Today is Friday. My client, his mother and his girl-friend/financee are waiting in the lobby of my offices. I am sitting here in front of my computer awaiting a phone call from the assistant district attorney.
The phone rang a few moments ago and it was one of the realtors for the closing which was supposed to happen today. I had to discuss with her the fact that it was not closing today and would probably close on Monday or Tuesday of next week.
The brain is a strange thing, and perhaps mine is stranger than most. For some, unknown reason, I just had a brief memory of my previous life in Huntsville, Alabama flash through my mind. For just a second, I could smell and see a dark, rainy afternoon in Summer, on the sidewalk in a suburban shopping plaza on the outskirts of Huntsville, in 1965. I could witness the dark clouds hovering above us and feel the humidity as it wrapped around me in a precursor to rain. The concrete was clean and hard on my tennis-shoed feet and I could sense my brother and mother around me, but they weren't in my vision.
The odd thing is that the little aches and burdensome heaviness of my fifty years were not felt for the moment, and I really felt like I was eight again. The years and the pounds had melted magically away and I felt like all of my future was ahead of me, rather than only half of it. The sense of youth was so palpable that the promise of life ahead of me was not just a promise but a present reality. An unforeseen, unsensed future reality in the present.
Now it is gone. I sit in front of my computer and jam heavily on the keys. My shoulders ache from the stress of my body drooping down towards the center of the earth, as if magnetized towards the core. If I stood up and walked I would feel the sharp knives in my knees cutting through the years of torquing my knees one way or another, reaching for running backs or chasing a toddler. Stressed by the extra pounds around my abdomen. Just thinking about my shoulders, exacerbates the feelings in my neck and shoulders. Age. Fun.
But why did Huntsville creep through my mind? I consider the Huntsville of 1965. The somnolent village along the Tennessee River in Northern Alabama, surrounded by cotton fields and Monte Sano are almost gone, replaced by the world of Space Exploration and missiles. Werner Von Braun, a rocket scientist, plucked from Germany at the end of World War II and sent to live and work in this little Southern town, is the unofficial king of Huntsville. He appears at school open houses and Fourth of July parades. Everything is brand new and modern. My school is new, my home and the subdivision in which it is located are brand new. The designs are so modern, so different from the little frame houses in which the rest of my family live.
The school age boys in my neighborhood play in the houses under construction after the construction crews go home at night or run through the cotton fields at the end of our road, picking cotton bolls like mad boll weevils in the summer sunshine. Nothing is more wonderful than a large pile of dirt in someone's yard, a place for the imagination to see battlefields and constructions sites (what irony) or plantations along the Tennessee River. Only the call for supper and the inevitable shower from a garden hose before we enter the house with all that dirt, can stop our ramblings.
This time living in Huntsville was only a short respite between the Indianapolis of my toddler years and the rest of my life in Georgia. Everything about it was a midpoint. I remember shopping for groceries in an old country store a couple of miles from home and eating pork barbecue in a joint on the edge of town, the walls covered with calendars decorated with hunting scenes or the latest team from Tuscaloosa or Auburn. I remember my bus driver loudly singing country songs to us as we pulled into the drive for our elementary school. And I remember the "whites-only" pool in which I learned how to swim and the exotic vegetables at the farmer's market, varieties of which I had never heard until we came down South and inspected nature's bounty up close.
But I also remember attending school programs at Redstone Arsenal and seeing the missiles and rockets and cannons, which were all the most current techology, pointed away from Huntsville and Alabama and toward the world and beyond. I see my dad representing the brand new computers of IBM in his suit, white shirt and tie. I remember feeling the earth shake and hearing the windows rattle as NASA tested the Saturn rocket boosters which would lead man to walk on the moon. I remember looking out my window at night, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the astronauts as they sailed overhead.
So everything was old and antique and a sleepy reminder of earlier times, but also restless, brand new, vibrant and promising of the Future. Ray Bradbury had come to live with Truman Copote and the world of To Kill a Mockingbird. That was Huntsville, Alabama in 1965.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
3:21 news
Well, Kate did not make the top ten for Homecoming Court at PC. Kate has informed me that Claire and Alli will be in the top ten, but that we will cheer for Alli. Since her dad is providing a pre-game tailgate meal for us, I suppose we should oblige. I like little, cute redheads, anyway. Blondes and brunettes too. Since Kate has been all three, she is clearly at the top of my Homecoming list.
By the way, Kate does not seem too out of whack since she didn't get on the field at Homecoming. She does get a corsage to wear in the stands during the game. That is nice. A tad bit of consolation. Not that she apparently needs any consolation.
So apparently the answer to the loafer question is as follows: Back in the old days in Scandinavia, farmers wore a laceless slip-on shoe when they fed their cattle. Apparently, the area around where the cattle were fed was called a "loaf." So, the slip-on shoes they wore were referred to as "loafers." These were marketed in the U.S. to men as "loafers." So that's where the name came from. Its only later when they added the little slit on the top of the shoe where you could slip a penny and they became "penny loafers."
Cute little story. On December 30, 1982, my cousin Ed and I travelled from Atlanta to New Orleans to meet Cindy's family and attend the 1983 Sugar Bowl between those beloved Bulldogs and the Nittany Lions of Penn State. At the end of the Sugar Bowl festivities, the three of us hopped into my handy Chevy Monza (the sportiest compact car made by General Motors at the time, and my dad's biggest customer at the time and the source of my Chevy) and drove back to the ATL (which wasn't called that back then). Anyway, the next morning, we rode MARTA down to downtown Atlanta to look around. After walking around Mid-town for awhile, we were going to get back on MARTA and return to Dunwoody. Checking our collective pockets we found that we were about twenty cents short of the fare for the three of us. We were scrambling all over midtown trying to find a bank which would cash a check. Finally, we found one and returned to the MARTA station. As we entered the train and sat down, Cindy noticed that she had two dimes stuck in the slit on the top of her penny loafers. We laughed and laughed. At the time it was hilarious. I think my romantic ardor for the sweet young thing rendered it much more humorous at the time than it seems now. Nevertheless, a cute story, I suppose.
Interestingly, loafers have only been around since the 30's. I would have thought they were older than that. I don't know how long they have been putting pennies (or dimes) in the little slits on the tops.
Well, that's the news for this afternoon.
By the way, Kate does not seem too out of whack since she didn't get on the field at Homecoming. She does get a corsage to wear in the stands during the game. That is nice. A tad bit of consolation. Not that she apparently needs any consolation.
So apparently the answer to the loafer question is as follows: Back in the old days in Scandinavia, farmers wore a laceless slip-on shoe when they fed their cattle. Apparently, the area around where the cattle were fed was called a "loaf." So, the slip-on shoes they wore were referred to as "loafers." These were marketed in the U.S. to men as "loafers." So that's where the name came from. Its only later when they added the little slit on the top of the shoe where you could slip a penny and they became "penny loafers."
Cute little story. On December 30, 1982, my cousin Ed and I travelled from Atlanta to New Orleans to meet Cindy's family and attend the 1983 Sugar Bowl between those beloved Bulldogs and the Nittany Lions of Penn State. At the end of the Sugar Bowl festivities, the three of us hopped into my handy Chevy Monza (the sportiest compact car made by General Motors at the time, and my dad's biggest customer at the time and the source of my Chevy) and drove back to the ATL (which wasn't called that back then). Anyway, the next morning, we rode MARTA down to downtown Atlanta to look around. After walking around Mid-town for awhile, we were going to get back on MARTA and return to Dunwoody. Checking our collective pockets we found that we were about twenty cents short of the fare for the three of us. We were scrambling all over midtown trying to find a bank which would cash a check. Finally, we found one and returned to the MARTA station. As we entered the train and sat down, Cindy noticed that she had two dimes stuck in the slit on the top of her penny loafers. We laughed and laughed. At the time it was hilarious. I think my romantic ardor for the sweet young thing rendered it much more humorous at the time than it seems now. Nevertheless, a cute story, I suppose.
Interestingly, loafers have only been around since the 30's. I would have thought they were older than that. I don't know how long they have been putting pennies (or dimes) in the little slits on the tops.
Well, that's the news for this afternoon.
Thursday blues
There is some concern about continuing to publish pictures of Kate on this blog. Cindy is worried about it. She is the mother, of course. So we will have to be more discrete in this. Today is the day when we find out whether Kate is on the final ten of Homecoming Court. Cross your fingers and toes, people. I will get back to this later.
It is a dreary day and the sky is crying again. I hope Saturday is pretty in Clinton.
This morning several appointments have cancelled. There are rumours that several closings are going to take place today and tomorrow. Now one of them is going to probably be on Monday, although they said they wanted to close on Friday afternoon. The other one is supposed to close on Friday morning; however, I haven't heard anything from them. I really need to cross my fingers and toes for those two.
I would love to get some closings closed in the next few weeks. I keep hearing from lenders and borrowers and they are all in earnest, and sound hopeful, but nothing happens. Meanwhile, I get calls from potential clients who then cancel at the last minute or balk at the fees they are quoted.
Tomorrow will be here before we know it and Cindy and I will be winging up to the upcountry in South Carolina. South Carolina has a broad diversity of terrain and georgraphic features. They have the Low Country along the coast. They have the Piedmont around the capital. They have the Upcountry in the north and west. They also have some of the most unusual names for cities and towns (I say that, knowing that Devil's Elbow and Monkey's Eyebrow are both in Kentucky). Everything seems to have a story or a derivation. I don't know why South Carolina has to break down the whole state into these romantic regions. Romantic, I suppose, to someone.
South Carolina is actually kind of strange to me. I say that knowing that South Carolina is basically the mother or big sister of Georgia, being the immediate predecessor to the last original English colony, and the place from which Oglethorpe left to set out and build Savannah. Since the Carolinas weren't set up as a debtor's colony, they have a little bit on us poor Georgians. Charleston is better than Savannah. But St. Simons is better than Hilton Head. And Atlanta soars over Columbia. All the intermediate cities like Greenville, Spartanburg, Macon, Columbus, Gainesville are a wash as far as I am concerned, although I think we have more than they do. We have better sports teams. They have better pastimes. We have better roads. And we are bigger. Of course, if you combined the two Carolinas into their original composition as "Carolina", they would probably be bigger and better than most states. Of course, if you did that, you would have to give us back Alabama and Mississippi. Boy, what a pile of rednecks that would be.
That is my attempt to compare and contrast the two states. Do with it as you will.
By the by, the antique expression for the day, as given by my calendar, is "shoe the gosling". This is an expression which apparently means to do something that is not worthwhile, or as they put it,"a profitless task." Interestingly, the phrase "not worthwhile" and "profitless task" clearly mean the same thing. You can see their lineage in the words "not worth-while" and "profit-less". Profit and worth being similar in meaning.
Anyway, getting back to the expression, apparently this goes back to a fair which was established in 1284 and held in Nottingham, England. The fair was established by King Edward I for all of the farmers and stockmen to bring their geese to the fair, I suppose to exhibit or sell. Farmers came from far distances to show off their geese. They would gather their geese, clip their wings to prevent them from flying away, and walk them to Nottingham. I can only imagine what that looked like, particularly when they all arrived in Nottingham. Come to think of it, imagine what it sounded like. A little like downtown London at 5:00 p.m., around Piccadilly.
At any rate, the farmers travelled far distances to bring their geese to the fair. Often, they would coat the feet of the geese with tar and sand to make a little "footee" for the protection of the feet of the geese. I suppose that this expression came from the value of these shoes to the geese. Maybe the fair did nothing for the owners of the geese. Or maybe the shoes didn't help the geese. Who knows? Anyway, this expression came out of the fair and shows, I suppose, the value of trying to put a shoe on a goose.
Which doesn't explain why there used to be Red Goose shoes. Which leads me to ask why Buster Brown and his dog, Tige, would sell shoes either. And who was PF and how or why did his shoes fly? I do remember the Red Goose and the little boy and his dog, trying to get my mom to buy us shoes. My mother, who was in the shoestore to buy us shoes in the first place, didn't need a goose or a little boy and his dog to help her in picking out shoes. What was the point?
It was probably hard enough just getting two little boys to sit still long enough to try on shoes in the first place.
By the way, as you all must know by now, my mother is the reigning queen of shoes (since Imelda Marcos is no longer with us). She has come along way since she used to remove her shoes after school so she could walk home barefoot in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. Now she needs many closets in her house just to house her shoes. Thankfully, all of her children have left the roost and given my mother more closets to house her shoes.
Then there is the fact that my great-grandfather's brothers had a chain of shoestores in Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana and Florida.
Did you know that I was a child model in a fashion show in Indianapolis? Did you know I was paid in a pair of shoes? My first dress loafers.
So you see, shoes have been very important in my family. That is why I always take mine off as soon as I get home in the afternoon.
Nevertheless, did the shoe company use a goose to sell shoes because they couldn't get the shoes on the goose? I could have told them there would be no profit in trying to shoe a goose? And I didn't need an entry on a calendar to tell me that.
Ok, Ok, that's enough.
One more thing: why are they called loafers? I think I will look that one up.
It is a dreary day and the sky is crying again. I hope Saturday is pretty in Clinton.
This morning several appointments have cancelled. There are rumours that several closings are going to take place today and tomorrow. Now one of them is going to probably be on Monday, although they said they wanted to close on Friday afternoon. The other one is supposed to close on Friday morning; however, I haven't heard anything from them. I really need to cross my fingers and toes for those two.
I would love to get some closings closed in the next few weeks. I keep hearing from lenders and borrowers and they are all in earnest, and sound hopeful, but nothing happens. Meanwhile, I get calls from potential clients who then cancel at the last minute or balk at the fees they are quoted.
Tomorrow will be here before we know it and Cindy and I will be winging up to the upcountry in South Carolina. South Carolina has a broad diversity of terrain and georgraphic features. They have the Low Country along the coast. They have the Piedmont around the capital. They have the Upcountry in the north and west. They also have some of the most unusual names for cities and towns (I say that, knowing that Devil's Elbow and Monkey's Eyebrow are both in Kentucky). Everything seems to have a story or a derivation. I don't know why South Carolina has to break down the whole state into these romantic regions. Romantic, I suppose, to someone.
South Carolina is actually kind of strange to me. I say that knowing that South Carolina is basically the mother or big sister of Georgia, being the immediate predecessor to the last original English colony, and the place from which Oglethorpe left to set out and build Savannah. Since the Carolinas weren't set up as a debtor's colony, they have a little bit on us poor Georgians. Charleston is better than Savannah. But St. Simons is better than Hilton Head. And Atlanta soars over Columbia. All the intermediate cities like Greenville, Spartanburg, Macon, Columbus, Gainesville are a wash as far as I am concerned, although I think we have more than they do. We have better sports teams. They have better pastimes. We have better roads. And we are bigger. Of course, if you combined the two Carolinas into their original composition as "Carolina", they would probably be bigger and better than most states. Of course, if you did that, you would have to give us back Alabama and Mississippi. Boy, what a pile of rednecks that would be.
That is my attempt to compare and contrast the two states. Do with it as you will.
By the by, the antique expression for the day, as given by my calendar, is "shoe the gosling". This is an expression which apparently means to do something that is not worthwhile, or as they put it,"a profitless task." Interestingly, the phrase "not worthwhile" and "profitless task" clearly mean the same thing. You can see their lineage in the words "not worth-while" and "profit-less". Profit and worth being similar in meaning.
Anyway, getting back to the expression, apparently this goes back to a fair which was established in 1284 and held in Nottingham, England. The fair was established by King Edward I for all of the farmers and stockmen to bring their geese to the fair, I suppose to exhibit or sell. Farmers came from far distances to show off their geese. They would gather their geese, clip their wings to prevent them from flying away, and walk them to Nottingham. I can only imagine what that looked like, particularly when they all arrived in Nottingham. Come to think of it, imagine what it sounded like. A little like downtown London at 5:00 p.m., around Piccadilly.
At any rate, the farmers travelled far distances to bring their geese to the fair. Often, they would coat the feet of the geese with tar and sand to make a little "footee" for the protection of the feet of the geese. I suppose that this expression came from the value of these shoes to the geese. Maybe the fair did nothing for the owners of the geese. Or maybe the shoes didn't help the geese. Who knows? Anyway, this expression came out of the fair and shows, I suppose, the value of trying to put a shoe on a goose.
Which doesn't explain why there used to be Red Goose shoes. Which leads me to ask why Buster Brown and his dog, Tige, would sell shoes either. And who was PF and how or why did his shoes fly? I do remember the Red Goose and the little boy and his dog, trying to get my mom to buy us shoes. My mother, who was in the shoestore to buy us shoes in the first place, didn't need a goose or a little boy and his dog to help her in picking out shoes. What was the point?
It was probably hard enough just getting two little boys to sit still long enough to try on shoes in the first place.
By the way, as you all must know by now, my mother is the reigning queen of shoes (since Imelda Marcos is no longer with us). She has come along way since she used to remove her shoes after school so she could walk home barefoot in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. Now she needs many closets in her house just to house her shoes. Thankfully, all of her children have left the roost and given my mother more closets to house her shoes.
Then there is the fact that my great-grandfather's brothers had a chain of shoestores in Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana and Florida.
Did you know that I was a child model in a fashion show in Indianapolis? Did you know I was paid in a pair of shoes? My first dress loafers.
So you see, shoes have been very important in my family. That is why I always take mine off as soon as I get home in the afternoon.
Nevertheless, did the shoe company use a goose to sell shoes because they couldn't get the shoes on the goose? I could have told them there would be no profit in trying to shoe a goose? And I didn't need an entry on a calendar to tell me that.
Ok, Ok, that's enough.
One more thing: why are they called loafers? I think I will look that one up.
Working with the elements
I am in receipt of several pictures from Kate and Cindy that I want to incorporate into my blog today. I am trying to do this, but I am doing this by waving my stick in the dark, being somewhat blind, metaphorically speaking. We shall see how this goes. .jpg)
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As I worked on my blog for yesterday, I realized that I didn't have a lot of pictures of Kate that I could import into my blog. I mentioned this to Cindy and Kate and they forwarded several pictures to me for inclusion. Now I have to see if I can get these pictures into the blog. Let's see. Press the button. Here goes.
Ok, that is the two from Cindy. Now I need to try to get the one from Kate in here as well. Then I will try to rearrange them so I can get the blog to look the way I want to. Here goes.
I need to work on this. I think at the end of this process, I hope I will be a little better educated about arranging these blogs.
By the by, we find out today whether Kate gets on Homecoming Court.
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As I worked on my blog for yesterday, I realized that I didn't have a lot of pictures of Kate that I could import into my blog. I mentioned this to Cindy and Kate and they forwarded several pictures to me for inclusion. Now I have to see if I can get these pictures into the blog. Let's see. Press the button. Here goes.
Ok, that is the two from Cindy. Now I need to try to get the one from Kate in here as well. Then I will try to rearrange them so I can get the blog to look the way I want to. Here goes.
I need to work on this. I think at the end of this process, I hope I will be a little better educated about arranging these blogs.
By the by, we find out today whether Kate gets on Homecoming Court.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
PC Homecoming 2007: the nominees
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Well, pictures of this year's nominees for Homecoming Court at Presbyterian College was published on the website for PC this afternoon. Kate emailed Cindy and let her know. Cindy then forwarded same on to me. Kate's picture is cute, although she has her bangs hanging over one of her eyes like that actress back in the 40's. Who was she? Oh yeah, Veronica Lake!
No that isn't a pictures of the nominees included in this blog. That is the only picture of Kate that I have downloaded into my computer that I can use. The other two women/girls are unknown to me. Of course, the picture depicts Kate and one of her buddies in Oxford with some girl in costume.
I was amazed at how many of Kate's friends, roommates and acquaintances were nominated this year. I realize that PC is a small college and these girls are all seniors, but it is somewhat amazing how many of the girls are, in fact, friends of Kate's. I would hazard to guess that since the city of Griffin, Georgia has two nominees on the Homecoming Court that our little town has the highest per capita membership on the Homecoming Court for 2007.
So here is to Shelley McKay Baynham and Sarah Beth Rahn and the beauties of Griffin, Georgia.
I wonder what the per capita is for residents of Georgia?
I am excited about this weekend. I hope Kate is too. By the way, you can go on the Presbyterian College website to view pictures of the nominees. I would download the pictures but I would be concerned about copyright issues. Maybe Kate can send me some more pictures so I can download them into my blogs, now that I know how to do it.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Fall foreclosure day: gathering, gathering, both real and personal
At the beginning of this day, I was scheduled to perform ten cryouts on foreclosure sales in various counties around the state. I had temporarily employed one of my former employees to make sure that I had enough time to cryout all the different sales. She took the three on the south and west side of Atlanta (one of which was cancelled before the day began) and I took the remainder which were all on the north side of Atlanta, from Gainesville to Dahlonega to Ellijay and down to Canton and Cartersville. I got up early, prepared for the day, and hopped in my trusty Toyota and drove north toward Gainesville.
I made a phone call to the law firm in Atlanta which had employed me for the task and left a message on their voice mail (it being around 7:30 in the morning, and probably no one in the office at 7:30). I gassed up the Solara and drove up I-75 and I-675 to 285 and on up I-85 to Gainesville.
I arrived in Gainesville to find that the city and county fathers have really done some rearranging in the downtown business area. Three different courthouses sit around a block in the business area. I parked my car in the downtown court parking lot and walked over to the old courthouse. I asked the bailiff sitting as guard in the front of the building. He directed me to the courtyard between the buildings. I left the old building and sat in the courtyard and waited for 10:00 to arrive.
It was very chilly and breezy that morning and I sat there watching the crowd develop and wishing I had brought a sweater or jacket for this trip. A mortgage officer and several people approached me, asking directions and offering mortgage assistance on anything I might be interested in buying. Finally, the ten o'clock hour arrived and I could stand before the crowd and cry out the loss of houses to the hopeful. The losses of the hopeless to the scavengers and land-pirates in the courtyard.
After completing the sales and selling the houses back to the lenders, I drove on to Dahlonega, which wasn't very far away. I came into the little village of Dahlonega around 10:45 that morning. When I arrived at the courthouse, there was no one waiting for a bargain. I read the announcement and knocked it off back to the lender.
I examined the statues of the Cherokee brave and the gold-miner standing on the courthouse grounds. This was the only courthouse with separate statues commemorating the dispossessed and the speculators. I took notice of the beginning of the turning of the leaves, and headed my Toyota toward Ellijay.
As I sped down the nearly deserted Highway 52, I called Cindy and found that I was driving on the same road where a pumpkin farm was located. She asked me to check their bounty and as I pulled past Amicalola Falls, the pumpkin farm came into view.
I pulled off the road down into the parking lot below and hopped out of the car to examine the pumpkins. There were large pumpkins, small pumpkins and everything in between. There were orange pumpkins, white pumpkins, blue pumpkins and striped pumpkins. There were little, perfectly round pumpkins, and pumpkins so large that when I finally chose one, it weighed so much I could hardly get it into the wheelbarrow to wheel it past the counter. The same problem presented itself when I tried to get it from the wheelbarrow into the trunk of my car. After some negotiating with Cindy and her debit card over my cell phone, I left the pumpkin farm with sixty dollars worth of various pumpkins, including one I sorely wished I had help awaiting me when I got home. That night, I used a dolly to move that pumpkin down the walk to its final resting place in front of the front stairs to our house.
I left Burt's Pumpkin Farm and headed east/northeast up Highway 52 toward Ellijay. As I came closer to Ellijay, apple stands were everywhere. I quickly called Cindy to see if she wanted some fresh apples, to which she replied in the affirmative. I pulled off into the parking lot of the first one I came to to find a large barn full of apples, Japanese tourists and senior citizens from Alpharetta. I grabbed a $9.00 bag and tried to pick a variety of fruit, while I watched the Japanese grab as many Fuji apples as they could load in their plastic bags. I wondered to myself why they would come all the way to Georgia, only to buy apples native to their home country. I guess everyone looks for the familiar in the strange and exotic when they travel.
My purchase of apples completed, I continued on to Ellijay. As I pulled in front of the courthouse, my cell phone rang and I answered. Patti, my secretary, informed me that the Gilmer County foreclosure, for which I was driving around a traffic circle in front of the courthouse, had been cancelled. Having nothing else to do, I decided to have lunch. I drove down a side street to a restaurant, parked the car on the narrow mountain road, and stepped through the front door into the lunch room.
This was a meat and three restaurant, where you chose from three or four different meats and about fifteen different vegetables. I chose kraut and sausage, fresh green beans, a bowl of turnip greens, home fried potatoes and corn bread. I washed it on down with a large glass of sweet tea. This was the greatness which makes the south my favorite place. Nature's bounty served among the businessmen, working men, little old ladies and retirees on a crisp Fall day. Nothing like it. Only a football game afterward would have made it complete.
After my meal, I drove around Ellijay looking for the end of the four lane highway from Kennesaw, to lead me from North Georgia back to the milling millions of Atlanta. I found the entrance and headed down to Canton for my last foreclosure sale.
Canton is a small town, now quickly growing to become attached as a part of the great megalopolis, just north of Marietta. Canton was named for the city in China, when the little village was established with an eye toward the production of silk. This never happened, but the town is very quaint and sweet, and completely surrounded by the bustle of Atlanta's growth northward. After I completed the foreclosure sale, I took notice of the geography of Canton. Canton proper sits on a hill in a broad valley lying between Atlanta and North Georgia. To get to Canton you have to go up, then down into the valley. But when you get there, to get to the center of town, you drive up a foothill into Canton which sits on a hill in a valley between the big hills that surround it. Rather interesting, at least to me.
My foreclosures complete, I headed homeward. A day prominently filled with the return of the houses of the many to the mighty, mighty lenders and moneychangers of America and a day spent in the North Georgia mountains, gathering as much of the bounty of Georgia (pumpkins, apples, vegetables and such) as I could collect and haul in the trunk of my little Toyota.
I made a phone call to the law firm in Atlanta which had employed me for the task and left a message on their voice mail (it being around 7:30 in the morning, and probably no one in the office at 7:30). I gassed up the Solara and drove up I-75 and I-675 to 285 and on up I-85 to Gainesville.
I arrived in Gainesville to find that the city and county fathers have really done some rearranging in the downtown business area. Three different courthouses sit around a block in the business area. I parked my car in the downtown court parking lot and walked over to the old courthouse. I asked the bailiff sitting as guard in the front of the building. He directed me to the courtyard between the buildings. I left the old building and sat in the courtyard and waited for 10:00 to arrive.
It was very chilly and breezy that morning and I sat there watching the crowd develop and wishing I had brought a sweater or jacket for this trip. A mortgage officer and several people approached me, asking directions and offering mortgage assistance on anything I might be interested in buying. Finally, the ten o'clock hour arrived and I could stand before the crowd and cry out the loss of houses to the hopeful. The losses of the hopeless to the scavengers and land-pirates in the courtyard.
After completing the sales and selling the houses back to the lenders, I drove on to Dahlonega, which wasn't very far away. I came into the little village of Dahlonega around 10:45 that morning. When I arrived at the courthouse, there was no one waiting for a bargain. I read the announcement and knocked it off back to the lender.
I examined the statues of the Cherokee brave and the gold-miner standing on the courthouse grounds. This was the only courthouse with separate statues commemorating the dispossessed and the speculators. I took notice of the beginning of the turning of the leaves, and headed my Toyota toward Ellijay.
As I sped down the nearly deserted Highway 52, I called Cindy and found that I was driving on the same road where a pumpkin farm was located. She asked me to check their bounty and as I pulled past Amicalola Falls, the pumpkin farm came into view.
I pulled off the road down into the parking lot below and hopped out of the car to examine the pumpkins. There were large pumpkins, small pumpkins and everything in between. There were orange pumpkins, white pumpkins, blue pumpkins and striped pumpkins. There were little, perfectly round pumpkins, and pumpkins so large that when I finally chose one, it weighed so much I could hardly get it into the wheelbarrow to wheel it past the counter. The same problem presented itself when I tried to get it from the wheelbarrow into the trunk of my car. After some negotiating with Cindy and her debit card over my cell phone, I left the pumpkin farm with sixty dollars worth of various pumpkins, including one I sorely wished I had help awaiting me when I got home. That night, I used a dolly to move that pumpkin down the walk to its final resting place in front of the front stairs to our house.
I left Burt's Pumpkin Farm and headed east/northeast up Highway 52 toward Ellijay. As I came closer to Ellijay, apple stands were everywhere. I quickly called Cindy to see if she wanted some fresh apples, to which she replied in the affirmative. I pulled off into the parking lot of the first one I came to to find a large barn full of apples, Japanese tourists and senior citizens from Alpharetta. I grabbed a $9.00 bag and tried to pick a variety of fruit, while I watched the Japanese grab as many Fuji apples as they could load in their plastic bags. I wondered to myself why they would come all the way to Georgia, only to buy apples native to their home country. I guess everyone looks for the familiar in the strange and exotic when they travel.
My purchase of apples completed, I continued on to Ellijay. As I pulled in front of the courthouse, my cell phone rang and I answered. Patti, my secretary, informed me that the Gilmer County foreclosure, for which I was driving around a traffic circle in front of the courthouse, had been cancelled. Having nothing else to do, I decided to have lunch. I drove down a side street to a restaurant, parked the car on the narrow mountain road, and stepped through the front door into the lunch room.
This was a meat and three restaurant, where you chose from three or four different meats and about fifteen different vegetables. I chose kraut and sausage, fresh green beans, a bowl of turnip greens, home fried potatoes and corn bread. I washed it on down with a large glass of sweet tea. This was the greatness which makes the south my favorite place. Nature's bounty served among the businessmen, working men, little old ladies and retirees on a crisp Fall day. Nothing like it. Only a football game afterward would have made it complete.
After my meal, I drove around Ellijay looking for the end of the four lane highway from Kennesaw, to lead me from North Georgia back to the milling millions of Atlanta. I found the entrance and headed down to Canton for my last foreclosure sale.
Canton is a small town, now quickly growing to become attached as a part of the great megalopolis, just north of Marietta. Canton was named for the city in China, when the little village was established with an eye toward the production of silk. This never happened, but the town is very quaint and sweet, and completely surrounded by the bustle of Atlanta's growth northward. After I completed the foreclosure sale, I took notice of the geography of Canton. Canton proper sits on a hill in a broad valley lying between Atlanta and North Georgia. To get to Canton you have to go up, then down into the valley. But when you get there, to get to the center of town, you drive up a foothill into Canton which sits on a hill in a valley between the big hills that surround it. Rather interesting, at least to me.
My foreclosures complete, I headed homeward. A day prominently filled with the return of the houses of the many to the mighty, mighty lenders and moneychangers of America and a day spent in the North Georgia mountains, gathering as much of the bounty of Georgia (pumpkins, apples, vegetables and such) as I could collect and haul in the trunk of my little Toyota.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Lets all drink fluids and take vitamin C
Well, everyone seems to be sick this week. Kate was diagnosed with a strep throat. At her mother's request, she went to another doctor who tested her and found no strep. So that is good. I guess it is just a cold or allergies. I hope she is over this by the weekend; I would hate to see our little homecoming princess wandering around campus with a red nose and post-nasal drip. That would look really good in front of the Homecoming crowd.
Well, I finally was able to close Bennett this morning. Considering that we were given the title request back around the first of January, I guess ten months isn't too bad. We still need to do a permanent loan for them someday in several months. I hope the Bennetts pay their bills and can get a new loan to pay off all their debts sometime next year.
There is a rumour that we will close Edward later in the week. That would be nice. That is the one where the prospective buyers moved into the house without the knowledge of the seller before we closed. I had to mediate the dispute and settle everyone down so we could go on and close. Now I just hope it goes on and closes. For everyone's sake.
Tomorrow is foreclosure day and I have a ton of foreclosure sales to cry out all over the state. As far south as Montezuma in Macon County and as far north as Ellijay in Gilmer County. This should be fun trying to pick the best route to take to drive all over the state. I should be quite tired by the end of the day.
Patti was sick this morning. I hope she gets over this. I hope everyone gets better in the next few days. I hope I don't get anything. I like the Fall and don't want to sneeze and cough and ache through the turning of the leaves.
Besides, its football season. We are all supposed to be tough during these weeks. You hear that, Shelley?
Well, I finally was able to close Bennett this morning. Considering that we were given the title request back around the first of January, I guess ten months isn't too bad. We still need to do a permanent loan for them someday in several months. I hope the Bennetts pay their bills and can get a new loan to pay off all their debts sometime next year.
There is a rumour that we will close Edward later in the week. That would be nice. That is the one where the prospective buyers moved into the house without the knowledge of the seller before we closed. I had to mediate the dispute and settle everyone down so we could go on and close. Now I just hope it goes on and closes. For everyone's sake.
Tomorrow is foreclosure day and I have a ton of foreclosure sales to cry out all over the state. As far south as Montezuma in Macon County and as far north as Ellijay in Gilmer County. This should be fun trying to pick the best route to take to drive all over the state. I should be quite tired by the end of the day.
Patti was sick this morning. I hope she gets over this. I hope everyone gets better in the next few days. I hope I don't get anything. I like the Fall and don't want to sneeze and cough and ache through the turning of the leaves.
Besides, its football season. We are all supposed to be tough during these weeks. You hear that, Shelley?
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