Nowhere

August is now going and I am feeling the coming of September and the dying of the year as we head toward the end of this year and the beginning of a new year. I stepped out tonight with Tex to allow him his evening perambulation around the front yard and noticed a new coolness in the breeze. I looked up in the sky and noticed the new stars of Autumn coming across the sky. Soon, Orion, the Hunter will show itself as it moves across the heavens. Orion seems to show himself and rise higher in the sky as it gets closer to my birthday and Christmas. He stays evident in the sky until Spring, when he disappears for the Spring and Summer.

This is another evening where I wish I could go to bed, but spent too much time asleep on the couch earlier. Now, I wish I could go to sleep. The time will come, I know, but it would be nice if it was a little sooner.

This is going nowhere.

Late night or early morning, I don't know

I can't go to sleep. I'm sitting here in front of two glowing rectangles (John Boswell's line, I must attribute). On the Jimmy Fallon show they are showing fake and Lost episodes. I am about on the edge of slumber, but caught up with a number of strings of thought running through my mind. I wish I could get just put it behind me and go to bed. At this point, I shouldn't go back to bed in the bedroom. I probably need to go upstairs to bed so I won't disturb Cindy. I washed the pots from supper. I clipped Tex's nails. I checked the Braves (we won) and the Phillies (they were losing). I am drinking a rather large cup of ice water. That will be a problem later on. I will be waking up in the middle of the night, or at least the later than the middle of the night, or early morning, or pre-day part of the day. I don't know. I am confused and wondering why I couldn't use the darkness of the night to sleep through. Yes, Cindy will tell you that I slept through about two hours of television, while Cindy played card games on the glowing rectangle and watched me sleep through the television. I think that is bad for you. I need to walk at night. Suddenly, when I woke from my pre-sleep nap, I felt a pain in my hip. Great. Parts are going to start falling off soon. I've got gout, but I feel like I have some weird type of leprosy. All these body parts which don't work and could atrophy and just simply fall off. It won't happen. My mind is just rambling.

Prisoner of the media

More of the same. ATT was supposed to come to install the internet on my computer at the office. They were supposed to come about two weeks ago. Instead, they called me on Friday and told me someone would be coming this morning. Well, I had a closing in Warner Robins scheduled at 10:00 and I hadn't been able to speak with the borrower until I was about thirty minutes from Warner Robins. Meanwhile, as I was downloading the loan package at my office, I received a call from the technician from ATT saying he was on his way. He got to my office about the time I needed to leave for my appointment. We spoke briefly and he took some information from me.

An hour later, I was lost in the northern section of Houston County, looking for a house in a subdivision with incomplete information from Mapquest. Meanwhile, the ATT technician called and told me he had a problem with Earthlink, my old provider, who would not allow me to change from them to ATT. So, I had no internet connection at the office.

I had plenty to deal with at the office when I got back to Griffin and I didn't need a computer for that. But, it is disconcerting to find that I am still a prisoner of media. I am so tired of this struggle. I wish there was a good solution.

Football, apples, pumpkins and oysters

It may not be the scientific end of Summer and beginning of Fall, but can there be a more exact determination of the beginning of Autumn? College football begins this Saturday, even some on Thursday. Apples will be everywhere and the pumpkins will be large and orange like Halloween candy and the evenings will get cooler and the mornings will be crisp soon as I take the dog out in the grass. The end of the year is upon us. Just four months with 'r's'. I must look for oysters. I shared a pitcher of bloody mary's with Cindy on Saturday morning and the first sip of my drink brought the salty flavor, augmented with the piquant tabasco sauce. Unfortunately, they don't serve oysters at James Joyce's Irish Pub. I was only five miles away from Six Feet Under but that would have been an odd detour after placing our orders at the pub. So, my thirst for bloody marys (Baynham family drink) and oysters will go unsated until later. I suppose some folks might find it strange to associate oysters with Autumn, but after almost ten years of trips to Apalachicola and the same number of years with three dozen roasted oysters on the night before Thanksgiving, let us say I am programmed. It will happen soon. I promise.

Happy Birthday, darling

My daughter praised her mother for the years
That she had known her and the love
That she had received during that four and twenty years
And it occurred to me that there was no one
In that room who had known her
Longer than me, who can remember
The beginning of this story
When the clock was wound
On the stage at the end of the Dunwoody lunchroom,
Most likely a Monday morning, first period
When a dark eyed fifteen year old girl
Turned and smiled and set the clock,
A smile that I still cherish
As the years continue apace.

The Best

I found this poem in one of my notebooks and couldn't remember if I ever published it and thought I might just place it here:


We love those and they pass from us
We offer up our very hearts but they crumble
Like the dried blooms of a Summer's rose.
We might contemplate some sense of eternity
In the fading of a smile in passing
But we will soon know better, we will feel the end
When our rememberance of the sweetest smile
Is confused forever with its exit,
For life lies in the flicker of a butterfly's wings
And the fleeting grace that we feel as we mount
The stairs at bedtime through the shades and shadows.

A Saturday in town

Cindy decided that since this was her birthday weekend that she wanted to go to James Joyce, an Irish pub in Avondale, for brunch. Afterward, she wanted to go to Paris on Ponce, an antique store on Ponce de Leon in Atlanta. We got moving earlier than most Saturdays and headed over to McDonough, got some gas, then drove up 75 and 675 to 285 and Avondale. When we got to James Joyce, the crowd was small but they had a special deal for two which included a pitcher of bloody marys or a pitcher of mimosas. I convinced Cindy that a pitcher of bloody marys would be best and we waited for our breakfast. Breakfast was served and we sat down to eat and drink our bloody marys and iced tea. It was nice to sit out on the deck in front and eat a nice breakfast before we headed downtown to go antiqing.

The day was sunny and we got a little rain at the end of the day. On the way home, Cindy and I stopped at the Dekalb Farmer's Market. I was able to pick up some Staropramen, a Czech beer which is one of my favorites. We also picked up some Broadbent's bacon and some bakery goods and cheese. The Dekalb Farmer's Market is an amazing phenomena of a place. They have food items from around the world, bake their own bread, make their own sausage and have their own salad bar. Their wine and beer selection is pretty nice as well.

It has been a long time since we went to the Farmer's Market like that. We really didn't get much stuff this time. In the past, we have bought foodstuffs and vegetables and such and we have bought groceries for the entire week or longer. Tonight was just picking up some things we wanted. It was fun, but, man, that place is kept really cold.

Today was Ivor Gurney's birthday. Hooray for poets and musicians for Gloucestershire!

Where I come from

This is a photo of a parish church in a little village in Wales, along the western boundaries of England. Presteigne is a small village and I was reading an article on the internet and discovered that apparently my family originated from this little village, many decades ago. Unfortunately, the other thing this town and the county or shire in which it is located is know for is that it apparently is the poorest county in Britian. There is no industry to speak of and I don't know what they do otherwise, but I suppose there was a reason why my ancient ancestors moved from there to Herefordshire and Gloucestershire. I'm sure they did better along the way, even if my ancestor got kicked out later and sent to Virginia.

Sometimes those bad turns lead to good things. I am sure Presteigne is charming, but I am glad to be an American with Welsh ancestory, rather than the other way around.

The olde days

Tonight was the beginning of high school football. I can see the lights glowing from every little town and village in America. I was thinking about the first Friday when I was an eighth grader at Peachtree High School. I don't remember who I went to the game with that night. I know the stands were full that night. It seemed like the whole school was there. The varsity football team wore red jerseys and white pants with red and blue stripes down the side. The white helmets with the patriots on the side. The band at halftime stretched across the entire field, in five yard increments, from goal line to goal line and from sideline to sideline. They had a big sound.

And the football team won and everyone seemed to be excited when it happened. Ironically, we played Peachtree in our first game when I was a senior at Dunwoody. And we wore the red jerseys, only this time we wore gold pants and red helmets with a gold wildcat on the side. And I remember looking up into the stands and it seemed like the entire football stadium was full of students and parents and brothers and sisters.

We won, 10-0. It was not an easy season, per se. We struggled with some games we shouldn't have, played at a higher level but lost to some good teams, and beat a couple of teams we weren't supposed to. Going into the last game, we were 5-4 and the sportswriter for the Decatur paper said there wasn't a chance we were going to have a winning record in our first season. He predicted we would lose to Chamblee by a sizeable margin.

At the beginning of the game, all the seniors were honorary co-captains. But Jeff Meadows and I were up front, meeting three out of four co-captains for Chamblee who also played with me in Pop Warner football for the Atlanta Colts. We smirked at each other as the official tossed the coin. We would meet again after the game on the sideline. I had just tackled Eddie Jackson in a big water puddle on the sidelines for the last play of the game. All of us were enjoying one more opportunity to be together and relive our past glories. My father was crying in the stands, unseen by me at the time.

At the end of the game, we had upset Chamblee 28-6. My favorite moment? A quarterback sack against Tommy Schreiber for a 32 yard loss. It was 3rd and 42 after that play. I chased him all over the field until he finally fell at my feet. I felt like a big cat on that play.

Later, I found out that my buddy, John Boswell, had been sitting on a sofa in his future wife's house, when the announcer on the television set showed a defensive play for Dunwoody and called my name. It was the beginning of a path of marriage and adult life for John and four more years of football and education for me.

Its funny how our lives tangle, disentangle and join again over the years. Sometimes it is a conscious effort on our parts. Sometimes it is just happenstance.

Closings, supper and the Phillies lose

I had two closings set up today and they were scheduled about an hour apart, but only one loan package came before I had to drive to Jackson for the first closing. That meant that I had a half hour to drive back to Griffin, download the package for the second and drive up to Mcdonough for the second closing. That actually meant that I was about an hour late for the closing.

When I got to the closing, the couple, with child, were quite delightful and very accomodating to my lateness. We sat outside and enjoyed a cool breeze which brought a strong hint of Autumn's coming. It was very nice.

After we ended the closing, I got back in my car and headed back to Griffin. Cindy was with our group at Spicy Thai for supper. Cindy had ordered my meal for me. I got to the restaurant in time to enjoy my meal with the latter part of the meals of the others. I drank a cold Thai beer and enjoyed the presence of the others. It wasn't quite as nice a ambiance as being at the Reahards, but that is a familiar, comfortable place now.

We got home after supper in time to watch Burn Notice and Royal Pains. I have court tomorrow morning and several meetings with clients throughout the day. I hope we can get this weekend so that Cindy has a good birthday weekend. I also want to make sure that I get the three or four matters handled before the end of the month.

The Phillies lost and the Braves don't play until tomorrow. High School football begins tomorrow and the Falcons play sometime this weekend.

I would like to spend some time with Cindy in an environment which is conducive to enjoyment and relaxation. We shall see.....

Looking forward to Fall

I would walk down the street if it wasn't so humid. Give me two weeks and it might be dry enough to walk down to the courthouse to run some errands or go get something to eat at one of the restaurants down town or buy some bottled water to replenish the stash in the mini-frig. Going from month to month has been a pain during the summer mainly because of the problems with the air-conditioning in my office.

I am looking forward to the cooler days when I can wear some flannel and tweeds. Oh, Hell. Today is Wednesday and its over. Tomorrow is Thursday. I like Thursdays. You can feel the end of the week, but it is not so much upon you that you feel like it is fleeting. I never feel like I have enough time. Cindy gave me a list of honey-do's which are quite daunting. I wish I had more time and inclination. This is where I am clearly not my father in law. If I was, the list would be about half way through at this point, with a plan and the materials for the balance.

I'd like to fish a bit. I'd like to go up with Bill to the property on the Chestatee and enjoy an afternoon under the shade of the trees along the river. I can't believe that there was so much time between the last time I had been on the property and the day we drove up to scatter Dad's ashes. And now there is another year gone and I really need to look over it and enjoy the view up and down the river.

It is getting to the point where the water will be cool enough for the fish to start biting. There is a lot of fun to do in the Fall. Football. Baseball playoffs. Raking leaves. Cool mornings. Cooler evenings, when the sun goes down early.

I remember one time when I took someone up to Helen in late October. We went to a restaurant and tried to get a table. We had to wait about an hour before our table was ready. While we waited, we sat on an outdoor nook and drank good German beer and watched the sun go down. It was getting cool by the time they seated us and it was chilly when I walked up to the top of a hill in town and climbed into a basket under a hot air balloon to be transported up into the air (on a tether) to watch the people down below and enjoy the sensation of weightlessness only a hot air balloon can provide. It was a fun afternoon and early evening.

I'd like to try that again. Late October. Pumpkins. Colorful leaves. Good cold beer. Ripe apples. Football on the television and radio. I love Fall.

What is football for?

In a moment of repose,this morning, between taking phone calls and writing letters to various potentates, justices and other legal scalawags, I took the opportunity to look up the 2010 football schedule for Presbyterian College, that little institution of higher education on the piedmont hills of western South Carolina. My intent was to look for a game for which I might take my daughter Kate to see her alma mater perform their talents at the football field at New Bailey. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the first three schools lined up to play the Blue Hose in 2010were, in order: Wake Forest, Clemson and the Citadel. I was a little shocked. Just a few years ago, Presbyterian was pleased to exist in a league of small parochial schools situated in the Carolinas, Georgia and Tennessee. This seemed such a perfect collection of little schools, all founded by faithful groups of Christians who chose to start a college for the preservation of their particular theology.

But apparently there were a large number of trustees and alumni of this small Presbyterian school who desired to see their little school playing among the larger universities who weekly raise large masses of money in order to show off their school colors and ultimately send their "students" to go play games and earn large amounts of cash in the NFL. This is considered such an accomplishment in this country that most organizations of higher education turn their backs on the usual goals of their institutions, so that these alumni and trustees can stay at home on a Saturday afternoon, safe and airconditioned, with a cooler of beer and a tray of cocktails by their easy chair, and watch their alma mater hawk beer and insurance and potato chips to the masses. This, indeed,seems to be the highest calling of our modern institutions of higher educations.

What they don't see are the years of struggle, evolution and "growing pains" when the caliber of athlete doesn't quite match up with the requirements of the competition. I have some experience in this regard. I remember trying to be competitive with teams like Bucknell, Davidson and others. There were many times when my courage was failing and I managed a sheepish stab at trying to stop some behemoth who was protected and guarded by other like behemoths, all of which were quite speedier than myself. I had never suffered such losses in my earlier days.

I understand. I am behind the times, or lost in some other philosophy, far off the beaten path of the common sense of the masses. And I admit it. I too appreciate the efforts of my darling bulldogs, dressed in their red and black uniforms every Saturday afternoon, fighting for me and the rest of us proud alumni, and for whatever pile of money and sponsors they might glean for the betterment of the administration. Even today, I have a catalog on my coffee table, dedicated to the proposition that one cannot have enough items of clothing in red, black and white, any combination thereof, stripes, patterns, and style, all with the obligatory "G" located somewhere on each item.

I wonder what the original trustees of the colony of Georgia would have thought if they could have looked forward into the future of their tiny little colony back in the 17th century. That little colony created as a buttress between the Carolinas and Spanish Florida, to provide a place of shelter and industry for the denizens of the poorhouses and workhouses of England? I guess I am too cynical in my thoughts because I assume that they would probably be proud of the acccomplishments of the great-great-great-great grandsons and granddaughters of their wards.

The more things change, I'm afraid, the more they remain the same.

Amber photographs of Autumn

Much as I can sometimes feel the warmth of Spring on certain days in January, when the sun shines brightly upon the tan Winter grass through the naked tree branches, so I can now feel the coming Fall, which I realize will not be coming for another month and a half at this latitude. It doesn't help that I received the most recent issue of GQ, which is the Fall clothing issue. I also just happened to pick up a package of Irish Breakfast tea bags from a company in Northern Ireland when I was at the store. The British Isles sell the best teas in my opinion and teas also bring me back to Autumn.

I can't help it. I am remembering Falls in the late 70's spent on football fields in the mountains of Tennessee, the Bluegrass of Kentucky and the Shenandoah River Valley/ I was walking up trails from my apartment along Woods Creek to the Collonade, kicking orange and crimson leaves across the brick walkway. Listening to lectures on British literature as I stared out the second floor window at the world of Lexington, Virginia drifting slowly by. Caught up in a late Victorian dream captured like a wasp in amber.

Defenestration as family profession

The good citizens of Praha,
Living separately from the power
Of the Viennese throne
And its papal messengers,
Thought it right to wrest
Conscience from the hands
Of those priests and friars
Under which they had struggled
For, lo, so many years
And take a more direct path
To God, through his word and Holy Spirit;

And so, with conscience as their guides,
These laymen took matters and priests
Into their trembling hands
And cursed the messengers
By heave-ho out the window
To the "holy" dung hill below
And, thus, liberated their souls
For a brief time, until the Austrian Emperor
Sent cardinals and envoys and soldiers of fortune
To do the work that God would not.

And now, six hundred years later
Poor Pluto is divested of its status
By a new generation of Czech citizens
Who would take their solar system
Into their own hands
And remove little Pluto
From its place in this part of the universe,
Diminishing its place as planet
To dwarf, a designation less meaningful,
An astronomical defenestration.

Advent

Again the alarm failed to go off and we slept until the sun was beating on the tops of our heads from the window behind our bed. We are on an altered schedule at this point. I smell some danger from the possibility of sleeping too late and finding myself explaining myself to some judge somewhere who probably would have little sympathy for my new sleep schedule.

I heard somewhere that it takes thirty days to create or break a habit. If that is true then we have a lot of work to do within the next month. I also need to work on that alarm clock. Night before last it was simply a product of the clock losing power and shutting off the alarm mechanism. I thought we had that figured out but obviously this morning's alarm failure showed that we either didn't set the alarm last night or there is something wrong with the clock itself. I'll have to take a look at that this afternoon.

The humidity has been leached from the weather this week and we are supposed to have some days where it is hot, but dry leading into this weekend when it will get cooler. It seems that Fall is on its way. Hurrah!

Remainder

Long past
Worn jeans
Her drawer

Beauty at the coming of night

When I first noticed the moon this evening, it was twilight and the purple darkness of evening had not quite covered the eastern sky, but behind the pine trees was an azure color which bought a bit of the close of day and the beginning of night and mixed both together. Later, when I saw the moon again after the dying of the day's sun, I noticed that the sky was now deep blue and lightened by the now silver moon. It was a full moon, I think. Its creamy color was now the silver of a bright, new silver coin. There seemed to be little humidity in the air, and it intensified the colors. The moon sitting there in the eastern sky looked like a piece of silver jewelry on a skien of velvet. There was a part of me that wanted to stand there and watch as the moon slowly passed across the sky. Tomorrow is another work day. The beauty of the evening is lost as we take our nightly rest.

Twilight moon

Twilight:
An azure sky
A dollop of thick cream:
The moon.

Looking for proof of Autumn

I woke up about my usual time today, around 5:30. After clearing the decks, I headed upstairs and ended up sleeping until around 8:15. As it turned out, the electric clocks, with the alarms we depend on so much, had gone off at sometime in the middle of the night and so we were without the electronic aid we need to badly most of the time. I personally was coming off the hot part of yesterday afternoon when I was trudging around a field in Meriwether County, picking figs for Cindy.

After I took my shower and shaved, it became apparent to me that Cindy was not going to be ready any time soon, so I left for the office, arriving about an hour later than normal. I have been attempting to catch up ever since.

The heat has returned this afternoon and my air conditioning system has ben struggling to break the strain the sun has placed upon it. I guess it was the water vapor in the upper atmosphere, but the clouds that have crossed the skies these days have been magnificent lately. Yesterday afternoon, Cindy and I were noticing the clouds as we drove back from Hudson's Farms to home. A lot of the clouds seemed to have a pink cast to them and one formation looked like a calvary charge of clouds across the sky.

When I was little, I remember seeing cloud formations and imagining skyscrapers and apartment buildings of cotton, like the Navajo villages built into the buttes of New Mexico. This past week, my memories of those childish imaginings were brought to memory as I looked at the elaborate formations in the blue, blue skies.

The rain that came to us during the end of last week greened up the vegetation around us. The trees and bushes looked so alive compared to the way they were growing during the mini-drought we were having in July and early August. If we can keep this occasional rain pattern, perhaps we can have a colorful Fall when late September and October roll around.

A hot day of food and fun

After church let out this morning I drove home and picked up Cindy in order to travel over to Cissie's house for our afternoon adventure. We drove over to her house and waited for her to come from her church. After a few minutes she arrived, changed clothes, and we headed cross country to go to Concord for Sunday dinner at the Concord Cafe.

This was the second time we had eaten on a Sunday at the Concord Cafe. There are a dearth of places to eat in Pike County, but the Concord Cafe has a nice buffet on Sundays and we headed over and had a nice lunch with a profusion of vegetables, including fried green tomatoes, and some casseroles. I particularly enjoyed the pot roast which I had with my mashed potatoes and the zipper peas.

The Concord Cafe also has a nice selection of desserts that they make themselves, which included several slices of lemon ice box pie (certainly in my top five of desserts).

I figure we had our share of vegetables too and they were really fresh. We decided to go to the Concord Cafe after church at least once a month from here on out. It was very pleasant.

Afterward, we headed toward Woodbury, where our journey took a slight detour when Cindy and Cissie found that they had opened up a new antique store downtown. The ladies decided that it would be a good place to stop and digest our meal before we continued on to Raleigh and the peach orchard.

So we walked through the wares on display. The antiques were a mixed bag. One of my favorite items was a casual cast picture from the Beverly Hillbillies. Oddly, the best item that we identified was an old cast iron urinal from Budapest. Odd might not be the best definition of that item, but it was probably the best thing we found in our journey around the store.

Afterward, we continued on to Hudson's Farms. After a quick drive through Meriwether County we arrived at the little building where Hudson's Farms sells peaches, ice cream, and various other items. After finding out that Cindy's favorite peaches were gone, the lady at the stand mentioned that they had figs. Cindy's eyes widened and the young lady told us we would have to drive out into the orchard to where the fig trees were located.

I agreed to take a basket out into the orchard, in the heat and humidity, and soon was stepping over the water lines and the high grass to the trees. As it turned out, most of the figs were still pretty green and wasps seemed to enjoy protecting the ripe figs. About thirty minutes dodging the wasps, flicking the other bugs off the fruit and dropping the figs which were either ripe or on the verge of ripe.

When I got back to the stand, the young lady gave me a bottled water on the house and we negotiated the sale of some ice cream. The water and the mixed peach and blueberry ice cream was great, but the air conditioning was the key, and before long we were back in Griffin, dropping Cissie off at her house and heading me back for a second shower and a nap.

It was a good afternoon. A pretty good day.

Autumn's coming

We have had quite a bit of rain over the past couple of days. Not so hard as just regular and most of it has come in the nighttime when we were asleep and unaware of the falling of the drops, but you wake up and the pains of glass from room to room are covered over with a blanket of humidity which distorts the veiw from the dry inside to the wet grass and trees outside. It is still August and so Summer, with almost ten days left of the month before we come into the first week of September, but September is such a deceptive month in Central Georgia because it brings very little of Autumn and a little more as a continuation of Summer. Still, with the coming of school openings and football, it feels in your heart as if it should be Fall, even if it doesn't feel that way in the air.

It must have been fifteen years ago when Dad and I drove up to the farm, taking our shotguns and what not with us, and strode across the fields, looking for doves, or at least the sound of their cooing in the trees. After taking several and bringing them home to Grandmommie to toss out, since there were too few to share, we spent the evening watching Austin Peay attempt to start their season off optimistically.

It was hot and dry in the fields that day, but it cooled off by the beginning of the game that evening and several soldiers attempted to parachute onto the field from above through a thick fog. Fall came to us that evening despite the indifferent comings and goings of the days of heat and the absence of humidity.

Fall will soon be upon us and some respite, other than the ripe peaches and cold watermelons we have enjoyed this Summer. There will be still some time for the pleasurable tartness mixed with sweetness of a blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream. Still, I love the approach of Autumn, almost as much as a drive through Meriwether County in late February to see the sunny daffodils spread across the grey and tan straw of Winter. There is something sublime about the changes of seasons. But I love Autumn and Spring the best.

Late night in search of a reason

Thursday rolled through like a wheel rolled down a hill and by the middle of the afternoon I had handled all the court in which I was representing clients, and the rest of the day went by until Cindy and I were at the Reahards with our group eating together and discussing our future Bible studies. It was fun.

Friday came and went and I was up in Dunwoody with the family, including Frank and Maggie and we enjoyed a meal at the Ted's in Decatur.

Now it is Saturday night, or rather early Sunday morning and I am really tired and should be in bed, but I am sitting here writing this stuff and need a topic which might interest me, so I have at least a chance of interesting someone reading this. Well, chances are pretty slim at this point.

Earlier today I was listening to "What do you know" on NPR. The show was broadcast from Houston, Texas. In the show they usually have someone from the town in which they broadcast the show to answer some questions. For today's show they had Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill from ZZ Top. As I listened to the exchange I couldn't help but think about the episode of the cartoon, "King of the Hill" in which the members of ZZ Top appeared as cartoons of themselves and pretended to be old friends of Hank Hill, particularly Dusty Hill, who was supposed to be the Hank's cousin.

I guess it is the measure of radio that since you cannot see a visual depiction of the people who are speaking, that it is quite easy to be distracted by a memory of a cartoon depiction. The end result was a radio audio broadcast, augmented by my memory of a cartoon visual of the people being interviewed. Wierd.

I should go to bed. It is time. Maybe I wlll be a bit more creative in the morning.

The end of the week

The last and most burdensome day of this busy week is tomorrow. I will take Cindy to work and then drive to Jackson to see how much the judge wants to protect the other side. At this point, my client just wants to be divorced, but the judge seems to want to expand the field.

Afterward, I get to drive down to Monroe County to see if I can preserve my client on the outside of the Monroe County jail. It may be difficult to do since it doesn't take much to revoke probation. It is odd how much effort is made to put some people back in jail when the people who fund the jail would just as soon keep as many people out as they can.

There is quite a tension these days between the county commissioners who have to fund the county jail and the keepers of the jail who would like as many occupants as they can get. I learned about that in a conversation with one of the judges. You would think that the judges would work to come up with some alternatives to simply putting people away.

After the end of the day, Cindy and I get to go with our group to the Reahards for supper. I am really looking forward to that. It seems as if it has been a very long time since we all got together. The powers that be don't necessarily want these groups to continue on forever, but we enjoy each other so much I don't really think we would want to quit.

Friday will be closing day. Hopefully, some money will come in by the end of the week. I am getting really tired of this economy. It seems that everything is a struggle.

Pretty campuses

I was pretty lucky in college. The setting around W&L was the Blue Ridge mountains. Lexington was a quaint little village which sometimes seemed to be caught in the Nineteenth Century. The buildings at W&L were all red brick and white columns. The whole place breathed history as if time had stopped for a second.

When I got to Athens to attend law school I fell in love with downtown and the old campus. Walking around among the old buildings and the trees on the old campus was so peaceful. I loved strolling around among the old commercial buildings. Even driving around Athens brought your eye to restored old antebellum mansions and such.

Momma told me that I had been very fortunate in the colleges I chose. They were both beautiful. Most campuses have their places which draw the eye and charm the spirit. But I have also seen some college campuses which don't live up to the example of others.

I remember walking around the campus at one college and wondering why all the buildings looked like late Soviet realism architecture. Another college was surrounded by shopping districts and strangling civil engineering which did nothing but confuse you as you tried to navigate the traffic snarl. A trip to UVA really disheartened me because the beatiful architectural plan created by Thomas Jefferson was somewhat overwhelmed by the downtown's urban blight. It just didn't match up.

I suppose it would be hard to keep any campus pristine as it develops and even harder to keep the town around it matched to the spirit of the college. Lexington and W&L and Athens and UGA have been pretty good in trying to keep the town and gown in sinc. It doesn't happen like that all the time.

A sincere lack of desire

Kate has been having problems with her partner lately in class. She has tried to get him involved with their mutual projects, but he never seems to be available. Kate has been forced to do the work herself. Kate has been very frustrated.

Until today I have commiserated with Kate as she has struggled with this problem. Apparently, today she got up to do her presentation, with which she was supposed to have worked with her partner. When her partner rose to join her, she turned and asked him what he was doing. He told her he was presenting his work on something which was supposed to have been done weeks ago. She called him on it and he sat back down.

I obviously have sympathy for Kate and her frustrations with her partner. But suddenly I could see the partner standing up and then dropping back in his seat when he realized that everyone knew how little he had done. Despite myself and my sincere regard for Kate, I saw him there in his chair, sheepishly watching Kate make her presentation on which he was supposed to have worked.

I am glad that Kate's work is appreciated by her teachers and recognized by them as her own. But for a moment, I suddenly had compassion for this guy who seems to be floundering like he doesn't care. There has got to be some reason for that lack of desire.

In my adulthood, I have seen the effects of depression and a mind's developing confusion. Grown men will act like nothing in their lives is worthwhile and important. They will make bad decisions based on a whim. Or what seems to be a whim. I don't know if that is his problem, but every behavior has a beginning. It takes a lot of effort and work to rise above it. Boy, do I know that.

God is like that sometimes

I was reading the last few chapters of the book by Rick Bragg in which he writes about his father and his father's family, trying to exemplify the man who was a destructive force in his life. His father had been in and out of his life when he was young and had ultimately abandoned his family. In the book he details how his father fell in love with his mother and then went in and out of her life, causing as much damage when he was there as when he was away.

The book ends as his father dies of tuberculosis and his older brother is sent to prison in Atmore, Alabama. As Bragg's life sweetens with his marriage to his wife and his growing relationship with his stepson, he and his mother try to get his older brother out of the penitentiary. Meanwhile, he buys his mother a house out in the country with the money from his first book. Later, his brother is released and comes to live with his mother. Between the two of them, the two create a massive garden and plant flowers and vegetables and fruit. In Bragg's eyes, the plants are amazing.

His description is skillful and oozes with the love and pride he has in his mother and brother. I couldn't help it; my thoughts went back to the farm and the huge garden my grandfather always planted. There were tons of vegetables and rows of gardenias and other flowers. Against the fence between the drive and the garden were concord grape vines, which were sour when we picked them and ate them.

Out in the low spots in the field was a bog where the blackberries grew. In the late summer, grandmommie would lead us out there to pick the berries amongst the stickers, these being wild blackberries. Later, my grandmother would make the most amazing blackberry cobbler, with a buttery crust and the sugar mixed with the tart blackberries. Served with vanilla ice cream, it might be the only sweet treat of Summer which overcame watermelon. I wish I could have some of that again.

When we used to visit Grandmommie in the Summer, we got to enjoy all the great things of the country in Summertime. The heat and humidity, cut in half by the coolness under the oaks which spread out around the front yard. Sitting out under those trees in the darkening evening, listening to the Bob Whites calling us from above. Sitting there, talking softly, until the day's light was gone and we headed back inside to take baths and get ready for another morning which started in the darkness, with my Grandfather smoking a cigarette in the yellow chair, drinking coffee and listening to the radio as the sun sneaked up on us from the behind the smoke house and the coal house.

The greatest mystery of my growing up was the wonder of Grandmommie's biscuits. They never came out the way she wanted. They were flat and buttery and hot and didn't need a thing, but she always apologized. Always.

The mystery of this is what she didn't do which made them come out wrong, but perfect. Life is a struggle most of the time. We make a lot of mistakes. A client once told me that we all make mistakes. The key is learning from them. Perhaps in the case of Grandmommie's biscuits, the lesson is sometimes God allows our mistakes to bear sublime consequences which are much better than our intentions.

God is like that sometimes.

More battles with MA-Bell

My eternal boxing match with ATT continued today. Without making a decision on changing my wireless service, I found this morning that my voicemail was still not working, despite the fact that the ATT repairman had assured me that he had set in up again on Friday afternoon.

So, I called ATT and was told that I had another $400 to pay on my bill before they were going to turn on the voicemail again. This went counter to the promise from Jaime last week when he said that these charges would be refunded so I wouldn't have to pay them. I went round and round with the people and told them, again, why I was so frustrated, since this had been going on for several years. Finally, the guy from collections told me they could turn on the voicemail today if I paid he extra amount by the end of the month.

So, I agreed to do so and they turned the voicemail on again. Of course, I couldn't access the voicemail because I didn't have a temporary password. I checked the emails and no messages with a temporary voicemail password. After lunch I called the ATT people again. The lady informed me that my temporary password was 228-2126, my telephone number.

So, I tried that and it didn't work. So I took a chance and tried (770)228-2126. That worked and now I have voicemail. My phones are working, for now. I still have to pay some amount, despite the fact that Jaime told me they would eat those charges.

Agghhh!

The ides of August are upon us

I was expecting it to rain all day. Yesterday, it was raining for a very long time at home, while we drove up to Dunwoody and there was no rain north of the airport. As I drove around the south side I noticed a lot of rain clouds to the north while it was relatively dry down here. I guess it rains where ever it will. Now I hear thunder and I guess we will get some more tonight.

My gout came back last night after we got back home, but I still had some medicine left over from the last time so I started a new roll of treatment. I bathed the dog and cleaned the bath tub and vacuumed the bedroom.

I checked out the website for Broadbents, which apparently has moved from Cadiz, and then checked the website for Meacham's Hams, who are related to me and who provide hams to nice motels around the state. I then checked out the website for Early's Honey Stand, which apparently is still in business in Spring Hill, which is more than I can say for Saturn. That is the best part of Tennessee (with the exception of the Smokies).

I am looking forward to the W&L vs. Sewanee game on September 11th. I love the W&L/Sewanee game. Particularly enjoy location. I wish they were still playing it at the end of October. That makes it the most picturesque game around. All Fall leaves and cool evenings and everything about perfect, particularly when W&L wins.

Football season is here. High school starts around 8/27. Preseason NFL started last week. College will begin in several weeks. If the Braves weren't still in first, there wouldn't be a reason to think about anything else.

It has been getting cooler and the rain comes and cools everything off and it has been much nicer here for about a week, at least, a lot better than recently. And you can still get good peaches and blueberries nearby. Soon the apples will ripe and we will be able to drive up to North Georgia and get some apples and hot caramel sauce. I am looking forward to that.

A rainy time in Fayetteville

Yesterday afternoon Cindy and I met Cissie and headed to City Cafe in Fayetteville to celebrate her birthday. As we drove to Fayetteville, we could see lightening hitting along the route. By the time we got there and were seated, the rain had begun. And the wind. The owners were scrambling around the outside serving area where we were seated, pulling down shades to protect us from the wind and rain.

It began to get cooler. It was delightful. I discovered a German menu on the back of the menu and all of a sudden we were drinking pilsner and waiting for German dishes. It was great.

It took awhile to get us our food and it took even longer to finish our meal. The restaurant has a bakery attached and Cindy wanted to get pastries for later. They didn't have schwartzwalder kuchen, so I didn't get anything. A little bit later, as Cindy and Cissie ate a pastry, I went inside and found canollis inside the pastry display.

I wanted to "get the cannolis." Godfather imitations would have to wait.

It was a nice time in Fayetteville.

Music from when I was a toddler

I was discussing the old folk duo, 'Ian and Sylvia' with Cindy this afternoon. Ian and Sylvia were a husband and wife folk music duo from Canada. Ian wrote some amazing songs back in the 50's and 60's, which were covered by a lot of singers, both folk, country and rock singers. I got on Amazon and listened to some cuts from their music and realized that I didn't really remember much of their own versions of these songs. I then listened to Peter, Paul and Mary and realized that I was more familiar with their versions of their songs than the originals. The harmonies of Peter, Paul and Mary were amazing.

Sadly, Ian and Sylvia broke up after they divorced. At that point, Ian Tyson apparently went back to Alberta, bought a ranch and became a cowboy. He has continued to record, but most of his albums seem to have a cowboy motif to match his newer employment.

I listened to his songs and his voice is not what it once was (whose is?) but it was fun to listen to this great songwriter who gave us a ton of good songs back in the day, when I was a toddler.

"I walk a lonely street"

I was reading a biography of Mae Boren Axton, who co-wrote the song "Heartbreak Hotel" and was the mother of the singer, Hoyt Axton. Apparently, Mae's husband was in the Navy and stationed in the naval base in Jacksonville, Florida. Mae had brought her sons to join their father in Jacksonville from Oklahoma. She was teaching English in schools, but had a desire to write music. She and her writing partner saw a story in the Miami Herald which talked about a man in Miami who cut the labels off his clothes, destroyed all the references to his name in his personal effects, wrote a suicide note which read, "I walk a lonely street" and killed himself.

Reading the story, Mae and her partner decided there had to be a place for such heartbroken people to live and sat down and wrote the words and music to "Heartbreak Hotel." A disc jockey from West Virginia heard it and didn't like it, but agreed to sing it in the style of Elvis Presley. They sent the recording to Elvis and it became his first big original hit in 1956.

Heartbreak Hotel is a great song and was one of Elvis's best, but I would have to agree that that line from the suicide victim should live through history. "I walk a lonely street," Man, that is some sentiment. It deserves to be remembered on its own.

A drive through the country in August

I drove down Highway 41 through Orchard Hill and Milner and Barnesville to Forsyth this afternoon. I hadn't taken that route in such a long time. It was like homecoming.

And it appeared that a lot of work had been done on the old houses and buildings I encountered along the way. A lot of houses and buildings both in Barnesville and Forsyth have been renovated and were showing their feathers brightly in the sun this afternoon.

There were few changes, other than the sprucing I encountered along the route. There were a lot of pretty farms along the way. I even encountered a bit of farming, mainly grasses being cut. Combines and tractors were gathering the grasses in to bales out in the pastures.

In town, a lot of the old houses showed a new coat of paint. I even saw painters at work on the frame houses in Griffin. It seemed like everyone was trying to put on a new face for the summer sun.

I am hoping for some rain this weekend and a few cooler temperatures on Saturday and Sunday. We are looking forward to some fun this weekend. Hopefully, the weather won't drag us down into a morass of heat and humidity.

Ma-bell

Ma-bell lived in Atlantis where her southern domain began. Her power grew greatly as she grew older. Many mortals took her measure, but the true challenge lay in wading through the language she threw which promised service and brotherhood and proved a foolish web into which the unsuspecting were often caught. Her wiles were contained, not in her power, but in her promises. As one gnashed their teeth, finding themselves caught in her wiles, she would convince them to pay heed to her promises, to believe and come back again to worship at her altar. For one could not escape her wiles. We lived in her domain. You could not escape. This was her place. You would ultimately bow your head in obediance, no matter how you attempted to extricate yourself from her influence. Her words were a mire into which your feet were forever stuck. There was no remedy, no plan to extricate oneself from the thick, viscuous morass in which she lived. Her domain was a trap to the unwary and wary, alike. Oh shame and sadness were here only gifts.

What happens when the games are over?

I was sixteen when I first broke a bone. It was a small bone in my hand. I broke it on George Brown's helmet. As I was want to do, as George snapped the football to the quarterback in practice, I slapped my open palm across his helmet. It was the same motion I used in every practice, every week, every year we played against each other in practice at Dunwoody High. The only difference was that this time a small bone in my hand cracked, making my head swim and feel like I was going to pass out. George, like the doctor he would become asked me what had happened. I told him I broke my hand. Unlike the doctor he would become, George said, "Good. You have been giving me headaches for weeks."

Three days later, I was dressed out for the last game of my junior year, against Northside High in North Fulton County, and I was wearing two pieces of rubber taped to either side of my palm. It didn't prevent any additional pain when I used my wounded hand to fend off offensive linemen or tackle running backs or run quarterbacks off the field in some level of terror (I hope).

I mention all this as juxtaposition to the original thought which, you may remember, that I didn't break a bone until I was sixteen. When I was a child, I was relatively careful. My mother was protective of me. I didn't do anything too rash or dangerous. I didn't break any bones.

Frank, on the other hand, broke his collarbone twice. It wasn't that he was brittle. Just a bit more foolhardy. He took more chances.

Still, I was more careful. It wasn't until I was on the brink of my time playing football, when my mother told me, "Be agressive." I think on that last home game on Wilson Field when I put an opposing quarterback in the hospital with a concussion. Was that what she was talking about? I know at the end of the last game she was thankful that it had all ended, fourteen years of football, without a serious injury. Maybe it was just being agressive to a point.

Still, I worry that I was too protected than the previous generations. Would I be ready for what was ahead? Would be found wanting when faced with life's dangerous challenges?

Now I worry about the newest generations. Generations of boys whose mommas put them in soccer becuase they were afraid of what might happen on the football fields. What will happen when they are forced to act? Will they rise up? I know football was no panacea. No ultimate wisdom. But it did provide certain opportunities to learn in an atmospher of good, clean, healthy violence.

Nostalgia-land

I have been travelling in Nostalgia-Land lately, with entries from people I used to know appearing out of nowhere. Mike Quay, Eddie Jackson, David Goldin, etc. It takes me back to Little League and Pop Warner and High School basketball and so on. Of course, I could do without the talk about children and grandchildren and pets. Agghhh.

I would like to go listen to some live music. When we got old enough to go into a place where they served alcahol and the drinking age was 18, then about the middle of high school became an endless succession of music concerts and performers in bars and going down to Underground Atlanta and The Great Southeast Music Hall and Chelsea Pub and even little places in the back of office buildings on Buford Highway.

Literally, the first place I ever saw Ron Kimble, who is still performing, was in a small office in the back of a series of office buildings on Buford Highway. It was just down from Chi-Chi's, which was the first Mexican restaurant I went to, and certainly wouldn't survive the restaurant environment on Buford Highway with all the Asians and Hispanics who run restaurants and businesses on Buford Highway these days.

I was amazed. I looked on a google map at three different places I used to live when I was growing up. Indianapolis, Huntsville and Hopkinsville. I can't remember which one it was, but the racial makeup of the neighborhood I lived in as predominately Hispanic. I was floored. I think it was our old neighborhood in Indianapolis. I don't offer that as a criticism, but just the nature of change.

I would like to visit all those places again. To see the old neighborhoods and such. To take notice of the change.

The more things change, the more I get older and wish I could see it again.

Economics in the 21st Century

It seems as if the Braves can't take advantage of Phillys losses. I am irritated. Thank God football is coming. I am getting a bit tired of the continuing baseball season.

Meanwhile, there was an interesting program on Frontline tonight and I took the opportunity to sit there and watch and discuss the propriety of regulation in the financial market, which was set out for all to see as they showed the deregulation of derivatives on the over the counter market in the 90's and 00's.

The show depicted the rise of Alan Greenspan, a disciple,and perhaps, lover, of Ayn Rand, who was hired on to the Fed by President Reagan and continued in his position through the Clinton years and on into the beginning of the George W. Bush years. The position of the program was that even in the face of rampant fraud in the derivatives market in the 90's which caused an economic downturn when the Russian markets began to waiver after the fall of communism, the Fed and Treasury folks remained as true believers who didn't want the deputy sheriffs in the federal government to prosecute fraud on the idea that the market would correct any problems, even fraud.

The problem was that the Greenspan guys didn't even see that their actions to protect the hedge markets when they were teetering was exactly what they said shouldn't be done. In the end, they were able to put off the fall of the economy artificially until the end of the Bush decade, which basically left the new administration the task of fixing the problems.

Unfortunately, the real solution would have been to continue to police the financial market so the Bernie Madoffs wouldn't be able to run rampant over the lives and dreams of people who had no way to protect themselves other than dis-believing their financial advisors. Now the problem is that anyone who yells for regulation is perceived to be a socialist, when, in fact, the reality is that the regulators are more interested in law and order and protecting the market from fraud than controlling the market.

The ultimate irony is that Greenspan and his compatriots were doing more to effect the market by tweaking the interest rates and by demanding that the banks hold up the hedge funds to protect the markets than they would be in simply policing the market for fraud.

You see, regulation is not bad per se. Regulation is only bad when it prevents the ethical actors to continue to act. It is good when it prevents bad actors from taking advantage of those who cannot protect themselves. A lot of bad loans were made over the last decade in order to earn greater fees on the loan transactions. The churning of the mortgage market allowed some people to make money on good loans, but it also allowed a lot of people to make bad loans which ultimately led to foreclosures, bank failures and economic chaos.

If there had been better policing, then there would have been fewer banks and loans, but a higher ratio of good loans. That would have allowed the existing banks to be stronger and would have prevented a lot of the economic woes that we have seen over the last three or four years.

In the end, it is good police work, not social engineering that would have prevented this mess in the first place.

Football is upon us

We are stuck in the August doldrums and there seems to be liitle respite from the heat and humidity. I found out this past Friday that the vents in my office are not connected to air conditioning venting. Apparently, the cool air created by the system has been dumped directly into the dark spaces in the attic, rather than being pumped onto my head. So, the squirrels that work their way from the trees outside my office into the attic are quite comfortable, while I am ingesting about three bottles of water and half a container of gatorade each day to survive the heat blasting through the walls and windows.

Football season is beginning all over the country. I guess there are some places where that is a pleasant experience with temperatures in the 70's and steady breezes during two a days. For me, August football practice was heat and stress. I hated two a days in shorts. Too many agility drills and running around. Not enough hitting.

When we left two a days in shorts and had that first practice in the morning, with pads, and usually had Oklahoma drills as the climax of the practice. Oh man. Beating my fists on the dry, dusty dirt, getting myself ready to take on some offensive lineman about six inches and fifty pounds over my size. After I got past all of the linemen who were roughly my size, they stuck me in front of George Berry, who was the biggest offensive lineman on the team and captain. I can't say I stuck with him all the way. But I held him up for a little while.

I loved Oklahoma drills. I wish I could still get out there and beat on someone. My coach in college told my parents that someday people wouldn't believe that a five foot eight inch one hundred sixty pound linebacker was playing college football.

Now I am older and fatter and am not near in shape. I don't have the same reflex to hit back when someone comes at me unexpectedly. But sometimes... Sometimes I can think back and feel that electricity in my arms and chest and wish I could wait the movement of the offense and charge forward and have the vision to watch the movement of the ball and see the patterns coming into reality and plunging my body into the pattern to pull the skeins of the pattern apart and leave it all undone like so much ruined tapestry on the ground.

That is what is so perfect. That and working your way toward the backfield, to the apogee of the arc, where the prize awaits, and you hit that quarterback in the pocket so hard, so clean and drop him on the ground.

In the Emory and Henry game on Wilson Field in my senior year, the ball was snapped and the action of the play was going away from me. Carl Folcik, our strong side linebacker was blitzing toward the play and hit the quarterback square, spinning his body so he was facing me as I trailed the play and was able to slam the back of his head into the grass hard enough so that they took his inert body to Stonewall Jackson Hospital to check the concussion.

I laughed in the subsequent huddle. That was my last best game. My last game on Wilson Field. We had one more game at Georgetown in DC. That was always a fun game, staying in Alexandria on Friday night, beating on the Hoyas on Saturday, riding through downtown Georgetown on Saturday night, watching all the revelers going from shop to tavern to restaurant and so on. Heading back to Lexington and the Shenandoah River Valley under a November moon. Like JEB Stuart's cavalry, riding around the Yankees.

W&L plays Sewanee on Monteagle on September 11th. Can't wait.

Twenty seven years of weekends with Cindy

Today we left FDR State Park just when the power went out, which I can't determine is an example of how well the DNR folks work in the field or what little funds they have to keep the power on when they don't have anyone renting the cabins. I have a little bit of a suspicion and I don't want it to turn into conspiracy theory.

On Friday, we drove over to Pine Mountain and checked into the cabin. When we got there it was one of the older cabins and the power was turned off. It took awhile before the cabin started cooling off and about the time I had taken a little post-shower nap, it started raining and it really cooled off.

Oddly, we made it to the Gardens Restaurant in time to go out on the porch where it had cooled off for an early August afternoon. This is only the second time we have celebrated our anniversary on the porch at the Gardens Restaurant. Both times, the weather was cooler than normal and we could sit out on the porch comfortably and watch the geese on the fairways of the golf course.

Afterward, we drove back to the cabin and spent a quiet night in the cabin. The next morning, I got up and took a walk around the area, then we drove into town to walk around and eat lunch before we headed over to the Liberty Bell pool at FDR to spend the afternoon in the cool spring water they use at the pool. It was nice.

Later, we decided to try Hunters Pub, so we drove down to Hamilton, then cut west toward Alabama and made it to the cinder block building which houses Hunter's Pub. I've got to believe that Cindy was skeptical, but it turned out that that place has the best steaks I know of. Who would have thought that you would find such great food so far away from everything.

We left this morning and stopped at Three Little Pigs to buy a couple pounds of barbecue and some barbecue beans bafore we left. Heading back toward Griffin, we saw the signs for Hudson Farms and pulled off toward Raleigh, not North Carolina, Georgia, and they had peach ice cream and blueberry ice cream and I got to sample a swirl of both in a cone, and we bought some blueberries and some tomatoes and it was fun to sit out in the Sunday sunshine and talk about peaches and farming and enjoy the conversation.

And then, to top it all off, Kate met us at home on her way back from Thomasville. After feeding her some barbecue and beans and giving her some presents, she headed back to Dunwoody, and I headed down to south of Zebulon and picked up Tex from our friends out in the country.

All in all, it was a delightful weekend.

Paul and Peter in the early morning

This is how my mind works. I am lying in bed reading a book about the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome. Imbedded in the chapters is a short chapter about a high jumper from California named Faust. Apparently, Faust combined his training for the high jump with a search for spiritual holiness. As he took his practice jumps, he would think of his sinful nature, his penance and his salvation.

The chapter talks about his early life as the son of an actor, his parent's divorce, his early struggles and his track coach's seven year plan which led him to be the third American athlete to participate in the high jump.

When he arrived at the Rome Olympics he failed to jump even to his own personal best and ended up as 17th in the competition. Afterward, he went home and tried to console himself with the Olympic ideal of athletic participation, rather than thoughts of his failure.

The chapter ends with the scene in his modern day backyard in Los Angeles, where the now sixty something year old man still trains at the high jump in his own personal spiritual discipline.

After I read this chapter, I wanted to share it with Cindy, but she wanted to go back sleep quickly. After reading a bit further into the book, we put out the lights and tried to go to sleep.

I lay in bed and my mind was racing. I was bouncing around a junkyard of theology. I considered a passage in 2 Peter: "Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure. For if you do these things, you will never fail, and you will receive a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ."

As I thought about that, my mind was drawn to the countervailing concept found in Romans: "...to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness."

So in these two passages we see the two opposites of Christian faith. It makes me think of that idea of true wisdom as the ability to hold to two opposing ideas. The idea that we must work out our salvation, yet our salvation is based, not on our own efforts, but on the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Is this an incomprehensible duality or just two facets of a long journey. There are many mysteries in this life. We are called to keep steady in the journey. There is confusion, doubt and wonder along the way. But if we stay on the path, trusting in the promise of the sacrifice, walking forward continuously toward the goal, then we will come to the ultimate prize.

Paul, the student, uses the language of athletics to show how we are called to keep on the pursuit of the race toward that goal, with effort on our part to continue in the race, with the hope that is born from our faith. Nevertheless, he is clear in Romans when he states that our salvation is born from the sacrifice of Christ, rather than through our own efforts.

Peter, the fisherman, a blue collar workingman, talks about persevering in our efforts to secure our salvation. Peter speaks in the tone of someone who works for a living. His theology is a theology with work shoes on. He emphasizes our part in the equation, how we must work at the process.

And so through the two statements, we have both sides of the same coin: the effectual saving actions of the creator and the necessary response of the created.

And so my thoughts have come to their ultimate conclusions at 2:19 a.m.

The weekend is upon us

I am praying for rain tomorrow, to cool the air and leave a humid haze in the sky so that Cindy and I might sit on the screened porch at the cabin we have reserved and sip some red wine. Our cabin overlooks one of the lakes at FDR State Park and we hope too relax and enjoy the evening and the weekend. I suspect we might spend quite a bit of time in the water, whether in the pool at FDR or at the lake at Callaway Gardens which is next door. We will eat supper at the Gardens tomorrow and then on Saturday at Crickets, which is also nearby. By Sunday, perhaps it will be cooler and we can leave and come back home with our dog and a relaxing weekend behind us.

Pray for rain, folks.

What she holds dear

At almost every morning's gloomy breaking
I awaken before my beloved's eyes open
And step gingerly outside the bedroom we share.
I ignore the dog soundly dozing on the carpet
And crank up the television's obnoxious morning blare
And find my way onto the cold kitchen flooring
To empty the old grounds from the coffee-maker
And refill the receptacle with fresh water
And add new coffee to the morning's new pot.

Twenty seven long years, and still
I don't make the coffee for myself.
No, the cup is for my love, alone,
And so she holds this ritual dearer
Than most any timid smile or trembling touch
I might offer her at the dawning of the morning light.

The Queen of Scotland

I was watching a series of music videos which included certain actors who went on to become famous. The most famous, I suppose, and Number One on their list was Courtney Cox in the old Bruce Springsteen concert video. However, one of my favorites on the list was a video for Annie Lennox. In the video, Hugh Laurie and John Malkovitch appeared in Restoration garb. I am afraid that those two guys didn't really catch my eye so much as just watching Annie Lennox and listening to her sing. I have had something about her since I first saw the music video for the Eurythmics playing "Here comes the rain again" back in the early 80's. Often, she has played down her beauty, but never at the cost of her voice. Man, she is about the total package, in my mind. She is very pretty, in a classic way, and her voice is amazing. I think if I were ever fortunate enough to meet her, I would probably just fall out and lose the opportunity.

She probably doesn't live in Scotland anymore, but, man, is she the queen of Scotland.

Chicken and rice: an appreciation

You get into habits from time to time in a lot of things. We have been in an eating out habit for quite awhile now. Tonight, I asked Cindy what she wanted for supper. I expected her to name a restaurant around town. Instead, she started listing the problems she had been suffering with her stomach over the day. Finally, she said she really wanted chicken and rice and carrots and mushrooms and told me to go to the grocery for coffee and half and half.

After accomplishing my withdrawal from the initial desire to ignore her requirements, I drove to the grocery and bought chicken and green onions and celery and a red bell pepper and four boneless chicken breasts and a container of chicken broth, and the other requirements of coffee and half and half, I came home and cut up the vegetables and put them in a pot with olive oil and garlic and began to cook them down. I also cut up the chicken breasts and put them in a skillet with olive oil. I added Irish butter and poultry seasoning to the vegetables and then put the vegetable mixture off the hot burner. I then cooked a cup of rice in two cups of chicken broth and after the chicken had cooked through, I combined the chicken, black pepper and the vegetables. After the rice had cooked, I combined all of the ingredients together with some more chicken broth. I put the complete mixture together in a pan I could place in the oven, crumbled some ritz crackers over the whole thing, then cooked the whole thing for about forty five minutes in a 400 degree oven.

After it was all over, I spooned a small amount on a plate and gave it to Cindy. She ate quietly. I asked her if she liked it. She ate rather quickly and spooned another portion on her plate and downed.

I left the mixture on the stove to cool and Cindy spooned some of the mixture in a tupperware container for her lunch tomorrow. She also took some additional from the container.

I think she liked it.

Recently, I have really acquired an appreciation for chicken and rice over almost anything. I guess I infected the wife.

OYster dreams

I saw a banker with his hand bandaged from an accident while riding a bicycle. I also saw a lawyer with his hand bandaged from an accident shucking oysters. Personally, would rather have the bandage from shucking the oysters. Specifically, on location at Boss Oyster in Apalachicola. Of course, they shuck your oysters for you, so how I would get an injury like that is beyond me.

But scarfing those oysters would be a fait acompli. I'd save the bike ride for later.

Keeping the customer satisfied

We had to move quickly in the morning again since I had to be back in court for 9:00. Cindy was moving a bit slower than yesterday and it was almost 8:15 when I could drop Cindy off at the front of Southern Crescent and proceed down Ga 16 to the Interstate and on south to my hearings.

Amazingly, I got to the Justice Center on the north side of town at 8:40 and was able to head into the courtroom with enough time to talk to my clients and bother the Probation Officer and his witness on one of my cases.

When the judge settled in and started to talk to the court personnel, I walked over and talked to my latest client. Later, his case was dismissed and he was released. I suspect he quite happy right now, and, perhaps, happy with his choice of attorneys.

Earlier, I had brokered getting one of my clients out of jail for a special occasion. Perhaps, she too is happy. For awhile.

Finally, the last client's case was postponed. Unfortunately, he is the odd man still in jail.

Keeping these guys happy is not the easiest thing to do. Paul Simon wrote a song called, "Keeping the customer satisfied" back in the 60's. A good song, and a telling lyric.

Tuesday in Forsyth

Court in Monroe County was nice today. The courtroom has been renovated and the hardwood floors were like pine mirrors. Afterward, I got to drive down to Perry and perform a cryout, then drive up to Macon and get lunch and relatively cheap gas before I headed to Jackson and back to Griffin for the last cryouts.

I have two more hearings in Forsyth tomorrow, although one may be postponed. Two more days to our little anniversary trip. It is supposed to be cooler and a high chance of rain. It would be nice to look over the lake from our cabin and listen to the rain on the roof.

As far as summer pleasures are concerned, I need blackberry cobbler and the beach. The beach may have to wait until Indian Summer in September.

It would be nice to see the Braves in first all the way to the end of September. Long enough to coincide with football season.

A delightful interlude

I picked Cindy up at Griffin Tech, or Southern Crescent Tech, whichever.... And it was a lot later than she had said, because I was trying to catch up on some paperwork before tomorrow's hearing. And I was really hungry and as Cindy climbed into my car I told her I was hungry and she said she really was too, and we had a 25% off coupon to Ruby Tuesday's and so we headed up the hill to the crest where the restaurant is located and we each had a meal of ribs and side items and we talked about the matters of the day and our impending anniversary trip to FDR State Park on Friday.

Afterward, we stepped out onto the pavement of the parking lot and I noticed a stiff wind from the west and we also noticed that the humidity seemed to have almost disappeared and it seemed like it could be 78 in that parking lot in August in Central Georgia, and we both noticed how delightful it felt and how nice it was to brush our hands together as we walked across the asphalt.

Later on, I went to Ingles and bought vanilla ice cream and later cut up two fresh peaches and sprinkled them with cinnamon and covered them with scoops of the vanilla bean ice cream. That was near the end of summer fun.

I also got a watermelon for the frig.

On the often treacherous pathway of being an adult

After church we talked about going to a movie in the heat of the day, but I took a long nap and it rained twice this afternoon, and we didn't get very far. Now the sun is going down and I am beginning to think about tomorrow and what needs to be done. Tuesday and Wednesday are three cases. After that, Friday is our anniversary and a trip to FDR State Park and Pine Mountain and Callaway Gardens. I am looking forward to it. I hope it is not too hot this coming weekend. A number of years ago, Cindy and Kate and I went to Callaway for our anniversary. We ate at the restaurant in the gardens and it was a beautiful afternoon and it was not too hot. I would like to replicate that afternoon.

The western sky is gold and the sun is almost behind the horizon. Tex, our dog is dozing on the brown leather chair to my right and Cindy is taking a shower. I wish I could get to bed early. I am afraid I am going to be up in the early morning, wishing I could sleep soundly. It doesn't often happen that way when I have this much to worry over.

Adulthood. The question just crossed my mind. How would I deal with this if I was on my own? Interesting.