I was in Forsyth this morning. I needed to search a title in Monroe County, so I headed out Georgia 16 to Interstate 75, then drove down the interstate to Forsyth. Exiting the interstate, I pulled into Hardee's for a sausage biscuit and iced tea. When she gave me my change, the lady at the window handed me eight passes to a drag race in Cecil, Georgia. I don't know where Cecil is and don't really have the desire to go to a drag race. Perhaps I can give the tickets to someone else.
At any rate, I left Hardees and headed up the hill to the courthouse square. It took me awhile to find a parking space. As it turned out, they have completely reconfigured the courthouse and you now enter from what they call the north entrance. My sense of direction was off, so I didn't really know where north was. As it turned out that is the entrance across from Grits Cafe, which is somewhat of a landmark in Forsyth.
Anyway, I went into the courthouse and had the deed record room all to myself. It has never been that crowded in the deed record room in Forsyth, but this was really spooky. And somewhat incongruous, since the square has really seen some renovations over the past years, as new restaurants and shops have opened up to handle the growth of Macon northward toward and into Monroe County. I counted three or four restaurants on the square and several new offices and shops along the square.
Now I have noticed that three or four new restaurants are opening in Griffin, as well. Even as a lot of restaurants and restaurant chains are closing. There is a certain spirit. The spirit of the entrepeneur. I have noticed that some such entrepeneurs seem to lose their spirit fairly quickly. It is sad.
People keep trying.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Esprit de corps
I have been utilizing facebook over the past few weeks. Unfortunately, it takes some of the time I would ordinarily use for my submissions on this blog. We live in an odd world. We have so many ways to communicate with others, but seldom use the modes of communication we have for anything serious. With facebook, I have thrown a net out on the internet and have caught quite a few people who I knew in the past. On the other hand, I have been caught myself by people who are apparently connected to me, but whom I cannot remember to same my life. It is rather strange. It is like fishing. You never know what you are going to catch. Or for that matter, by whom you are going to be caught.
For example, I caught my former roommate at W&L who is now a surgeon in Arizona. I caught a classmate from law school at Georgia who now lives in Irvine, California, where Cindy's family used to live and where I was married. I caught two people with whom I went to high school, only to find that they both lived in Griffin for some time several years ago. I caught a number of people who I have not had any contact with over the years and probably had little contact with, even when I was in high school.
But we all have connections and facebook makes use of those connections in order to link us together. It doesn't mean we are any closer. I graduated with a guy from Dunwoody. We didn't really have much close connection when we were there. I don't suppose I spoke with him more than a handful of times in school. However, I caught him on facebook. Now he is a missionary in Benin on the west coast of Africa. He has been for twenty years. So now, someone with whom I had little contact when we both went to school together knows more about me than he probably knew then, yet lives on the other side of the world.
Odd indeed.
Still, it is nice to make contact with someone I knew before. It makes me feel like I am not alone, even though I am really not alone anyway. Still, the group to which I am attached, however tenuously, is now bigger. A large net of fish. And I can make us closer, if I so choose and they decide that that is alright as well.
On the other hand, we are not that much closer, in the real sense. No, we are still separated by time and distance and the years that have fallen between us since we inhabited the same high school or college or law school or little league football team. The connections sometimes are stronger in my mind and memory than in reality.
For I can still see Bud Schreiber in Fort Myers when we were down there in 1970, playing football against a little league team from Fort Myers and I can still remember the sadness of those little boys, thirteen and twelve, crying in the visitor's lockerroom after we tied the Fort Myers Rebels 0-0 on a cool night in December. We had not lost or tied a game the entire year. Going into the game we were 12-0. And yet there we were in the lockerroom in Florida, weeping for failing to win that last game.
And I remember standing on the field at North Dekalb Stadium talking to Bud Schreiber after we beat Chamblee High School in the final football game of our senior year at Dunwoody. And Cody Conarro and Eddie Jackson and Blake Mitchell and Gene Geeslin and Frank Hovey and Tom Schreiber were all there. All guys I played with in little league, who were now together on the opposite side of a high school football game, but brought together one more time. Before college and law school and work and marriage and children and whatever. Some of the same little boys who shared a good cry in a room in Fort Myers, Florida.
Esprit de corps, to some extent. I suppose.
For example, I caught my former roommate at W&L who is now a surgeon in Arizona. I caught a classmate from law school at Georgia who now lives in Irvine, California, where Cindy's family used to live and where I was married. I caught two people with whom I went to high school, only to find that they both lived in Griffin for some time several years ago. I caught a number of people who I have not had any contact with over the years and probably had little contact with, even when I was in high school.
But we all have connections and facebook makes use of those connections in order to link us together. It doesn't mean we are any closer. I graduated with a guy from Dunwoody. We didn't really have much close connection when we were there. I don't suppose I spoke with him more than a handful of times in school. However, I caught him on facebook. Now he is a missionary in Benin on the west coast of Africa. He has been for twenty years. So now, someone with whom I had little contact when we both went to school together knows more about me than he probably knew then, yet lives on the other side of the world.
Odd indeed.
Still, it is nice to make contact with someone I knew before. It makes me feel like I am not alone, even though I am really not alone anyway. Still, the group to which I am attached, however tenuously, is now bigger. A large net of fish. And I can make us closer, if I so choose and they decide that that is alright as well.
On the other hand, we are not that much closer, in the real sense. No, we are still separated by time and distance and the years that have fallen between us since we inhabited the same high school or college or law school or little league football team. The connections sometimes are stronger in my mind and memory than in reality.
For I can still see Bud Schreiber in Fort Myers when we were down there in 1970, playing football against a little league team from Fort Myers and I can still remember the sadness of those little boys, thirteen and twelve, crying in the visitor's lockerroom after we tied the Fort Myers Rebels 0-0 on a cool night in December. We had not lost or tied a game the entire year. Going into the game we were 12-0. And yet there we were in the lockerroom in Florida, weeping for failing to win that last game.
And I remember standing on the field at North Dekalb Stadium talking to Bud Schreiber after we beat Chamblee High School in the final football game of our senior year at Dunwoody. And Cody Conarro and Eddie Jackson and Blake Mitchell and Gene Geeslin and Frank Hovey and Tom Schreiber were all there. All guys I played with in little league, who were now together on the opposite side of a high school football game, but brought together one more time. Before college and law school and work and marriage and children and whatever. Some of the same little boys who shared a good cry in a room in Fort Myers, Florida.
Esprit de corps, to some extent. I suppose.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
A surprising Spring day and Lebanese food for lunch.
Today Cindy and Kate and I drove closer into town and Cindy wanted to eat at some southern/italian restaurant and Kate wanted to eat at Ali Babba's and I wanted to eat. We ended up eating at Ali Babba's which is a middle eastern restaurant on Kingston Pike in Knoxtown and seems very out of place. The owners are Lebanese and are very sociable and fun. Kate ordered shishkabob and Cindy ordered shishkabob and the owner told me he was going to suggest a special lunch for the boss. I ended up eating something called King Solomon's chicken, which was both breasts of chicken, served with a rice dish with peas and ground lamb and specie-spices and it was delightful. Cindy ended up changing her meal to stuffed eggplant which was also quite good.
I am going to tell you that their food is extra special and we enjoy it quite a lot when we come to Knox-town. It seems like it ought to be in New York or some other northen city rather than East Tennessee, but the experience is worth it.
Tonight we had pork tenderloin with ginger and rice and tomatoes and green beans and red wine and then we went out onto the back porch and enjoyed the last few drops of sunshine before we had to go back inside. It was quite delightful.
Today, I dropped Kate off in front of Target and noticed that the rain had blown pink petals all over some of the cars from some cherry trees in the parking lot. It was such a pretty decoration it reminded me of weddings and other such romantic things. Kate thought I was making fun of her. But not really.
Afterward, we went to Macallister's Pub and ordered three large cups of the finest iced tea in Christendom. Bar None. No Exceptions. Try It.
Anyway, tomorrow we return home and get to see a few of the nieces. It will be fun. And Cindy will finally get home.
I am going to tell you that their food is extra special and we enjoy it quite a lot when we come to Knox-town. It seems like it ought to be in New York or some other northen city rather than East Tennessee, but the experience is worth it.
Tonight we had pork tenderloin with ginger and rice and tomatoes and green beans and red wine and then we went out onto the back porch and enjoyed the last few drops of sunshine before we had to go back inside. It was quite delightful.
Today, I dropped Kate off in front of Target and noticed that the rain had blown pink petals all over some of the cars from some cherry trees in the parking lot. It was such a pretty decoration it reminded me of weddings and other such romantic things. Kate thought I was making fun of her. But not really.
Afterward, we went to Macallister's Pub and ordered three large cups of the finest iced tea in Christendom. Bar None. No Exceptions. Try It.
Anyway, tomorrow we return home and get to see a few of the nieces. It will be fun. And Cindy will finally get home.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The cat always gets the last word
You know, if you thought like that for real then you would soon lose your grasp and you might fall into the whirlpool. Forever.
There will come a moment tomorrow when I will feel differently. Hooray!
I wish I could quantify the difference. Perhaps then I could figure out whether I am an optimist or a pessimist.
As if that is a worthwhile endeavor.
Tex is my dog. Tex is old. An old dog. He growls and grumbles and barks at all of us, from time to time. But we still love Tex. Why?
Is it because he is soft and he allows us to hold him close to us and pretend that he is our pet, rather than the ownership being on the other foot. By that I mean, as with any pet, it is sometimes hard to determine who is in charge.
I don't think Tex cares. Tex is willing to put up with us as long as we feed him and let him poot and tinkle on a regular basis. He is even willing to put up with our desire to control him, to a point. He does this because he is a pack animal, meaning that he follows the pack, whether it is the one he was born into or one he takes on.
I have heard that at some point a dog left his pack and joined the human group around the fire. He supposedly did this because he could take advantage of the humans by getting a regular meal around the fire.
This concept does not feel right when you apply it to very small dogs. Yip! Yip! Yip! I guess they got to eat too. "She was the winner, that became the doggie's dinner." Thank you, Nick Lowe.
Anyway, that began all the connections between dog and man, healthy and unhealthy. So along with the saint bernard pulling the skiier out of the snowbed and Lassie pulling Timmy out of the well, we get my elderly cousin Minnie, living in an apartment in Jacksonville with toy poodles who nipped her hands and peed on her drapes.
I have loved all of our dogs, even the ones who were bad sometimes. I appreciate dogs enough to enjoy the mascot of my Law School alma mater. To whoof in a crowd of red and black.
But I am enough of an appreciant of cats to realize that everything has its limits, even dogs.
The cat says, "Get real."
There will come a moment tomorrow when I will feel differently. Hooray!
I wish I could quantify the difference. Perhaps then I could figure out whether I am an optimist or a pessimist.
As if that is a worthwhile endeavor.
Tex is my dog. Tex is old. An old dog. He growls and grumbles and barks at all of us, from time to time. But we still love Tex. Why?
Is it because he is soft and he allows us to hold him close to us and pretend that he is our pet, rather than the ownership being on the other foot. By that I mean, as with any pet, it is sometimes hard to determine who is in charge.
I don't think Tex cares. Tex is willing to put up with us as long as we feed him and let him poot and tinkle on a regular basis. He is even willing to put up with our desire to control him, to a point. He does this because he is a pack animal, meaning that he follows the pack, whether it is the one he was born into or one he takes on.
I have heard that at some point a dog left his pack and joined the human group around the fire. He supposedly did this because he could take advantage of the humans by getting a regular meal around the fire.
This concept does not feel right when you apply it to very small dogs. Yip! Yip! Yip! I guess they got to eat too. "She was the winner, that became the doggie's dinner." Thank you, Nick Lowe.
Anyway, that began all the connections between dog and man, healthy and unhealthy. So along with the saint bernard pulling the skiier out of the snowbed and Lassie pulling Timmy out of the well, we get my elderly cousin Minnie, living in an apartment in Jacksonville with toy poodles who nipped her hands and peed on her drapes.
I have loved all of our dogs, even the ones who were bad sometimes. I appreciate dogs enough to enjoy the mascot of my Law School alma mater. To whoof in a crowd of red and black.
But I am enough of an appreciant of cats to realize that everything has its limits, even dogs.
The cat says, "Get real."
The cynic's weekend
Tomorrow is Friday. Which means the end of the week. Which means that Saturday awaits us after Friday, and a day of rest and recreation and doing what I want to do rather than what I have to do. Perhaps. Then comes Sunday, beginning in church, then a nap in the afternoon to regain my equilibrium and to finally feel rested. And the day ticks away quickly until I have to sleep hard in order to put off Monday and the beginning of the new week. And it starts all over again.
Thursday is pleasant because Monday and the new week are three days away and it feels safe, because there is enough time and enough of me time between now and the beginning of again. In my mind it feels restful because I can feel the end of week, but again is far enough away to feel far away.
So I cherish Thursday, because it feels safer than Friday, less foreboding than Saturday, and less of a waste than Sunday.
It is all ticking away and I can't do anything about it.
Thursday is pleasant because Monday and the new week are three days away and it feels safe, because there is enough time and enough of me time between now and the beginning of again. In my mind it feels restful because I can feel the end of week, but again is far enough away to feel far away.
So I cherish Thursday, because it feels safer than Friday, less foreboding than Saturday, and less of a waste than Sunday.
It is all ticking away and I can't do anything about it.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Bygones
I drove down Highway 18
All the way from Zebulon to West Point
And the gradual dissolution and erosion
Of grand, old cotton plantations
And peach groves tracked across the hills
Was evident in the knots of bushes
And pine groves entwining,
And the simple lack of use.
The old country stores on the side of the road
Sadly, were slowly falling away, brick by brick,
The evidence of sales, long past
Fading on the rusting signboards
The occupants moved to cities
And towns with a better chance of livelihood.
Even the train tracks have been removed
The abandoned ties lying in stacks;
No way out except the cracked asphalt beneath me.
All the way from Zebulon to West Point
And the gradual dissolution and erosion
Of grand, old cotton plantations
And peach groves tracked across the hills
Was evident in the knots of bushes
And pine groves entwining,
And the simple lack of use.
The old country stores on the side of the road
Sadly, were slowly falling away, brick by brick,
The evidence of sales, long past
Fading on the rusting signboards
The occupants moved to cities
And towns with a better chance of livelihood.
Even the train tracks have been removed
The abandoned ties lying in stacks;
No way out except the cracked asphalt beneath me.
Springtime and showers
The forecast for the next five or six days is rain. This morning when I watched a bit of the weather they were showing a radar screen which was covered with rain across the southeast from Texas to Georgia. It is supposed to be getting cooler and raining through the first of next week.
I don't know all about that, but I do notice that the sky in the west has been alternating this morning between a dark purple and a medium grey. I am waiting for the deluge. So far, it is still dry outside.
So many of the local trees are covered with blossoms. Fortunately, I think it is early enough so that the rain, unless it gets too heavy, will leave the blossoms on the trees. I know the dogwoods are a butter yellow right now. There is a dogwood tree outside my office window and it is covered with butter yellow blossoms. Two bluejays were playing among the branches the other day. Noisy birds.
I wonder what the state of Spring will be like in Knoxville this weekend? I remember when I was still in school in Virginia, when we came home everything looked so green and decorated with the pastel colors of Spring. Meanwhile, Virginia's decoration came several weeks later. Of course, that meant that Spring Semester at Washington and Lee was glorious. Watching baseball and lacrosse out in the bright sunshine. Sipping on bourbon and coke in the stands at Wilson Field. Travelling to Maryland and UVA for lacrosse games under the blue skies. Of course, it poured down rain in College Park when we saw the Maryland/W&L game at Scott Stadium. Freshmen in college are not so smart that they will avoid deluges for important lacrosse games.
Anyway, I still have a lot ot do this week, before I can leave to go pick up Cindy in Knoxville and bring her home.
I don't know all about that, but I do notice that the sky in the west has been alternating this morning between a dark purple and a medium grey. I am waiting for the deluge. So far, it is still dry outside.
So many of the local trees are covered with blossoms. Fortunately, I think it is early enough so that the rain, unless it gets too heavy, will leave the blossoms on the trees. I know the dogwoods are a butter yellow right now. There is a dogwood tree outside my office window and it is covered with butter yellow blossoms. Two bluejays were playing among the branches the other day. Noisy birds.
I wonder what the state of Spring will be like in Knoxville this weekend? I remember when I was still in school in Virginia, when we came home everything looked so green and decorated with the pastel colors of Spring. Meanwhile, Virginia's decoration came several weeks later. Of course, that meant that Spring Semester at Washington and Lee was glorious. Watching baseball and lacrosse out in the bright sunshine. Sipping on bourbon and coke in the stands at Wilson Field. Travelling to Maryland and UVA for lacrosse games under the blue skies. Of course, it poured down rain in College Park when we saw the Maryland/W&L game at Scott Stadium. Freshmen in college are not so smart that they will avoid deluges for important lacrosse games.
Anyway, I still have a lot ot do this week, before I can leave to go pick up Cindy in Knoxville and bring her home.
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