the ground was artistic.

I like this time of year. The cold. The rain. The grey skies. The pine needles covering the ground. I remember walking through the woods in our neighborhood and kicking the pine needles and smelling the trees under the grey skies. It was a nice little trip in the late November world. Everything was grey and brown, and reminded me of the pilgrims at Thanksgiving. All brown and black and grey. It would transport you quickly to first grade when you were drawing the pilgrims and making turkeys with your hand and a fistful of crayons.

Of course, once Thanksgiving has come and gone, you go into the colorful time of Christmas, with everything red and green and gold and silver and every other color imaginable. The old colored Christmas tree bulbs, with silver tinsel everywhere and packages of every color. Birthdays and cakes and pies and Christmas Day.

As I got older, the real treat was Christmas morning, and breakfast with Polish sausage and country ham and grits, slathered with butter, and orange juice and tea and biscuits with jelly. It makes me hungry right now.

We are on the verge.

November afternoon

Late November came early today. We left the office in a shower which began sometime last night. The car ran through the city lights, on early, and we picked Cindy up in the fog. No one felt like staying outside our little home tonight. We drove up to Kroger and Kate let me out so I could buy three containers of their homemade soup and meat and cheese and sandwich bread for supper. We made our way home and Cindy and I warmed up the soup and made our sandwiches. All was done in the deep grey of November. Grey flannel weather. Dressed up seasonal.

It is still raining hard outside and no prospect of relief until sometime early in the morning. The patio is a little pond. The rain is supposed to let up and then we will have clouds until late in the afternoon. Tomorrow afternoon will be blue skies and cool temperatures. That is nice as well. It is the color in a grey November.

We should go hunting some cloudy, cold morning. But where?

Lessons learned

It is raining in earnest. Griffin, too. I am sitting here at 5:20, watching "King of the Hill". Hank tried to get a reinactment of the battle of the Alamo for the benefit of Bobby and the rest of the students at Tom Landry Middle School. Unfortunately, everyone had their own idea of history. As Hank said, he had been taught that the men who died at the Alamo were there to try to gain freedom for the Texicans from Mexico. I suppose it is debatable as to the value of their motivations. Many of them had left their homes and places of business back east to find a new life in Texas. Many of them had left behind failures and troubles in their past. But they died at the Alamo trying to keep a more numerous force of Mexicans from reaching the rest of the Texicans before they were ready to defend themselves. It was a futile effort. In light of the end result and the odds of their attempt to stop a more numerous force of better trained and armed army from Mexico, it did show bravery to stand up to the Mexican army. Bravery is not always smart or the more prudent act. It is true, however, that their actions kept the Mexicans at bay long enough for Sam Houston to organize his troops and find a place where they could defend themselves and win the day. The winners write the history. That is true. And there are parts of the story which don't support the truth of the telling. But the importance of the story is not lost over time. The bravery of the acts don't disappear with the years. We need to know and recognize their sacrifice, even if the motivations for their actions was flawed. The story needs to stay in the books. And retained in our memories.

Coho salmon at end of day

In a collection of fishing boats near Craig, Alaska:

Among the expectant lines
The relentless flow ran in and out
The Summer sun rising and falling
Toward the end of a perfect day,
And we all saw the silver salmon, pink striped
And black speckled, like a puppy.
Playfully flipping, leaping, swimming
Freely up from the chilly water through the cool air.

Sensing his freedom, we shared his joy,
Shared his freedom briefly, a candle flicker moment, then lost it,
Despite our collective wish to capture it, own it in each of our hands:
A hopeless attempt at what we could not grasp.

But we could feel the joy in the experience
And share that brief moment of freedom.
As we chuckled together in the August sunshine.

Fall memories

Well, it feels like rain. It must be rain. Tomorrow will probably be one of those days in which the phone won't ring, people won't come and I will probably find myself napping in my chair, instead of working. Oh well.

These are those days in Fall when you can enjoy the warmth of the hearth, literally or figuratively, at the end of the day, with a cup of hot tea and warm light and the nearness of your loved ones. Ah, the dying light of Autumn and the restful peace of a quiet evening at home.

I really enjoy driving in late November and early December in Georgia. The pastel light of early evening. The shadows of the leafless trees against the western sky. Driving of 441 toward Athens and Madison, then to Monticello and Jackson and on homeward to Griffin. Stopping on the road in Monticello to buy ice cream at the Dairy Queen. Taking comfort in those bright colorful lights glowing in the early darkness of evening. Sweetness, lapping up the creamy sweetness. Driving on as the light dies around you. I love it.

Friday night, high school football season is heading into the playoffs. You can see the lights and hear the roar as something unseen on the field prompts the fans to cheer in unison. It is a mixture of the fun of watching the boys play and a memory of being on that field yourself. Seeing the bugs flying through the lights. Feeling the adrenelin running through your veins, as the quarterback barks out the signals and you await the moment of motion. The dance of the players, the pull and tug. The dull pain in your head. Feeling your feet a few inches off the ground. Grabbing the quarterback in the backfield and flinging him to the ground.

That was my favorite moment on the field. One time against Cedar Grove, I stunted and rushed through the gap between the center and the guard, and followed the quarterback as he rolled away from me. I was a cat chasing its prey, unseen, lithe. I grabbed his shoulders and spun him around and as I pulled him down toward the green grass, he released the ball, flung it away out into the empty flat. As I walked back toward our huddle, I noticed the line judge throwing a flag. I knew what that meant: intentional grounding.

At the blowing of the electrical currents through my synapses, I realized the significance of the little yellow piece of cloth. I jumped upward into the air in a movement which was not very different from the joyful leaping of a silver salmon, jrising into the air, exhibiting pure joyfulness in the extreme.

Several days later, my future wife told me saw me jump for joy on the field. She really didn't know why, but it was the noticing that was the important part. Still is.

Anyway, Fall is a grand time. Cool weather. The dying leaves. Football under the lights on a Friday night. And Saturday afternoons in Virginia on Wilson field in Lexington. Cool comfort in the dying light.

Monday morning, 7:00 a.m.

I walked Tex out this morning and I could feel a little drizzle. I thought this rain was coming later in the week. I was getting used to the cool, dry weather. Now we get another day of rain to soak into the ground again. It seems like this whole year has been full of rain. I know when I have travelled over Lake Lanier recently it seems nice and high. I am sure all of the people who have houses around the lake are pleased. They may be the few group of homeowners in Georgia whose homes might have held their values because they suddenly had real lakefront homes.

Well, it is brew coffee time.

A long, strong line

The old steeple points to Heaven. This is the parish church of Mitcheldean, the church in which my ancestors worshipped in Gloucestershire. One ancestor was prosecuted and punished because he followed Martin Luther. Another was moved to assist the conspirators who tried to blow up Parliament and King James I. Later, an ancestor tried to support Prince Charles Edward of Scotland and was sent to live in Virginia for fourteen years. He never returned. His descendants fought with George Washington and watched the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown.

Scottish ancestors who were forbidden from worshipping God in the manner in which they chose. Their marriages were considered illegal; their children were illegitimate. Meanwhile, the landlords in Scotland dispossessed their tenants. They emigrated to America and Canada. They left Scotland forever.

Meanwhile, the same thing happened in Northern Ireland. Before the potato famine drove our Catholic brothers to the four corners of the world, the same English Parliament passed laws which made it impossible for Scots-Irish in Ulster to live without giving up their religious traditions. Many made their way to America, spreading down the Appalachians and then out to Kentucky and Tennessee.

Playing cowboys in the snow after a birthday party, probably. Going to church at the Methodist church between the north and south lanes of Us 41 between Clarksville and Hopkinsville. Growing up and leading children to Georgia. Then grandchildren, in Georgia and Florida.

And today we celebrated those traditions and connections to the past and to the future. Katy Scot got her own Bible in Sunday School today. She was very proud. Kate carried a tartan banner with her middle name, McKay, printed on the top. She was proud, also. Traditions and connections.

"As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord."

Kirkin the tartans

The skies were bright blue this morning and there was a crispness to the temperature which let you know it was Autumn. I woke up early and made salmon dip and a chicken dish made with Drambuie, a Scottish liquour. After we all got cleaned up this morning, we adorned our church clothing with the McKay tartan.

When we got to church, we could see several members of the congregation out front, wearing kilts of various clans. There was a piper, holding his bagpipes in readiness. We walked over to fellowship hall and left the salmon dip and the drambuie chicken for Sunday dinner after services.

Afterward, we entered the sanctuary and saw the tartan banners hanging on the walls. Toward the back was the McKay banner, with a note on the pew for Kate to sit next to the banner. Later, as I went back into the choir room to get dressed for services, Kate took the banner and entered the narthex with the rest of the celebrants for the beginning of services.

We were waiting in the choir room, listening to the flautist and harpist playing the prelude. When the finished, we entered the choir loft and sat down. Suddenly, the sanctuary was filled with the sounds of bagpipe music, playing "Be Thou My Vision." The piper entered, followed by a member, wearing a kilt, and holding a wooden cross. Then came another kilted member with an old Bible, then the ministers and elders, followed by various members of the congregation carrying the tartan banners. At the end was Shelley McKay, carrying the McKay banner.

During the service, we had harp and flute duets, a recitation of the old Scottish creed, an anthem based on a gaelic rune by John Rutter. Afterwards, the celebrants left the sanctuary with the bagpipes. We left also and went to supper. People seemed to like my chicken. Afterwards, we went to the field next door and held "highland games" for the children. It was a bright, sunny day, getting warmer.

Toward the end of the service, I couldn't help but think about dad. I thought he really would have enjoyed the special service. The 'kirkin of the tartans' is a celebration, in our church, of our traditions and heritage. We look back to our beginnings. and remember our families and their place in our lives. I have been thinking about all of those family members ever since. This was a day to celebrate the past, enjoy the present, and consider the future. There seemed to be more little girls and boys with red hair and blue eyes today than normal. Maybe it was just me.

As the old year slowly dies, the new one confronts us with all of its promise and opportunities.

No rain in early November

I went up to my office for a little while today and got very little done, but I did get to leave the office and see the sky turn an incredible orange-blue. It was cool, like fall, but wasn't raining, which was an improvement. Apparently, this was a weekend for naps. After working with Habitat on rehabbing a house, I took a shower, dressed and then filled yesterday with naps. I would be hard pressed to count how many naps I took, and it continued this afternoon, after church.

Cindy, Kate and I went to church, then came home and took our good clothes off and then headed to J. Henry's for lunch. Afterward, there wasn't anything to do but turn the tv on and sleep in front of the programs. Later, I had to go into the office, and, as I said, the only thing of significance was the late afternoon sky.

Now there is a full moon shining over the southland, and I wonder what effect it might have on us this early November.

We gather together....to nap and avoid the rest of the rain.