Having several errands to attend to in the afternoon, I took the certified mail to the post office in order to receive a date-stamped receipt and mail the rest of the mail. When I came to the post office, the parking was almost completely taken, but there was a spot near the doors, so I took it. Opening the outer doors to the post office, I walked into the business office for the post office to encounter a line of around eight people, myself included, all waiting for the two postal employees to complete their work with the two people with whom they were providing service. As I stood in line, I watched the postal workers attend to the customers with all of the speed and agility of a cheetah (a dying cheetah, mind you), and all of us in line wondered if we would ever be served.
Heads down, sitting in their chairs behind the counter, the two working postal workers, slowly studied the parcels in front of them and punched buttons, and applied tape and printed stickers and requested funds and attended to credit cards and checks and printed receipts for the customers. Nothing seemed too terribly complicated, but sufficient to take the time of the dedicated postal employees.
Meanwhile, I am sure that one thought traveling through the minds of the line-dwellers was the possibility of other postal employees attending to us. Alas, no one was in sight. Had there been an altercation in the back of the post office? Had someone gone postal?
What an odd turn of phrase. "Going postal" bears the image of a postal worker going beserk and shooting people randomly and with great effort. As I studied the postal workers attending these two customers, nothing about their efforts or their demeanors seemed to evidence a person out of control or working with great effort.
Meanwhile, the post office was filing up with new customers, all waiting for assistance. Finally, someone did arrive from the bowels of the post office to attend to other customers. Fortunately, this postal employee had apparently rested sufficiently on her government-mandated break to attend to customers in a business-like manner. Either that, or the other people in line had relatively simple tasks to attend to.
At any rate, the line was now dwindling down so that I could actually get served. The thought that it had not been worth it for me to take this task away from my secretary flitted through my brain. Often. But as the new postal worker looked at me and, thusly, rendered me significant, I handed her the three, count them three, certified letters for which I needed her to stamp the receipt with a date stamp, and she, somewhat miraculously, in fact, did so.
Finally, I found myself outside the confines of the United States Post Office, considering this state-sponsored monopoly in letter delivery we have in this country. I know, I know, we do have UPS, FEDEX and other carriers for overnight service. But no one is allowed to compete with the good old Post Office for delivery of letters. That would be a problem for the Postal Service and too logical and competitive in the marketplace of American commerce.
What would Teddy do for us, if confronted with such a state-sponsored monopoly, giving poor service for ever increasing costs? As I stood outside the Post Office, I considered Benjamin Franklin, the founder of the United States Postal Service. A great man, intelligent, witty, creative. One of the original icons of this country. Inventor, statesman, diplomat, bon vivant. And, again, the founder of the United States Postal Service.
Thanks, Ben. Sometimes the good we do can be overshadowed by one or two simple acts.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
The telling of the story
I do remember that emotional, early morning,
January 10, 1986,
When the lights were bright enough
In the operating room at Piedmont
For an elderly obstetrician,
And, me, holding your mother's hand
And stroking her temples,
The nurse taking control of the swirl
And wrapping you in a warm cotton blanket
To let me walk gingerly
Around the equipment and the buzz
And stare into your electric blue eyes:
A perfect ten from the beginning.
But they took you from me
For medical reasons and hospital procedures,
Leaving me to fly through the hospital halls
Like some bouncy commercial
With a band and dancers
And a catchy jingle,
Until, bang, through the outer doors
I almost ran over your grandmothers
Who didn't mind at all
But just wanted to listen to the story
For the first time,
To hear about you.
That same story, which got spread around thickly,
Over and over and over,
Until eyes began to glaze over
And people started to wonder
If there was an end to the telling.
But the story didn't end
And here is the last semester
Of your college education
And I am still proud and joyful,
Just like before,
Despite the sadness of your leaving
And the loss of those smiling eyes, now green,
To brighten my rising and my sleeping
And throughout my day, every day.
Happy Birthday, Kate.
January 10, 1986,
When the lights were bright enough
In the operating room at Piedmont
For an elderly obstetrician,
And, me, holding your mother's hand
And stroking her temples,
The nurse taking control of the swirl
And wrapping you in a warm cotton blanket
To let me walk gingerly
Around the equipment and the buzz
And stare into your electric blue eyes:
A perfect ten from the beginning.
But they took you from me
For medical reasons and hospital procedures,
Leaving me to fly through the hospital halls
Like some bouncy commercial
With a band and dancers
And a catchy jingle,
Until, bang, through the outer doors
I almost ran over your grandmothers
Who didn't mind at all
But just wanted to listen to the story
For the first time,
To hear about you.
That same story, which got spread around thickly,
Over and over and over,
Until eyes began to glaze over
And people started to wonder
If there was an end to the telling.
But the story didn't end
And here is the last semester
Of your college education
And I am still proud and joyful,
Just like before,
Despite the sadness of your leaving
And the loss of those smiling eyes, now green,
To brighten my rising and my sleeping
And throughout my day, every day.
Happy Birthday, Kate.
Kate's departure
Today Kate goes back to college for the last time before her graduation. She will leave around 12:00 noon. This is a significant point in her life thus far. It is also a significant part of our life as a family. In some sense, this is the first goal for which we have striven as a family. We are happy for the completion of this goal, but sad that this milepost has come to us. There is a sense of loss in the air. And I feel like everyone in the family is slowing tasks down and there is a little emotional undercurrent which is unspoken. I can feel it.
Of course, this is not the end by a long shot. Kate will still be around as much as she wants to be. And she will always have a place here with us.
Of course, this is not the end by a long shot. Kate will still be around as much as she wants to be. And she will always have a place here with us.
Monday, January 7, 2008
The end of day one
It is winding on down to the end of the day. Despite the fact that the weather was rather warm all day today, there was an indication that we are still in Winter. When I arrived at the office this morning, the pavement showed moisture which evidenced a slight bit of precipitation. By the middle of the afternoon, the precipitation was still evident o the pavement. On the other hand, where the sun had found its way to the ground, the pavement was dry.
I could really use a nap this afternoon and I think I will probably try to get to bed early tonight. I still don't know what we will do this evening. I had wanted to try to go to Fayette County. Kate wanted to go to James Joyce's Irish pub. I don't know what Cindy wants.
I need to try to get some items completed on my list of tasks. I try to do so, but there always seem to be more items than time in the day. Thats not unusual.
I could really use a nap this afternoon and I think I will probably try to get to bed early tonight. I still don't know what we will do this evening. I had wanted to try to go to Fayette County. Kate wanted to go to James Joyce's Irish pub. I don't know what Cindy wants.
I need to try to get some items completed on my list of tasks. I try to do so, but there always seem to be more items than time in the day. Thats not unusual.
Monday morning
Today I woke up at approximately the normal time for my entrance into the day, around 5:00. I was still quite sleepy but knew that the number of things on my mind would prevent me from readily going back to sleep. I flipped the switch on the remote control and started watching an early episode of 'Homocide: Life on the Streets'. It was rather interesting to see one of the original episodes with all of the original cast. I guess I have seen most of the episodes and know how the characters developed over the years.
At any rate, I stayed up long enough to watch that particular episode and then came downstairs to let the dog out, eat some breakfast and stare at the television for a little longer. I could tell I was still tired, so I went back to bed, to awaken around 7:40. At this point, I came out of the bedroom, expecting someone else to be up. But no. So, I took a shower, dressed, looked for a tie and a belt, which awakened Cindy.
Having arranged myself for the day, I went to my car and drove in.
I looked at the calendar and noticed a scheduled appointment for 8:30. So I am ready if they show.
So, now it is 9:25 and my appointment for 8:30 has not shown yet. I have talked to some folks on the telephone and looked at my desk and the floor around my desk and made numerous wishes that there was something quick I could do to get myself organized. I need help.
I think I am going to let this blog go through the day and see where it leads.
Well, it is 10:16 and Patti has still not arrived. I am looking for a couple of files and can't seem to find them at this point. I have a pile of things that need to get done today and Kate wants to drive to Decatur and eat at James Joyce's pub. I don't have the time really. I may bend to the wishes of the women.
It is a beautiful day. It must have rained last night because some of the streets which are covered from the sunshine by buildings are wet from the night before. I didn't notice the rain. It probably didn't rain very long because there is no standing water.
I wore a coat this morning and it is a bit too warm for a coat. I may change to a thin sweater. Just another example of Winter weather in Georgia. It will rain and get really cold probably in a day or two and then we will have another few days of false Spring thereafter.
My in-laws were spoiled when they lived in Southern California. They consider the weather there to be God's perfection, as concerns weather patterns. I think that is a matter of opinion. I remember when Cindy's parents lived in Thousand Oaks, which is inland from Malibu. It would get rather chilly at night, but it would get quite hot and dry in the middle of the afternoon. From early morning to around 2:00 and then from 4:00 to 10:00 o'clock at night were nice. My problem was that I had a tendency to get nose bleeds during the hot period in the afternoon. The dryness and the heat were not fun.
Of course, when they lived along the coast in Irvine, I often thought it was a bit too cool most of the time. And I suppose that is my opinion.
When Cindy and I got married in Irvine, the temperature soared to about 88 degrees. There was about fifty per cent humidity. For Georgia weather in August, that would have been cool. For California, everybody thought they had landed on the fourth ring of Hell. I think they expected Satan, rather than the two ministers who married us. The pictures of the wedding are funny. All of the relatives from the southeast look relatively cool. The native Californians look like they got dressed and sat down in a sauna. Odd. We were all experiencing the same weather.
I will say it was a good idea to buy a keg of beer for the wedding. That came in handy.
But, truthfully, is there a bad time for a keg of beer?
At any rate, I stayed up long enough to watch that particular episode and then came downstairs to let the dog out, eat some breakfast and stare at the television for a little longer. I could tell I was still tired, so I went back to bed, to awaken around 7:40. At this point, I came out of the bedroom, expecting someone else to be up. But no. So, I took a shower, dressed, looked for a tie and a belt, which awakened Cindy.
Having arranged myself for the day, I went to my car and drove in.
I looked at the calendar and noticed a scheduled appointment for 8:30. So I am ready if they show.
So, now it is 9:25 and my appointment for 8:30 has not shown yet. I have talked to some folks on the telephone and looked at my desk and the floor around my desk and made numerous wishes that there was something quick I could do to get myself organized. I need help.
I think I am going to let this blog go through the day and see where it leads.
Well, it is 10:16 and Patti has still not arrived. I am looking for a couple of files and can't seem to find them at this point. I have a pile of things that need to get done today and Kate wants to drive to Decatur and eat at James Joyce's pub. I don't have the time really. I may bend to the wishes of the women.
It is a beautiful day. It must have rained last night because some of the streets which are covered from the sunshine by buildings are wet from the night before. I didn't notice the rain. It probably didn't rain very long because there is no standing water.
I wore a coat this morning and it is a bit too warm for a coat. I may change to a thin sweater. Just another example of Winter weather in Georgia. It will rain and get really cold probably in a day or two and then we will have another few days of false Spring thereafter.
My in-laws were spoiled when they lived in Southern California. They consider the weather there to be God's perfection, as concerns weather patterns. I think that is a matter of opinion. I remember when Cindy's parents lived in Thousand Oaks, which is inland from Malibu. It would get rather chilly at night, but it would get quite hot and dry in the middle of the afternoon. From early morning to around 2:00 and then from 4:00 to 10:00 o'clock at night were nice. My problem was that I had a tendency to get nose bleeds during the hot period in the afternoon. The dryness and the heat were not fun.
Of course, when they lived along the coast in Irvine, I often thought it was a bit too cool most of the time. And I suppose that is my opinion.
When Cindy and I got married in Irvine, the temperature soared to about 88 degrees. There was about fifty per cent humidity. For Georgia weather in August, that would have been cool. For California, everybody thought they had landed on the fourth ring of Hell. I think they expected Satan, rather than the two ministers who married us. The pictures of the wedding are funny. All of the relatives from the southeast look relatively cool. The native Californians look like they got dressed and sat down in a sauna. Odd. We were all experiencing the same weather.
I will say it was a good idea to buy a keg of beer for the wedding. That came in handy.
But, truthfully, is there a bad time for a keg of beer?
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
The Music Hall
When I was a junior at Dunwoody High School, a number of my friends and I bought tickets to see Doc Watson at the Great Southeast Music Hall in Broadview Plaza on Piedmont Road. When we got there, the dude at the door turned us away because we were under age. He told us we could come back on Sundays, since you couldn't buy alcahol on Sundays back in those days.
Later, after I turned eighteen (the drinking age back in those days), some friends of mine and I turned the Music Hall into our natural second home. We saw Doug Kershaw, Cheech and Chong, Savoy Brown, Cowboy, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Greg Allman, Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show and other bands. We also saw Steve Martin opening for Martin Mull as a comedy duo.
The most interesting act we ever saw was a Chicago bluesman named Willie Dixon. How we got there and what happened was amazing.
One Saturday evening, a bunch of my friends and I gathered at Gary Defillipo's house. Flip was a bright guy who had moved in to Dunwoody with his parents and sister from California or New York. Flip's dad was and Italian-American, with dark skin and hair, and was rather quiet. Flip's mom was an Irish-American, with fair skin and red hair and was very vivacious. Flip got the dark hair and the fair skin and was a pretty fun guy. Flip drove an MG roadster and had several cool guitars, including a hollow body Gibson electric.
Anyway, we got together at Flip's house that night and were wondering what we could do. Somebody got the idea of calling the information line at the Great Southeast Music Hall. When we did, the recording said that you could come out and listen to 450 pounds of the best Chicago blues: Willie Dixon. None of us had ever heard of Willie Dixon, but the recording was intriguing.
So five or six of us piled into my red 1968 Plymouth Sports Fury convertible and drove down to Broadview Plaza, off Piedmont Road. When we got to the ticket office we were informed that the first show was in full swing and that we could come back for the second show at 9:30. Not having anything better to do, we decided to go downstairs on the back of the shopping plaza and bowl a couple of games at the bowling alley located there.
So we walked downstairs and rented some shoes and a lane and began to bowl several games. John Boswell, my alter ego in high school, went to the juke box and found his penultimate song, 'Down South Jukin' by Lynnerd Skynnerd. John got eight quarters and set it up to play the song eight times in a row.
Meanwhile, we bought a couple of beers from the snack bar and started bowling. As we bowled, the sounds of Lynnerd Skynnerd come be heard over and over again all over the bowling alley. As John got ready to bowl, the juke box abruptly stopped playing. Only John noticed the missing beats, and he turned around to see one of the patrons with the power cord from the juke box in his hand. Our Down South Jukin' was over for the night.
After awhile, the time for the concert arrived and we headed up to the Music Hall. We paid for our tickets (about three dollars each) and bought tin buckets of beer for the shower (also around three dollars each) and entered the music hall. The Music Hall seated around three hundred fifty or so, and the patrons sat on the floor on plastic pads with plywood backings. Any lack of comfort was ignored by us. This was not a locale for people with back problems.
As we waited for the show to start, I noticed that there were only about twenty of us in the place. Suddenly, the announcer came on the loud speaker behind us and announced that we should welcome our opening act, Gove Skrivener. We looked over to the far right and noticed as a young, bearded guy came up from the back, leading a dog on a rope leash. The guy walked up on stage; the dog sat down and we applauded the beginning of the show.
Gove played a good set of traditional and folk music, some old favorites, others his own. All the time he played, the dog slept on the wooden stage. He finished up with several tunes accompanying himself on the autoharp. When he finished, we offered appreciative applause and about a fourth of the audience left.
Meanwhile, we left our positions in the center of the hall and went back out front to buy more buckets of beer and some hot pretzels. When we returned, we took new seats up closer to the stage.
Finally, a group of African-American men took the stage. As they set up for the set, we tried to figure out who looked like he might be four hundred fifty pounds. No one looked the part.
After the band had set up, they began to play some real good Chicago style blues. At the time, none of us had much experience with the blues, but these guys were real good musicians. They had played maybe six songs, and we were clapping and yelling in appreciation, when suddenly a huge man came out of the back, offstage. As he lumbered up the short stairs to the stage, we were aghast. He cheerfully took the stage and picked up the bass fiddle laying on its side in the back of the stage.
With that, the band began to play what I found out later was the foundation of Chicago blues, songs that Willie Dixon had written for other others. Songs which had become famous on Rush Street and other places all over the world. Songs which had been covered by rock musicians like Eric Clapton and Cream, the Rolling Stones, Savoy Brown, and others. It was amazing.
Later on, I decided that certain experiences were greater than most and had to be defined as "cosmic experiences." These types of experiences were so great and so influential that the fact of the experience changed your life and your orientation. This concert was one such experience. In fifty years of experience, I have now had a number of such experiences. This concert with the blues players from Chicago was my first 'cosmic experience.'
After the concert was over, there were only about ten of us left in the hall. As Willie announced the end of the set, we stormed the stage and shook hands with the band members. I will never forget how amazing it was to shake hands with Willie Dixon. His hands were huge. His fingers were like Polish keilbasa. They wrapped around my hand. But the amazing part was the ability to listen to and show our appreciation to someone who is truly a legend. And interact with him so closely.
It was fun and it was amazing. Unbelievable. Even today, thirty years later.
Later, after I turned eighteen (the drinking age back in those days), some friends of mine and I turned the Music Hall into our natural second home. We saw Doug Kershaw, Cheech and Chong, Savoy Brown, Cowboy, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Greg Allman, Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show and other bands. We also saw Steve Martin opening for Martin Mull as a comedy duo.
The most interesting act we ever saw was a Chicago bluesman named Willie Dixon. How we got there and what happened was amazing.
One Saturday evening, a bunch of my friends and I gathered at Gary Defillipo's house. Flip was a bright guy who had moved in to Dunwoody with his parents and sister from California or New York. Flip's dad was and Italian-American, with dark skin and hair, and was rather quiet. Flip's mom was an Irish-American, with fair skin and red hair and was very vivacious. Flip got the dark hair and the fair skin and was a pretty fun guy. Flip drove an MG roadster and had several cool guitars, including a hollow body Gibson electric.
Anyway, we got together at Flip's house that night and were wondering what we could do. Somebody got the idea of calling the information line at the Great Southeast Music Hall. When we did, the recording said that you could come out and listen to 450 pounds of the best Chicago blues: Willie Dixon. None of us had ever heard of Willie Dixon, but the recording was intriguing.
So five or six of us piled into my red 1968 Plymouth Sports Fury convertible and drove down to Broadview Plaza, off Piedmont Road. When we got to the ticket office we were informed that the first show was in full swing and that we could come back for the second show at 9:30. Not having anything better to do, we decided to go downstairs on the back of the shopping plaza and bowl a couple of games at the bowling alley located there.
So we walked downstairs and rented some shoes and a lane and began to bowl several games. John Boswell, my alter ego in high school, went to the juke box and found his penultimate song, 'Down South Jukin' by Lynnerd Skynnerd. John got eight quarters and set it up to play the song eight times in a row.
Meanwhile, we bought a couple of beers from the snack bar and started bowling. As we bowled, the sounds of Lynnerd Skynnerd come be heard over and over again all over the bowling alley. As John got ready to bowl, the juke box abruptly stopped playing. Only John noticed the missing beats, and he turned around to see one of the patrons with the power cord from the juke box in his hand. Our Down South Jukin' was over for the night.
After awhile, the time for the concert arrived and we headed up to the Music Hall. We paid for our tickets (about three dollars each) and bought tin buckets of beer for the shower (also around three dollars each) and entered the music hall. The Music Hall seated around three hundred fifty or so, and the patrons sat on the floor on plastic pads with plywood backings. Any lack of comfort was ignored by us. This was not a locale for people with back problems.
As we waited for the show to start, I noticed that there were only about twenty of us in the place. Suddenly, the announcer came on the loud speaker behind us and announced that we should welcome our opening act, Gove Skrivener. We looked over to the far right and noticed as a young, bearded guy came up from the back, leading a dog on a rope leash. The guy walked up on stage; the dog sat down and we applauded the beginning of the show.
Gove played a good set of traditional and folk music, some old favorites, others his own. All the time he played, the dog slept on the wooden stage. He finished up with several tunes accompanying himself on the autoharp. When he finished, we offered appreciative applause and about a fourth of the audience left.
Meanwhile, we left our positions in the center of the hall and went back out front to buy more buckets of beer and some hot pretzels. When we returned, we took new seats up closer to the stage.
Finally, a group of African-American men took the stage. As they set up for the set, we tried to figure out who looked like he might be four hundred fifty pounds. No one looked the part.
After the band had set up, they began to play some real good Chicago style blues. At the time, none of us had much experience with the blues, but these guys were real good musicians. They had played maybe six songs, and we were clapping and yelling in appreciation, when suddenly a huge man came out of the back, offstage. As he lumbered up the short stairs to the stage, we were aghast. He cheerfully took the stage and picked up the bass fiddle laying on its side in the back of the stage.
With that, the band began to play what I found out later was the foundation of Chicago blues, songs that Willie Dixon had written for other others. Songs which had become famous on Rush Street and other places all over the world. Songs which had been covered by rock musicians like Eric Clapton and Cream, the Rolling Stones, Savoy Brown, and others. It was amazing.
Later on, I decided that certain experiences were greater than most and had to be defined as "cosmic experiences." These types of experiences were so great and so influential that the fact of the experience changed your life and your orientation. This concert was one such experience. In fifty years of experience, I have now had a number of such experiences. This concert with the blues players from Chicago was my first 'cosmic experience.'
After the concert was over, there were only about ten of us left in the hall. As Willie announced the end of the set, we stormed the stage and shook hands with the band members. I will never forget how amazing it was to shake hands with Willie Dixon. His hands were huge. His fingers were like Polish keilbasa. They wrapped around my hand. But the amazing part was the ability to listen to and show our appreciation to someone who is truly a legend. And interact with him so closely.
It was fun and it was amazing. Unbelievable. Even today, thirty years later.
New Years, 2008
Today is the first day of the New Year. Last night, Cindy and I had reservations at a nice restaurant in Atlanta. We were going to celebrate the twentyfifth anniversary of our first date in New Orleans, the day before the Sugar Bowl. In the morning, I went into work early to find the town deserted. Patti, my secretary, came in a little bit later and we took care of the business we needed to complete and I sent her home at noon.
That left me with a half a day to run errands before we went to Atlanta. Kate and I piled into the Toyota and drove toward PTC. About the time we got to Senoia, the car started overheating (there is a leak in the top of the radiator), so I headed back to Griffin to change cars and try again.
When we finally got back to PTC, we actually found a parking space and were able to go into Joseph Banks. Kate and I found a suit, a tie to match and a sweater (not matching). At that point, we found out that Cindy was too tired to go into the ATL, so Kate and I went up to Fayetteville and bought champagne at Cost Plus World Market and Kate bought a movie and a book at Barnes & Nobles (formerly 'Barnes & No Books'). On our way back we stopped at Kroger and bought steaks and spinach salad fixings to add to Cindy's iron deficiency.
We returned to Griffin and cooked supper and then we all fell asleep around 10.30.
Early this morning, I woke up, took Tex out and cooked breakfast for the crowd. At 9:00, I woke everyone else up and served cheese grits, Ky sausage and champagne. Finally, the women got showered, primped and dressed for travel to Dunwoody.
On our way up, we stopped at the Starbucks in Lovejoy. We placed our order and as I got my drink, I noticed the little area they had set up in the corner with cushy chairs and a nice coffee table. I suggested we sit for awhile. So, Cindy, Kate and I sat down and enjoyed the warmth, the quiet and the hot drinks while the wind whipped around the building and keened a scream over the roof of the building.
After awhile, we drove on to Dunwoody and enjoyed a nice dinner of country ham, black eyed peas, collards and macaroni and cheese. Some sweet tea and it was almost hard to beat.
Now is the time to nap and watch football until the Sugar Bowl tonight. Tomorrow is foreclosure day, and I get to sell the homes of people all over North Georgia. Dispossessing the hillbillies. Fun stuff.
Afterward we'll go whistling in the graveyard for amusement.
That left me with a half a day to run errands before we went to Atlanta. Kate and I piled into the Toyota and drove toward PTC. About the time we got to Senoia, the car started overheating (there is a leak in the top of the radiator), so I headed back to Griffin to change cars and try again.
When we finally got back to PTC, we actually found a parking space and were able to go into Joseph Banks. Kate and I found a suit, a tie to match and a sweater (not matching). At that point, we found out that Cindy was too tired to go into the ATL, so Kate and I went up to Fayetteville and bought champagne at Cost Plus World Market and Kate bought a movie and a book at Barnes & Nobles (formerly 'Barnes & No Books'). On our way back we stopped at Kroger and bought steaks and spinach salad fixings to add to Cindy's iron deficiency.
We returned to Griffin and cooked supper and then we all fell asleep around 10.30.
Early this morning, I woke up, took Tex out and cooked breakfast for the crowd. At 9:00, I woke everyone else up and served cheese grits, Ky sausage and champagne. Finally, the women got showered, primped and dressed for travel to Dunwoody.
On our way up, we stopped at the Starbucks in Lovejoy. We placed our order and as I got my drink, I noticed the little area they had set up in the corner with cushy chairs and a nice coffee table. I suggested we sit for awhile. So, Cindy, Kate and I sat down and enjoyed the warmth, the quiet and the hot drinks while the wind whipped around the building and keened a scream over the roof of the building.
After awhile, we drove on to Dunwoody and enjoyed a nice dinner of country ham, black eyed peas, collards and macaroni and cheese. Some sweet tea and it was almost hard to beat.
Now is the time to nap and watch football until the Sugar Bowl tonight. Tomorrow is foreclosure day, and I get to sell the homes of people all over North Georgia. Dispossessing the hillbillies. Fun stuff.
Afterward we'll go whistling in the graveyard for amusement.
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