Today is my wife's fiftieth birthday. She has not handled it that well, but it should get better. Tonight we are going to a Creole restaurant in Atlanta. I hope to surprise her a little bit and provide a good meal for all. I hope it goes well. My parents leave for a western trip tomorrow. We will probably go to Susan and Kevin's on Sunday.
Well, the birthday party at Redfish in Atlanta went well. The food and atmosphere was good despite the fact that it was pouring and Mom and Dad were about thirty minutes late due to traffic. I gave Cindy her gift and she was exciting about the prospect of travelling to Chicago. Tomorrow she is going to get a birthday party at Griffin Tech from all of her friends. I am sure she will like it.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Looking at Wednesday and Cindy's birthday
Well, now I can't find my glasses. It figures. Not too long ago, I could only wear my glasses because my contact lenses were not the right prescription and I couldn't read with them. Then I got my eyes checked and they fitted me for new contacts. Now I can't find my glasses. I am typing with uncorrected eyes. I am blind.
Tomorrow is another good day with many possibilities. I need to complete some tasks so I can take Cindy out in the afternoon. I am excited. I hope Cindy is too.
Tomorrow is her birthday. Happy Birthday, my little French girl.
Tomorrow is another good day with many possibilities. I need to complete some tasks so I can take Cindy out in the afternoon. I am excited. I hope Cindy is too.
Tomorrow is her birthday. Happy Birthday, my little French girl.
Last Tuesday of the month
I started this morning with a trip to the State Court of Spalding County to represent a young fellow who is struggling with substance abuse problems. He is a nice young man and deserves a chance to grow out of this present problem. We are going to try to assist him in that endeavor.
When I was through, I went home to pick up Cindy and take her to work so I could continue on to Atlanta and the Fulton County Courthouse. Cindy wasn't feeling very good and she was moving like molasses. However, I finally got her in the car and headed down the road. As I was running late and needed to take her to get lunch before I dropped her off at work, I was running a little fast for the posted speed limit. The next thing I see is a Griffin City Police car coming toward me. I slowed but I could see him turning around in my side mirror. He flashed his lights and I pulled over. He took my license and insurance card and went back to the cruiser.
Unfortunately, it turned out that my insurance on this particular car had expired and not been renewed. So, I called Patti at the office and had her bring a check to State Farm to reinstate the insurance. She came out and I signed the check which she took to the local State Farm office. While I waited for her, I chatted with the policeman about all sorts of things. I recommended movies and we discussed his wife's legal problems. As it turned out, she had come to me once to discuss the problem but I had not been at the office at the time.
Anyway, as Cindy and I sat on the side of the road watching the cars go by, we pretended we were detectives on stakeout. A lady and her daughter came out and looked at us as we sat. Cindy opined that the lady had "made us." I said it was her turn to get the coffee.
Anyway, there were a lot of times in the car from here to there and back again. Finally, I completed a closing in my office for a nice couple who used to live in Griffin. He was a former First National Bank of Griffin loan officer.
Tonight, I agreed to do a closing in Buena Vista, Georgia, which is southeast of Columbus, very near Fort Benning. The company agreed to pay me extra for the problem of driving to Buena Vista. When I accepted the trip, I called the borrower who suggested we meet somewhere in between. As it turned out, we are going to meet in Thomaston, which is not that far.
It has been a long day which included some barking between parent and child about the payment of Kate's tuition. I say it has been made; the school says no. When I finally talked to the collections person, she checked her computer report to find that the payment had been made. Well, ladeda.
Well, it is on to Thomaston. Forsyth tomorrow. Another closing in the afternoon.
When I was through, I went home to pick up Cindy and take her to work so I could continue on to Atlanta and the Fulton County Courthouse. Cindy wasn't feeling very good and she was moving like molasses. However, I finally got her in the car and headed down the road. As I was running late and needed to take her to get lunch before I dropped her off at work, I was running a little fast for the posted speed limit. The next thing I see is a Griffin City Police car coming toward me. I slowed but I could see him turning around in my side mirror. He flashed his lights and I pulled over. He took my license and insurance card and went back to the cruiser.
Unfortunately, it turned out that my insurance on this particular car had expired and not been renewed. So, I called Patti at the office and had her bring a check to State Farm to reinstate the insurance. She came out and I signed the check which she took to the local State Farm office. While I waited for her, I chatted with the policeman about all sorts of things. I recommended movies and we discussed his wife's legal problems. As it turned out, she had come to me once to discuss the problem but I had not been at the office at the time.
Anyway, as Cindy and I sat on the side of the road watching the cars go by, we pretended we were detectives on stakeout. A lady and her daughter came out and looked at us as we sat. Cindy opined that the lady had "made us." I said it was her turn to get the coffee.
Anyway, there were a lot of times in the car from here to there and back again. Finally, I completed a closing in my office for a nice couple who used to live in Griffin. He was a former First National Bank of Griffin loan officer.
Tonight, I agreed to do a closing in Buena Vista, Georgia, which is southeast of Columbus, very near Fort Benning. The company agreed to pay me extra for the problem of driving to Buena Vista. When I accepted the trip, I called the borrower who suggested we meet somewhere in between. As it turned out, we are going to meet in Thomaston, which is not that far.
It has been a long day which included some barking between parent and child about the payment of Kate's tuition. I say it has been made; the school says no. When I finally talked to the collections person, she checked her computer report to find that the payment had been made. Well, ladeda.
Well, it is on to Thomaston. Forsyth tomorrow. Another closing in the afternoon.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Black curls and cognition
It was three ten on a Monday afternoon in August
And I was lumbering down Georgia Eighty-five
Back home to Griffin from Columbus
And the hot, dry desert heat was unusual
Not the sun beating down on my thinning hair
But the lack of moisture, drawing the raw ammonia of sweat
Popping up in little pinpricks on my arms and scalp
Making misery of the sweetness sometimes found in Summer
Suavely masked behind my sly sunglasses
So perfectly chosen to cover the day's weariness
From my age and a stomach full of barbecue on a hot afternoon
When from beyond my right shoulder
Spinning up from below and behind
Like a whirl in the flow of the drift of things,
A rift in the run of material
Of that river of sweet blackness
Spinning up smoothly from below my tires
Sweetness itself, sliding along
Coming alongside me, frozen in the ice cream cool
In a wink of quick cognition:
Black,black curly locks framing
A sharp smirk of a profile and deep red lips
And her soul locked behind those cheap sunglasses
Which sit primly propped amid the unfairness or indifference
And youth.
And there her car sped off into the future beyond
Leaving me alone in my heavy plodding rumble
My past pushed before me like the prow of a merchant ship
Pulling the lines of age across my face
Dragging my path too deep below the present current
She is lost now in the stirring of memories
And buried in the eternity of wishing,
A sad, sad reminder and a signpost to present inadequacies
And the cut of irrelevancy.
And I was lumbering down Georgia Eighty-five
Back home to Griffin from Columbus
And the hot, dry desert heat was unusual
Not the sun beating down on my thinning hair
But the lack of moisture, drawing the raw ammonia of sweat
Popping up in little pinpricks on my arms and scalp
Making misery of the sweetness sometimes found in Summer
Suavely masked behind my sly sunglasses
So perfectly chosen to cover the day's weariness
From my age and a stomach full of barbecue on a hot afternoon
When from beyond my right shoulder
Spinning up from below and behind
Like a whirl in the flow of the drift of things,
A rift in the run of material
Of that river of sweet blackness
Spinning up smoothly from below my tires
Sweetness itself, sliding along
Coming alongside me, frozen in the ice cream cool
In a wink of quick cognition:
Black,black curly locks framing
A sharp smirk of a profile and deep red lips
And her soul locked behind those cheap sunglasses
Which sit primly propped amid the unfairness or indifference
And youth.
And there her car sped off into the future beyond
Leaving me alone in my heavy plodding rumble
My past pushed before me like the prow of a merchant ship
Pulling the lines of age across my face
Dragging my path too deep below the present current
She is lost now in the stirring of memories
And buried in the eternity of wishing,
A sad, sad reminder and a signpost to present inadequacies
And the cut of irrelevancy.
Mohammed Ali
This evening I was listening to NPR on a trip to North Upson County for a closing. During the broadcast, the hostess interviewed the wife of Mohammed Ali, who was speaking about her part in a charity dealing with Parkinson's Disease, which has victimized her husband. She was speaking about her husband and his struggle with the disease. She was also talking about the care-givers across the world who minister to their loved ones. It reminded me of my interest in Ali since I was a child.
I was only three years old when Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, won gold in the Rome Olympics. He was a light heavyweight, who had started boxing in Louisville as a boy under the tutelage of a Louisville policeman, when his bike was stolen. He was speed and quickness personified and he had a bubbly charm to his personality which was unusual in most athletes. He was on his way.
By the time I was old enough to really know who he was, he had become the Heavyweight Champion of the World by knocking out Sonny Liston. I was a small boy, living in Indianapolis, with a Kentucky sized chip on my shoulders. Everybody who paid attention knew that I was from south of the Ohio River. I was so proud to be from the state that gave us Cassius Clay, the Heavyweight Champion of the World.
Later, when he changed his name to Mohammed Ali and pledged allegiance to the Muslims, it was a small blip on my radar. For a lot of people this was a problem. This was an American icon becoming part of the cultural struggle that civil rights and racial struggles became in the 60's.
Then, of course, came the refusal to participate in the draft or to serve, like so many young men, in the war in Southeast Asia. Again, he became a lightening rod for Americans on which to focus the debate. They stripped his title in his prime and prevented him from practicing his craft.
Meanwhile, I was getting older too. I would wonder about the seeming hypocrisy of someone who would fight for a living but would not fight for his country. I would wonder about the allegiance to a faith which was strange to me and seemed threatening. Like the changes and losses going on in the time, I wondered about the events going on in Mohammed Ali's life.
Still, I was so excited, living in Atlanta, Georgia, when the boxing powers that were allowed him to come out of banishment to fight a comeback fight in Atlanta. I liked Jerry Quarry, the Irish-American heavyweight. I suppose I might have had more in common with his genetic background. However, he wasn't from Kentucky.
The geographical kinship between us was too strong. I haven't had a tie to a boxer like that other than Evander Holifield, who lives in the adjoining county. I have always appreciated the fact that Ali came from the same little state just south of the Ohio River. I know there is very little similarity between the two of us. However, I have never let it stand in the way of my admiration of the man and the boxer.
I have often wondered if Mohammed Ali would mind if I prayed for him. I confess that I have often prayed for him and his soul. I don't mean this as a slur against his faith. I mean it as a sincere offering to God on his behalf. I will continue to pray for his salvation from time to time, as I pray for others I care for. I would love to meet him and find out if he would object to my continued prayers. I think he would respect my desires and my faith, just as I would his.
I also pray for his ability to deal with his illness and I pray for his family that they would be able to continue to care for him in his illness. I also pray for others who are inflicted with this illness.
I was only three years old when Ali, then known as Cassius Clay, won gold in the Rome Olympics. He was a light heavyweight, who had started boxing in Louisville as a boy under the tutelage of a Louisville policeman, when his bike was stolen. He was speed and quickness personified and he had a bubbly charm to his personality which was unusual in most athletes. He was on his way.
By the time I was old enough to really know who he was, he had become the Heavyweight Champion of the World by knocking out Sonny Liston. I was a small boy, living in Indianapolis, with a Kentucky sized chip on my shoulders. Everybody who paid attention knew that I was from south of the Ohio River. I was so proud to be from the state that gave us Cassius Clay, the Heavyweight Champion of the World.
Later, when he changed his name to Mohammed Ali and pledged allegiance to the Muslims, it was a small blip on my radar. For a lot of people this was a problem. This was an American icon becoming part of the cultural struggle that civil rights and racial struggles became in the 60's.
Then, of course, came the refusal to participate in the draft or to serve, like so many young men, in the war in Southeast Asia. Again, he became a lightening rod for Americans on which to focus the debate. They stripped his title in his prime and prevented him from practicing his craft.
Meanwhile, I was getting older too. I would wonder about the seeming hypocrisy of someone who would fight for a living but would not fight for his country. I would wonder about the allegiance to a faith which was strange to me and seemed threatening. Like the changes and losses going on in the time, I wondered about the events going on in Mohammed Ali's life.
Still, I was so excited, living in Atlanta, Georgia, when the boxing powers that were allowed him to come out of banishment to fight a comeback fight in Atlanta. I liked Jerry Quarry, the Irish-American heavyweight. I suppose I might have had more in common with his genetic background. However, he wasn't from Kentucky.
The geographical kinship between us was too strong. I haven't had a tie to a boxer like that other than Evander Holifield, who lives in the adjoining county. I have always appreciated the fact that Ali came from the same little state just south of the Ohio River. I know there is very little similarity between the two of us. However, I have never let it stand in the way of my admiration of the man and the boxer.
I have often wondered if Mohammed Ali would mind if I prayed for him. I confess that I have often prayed for him and his soul. I don't mean this as a slur against his faith. I mean it as a sincere offering to God on his behalf. I will continue to pray for his salvation from time to time, as I pray for others I care for. I would love to meet him and find out if he would object to my continued prayers. I think he would respect my desires and my faith, just as I would his.
I also pray for his ability to deal with his illness and I pray for his family that they would be able to continue to care for him in his illness. I also pray for others who are inflicted with this illness.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
A long hot weekend
This weekend began with an evening with my parents in Dunwoody and supper at CB South for Cindy and me. Early Friday morning (actually not as early as we originally intended) we drove off to Clinton,South Carolina with the balance of what Kate wanted to start with in her senior year at PC. It would have been better if Tex had been at home, but we got it completed, then Cindy and I travelled north and west into North Carolina and on to Tennessee. In the middle of our trip, we encountered a good bit of rain south of Ashville which continued on west across the Smokies into Tennessee. It finally ended as we crossed over into Seveir County, where the weather turned back to heat, dryness and oppressive sunshine.
That night, we made it to Cindy's parents' house to find every thing in disarray, awaiting the advent of the movers on Saturday morning. It was clear that Cindy's parents were stressed and lost in the details of getting everything packed and ready for the movers.
The problem was exacerbated by the inability to sort out things to get rid of. This was particularly true concerning Cindy's father. He had so much stuff in that workroom which he couldn't part with. Aggh!
Anyway, Saturday came and went and a small army of people got the substantial part of that mess moved from one house to the other. By the time we got to eight o'clock p.m., we needed a shower curtain and liner for the upstairs bathroom to allow Cindy and me to shower the salty sweat from our bodies and we needed food for all of us. I went to Target and Wendy's to accomplish these tasks. Spent about $76 in total, added to the $20 I spent for lunch. Money was just hemmoraghing from everybody.
This morning I awoke and read out on the back steps of the new house. I knew we needed another morning of moving small things that the movers had left. I sat and watched the underground sprinkler system watering the grass and the cement of the patio and the cushions of the outdoor chairs. It occurred to me the contrast between these upper class houses, watering their grass and patios, while the farmers of Central Georgia couldn't get rain to water their corn. I remembered fields of corn, where the corn was tastled out on plants no higher than three or four feet. So sad. So ironic when these effete snobs were watering their lawns to protect their property values and the appearance of their images.
We all need to live somewhere. Do we need to spend so much money on our shelters? What does it say about our values when the farmers who feed us can't afford to provide the water to their crops when we douse our lawns with an abundance of H2O for no other reason than to improve our images? I think our values are skewed and selfish. What will happen when we can't afford the food that we need to feed oursleves? The most famous line from Wendell Berry, in my mind is, "Eating is an agricultural event." I may not have got that completely right, but the meaning is understood.
We arrived back in Georgia this evening to rain from Hapeville on to Griffin. I watched the weather and it seems better. Maybe Autumn is coming. May I truly be grateful for the food I eat and the farmers that grew it.
That night, we made it to Cindy's parents' house to find every thing in disarray, awaiting the advent of the movers on Saturday morning. It was clear that Cindy's parents were stressed and lost in the details of getting everything packed and ready for the movers.
The problem was exacerbated by the inability to sort out things to get rid of. This was particularly true concerning Cindy's father. He had so much stuff in that workroom which he couldn't part with. Aggh!
Anyway, Saturday came and went and a small army of people got the substantial part of that mess moved from one house to the other. By the time we got to eight o'clock p.m., we needed a shower curtain and liner for the upstairs bathroom to allow Cindy and me to shower the salty sweat from our bodies and we needed food for all of us. I went to Target and Wendy's to accomplish these tasks. Spent about $76 in total, added to the $20 I spent for lunch. Money was just hemmoraghing from everybody.
This morning I awoke and read out on the back steps of the new house. I knew we needed another morning of moving small things that the movers had left. I sat and watched the underground sprinkler system watering the grass and the cement of the patio and the cushions of the outdoor chairs. It occurred to me the contrast between these upper class houses, watering their grass and patios, while the farmers of Central Georgia couldn't get rain to water their corn. I remembered fields of corn, where the corn was tastled out on plants no higher than three or four feet. So sad. So ironic when these effete snobs were watering their lawns to protect their property values and the appearance of their images.
We all need to live somewhere. Do we need to spend so much money on our shelters? What does it say about our values when the farmers who feed us can't afford to provide the water to their crops when we douse our lawns with an abundance of H2O for no other reason than to improve our images? I think our values are skewed and selfish. What will happen when we can't afford the food that we need to feed oursleves? The most famous line from Wendell Berry, in my mind is, "Eating is an agricultural event." I may not have got that completely right, but the meaning is understood.
We arrived back in Georgia this evening to rain from Hapeville on to Griffin. I watched the weather and it seems better. Maybe Autumn is coming. May I truly be grateful for the food I eat and the farmers that grew it.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
What a difference a day makes?
Yesterday afternoon I had a hearing in Federal District Court in Atlanta facing me in which the attorney for the other side was trying to convince the judge to sanction me, possibly by fines or worse. I had called a local attorney friend of mine who had counselled me on making a claim on my malpractice insurance. I had taken the extra course of calling a lawyer friend in Gainesville, Florida to check on the reputation of the two attorneys with which I had been associated.
Meanwhile, Patti showed me an article on msn talking about several lenders which were either going out of business or down-sizing their operations. I spoke to a client to question him about a closing someone was trying to do on a house in Atlanta and he knew nothing about it. I anticipated a lot of expenses in the next few days to get Kate ensconced in school and my in laws happy and in their new house. A lot of stormy skies. No fun.
Now, I find that the hearing in Atlanta is cancelled, the case is resolved and I am scheduled to receive $6000.00 in payment of my fees and expenses. A story on NBC showed that Bank of America is enfusing cash into Countrywide Home Loans to keep them afloat. There is still an outside chance that the closing may happen and one of my clients brought a check for $500 for two new cases. Bring out the bands; start the weekend parade!
The word for today on my antique word calendar is "feague". What that means is the practice of inserting ginger or a live eel in the butt of a horse to make him appear lively. I can only hope that this good feeling is not a feague. I guess I better check my orifices.
Meanwhile, Patti showed me an article on msn talking about several lenders which were either going out of business or down-sizing their operations. I spoke to a client to question him about a closing someone was trying to do on a house in Atlanta and he knew nothing about it. I anticipated a lot of expenses in the next few days to get Kate ensconced in school and my in laws happy and in their new house. A lot of stormy skies. No fun.
Now, I find that the hearing in Atlanta is cancelled, the case is resolved and I am scheduled to receive $6000.00 in payment of my fees and expenses. A story on NBC showed that Bank of America is enfusing cash into Countrywide Home Loans to keep them afloat. There is still an outside chance that the closing may happen and one of my clients brought a check for $500 for two new cases. Bring out the bands; start the weekend parade!
The word for today on my antique word calendar is "feague". What that means is the practice of inserting ginger or a live eel in the butt of a horse to make him appear lively. I can only hope that this good feeling is not a feague. I guess I better check my orifices.
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