Mockingbirdisms and other local chirpings

2007-01-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

Goodbye.
I've a new home at http://scoutabout.wordpress.com
Cheerio, blogger!

2007-01-20T08:41:00.000-08:00

Just see it
When "The Freedom Writers Diary" was published in 1999, it became a staple of freshman comp. classes in colleges all over the country. The format and the structure of its stories became the basis of many of those classes. I was lucky enough to take four such courses under the same teacher starting in freshman comp. and going right through advanced comp. Each and every class was special because we wrote, divided up into groups and shared our work with others who gave their opinions on what we'd done and offered suggestions on what we might think about adding to or changing. And in this way, we became more than just a class. We became a group of friends who shared the common bond of writing. People who at first were hesitant to like the classes or were nervous about writing grew to love it. No, we didn't put our lives in danger every day by walking out the door into a dangerous community and we weren't members of gangs, but we did develop respect for each other through writing. That's why I had to race to the theater to see "Freedom Writers."
It definitely didn't disappoint. In fact, it's probably one of the best films I've seen in a while, but I've actually been impressed with a few MTV-produced films. Mom went with me and cried throughout the entire show and I'm not one to tear up at movies, but I did get misty-eyed on more than one occasion. It was a gritty and hard hitting portrayal of a California high school in the early '90's. Actress Hillary Swank (Million Dollar Baby) was very convincing as the teacher. Adding to the story was the soundtrack which MTV ever so cleverly set to be the music of the early '90's, namely the hip hop of the era. But, it really wasn't the typical little white teacher becomes the savior to a group of angst-ridden minority students kind of movie. In a way, of course, it was just that, but it was so much more (and I won't divulge too much in case anyone is planning on going to see it).
Not only did it remind me of the classes I took in college, but it also reminded me of another book I would recommend anyone to read.
Wally Lamb, author of "She's Come Undone," taught writing classes inside a women's state correctional facility. He compiled all the writings from the class and turned them into a book -- "Just Couldn't Keep it to Myself." Henrietta Chickenlegs was so inspired by one of the writers that she wrote a letter to her and got a reply back.
"Freedom Writers" was just one of those movies that, yet again, made me want to drop everything and get back into a writing class. It made me miss it all over again. It's ironic that I posted a couple of days ago about the civil rights museum when this movie really had so much to do with it.
Freedom was going to be a huge theme in the book I'm now working on and after seeing this film, it is beginning to take an even bigger shape.
Ah, you never know when you'll be inspired. Go see "Freedom Writers." Even if you're not crazy over it, you will be impacted, somehow, by its simple yet powerful message.
I have a friend who repeated very often his idea that good writing comes from writing through pain and heartache. In other words, giving them a voice and letting them lead. Though, at the time, I thought it was a bit of a morbid concept, I'm very inclined to believe in the cathartic powers of writing. It worked for the freedom writers and it certainly works for me because most of the time, my best work comes when I'm writing and being driven with the idea that I must give myself a strong voice and prove to others that I have one who would otherwise categorize me as being quiet.
Sometimes, it is that idea that keeps me going. Keeping a strong voice even when I'm sure others cannot hear it.

2007-01-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

She was fearless
We passed it. Drove right by the "bloomin'" thing, as Granny would say. But we were able to reverse and pull back up to the tiny red crackling and stuttering box and do what we came to do. Mom reached over to turn down "In the Jungle" which was blaring on the radio as loud as it would go.
"Welcome to Dairy Queen," the voice popped on the other end. "May I take your order?"
Leaning in close enough to grab the electrical device up one handed like a microphone, Mom yelled at the box as if it were deaf, "WE WANT THREE HAMBURGERS AND....AND......HEY, WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DRINK?"
"Uh, Coke, I guess," I said, jerking to life and fumbling with the red Mercury's window control switch.
Mom looked at the passenger seat holding her sister.
"Get me a Sprite. No ice. I don't like ice."

And just like that, she left the world, trailing behind sweet potato casserole and laughing loudly enough to jar the sadness out of any rainy day. It wasn't on her own terms, but she knew she had to go. She was tired of being tired and sleepy, tired of always pretending that things were okay when they really weren't. She hated to lie. Hated it the way a cold shot of ice would kill the warmth and brightness of a nice day. She left so she would never have to lie again. Her minutes simply had to be the hours of happiness.

Ripping open the snowman-covered wrapping paper, the screams came before I'd completely finished unveiling the blue and orange treasure that had come straight from my aunt disguised as Santa.
She rocked back and forth with laughter, all 5'2" of her. The short bleached blonde hair bobbed up and down and relatives all around suddenly caught the infectious disease of her raucous howling and its contagion spread like a Christmas wildfire.
"Do you really like that old thing?" she asked through rolling tears. She simply couldn't get over the fact that, to me, the Magna Doodle might as well have been a million bucks.
I nodded emphatically and she beamed right back knowing and understanding that, for me, that was just as good as a loud and hearty thanks.

But two years later in January, I did speak. My heart couldn't help it and it bubbled in my chest, beating forth the words that would eventually work themselves up to my mouth. She was and had always been a pastor's wife and moved around from place to place like a strong north wind, controlling and temperamental. She was strong, but she couldn't pretend to be that way anymore. And I thought of the Dairy Queen, the Magna Doodle, the last night visits to Kroger for Snickers, the peanut butter, the unforgettable laughter and mostly the understanding and with that, on the icy, rainy day 14 years ago, I said, "Goodbye."

2007-01-18T19:40:00.000-08:00

A shoutout to all the people from "the Creek"
Few people would actually know this, but for almost two years, I was the editor of a fairly well known campus newspaper and I still occasionally get asked from a few people about when I'll put out a new edition.
Well, the answer is this. I would dearly love to get The Possum Gazette up and running again, but I'm a little short on staff now.
Okay, okay, none of you (except possibly Pshaw) probably has a clue what I'm talking about, so I'll just have to try to tell the whole story as best as I can. About five years ago, Henrietta Chickenlegs and I went to a church camp in Linden, Tenn. and were sitting on the front porch in rocking chairs when it all started. Now, you're going to believe I'm completely nuts, but I'll go on. As we were rocking and talking and no one in the world was around, we started talking to each other in exaggerated Southern accents and pretended to be old Southern women. She named herself Eulalie Plumhuffinpuff and I was Sarah Hogenswallow and we just kept building and building onto the story until we had thoroughly established the fact that I worked as the editor for the local paper in Bell Bottom Creek, the Possum Gazette, and she was a homemaker and mother of 17 kids. This actually went on for hours.
Over the next few weeks, we just kept on building the story and finally, I started creating these issues of the Possum Gazette. I made up the masthead, wrote all the stories (but created fictitious staff writers) and put the thing together once a week for about a year. Readership was good, it was so much fun and I kept all of the old issues I made. The other day, someone asked me how the paper business was going and the person was actually referring to the Possum Gazette.
Hee hee. You never know who you might influence with a crazy imagination.

2007-01-18T19:38:00.000-08:00

"Night at the Museum" eat your heart out
Had an interesting conversation the other day with Squirrel Queen about her and Newscoma's recent visit to the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis.
The museum, built around the infamous Lorraine Motel, the site of Martin Luther King Jr.'s shooting, is located in downtown Memphis. I'd walked past it before, but had never gotten the chance to go in, so I prodded SQ for information and a detailed description of the place.
She said that while the museum provided a wealth of information and loads of interesting reading, it focused almost solely on the African-American portion of civil rights and did little justice to other civil rights events such as the women's suffragette movement for the right to vote.
"It's a very broad topic, so maybe they had to focus on just the one phase of it because they didn't have enough money and space to devote to all of it," I said.
"Then they shouldn't call it the civil rights museum. That's too broad of a title," she answered.
And I had to agree, but in all honesty, when most people think of civil rights, the first thing that usually pops into their heads is the African-American movement and if asked to define it on a test, they wouldn't include everything that the title of civil rights encompasses.
Later on, I got online and tried to locate a place in the country in which the title of civil rights was better represented and didn't find much of anything. So, while SQ did have glowing things to say about the museum, we both agreed that if there were a suggestion box inside the establishment, we might just add the request to build more exhibit wings onto the building to make a great place even greater by covering the full definition and scope of the ongoing and hot topic issue of civil rights.
That conversation led directly into another conversation about the Wonders exhibits that used to be housed in the Pyramid. Exhibits dedicated to the czars of Russia, the pyramids of Egypt and the paintings of Italy once graced the basement walls of the Pyramid in Memphis. Now that the Pyramid will be used for something else besides a game and concert hall, I questioned whether or not the Wonders exhibits would still be showcased in the basement.
"I remember going to see the Catherine the Great exhibit when I was in elementary school," I said.
"Oh, yeah, I saw that one too," SQ said.
"You did? Really? When did you go and see it?" I asked.
"When they had it up and going," she deadpanned with an absolutely icy look on her face.
And then the conversation paused while laughter ensued.
Museums are wonderful things and they make for some very interesting conversation pieces especially when you let in some good old dry humor as the third party in the conversation.

2007-01-15T13:19:00.000-08:00

Transcendence

As a junior in college and with nothing but upper division classes looming in front of my path to graduation, I chose one semester to take English 485 otherwise known as African-American Literature. Thoughts of reading and rereading the works of such greats as Zora Neale Hurston, Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin, Eudora Welty and contemporary authors Toni Morrison and Alice Walker dazzled me with unspeakable joy. Truthfully, I was the only white person to take the class that semester, but though I stuck out like a sore thumb, it didn't matter because we were all standing on the common ground of literature and we shared a common bond of appreciation and adimiration for the writers and their message.
In the second week of class that semester, we opened up the book to the "I have a dream speech" and analyzed the work for its value to literature and it suddenly hit me that I was by no means keeping a tally, but it was the third time and in the third different class that I had come in contact with the work. The history class I took examined the speech's historical value, the communications class I took examined the speech for its effectiveness in bringing across a point and now, the English class I was taking was examining the speech for its place as a work of art to the English language.
Dr. King's thought-provoking and prophetic speech was powerful enough to transcend color and race. His message was not meant to be directed only to the African-American community, but to all people. And sitting in my literature class, coming to this realization, I fit in even better than before.

2007-01-14T13:32:00.000-08:00

Whoopee, Ms. Lee!
Got this in today from Finn's mother.
Great great news and suddenly my chances of meeting the elusive author just shot up considerably. Think I'll just go knock on the door. Why not?

2007-01-14T13:25:00.000-08:00

When what to my wondering eyes did appear
Yesterday, an overwhelming urge to leave Weakley, get out of the house and just, in general, escape overtook me and I headed to Memphis to see some friends and hang out around the downtown area.
Jam packed I tell you. Jam packed. As we sauntered around the crowd amidst the media reform conference people and the George Strait fans, I knew the Dempseys were playing, so I went over to their arena of choice and saw, yep, her and her. Awesome!!!
Based on people I talked to downtown last night, the conference was a smashing success, but you don't have to take my word for it. Just go here.

2007-01-11T05:29:00.000-08:00

So long, Newscoma and Squirrel Queen
Darn it if you won't be missed, but have tons of fun and remember to report back regularly. We're certainly jealous of where you're getting to go.

2007-01-11T05:28:00.000-08:00

Again
We sat on the couch. MM and I.
With eyes transfixed on the television screen and backs bent in acute angles attempting to draw ourselves closer to the happenings that crackled over the waves of CBS, we looked onward at what was being touted as "the president's most important speech to date" and discovered nothing more than a reworded and beefed up version of the original plan.
I was angry, flabbergasted, ashamed. My emotions and feelings played out noticeably across my face and my actions throughout the speech. MM's were encapsulated from years of practice. But I looked into his eyes and saw extra emotions beyond my own. I saw the unmistakable look of a tired and exhausted warrior who, having done his share of the job, knows that, according to the speaker on the television screen, although it was heroic and admirable, it wasn't nearly enough and he must go back to do even more. I saw the look of a surgeon who, having just performed a life-saving operation, is asked to go back and do it again and again with no complaint, no questioning and most of all, no fear. Most of all, I saw the look of a son who had to prepare himself to face his worried and loving mother and possibly bid her farewell yet again.
Suddenly and without warning, I tasted a bit of the sourness and tragedy that families are forced to consume when they're broken up for months and years at a time. The going away parties and jubilant returns which, up to this point, hadn't meant all that much to me because I couldn't relate personally took on an entirely different identity. In a brief moment, I regretfully acquainted myself with heartache, hopelessness and powerlessness.
His grandfather's medals stared at us from their place on the wall. The scrapbook labeled Operation Iraqi Freedom burned a hole through the coffee table.
"Looks like I'm going back," he announced with the hint of a sarcastic giggle bubbling in the back of his throat. "I'll have to call mom and see how she's doing."
And he turned to me to make sure I was taking it as well as possible.
And then the man with camo in his blood combined with the rich callousness of being a soldier able to mask any sadness, able to cover up any disappointment, able to hide away any fear at all for himself, for his mother, for his community and for those who daily look up to him as a hero, turned his back and left the room.

2007-01-07T06:56:00.000-08:00

Go to any of these fine places 'cause I still got nothin'
For an overall great time and read, go here.
For everything you'd ever want and so much more, go here.
To be awed, inspired, mystified and downright amazed, go here and here, oh yes, and go here definitely.
Sports fan? Head straight over here. Pronto.
Wanna read all about college life as seen through the eyes of a perennial grad student genius? This would be the place to go.

2007-01-07T06:54:00.000-08:00

Now, how about yesterday in sports?
If nothing else, yesterday was a great day in sports.
Yucky, sucky and overrated college basketball teams fell. Virginia Tech knocked off Duke!!!! Number one UCLA fell to the Oregon Ducks!!!! Both of those items alone should have their butt-kissing major media disciples undergoing deep bouts of depression. But wait, there's more!
In women's college hoops, Tennessee once again helped prove why it's not cool in this day and age to be a UConn Huskies fan. True, they were up by 18 and let the Huskies come roaring back a la cheers from sports analyst and former UConn standout Rebecca Lobo, but in the end, the Orange was too much for their navy and white blandness and TN prevailed. The UConn men fell as well to LSU and Big Baby (who's not as big as he used to be, but still big). Can things get any better? Yes!
The Indianapolis Colts faced the big running game of the Kansas City Chiefs on their home turf and spit in the faces of their naysayers by allowing KC only 44 yards on the ground and 126 total yards. The Chiefs didn't even pick up a first down in the game until the waning seconds of the third quarter. Over the course of the season, at times, the Colts' pathetic excuse for a run defense had been allowing about 173 yards per game on the ground, bad enough for lowest in the league and seventh lowest all time. But, they certainly redeemed themselves this game. And all I can say is........well, you could say it for me......it's about time. In the NFC wild card game, the Cowboys lost to the Seattle Seahawks on a botched play from Tony Romo and while I'm not completely a Dallas hater, it's good to see Terrell Owens and his butterfingers out of the picture.

2007-01-06T19:20:00.000-08:00

'Cause I got nothin' but a book on the brain

Viva Pinata!!!!
It's the new Pokemon/Teletubbies phase. My brother has the game for his XBox 360 and would kill me if I told anyone, but apparently this is the next big thing. I've watched him play a few times and have to admit they are cute.
They're rainbow-colored walking and talking pinatas and the object of the game as near as I can figure is to keep them all happy and healthy in their little garden. In playing the game, you add more vegetation, water sources and sunshine to your garden area which helps to draw in these little paper animals with candy-coated names such as Bunnycomb (the rabbit), Fudgehog (the hedgehog), Preztail (the fox), Badgesicle (the badger), Donut (some kind of deer), Rashberry (the pig), Newtgat (the newt) and little worms known as Whirlms which have the capacity to fall in love with other Whirlms and begat baby Whirlms. Strange looking gardeners roam around the area and the doctor can be called to come and rescue sick pinatas. He gets out of his little ambulance and flings spoonfuls of green guck and them and they're suddenly all better. If any enemies enter into your garden area, you simply get out the beating stick (they're paper as well) and swat them until their candy pops out and they die.
You gotta see it to believe it.

2007-01-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

It really is on my mind

In my endeavor to begin work on a book, for the past couple of days, I've been taking notes in a journal. I've been writing down any and everything that pops into my head about the project and so far, though the notes may seem a bit unorganized, they are leading me up to something I'm finally realizing is completely realistic.
Here are just a few of the notes I've taken down without totally giving away what I've decided to do. They range from motivational tips to myself to story ideas.
* Goal: 20,000 words at approximately 250 words per page (depending on font choice) is the equivalent of roughly 80 pages
* Leaning toward first-person omniscient voice in telling story, present tense relating back to past events (tentative)
* Draw experiences from own experiences (rule of thumb for beginning writers)
* Possible themes: Community brought together through one event (good or bad), bonded; Freedom of speech challenged, standing up for what's right, what you believe in, being yourself and helping others be themselves, bonding over words and ink; a miracle witnessed and retold by young narrator, punishment leading to reward, failure begats success in the most unexpected of times, ways and people
* Conflicts: Internal -- narrator vs. him or herself; External -- narrator vs. parents, newspaper vs. community, right vs. wrong or good vs. evil, superficial vs. deep
* After reading interview with Louis Sachar in "Writer's Digest," it may not be such a good idea to try to form the entire plot before diving into writing. Needs to come as it will = naturally.
* Let story take shape and form its own identity. Don't give it one before it's had a chance to unfold. This will cripple the story and give it a subtle template to follow. Needs no template. Take one thing at a time. No rush.
*Motivations/Inspirations thus far:
1. Just to say I've finished.
2. To Kill a Mockingbird
3. Newscoma's idea for me to do it (and her stick-to-it-ness by setting a deadline)
4. The burning need and desire to make a point/express an idea/spread a message.
* AVOID:
1. Pessimistic thoughts
2. Moods of depression
3. Discouraging/argumentative/unsupportive/overall negative people
4. Frustration in progress
5. Lack of motivation/inspiration/enthusiasm
6. Distractions -- people, events or otherwise
*Attention to first list and avoidance of second list equals success.

2007-01-06T19:10:00.000-08:00

But, here's a break

Not many people can admit to having a pudgy little rodent who loves to lick you in the face and will eat absolutely any kind of fruit growing on the planet. But, that's my three year-old guinea pig.
He expressed interest this weekend in having his picture made and I had to oblige him because you just don't say no to this angel. He's my baby and so talented.......he whistles Dixie, literally, and she loves him.

2007-01-03T06:41:00.000-08:00

Never could back out of a challenge

Newscoma issued me a challenge last night which I feel I must take.
By April 1 of this year, I am to have turned in to her a 20,000 word short story or novella (choose your term) about life at a newspaper over a three-day span of time. Right now, I have dueling ideas about a plot, but luckily, this project will be edited several times by me before finally being turned it unlike the 175 page national project which took place this past November.

2007-01-03T06:32:00.000-08:00

"You might not remember this, but I do. It's my earliest remembrance of you."
Completely intrigued, I sat back and listened as she continued.
"Paul Tinkle and I were up your dad's office and we had the machines up there and the microphones for the radio. I was plugging in some of the cords to the machines and hooking the mics up and you came over, very timidly, and kept asking me 'Where does this one go?' because you seemed to just be very intrigued by all the equipment we had. You acted like you thought you shouldn't be asking me anything. You were up there and Katie Mayo was there too and I had to take her to the bathroom. When Ron Gifford won the election, I had to go downstairs to interview him and you asked me, 'Where are you going?' and that's my earliest remembrance of you. You had to be about 11 or 12."
And no, I didn't quite remember it exactly as she described, but I most certainly did remember her big black fedora making its way around the courthouse during the crucial moments of the county election. My first remembrance of Newscoma.

2007-01-01T15:49:00.000-08:00

Is this cause to be joining in the chorus?
Normally, I don't blog about such trivialities as this (okay, that was a bit too sarcastic), but something just happened today and I really cannot keep it to myself any longer.
I have semi sort of dated this Mystery Man (we'll call him MM for short) for about three days in a row now and today, we went over to Hunan's Palace in Martin for lunch.
After eating, we were given the customary fortune cookies and we promptly cracked them open to see what the new year possibly held for us from the perspective of an inanimate, empty-caloried ice cream cone tasting confection that millions put their faith in to predict the future.
Did I get the usual "Live long and prosper"? No.
Possibly "Eat this and be rich in four hours"? Nada.
What about "Love is in your future"? Wrong number.
Sitting across from someone I am really growing to like and respect very quickly, I peeked in to the little white piece of paper to see only one word, "Hallelujah!"
No kidding. That was it.
Coincidental? Prophetic? Or.......mind reading? No matter how trivial it might seem, it really captured my attention.
Alright, so maybe I just felt the need to post something today and thought it was kinda cool.
Don't fault me for trying to be creative.

2006-12-30T14:38:00.000-08:00

Hi ho, Cherry.....OH!!!!

Met up today with bff Henrietta Chickenlegs at our coffee hangout of choice -- Jack's Java in Paris -- to exchange late Christmas presents and catch up on life. I got there a little bit before she did and had a nice chat with one of the Jones sisters about New Year's traditions and her family's very unique yet strange ritual of eating hog jowels for the special day.
While Henrietta and I were chatting about school, work, coffee and etc. in walks Susan Jones, the editor of Paris magazine. She was playing the busy editor, so I knew better than to try and disturb her, but while I was chatting with Henrietta, scribbling down some blog addresses and glancing at the Hussein execution pics on the front of ye olde Jackson Sun, Henrietta suddenly said, "Hey isn't that.......?"
I looked out the window and saw.........

CHERRY JONES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was totally starstruck and simply lost all sense of articulation after that. Henrieta found my dumbfoundedness quite amusing. But, people treated the award-winning actress as if she were just plain old Cherry from across the street which I thought was very neat.
Wonderful, wonderful day. Oh, and did I mention that Henrietta and I will be taking a trip down to Monroeville, Alabama to meet Harper Lee this summer? Oh, YES.

2006-12-29T14:07:00.000-08:00

And then sometimes out of nowhere something great happens....
People are usually quick to point out a mistake which makes this rare little gem brought into the office today even more wonderful.
The "Sunshine Law" has been a hot topic, particularly lately, and this letter sums up everything in a neat little package.
Every once in a while everyone needs a little encouragement and a pat on the back.
This was ours.

Dear Editor: In the past few years I have lost faith in our newspapers. They seem to have gone the way of the pastors of our churches in only writing and preaching what appeased the rich and famous! But lately there has been something different happening at The Press. Instead of reading articles that seemed to be suppressed or watered down to please only the elite, I got the feeling that “We the people” now have a newspaper that is returning to the old path of freedom of speech! We are “eat up” with evil in our nation and our little area because of a “Demon of Prosperity” and the “Spinal Bifida” of our pastors and the news media, BUT, I believe that is quickly changing at the Weakley County Press! I wondered just what the cause was then I read some recent articles that seemed to be seeking the truth, PLUS, there on page four of the Thursday, Dec. 28 edition of The Press I found at least part of the answer: a BRILLIANT piece of work by Beth Cravens concerning the abuse of the “Sunshine Law.” I believe that I speak for a great majority of citizens when I say the change is a WELCOME change! And as an old man, I’m gonna make a stab at this fairly modern phrase to Ms. Cravens — You go, girl!!!!! We’ve been “cravin” your spunk!!

And, man, did he ever draw a killer cartoon to go with it, but, as usual, primitive technology does not permit me to post it. Anway, you catch the gist.

2006-12-29T11:46:00.000-08:00

NEWS FLASH!!!
A real life case of a dumb criminal rears its ugly head at the WCP!!!
The newspaper machine in front of the WCP has been having a problem with its opening mechanism the past couple of weeks. Today, a lady pulled up to the front door to get a paper and our office manager took a quick glimpse and said, "Oh, there's that lady that always tries to steal some of the papers."
The lady walked up to the machine and put in two quarters and nothing happened.
Sabrina came out of the office with a paper in hand and explained to her that the machine wasn't working properly.
"Okay," she said, "but I put in enough money for two papers."
Sabrina said she hadn't put in the money for two and the lady threatened to call the police on her because of the accusation.
Oh, yes. Sabrina vs. the Newspaper Snatcher. Words and unpleasantries were exchanged, but in the end, NS was rendered speechless.
Case closed.

2006-12-29T09:53:00.000-08:00

I'm reading a very good book right now called "Mockingbird." It's one of the very few biographies of Harper Lee on record as the famous author of "To Kill a Mockingbird" has always been cautious about giving interviews and will actually leave the room if her famous book is ever given the slightest hint of a mention in ordinary conversation.
Lee is a very interesting character, but the scary thing is.....the more and more I read, the more I find in common with the Pulitzer prize winning writer. Or maybe I just want to have something in common with her. Either way, here's what I've found so far....
1. Her full name is Nelle Harper Lee. Nelle is Ellen spelled backwards and Ellen happens to be my middle name. So there!
2. She attended law school for a litle while (which I've often thought of doing) and in college, opted to write for the creative student publication, "The Rammer Jammer," over the newspapery "Crimson White."
3. Quite the tomboy, she has always had an affinity towards sports and even has the same exact hairdo as I now sport.
The book reveals that she still attends the First United Methodist Church in her native Monroeville, Alabama so...... I don't think a little trip down south someday pretty soon is too tall of an order for me.
I'll just be sure to try and not faint in her presence and I definitely won't mention anything about adoring her book.
We'll just talk like old friends.

2006-12-29T06:54:00.000-08:00

I know it seems that lately all I've talked about are parties, parties and more parties, but I would be completely remiss if I didn't mention the party I was privileged to attend last night.
Nope, no apples were in sight this time (which was probably a good thing), but good friends and good fun abounded.
It was a surprise celebration of Tammy Lynette's 50th b-day and in honor of this special occasion, Cheers shut down for the general public and invited only invited party guests to enter. I hung out with Sabrina, her hubby David and John of the Mess for the better part of the night, but there were so many friends and interesting people there that I ended up dancing from person to person for the rest of the evening after Sabrina, David and John left.
TL's son and son-in-law paid tribute to her in song and someone had put together a very nice picture collage dedicated entirely to the "classiest person in town."
The tall half of TPTB asked me if I had bothered to bring any apples and I had to admit that no, I didn't, but that someone else should have thought of it.
Newscoma had me so cracked up I'm suprised I could walk upright most of the night. I begged her to sing "Copacabana," but alas to no avail. Glad she's doing well today because she did consume mass quantities to the extreme, but it was all for a very good cause.
All in all, it was a wonderful tribute to a lady who has been influential to many and inspirational to even more. To top it all off someone came to the party pretty much just to see me and we swapped numbers. Possibly more later...
Happy birthday TL!!!

2006-12-27T10:38:00.000-08:00

Geez, I feel about two millimeters high right now.
Got a phone call today from the library director and she answered the phone with half amusement and half ice in her voice.
"Sara, Frank was never a member of the Friends of the Library."
Oops. He worked at the library so I assumed he was a friend of it.
"Good job, but I hope Mr. White doesn't start thinking that you were talking about him and that he's now dead. We always appreciate the publicity, though."
Click.
Seems I intertwined a bit of Mr. White with Mr. Kruzich.
Sigh. Sometimes can't win for losing.

Update: Frank's widow just called the office and expressed her sincere gratitude to me and Newscoma for the story. She went on and on about how Frank and NC had known each other for a long time. She said that the director had told her about the little blunder, but that it was okay and that the story really fit him. Really, that's all I needed to know.

2006-12-26T12:06:00.000-08:00

Just for documentation:
Sabrina and I noted some sort of white dandruffy flakes falling from the sky just a few minutes ago. Whether or not it's actually "the white stuff" or just a stray molting snow goose remains to be seen, however.
Meanwhile, we've been doing snow dances and doctoring up our coffee with hot chocolate just for the occasion. Yippee!!

2006-12-26T10:32:00.000-08:00

It's mostly because of days like today that I, over the course of many moons, have contemplated committing the quick yet messy murder of my younger sister.
True, I've harbored this thought for more reasons that just the existence of this particular day. Countless reasons come to mind, I tell you. But, her being born on the day after Christmas and every year receiving twice as many gifts as me is the cherry on top of the arsenic pound cake I'd dearly love to feed her every year around this time.
"Aw, how sweet to be born on the day after Christmas," is the common utterance we hear all the time when we must disclose the date of her birth.
Bologna! Just try and have a sibling born near a holiday especially one like Christmas and then see if you can continue to utter "Hoooowww sweeeeeetttttt!!!" while smiling cheerfully and doling out gifts his or her way.
Alright, Happy 22nd birthday, Elizabeth!
Just stop rubbing it in.

2006-12-24T11:36:00.000-08:00

As 2006 quickly winds into 2007, it's time to pause and reflect on some of the best events and items that helped to make the Year of the Dog so memorable over in Mockingbirdland.
In no particular order or ranking, here are some of the greats.
Musically, for me, it was the year of K.T. Tunstall. Never have I worn out a newcomer's C.D. so quickly as I did with this Scottish indie offering of songs with simple and easy to remember lyrics containing anything but superficial meanings and catchy beats. The Killers' offering for the year wasn't half bad either.
Books? Hmmmmm....A Girl Named Zippy, Can't Wait to get to Heaven, Mockingbird (haven't read it yet, but trusting it to be good)....not a book, but I read a gob of Weekly World News. Movies......Little Miss Sunshine, Cars, The Devil Wears Prada, Walk the Line, Brokeback Mountain,The Chronicles of Narnia, Pirates of the Caribbean 2.
The Cardinals won the World Series!!!!!!!! After practically being born a fan and going to several games in the old Busch Stadium, it's great to see the Cards on top of baseball if only until next season. Went to one Vols game and saw them lose to LSU in a heartbreaker in the waning seconds of the back and forth game, but also went to a Preds game and saw them win in a shootout.
And now, moving past pop culture....
Joining both the Kiwanis Club and the Friends of the Library group and being the PR person for CDS for the annual Telethon of Stars. These are all wonderful, one of a kind groups that feverishly pursue goals with compassion and kindness rather than an iron fist. Glad I decided to be a part of them.
Really grasping the local political scene in the elections. Yes, I've written several times about growing up in the courthouse and having a politician for a dad for 12 years of my life, but this year was the first year I really jumped into the deep end of the inner workings and the intricacies that make up the campaigning and election process and truly saw the candidates at their shining best and their dismal worst. Stemming from this process leads me into my next category....
Of course, it's all about the people of the year......
From talking to all the constable candidates of this past May's election, I was fortunate enough to meet a little man from Palmersville by the name of Joel Griffith. He is certainly one of a kind, from his loud, twangy accent to each and every one of his country anecdotes and quirks. He provided the laughs of the year.
Patsy Tibbs. Patsy provides warmth and heart whenever none can be found anywhere else. She's a spark plug everywhere she goes and is one of the best reasons to come to the WCP on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
John Pritchard. A real life writer and best seller and I came face to face with him at a wedding of all places! He and I have become email regulars and he provides me with tips, motivation, news from Oxford, Miss......GREAT person.
Finn. I never imagined that when I went to her parents' house in early September to do an interview for an article, over the course of nearly four months, I'd end up feeling more like I was being reaquainted with an old friend rather than a new person. We learned that we have a ton in common (when she said the word "yepper," though, it was just plain scary) and it's been a wonderful year just because of that one happenchance (nod to NC) meeting in Palmersville.
Newscoma. I've known who she was when she worked for the local radio station a very long time before I talked to her for the first time. As a young child, I recall her black fedora bobbing up and down the hallways of the courthouse at election time and other times of the year. Her name is know far and wide throughout the blogger world and many people are lucky enough to call her a friend, but for me, she's family. The last year has been very good at times and extremely difficult at other times as most years are. The fun times were great, of course, but really, though they stung at the time, I thank her for each and every time she had to whack me back into line over a bad decision or a lack of motivation because those were character-building moments and lessons in maturity and though they sounded harsh at the time, they were completely drenched in care.
Squirrel Queen. Here's another member of the extended family. The past year, for SQ, has been nothing but tough. She experienced two tragedies within the last three months of the year and came through them with her usual bravery and poise. Her father passed away on my birthday and though it was a very sad and trying time and it might sound a bit silly, I feel honored to share that day with him. One of the best trips I took over the past year was with SQ to Murfreesboro when the Greenfield girls basketball team made it to the state tourney. The past year was the Year of the Dog. Hopefully, 2007 will be the Year of the Rodent.

2006-12-24T11:30:00.000-08:00

My grandmother has started a fruitcake collection.
No kidding. Relatives, friends and acquaintances have been bringing her a surplus of these horrid and for the most part inedible objects and she accepts them with a smile because she actually eats them.
They don't even have real fruit in them! It's jelly! They don't fall into any of the food groups! There's no vitamin C anywhere! They're nasty, Granny!
And so, just for you, I've written a song for your obsession for this unpopular Christmas season food (that's debatable) staple sung to the tune of Deck the Halls.
Granny Nanney likes the fruitcakes.
Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.
I'd rather chew on snakes 'cause those cakes
Suck, suck, suck, suck, suck, suck, suck, suck, suck.
Or indulge in yummy chicken.
Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.
Gran, your cakes ain't finger lickin'
Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.

2006-12-22T10:23:00.000-08:00

Behold the Apple Queen

Armed with a hefty bag of Granny Smiths and a dose of good cheer, last night I headed over to Tammy Lynette's house for Office Party Dos and yes, good folks, I once again proved myself to be the sovereign of all things fruitastical. For the second consecutive year (through no fault of my own......well, I'll blame it on my stomach) I reigned supreme on the throne of the soaked apples.
And having such a good time, I still managed to adhere to almost constant warnings of, "Sara, stay away from the apples. No more for you. Please take a break." So I did...for a bit.
Newscoma was there, clad in her awesome leopard skin Santa's hat. She distributed some mighty good gifts (THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!) and even managed, in her infinite wisdom, to very impressively invent a new word right in front of one of the big bosses. DCJ was quite taken aback when she, on the spot, unabashedly fired "happenchance" in his direction with a huge grin quickly after shooting off "disseses." (And yes, NC, that book was given to you as much more than merely a Christmas present. It did indeed carry a whole lot of thought, love and care behind it. Knew you'd realize it.)
SQ wasn't able to be there and the party certainly suffered because it lacked her presence, but thankfully, she was recovering at home from severe stomach problems. Yukon Mick showed up to thrill us with his antics. Jeremy, technician extraordinaire from the UC Mess corporate office graced us with his presence. Glad he got to come. NC entertained the men folks with what will undoubtedly become one of the best Christmas songs ever from Robert Earl Keen (and not just because it contains the word "tampon" in its chorus, but that is a large part of it) and they were practically falling on the floor with laughter and amazement. Beth-aroni (the graphic artist treat) had us in stitches while donning a Santa's hat.
Everything went very very well and best of all, my excessive consumption of vitamin C should have me cold free and feeling all peppy and wonderful for the upcoming Christmas holiday because you know what they say about apples: One of those little jokers a day, will keep the doctor away. And God and the doctor both know I had more than one.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good bite....uh....night!

2006-12-22T10:21:00.000-08:00

Because he meant so much

If his friends could be compared in number and loyalty to the paperbacks and hard covers that lined the walls of the stately Ned McWherter Library then no one could accuse him of not being well read.
But, he was everyone's page turner and we all found this out just by knowing him.
Frank, I learned, was his name and he was the lone and faithful male member on the Friends of the Library board. Every first Saturday of the month, his face appeared from behind the stacks as he made his way to our designated table to talk business.
Frank was an avid reader. How fitting and ironic that I got to know him from just joining the library board.
He picked me up, dusted me off, looked right past my cover label -- the one given to me from birth of being very often too quiet and shy -- and turned my pages, finding out my story. He did something very few people took the time to do. He looked past each one of our covers, refused to judge us outwardly and figured out exactly how to put smiles or laughter into our pages and stories just by inserting a kind word or injecting some of his trademark dry humor into each and every situation.
He inserted warmth into the meetings by consuming mass quantities of Kimmie's famous cheese and ham biscuits and bragging about their goodness. He exuded gumption in making bold suggestions in how the board could raise more money. His enthusiasm filled the pages of our Friends of the Library story.
But this very well read man also had a wonderful story of his own. A story, unfortunately, I never knew.
Frank, a native of Chicago, was born into the rough and tumble Depression era. Determined not to falter as others around him continued to fall under the evil spell of hopelessness, he worked hard to make the most of the difficult situation, pulling himself up by his bootstraps and going on to law school, eventually becoming a trial lawyer and a state prosecutor for the state of Florida including the Supreme Court. Not only that, but he joined the Army.
When we first heard the word, "cancer," standing huddled in the biting north wind and waiting for someone to unlock the library door, we knew he'd just edit it right out of the story. He would create no room in his happy and inspirational tale for any negativity to be found. The pages would keep turning and the story would keep going.
After all, we had all been through school, but when it came to reading into the human soul, he had given each of us a new kind of literacy.
And having done this, his opus was closed.
His pages were finished.
He bound them over to us and because we have them with us as memories, his face will always be in the library every first Saturday. He is still helping us write our stories and teaching us how to proceed because his story will always be around.
It doesn't take a hard push to keep a person yearning.
Look hard beyond cover and label and keep the pages turning.
Thank you, Frank Kruzich.
You will always be our Friend.

2006-12-19T07:06:00.000-08:00

Bittersweet.
That's the only word that seems to thoroughly capture the essence of yesterday and its events.
The CDS Christmas party was on tap for 10 a.m., but right before I headed over to the much needed merriment and cheer, I was given the news that a very good friend and fellow library board member had passed away last Friday after losing a lengthy and hard fought battle with cancer. Newscoma gave me this information on the riviera (our fancy word for the alley) and you really could have knocked me over with a feather.
"What's the matter?" people asked as I walked into the University Center ballroom a little blurry-eyed, but I still got the hugs and huge smiles that always come with attending that very special party. It really cheered me up as I got to sit beside Patsy who works at the office with us and Deanna, a girl who grew up down the road from me when I lived near Greenfield.
"Sara, when's Santa coming?" they kept asking me and Patsy, typically, continued to ask if I would take her picture with the big guy.
The Sharon Dulcimer Orchestra performed and this was an added treat as I know many of the members of the group. While I was prancing around and taking pics, this little guy named Brian came up to me and asked permission to kiss me (which I granted) and planted a big, wet one on my cheek while professing his undying love for me. That'll take your mind off a few things rather quickly, let me tell you. Coach Gearin was there passing out gifts from the Kiwanis Aktion Club and again told me how glad she was that I became a new member of the Kiwanis Club. Hearing those words coming from the mouth of a legend will certainly take your mind off a few things rather quickly, let me tell you.
And then Santa came in and Patsy just blew up. There's no other word for it. She vascillated from screaming at me to take her pic to trying to grab Santa by his coattails so she could stand beside him. Finally, he stood still long enough and I was able to get their picture together. Patsy smiles like no one else can. It's not a toothy grin, but rather an open mouth, mid laugh creation that only she can pull off properly. Seeing that will take your mind off a few things rather quickly, let me tell you.
Later on that day, I headed over to Newscoma's house where Beth was recovering from a case of the phlegmish nasties. The music of choice was a Christmas compilation created from tracks brought over for the party last Saturday night including a rendition of "The Bell Carol" performed entirely by yowling, whining cats and the South Park version of "O Holy Night." Beth was given a world class hot toddy made by professional hot toddy maker Craig. Newscoma's niece, Charley, had the slinky out and I attempted to make it go down the stairs as slinkies should, but came up short in the demonstration. It didn't matter, though, because she made me her partner in crime for the night and we plotted on how we could jump out and scare the fire out of Newscoma. All plans failed, needless to say, but Charley, ever the persistent one, invited me to live in the "coral" room up the stairs which I claimed didn't exist, but was soon proven wrong. Politely, I declined, but didn't decline one of the mint meringue trees that Craig had created out of egg whites, mint, green food coloring and sprinkles. Positively Suessical.
And seeing all of that take place in the span of one day will take your mind off a few things rather quickly, let me tell you.

2006-12-17T10:57:00.000-08:00

Another miracle

Armed with Preds gear, courtesy of Newscoma and Squirrel Queen, I set out for Abode Finn yesterday morning. Stopping for gas before hitting the road, I bought a copy of "The Jackson Sun" and picked up one of my favorite freebies, "On the Ball," I guess because I thought I would take a break from looking at the road every once in a while to read, and started down the heavily speed limit-restricted path.
In Clarksville, I couldn't resist and had to make a pit stop at the local Starbucks which seemed to be more packed than ever, but I quickly got back on track and easily reached the destination because Finn had given me very good directions.
Finn lives around Springfield and driving down the road to her and DH's house, I tried to dredge up 20 year old memories of when my aunt used to live in the area. Alas, nothing really looked familiar, but it didn't dampen my spirits. The neighborhood was awesome. Someone had even put up a Homer Simpson inflatable in the front yard and I asked Finn what most of them did for a living because I definitely needed to switch occupations to be able to live comfortably like that.
After having a chat in the red room (you have to see it to believe it) filled with paintings done by the multi-talented DH (He can paint and do math!), Finn and I headed out for the Mothership. It was evident we were both a tad edgy as the realization that we were about to go to a place immortalized in the blogosphere by very prominent and legendary bloggers swept over us like hot sauce. Finn's sense of direction was right on cue and she easily found the place.
Walking up to the cashier to order, I immediately recognized Dr. Funkenswine himself, but, of course, was polite enough to ask, "Are you Dr. Funkenswine?" to which he replied "Yep," as if he were asked the question all the time.
"Cool," I said. "Newscoma is my boss."
And I suddenly became cool to him. He also asked about Squirrel Queen.
The BBQ was great, just as billed, and Finn laughed at my putting jalapeno chips on my sandwich. While we were eating and chatting about school, work and life in general, I kept one eye out for any famous bloggers who might enter, but soon realized that I wouldn't recognize any of them, so a few could have come in and I wouldn't have known it.
The bathroom was just as Newscoma had described it. I had to spend a few minutes in there just gawking and taking it in and from looking at all of the dolls in the birdcage, I found a genuine New Kids on the Block Donnie Wahlberg doll. That scores very high in points on the retro collection list.
Before I knew it, the time had arrived to see the Preds and, with DH as the official chauffeur, we headed to the action. I nearly passed out when we found our seats just a very few feet from the ice. Wow!!! The one and only time I'd gone before, I sat in the nosebleed "Cell Block" section way at the top. Needless to say, the camera nearly caught us all on the jumbotron, but got the person sitting next to me instead. The puck landed in the crowd three times and once right in front of us. Two Blues players got smacked in the face with slap shots and one bled all over the ice. Gotta love hockey.
After the first period, the Preds were down 2-0. We got up to get some refreshments at the break and I purchased a cup of Merlot for the occasion, toasting the Preds and the people at the office party and thinking the luck that followed me to the TN/LSU game was following me to the ice.
And then it happened. Another Music City Miracle and I was privy to see it with my own eyes.
The Preds, with the loud support of their seventh man, came back to tie the game 2-2. Regulation couldn't solve it. One overtime couldn't put it away. So, the contest went to a shootout and Paul Kariya became the hero, sliding a sneaky wrister past the St. Louis goalie to take the game, 3-2.
My curse is over. I chalk up the victory to being at the game with Finn and DH and having Newscoma's lucky cap and jacket. It ranks right up there as one of the most awesome sporting events I've ever witnessed.
And it was a very very good Saturday. Finn and DH are outrageously cool. The more I think about it, it's extremely hard to believe that I've only known Finn since September. She just seems like an old friend. Wow (for the second time). Life is good and go Preds!

2006-12-17T10:55:00.000-08:00

Wanted for Hypocrisy and just plain wrongness: Finn.
Yesterday on December 16 in the year of our Lord 2006, said wanted person committed the following crime and admitted to committing an earlier crime.
Crimes are as follows:
1. Being registered as a loyal and devout member of the National Cheese Haters Society, criminal did consume nachos in front of a registered member of the same club committing the crime of hypocrisy.
2. Criminal confessed to having started reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" some time ago, but having gotten sidetracked, never finished the book.
If you have information as to the whereabouts of this person, please contact your local police. She can most certainly be considered armed and dangerous.

2006-12-17T10:54:00.000-08:00

Believing is seeing

The anticipation of the coming of Christmas and especially the arrival of Santa Claus was the one time of the year when believing in magic was encouraged. Any other time of the year, it was dismissed as silly, but when your parents put you to bed early just so you wouldn't see the big man in red or put off his coming, you shut your eyes as fast as possible to avoid losing that magic.
Santa Claus never seemed so bright and real to me as when I saw him last Thursday night. My eyes were wide open this time and were opened even wider by what I saw and heard.
As soon as the door opened and Santa was allowed inside the building, he was swarmed by dozens of children who engulfed him in hugs and cheers.
Nowhere could you find this kind of happiness except at the annual Northwest Tennessee Economic Development District Christmas party for are children. Despite being severly lacking in the material items that most people take for granted, they each had something very rare and extremely sought after by people all over the world, rich and poor.
They had smiles. They had unselfishness. And they had giving just as much as receiving in their hearts.
A pair of twins singing "Silent Night" started the cleansing of all bad feelings and depression from the room that might have existed and the arrival of Santa coupled with the receiving of huge gift boxes by each child present (and there were about 70 kids and their families) made sure that negativity never thought twice about darkening the door again.
And of all the children I saw that night that helped turn my thoughts back to the real meaning and the true emotions of the season, one image stayed with me longer than any other.
A little blonde-headed boy, after receiving his enormous box filled with toys of all kinds and fruit of all varieties, reached into the box and pulled out a pair of camoflauge gloves. His bright face became even brighter at having discovered this special item and he immediately put them on, forgetting the other gifts in the box, and slid around the hard floor with his new treasure, laughing every breath.
It was just......magical.
And I couldn't help but ponder. If I could be as excited about the everyday things of life as that small inspirational child was about a pair of gloves, well, then, it might just be possible to have Christmas every day.
Tomorrow morning is the annual CDS Christmas party and that means I have no right ever again to give Scrooge room and board.

2006-12-10T11:47:00.000-08:00

It was a cold, snowy December day six years ago the time she decided to leave for good.
Sometimes, it's difficult to understand the phrase, "for good," because in most cases, at least for children, it's hard to find good in leaving and not coming back.
She left the hospital bed at Volunteer General just one day after she told us all to go into the refridgerator beside her bed and get out the grape Kool-Aid we all liked to drink as kids. One day after she swore there were red-headed girls on the ceiling dancing. One day after she looked at my dad and told him she didn't know him and called me Hattie.
But this woman who lived life on her own terms, planted a vegetable garden and harvested it every year until her death at 87 years of age, stopped going to church and would cuss out the dog if he looked at us wrong yet still held on to some learned Christian values, ate ice cream and Hershey's Pot of Gold like it was going out of style and asked us every two minutes if we'd like something else to eat or drink. It was only natural that she left the world in her own special way. She had never really been to the doctor a day in her life, so naturally, when she was hospitalized for inoperable colon cancer the day after she couldn't stay out of the bathroom, we knew we had little to do but to watch her fade away.
And in her drug-induced stupor of not knowing my dad or my uncle (who would pass away the very next year at nearly the same time of the year) still was not powerful enough to stop her from these last words, "I feel so bad I would just like to pass away."
And so, she did. Not that very minute, but soon after she made the statement and I had already come in from working at night to an empty hospital bed and an unrealized truth.
And it was "for good" because the medicine and the pain didn't steal away the memories of riding bikes over to her house and fishing for catfish in her field pond down her dirt-roaded Greenfield farm. It didn't erase the days of flu, cold and stomach virus that caused each of us to pay her a day-long visit away from school to recover and watch Family Feud, Days of our Lives and even some talk shows and hear her talk about each one as if she knew the people personally while asking every five seconds if we'd like any more chicken noodle soup or Pepto Bismol. It didn't demolish the days of her constant talking on the telephone, letter writing to my great aunt in Michigan that never stopped until her death, whistling of different little country tunes while dancing some of the craziest dances anyone could possibly invent, dipping snuff constantly, swatting Bubba, my cousin Maranda's Boston Terrier, hard with her fly swatter every time he let out even a whimper of complaint and especially remembering every minute to make sure that we still loved her as much as she loved us.
If for no one else, this is for Stephanie.

2006-12-10T11:44:00.000-08:00

After last night, the Christmas season has officially begun for me. Sugar plums are now dancing in my head and Starbucks holiday drinks are pounding in my heart.
Why?
Simple.
Though I almost didn't do it, I made my yearly trek down to Memphis last night to see a performance of the Singing Christmas Tree and came away from it as awed and amazed as ever.
What? You've never heard of The Singing Christmas Tree?
Heard of Bellevue Baptist Church AKA Three Crosses over Memphis? Whether you're Baptist, Catholic, C-squared (sorry, Nelda, Finn and Pshaw, but that's the official word non-C Of C people call C of C people. Please don't stop writing me now), Methodist, agnostic, atheist, Church of Starbucks or Bush-opalian, this Broadway-style show complete with massive confetti cannons, live animals, marching bands, flying angels and a 70-foot tall tree filled with a choir and a lights show to die for, it is thoroughly entertaining and worth the wait for tickets.
So, now, officially.......Merry Christmas everyone!!!

2006-12-10T11:42:00.000-08:00

Can a library divided against itself still stand?
Evidently so.
Yesterday was the grand finale to the Finn and Mom book tour 2006 and it came to a close in the Weakley County town of Sharon. Finn and I have publicly declared our hatred for cheese, but Sharon library director, Marlow Peters, after learning of our strange dislike, bravely announced that she is a devout member of the Cheese of the Month Club. Not only that, but when she was showing us pictures of her four Belted Galloway cows (think oreo cookie bovine), her husband was wearing a shirt in one of the pics with the cheeses of France proudly displayed across it.
But, just as there will be Democrats, Republicans and other variations in the country, there will be cheese haters and cheese lovers around to make things interesting in the world of all things dairy and lactose embedded.
The signing was a smash hit and, thankfully, cheese free.

2006-12-10T11:36:00.000-08:00

"Where are you going tonight?"
"Oh, I'm going to the Pike party."
"What? The Pike party? Really? Had a hard week?"
"No. It's not like that. It's different. Really."
This past Saturday night, the Pikes or as they're officially known, the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity, held their second annual Christmas for the Kids at the Student Life Building on the UT Martin campus. So, no. There was none of the usual and stereotypical Pike behavior going on, meaning essentially, no heavy drinking. Instead, the entire fraternity plus some helpful students from campus and the community set up a buffet-style refreshment and gift table for all of the children of the community to come and eat and take something back with them. They were also given the opportunity to sign up for the Reading Railroad program which provides area children ages birth through five years with one book per month until the child starts kindergarten. In other words, the child will not begin learning to read in school blindly. He or she will have already been exposed to the joy of it and will enter the educational years of life having a distinct advantage over a child who hasn't been exposed to books yet.
The Santa was scaring off all the children, so Weakley County School Board Chairman and former UTM professor of biology asked that I make his picture with the jolly old elf and I was happy to oblige. He even held my chair when I was asked to make a group shot so I wouldn't fall out of it.
Tyler Hayes (who is helping Corban Evans play with the truck he selected from the table) and some of the other Pikes put together a plate for me and brought it over so I wouldn't have to go to the table.
He and a few of the others are ready for some positive publicity for the fraternity and asked me if I would help. I quite agree. Giving children not just material gifts, but especially the gift of literacy can never be a bad thing.

2006-12-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

Five unknowns about me: Embarrassing edition

As a three-year old attending Gingerbread Junction pre-school in Dresden, at playtime I once took up a tree branch, put it over my head and ran around the tree. When an adult asked what in the world I was doing, I replied, "I'm pretending to be a reindeer." Gotta love that Christmas spirit. Later on in kindergarten, when we were supposed to draw pictures of the method of transportation we used to get to school, I drew myself riding on the back of a porcupine.

I will not touch a piece of cheese, yet I will consume grits and A1 steak sauce and sour cream on most anything (besides cheese, of course). Not really a big hamburger fan. Cannot drink most diet drinks. A friend once tried to addict me to Diet Mt. Dew, but suffice to say, the addiction did not last for long. I was able to quit cold turkey...or is that cold drink?

As a 15 year-old, I scared myself away from mirrors for a day because, fresh off watching The Candyman, I thought if I ever came in contact with any reflective device, I might just see him.

I was, in a way, (and you've heard this one, Finn) recently throwing a bit of criticism in the direction of a prominent person in the community only to find out that the person with whom I was sharing all of this negative information......was her daughter. CRINGE. Open mouth, toss in foot.

I think........Pepto Bismol, root beer and wintergreen all taste the same (or too close to call); watching someone fall asleep in church and especially snore is just darn hilarious; anything goes as far as tricks for April Fool's Day (I've pulled some real stinkers in my day) and sometimes you just have to make fun of yourself or use physical comedy against yourself to get a laugh to break up intense negativity or brighten someone's day.

2006-12-03T12:42:00.000-08:00

So much for a nice gesture.
My oldest first cousin on my mom's side of the family, Dawn, who's 37, just returned the forward I'd sent her through email.
I haven't seen this Nashville native in a year and she sends back my cute little forward with the message "Don't ever send me any emails like this ever again. I don't want them." As if I'm some telemarketer and not her cousin.
You $%#@*&! Scrooge. Just wait and see if I come to visit anytime soon or, heaven forbid, think of sending you a Christmas card.:-)

2006-12-02T11:58:00.000-08:00

We merely formed a gold puddle in a sea of drab browns and greys.
Standing on the triple-deckered risers, we stared out into the crowd, but saw nothing except the face of our teacher in all of its gruff and bulldoggish splendor giving us the look of doom we'd certainly encounter again if we ever put a toe out of line. It was the look that said, "We've put a lot of effort into practicing and fund raising and you better make us proud and impress these big city folks who've probably never even heard of this school."
But later video camera footage showed our fourth and fifth grade eyes darting sporadically from the extra large Christmas tree with ornaments as large as our heads to the solid gold chandeliers that hung from the cathedral-style ceiling in both amazement and fear.
In our black and gold Dresden Honor Choir shirts with little black shirt clips and black pants, or slacks as our heavily Iowa-accented teacher called them, nothing existed except the lights, the apprehension becoming acquainted with the crackers we'd just eaten and mostly, hitting every word and note perfectly so the hundreds of members of the state school board association would put us on the educational map or at least immortalize us in the handbook.
We wanted to do well. We prayed we'd wow our teachers, parents and electric paddle-wielding principal. But, we wanted it over and done with so we could journey out into the enchanting, magical and enormous new world of the Opryland Hotel.
"You could fit out whole town in this place," I theorized to my friend Gretchen before the performance. And it wasn't necessarily true, but it was the largest building most of us had ever entered and just the thought of viewing more lights, glitter, lasers and horticulture in one arena that we'd ever seen in all of our lives put together gave us a renewed confidence.
So Mrs. Eaton made the introductions, the piano music started and we opened our mouths as one and belted out the songs we'd painstakingly practiced all year to perform perfectly for this moment. We were hand selected out of all of the schools in the state to perform, so we were reminded constantly of the impression we had to make.
We began with the Eaton standard, "This Land is Your Land," moved on to our favorites, "No School Tomorrow," and "I Like Mountain Music," and ended with two serious slower numbers "Walk Tall" and the grand finale "Blessed with a Song."
Now the time has come.
We must say goodbye.
Sometimes goodbye is never easy.
Who can say?
We may meet again.
Until that day, God be with you.
May you know the peace of His loving care.
And may you always be blessed with a song.
When the last note faded out, the conference room was heavy with silence until the state president stood and cheered along with the rest of the board members.
We'd actually gotten a standing ovation. Our little group from nowhere had performed well enough to greatly impress the state school board. We hugged each other as if we'd just won the spelling bee, but still filed off the stage in a reverent manner to collect our reward.
We would now officially be placed on the map and even better, we'd get to see the Christmas decorations.
And they suddenly seemed brighter and larger than ever.
Sometimes in order to appreciate the holiday season, it helps to view it through the eyes of a fifth grader. Break out songs long forgotten and feelings seldom visited anymore.
Don't give life to impress, but impress to give life.
Because the gold puddle really is out there, but it exists right in the middle of the muck...exactly where it's needed the most.

2006-12-02T11:55:00.000-08:00

A new tatoo has been branded on my arm.
Well, not really, but I do now proudly wear the mark of the K, as in the local Kiwanis Club.
My friend who works at the local radio station, Misty Menees, is the president and convinced me to start coming to the meetings. After the first meeting, I decided to join up.
My initiation at last week's meeting consisted of an impromptu speech to the club and a pinning ceremony. The first went very well. The latter, however, was anything but graceful.
Misty, while placing the pin on my shirt, dropped the tiny backing into my bra, so my official induction picture (and the one I'm sure will go on the web site) is of Misty and me turning deep shades of red while trying to contain our laughter.
I was put on the public relations/marketing committee with two friends and legends. Nadine Gearin is a former UTM women's basketball coach and coached such players as, oh, a little person by the name of Pat Summitt. Bettye Giles, also of UTM women's athletics fame, was instrumental in helping women's college athletics take off and get respect across the country. We sat at The Hearth in Martin once and talked for hours about how, when women's basketball was in its infancy, teams were given such miniscule budgets that they had to buy all the food they needed at the grocery store before going to a road game (limited to items such as bologna, vienna sausages and potted meat) and actually sleep in the locker rooms in sleeping bags.
They both cheered at my getting inducted into the club.
You can't get any cooler than that.
Now, I just have to perform some community service to get my big badge. Thankfully, Misty won't have to pin it on me.

2006-12-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Finn's birthday.
Last night, I broke out "The Sound of Music" and watched it in her honor.
To an awesome person and writer, Happy Birthday!!!

2006-11-30T12:03:00.000-08:00

A typical Monday as forecasted and retold through the analysis of literary criticism

It's the beginning of the work week and that can only mean one thing — there will either be chaos and confusion or semblance and order. Usually and unfortunately, for most Mondays, it's the former, so Post Modernist critics everywhere rejoice. As it's the core of your analysis to embrace disaster and disarray (which is the most important element separating you from earlier Modernist critics), Monday's are most often field days for you. If your work (in this case, the newspaper) comes out in three different shades of blue rather than black and white and read all over, you're happy. If the paragraphs come out looking a bit schizophrenic, you tip your hat to Kierkegaard and go on about your business.
A modernist critic stuck on a chaotic Monday, on the other hand, runs around with much more than just writer's block. Romantic to a fault and as an unfailing nature fanatic, you weep passionately over the thousands of trees who gave their lives to produce each and every sheet of newspaper while constructing a detailed aria lamenting the loss of simplicity in life.
A deconstructionist critic will chomp at the bit at the promise of a chaotic beginning of the week. Much like cousin Post Modernism, Deconstruction seeks to tear up the framework that has already been laid to create something else....but, Monday's chaos has already saved this dedicated critic a large chunk of work, so it's all good for these Jacques Derrida disciples.
Psychoanalytic critics like Sigmund Freud are nothing short of handy to have around on days like Monday as therapy might just be what the doctor ordered. Of course, psychoanalytic critics can, at times, just be nosy as they will try to pry in order to find out what in the world caused the computer to shut down or the printer to die a premature death. Could it be a bad past influence or just not enough attention, love and care?
Feminist theorists rejoice! Why? Because even though chaos exists, other than on the insert crew, no males work in the office. No feathers will be ruffled and you don't even have to pull out the Anne Koedt to prove a point. Similarly, Marxists, who embrace the struggles of history will find a typical Monday chalk full of good story ideas.
So, what's my point in regurgitating this stuff that only matters to those holding an English degree?
If you look out on the world through the eyes of most literary critics, from their perspective, Monday is a good day.

2006-11-28T14:10:00.000-08:00

Someone check my pulse.
It is now after 4 p.m. and I have not consumed a single cup of coffee up to this point.
This can only mean one thing. I've died. I'm dead. But, geez, if this is heaven, it looks an awfully lot like the WCP.
Note to self: Always remember to drink coffee before posting as it makes for less crappy blogging.:-)

2006-11-26T10:19:00.000-08:00

Now it's perfectly acceptable to discuss Christmas without hurting Thanksgiving's feelings.
The big red and green day is less than one month away and no more holidays stand in for discussion and recognition until then.
Newscoma gave me the wonderful idea of making a Christmas wish list. Most of the items you find on here won't be of the glittery or tangible variety. Last Christmas, I asked Newscoma in her office if she'd received any of those special gifts that you can't exactly see with your eyes, but you definitely feel them inside. This list is filled with mostly those kinds of presents.
I wish for Newscoma: a complete recovery with no more pain, medications or worries; all the time in the world to just sit back, enjoy Mabel, put away Bass beers and above all, keep writing whether it be for Weekly World News, The New York Times or future books, but mostly, just to keep that infectious smile and laugh and never change for anyone.
I wish for Rodent Queen: a job as either A.D. of the University of Tennessee at Martin or hopefully, an even better university, or head broadcaster of some fledgling network (oh, say ESPN or something of that nature) or the title of Sovereign of all Creatures Great and Small; 500 copies of the movie Hoosiers so she'll have no choice but to see it at least once, but mostly constant strength, determination and when all else fails, bucket loads of that infamous snark and wit to get through the day.
I wish for Finn: a marathon to run in the near future complete with shorts and everything, more and more books with her name on them to be distributed world wide as she will most certainly be a frequenter of The New York Times bestseller list, endless nights of star gazing and making wishes on those stars, but mostly, memories, good and bad, for future stories to feast from and knowledge that in employment, in school and mostly in everything, the sky really isn't the limit. There are no limits.
I wish for Kidnapped by Aliens: publication for your master's thesis, but I guess before that, the ability to finish it (hee), time to stand still or hell to freeze over so you can discover a way for multi-processing programs to become single processing programs (and then, keep it to yourself), but mostly, never to lose heart and always keep moving forward because when electronics fail, friendship always finds a way to pick up the slack.
I wish for Craven's World: constant and unending ideas and material to draw, paint and piece together the world brick by brick in your own special way so that no one forgets your perspective and outlook and enough sleep and motivation to always keep at it.
I wish for Batesville, USA: the reassurance that everything will work out no matter how terrible something may seem, the remembrance of friendship and supporters to help get through the tough times and the constant reminder of the good times to use as a shield against negativity, but especially the phrase: "Make my words tender and sweet because tomorrow I may have to eat them.":-)
I wish for a favorable decision to be made, semblance and order to be restored and the Goodyear strike to end so that people like Batesville's dad, Linda Madry and her sons, Bobby Leyhue, Mickey "Yukon Mick" Hicks and many many others can get to know security, peace, happiness and excitement all over again.
I wish that local and county government could work together to construct not only strong working relationships, but strong friendships and respect for each other and that, for just one second, politics could disappear (GASP) and progress could be made for the county with sentimentality, empathy and genuine concern holding the reigns and guiding the sleigh rather than popularity and power.
And well, I wish for me.....hmmmm....the ability to make a life-changing decision before the year is out whether it be grad school, law school or just moving away from the comfort zone and to stick with it.
Here's to all of those gifts coming to each and every one of you with the added bonus of even more surprises. And......Merry Christmas!

2006-11-26T10:17:00.000-08:00

This is just what I get for not wearing my Finn mask.
It has really been the best Thanksgiving ever and an incident last night provided the cherry on top. Old Tom Trooper with not much better to do and no turkey to eat at the time feasted his eyes on my incredible speeding and didn't hesitate in the least to throw me a whale of a ticket.
I was going (and some of you will think this is horrible) 74 in a 55. I know. I know. Don't patronize. I've already practically been thrown out of the will and cast out into the darkness never to be heard from again.
Didn't even attempt to talk my way out of it. Didn't make a pitiful attempt at excuses. Just scrambled for my D.L. and proof of insurance. Now, I can either suck it up and go to court in Gibson County in January and be sentenced to driving school (YUCK) or shell out $152 (YUUUUCCCKKKKK). Gee, both ideas seem so appealing I can't seem to make up my mind which one I want to do.
On a bit of a humorous note (if one can be found), I got my one and only other ticket on Thanksgiving break about three years ago. At least I'm consistent.

2006-11-25T13:57:00.000-08:00

17-12??? Against Kentucky??? At Neyland???
Puh-lease. It's hard enough to hear everyone and their dog affiliated with ESPN, Fox, CBS, etc. etc. build up the Irish vs. USC as the next big thing after worshipping at the feet of Ohio State/Michigan, but don't feed them anymore ammunition.
Notre Dame, I'm begging you. I'm pleading with you. Beat the TAR out of USC or we're looking at another Trojan team in the national championship game.

2006-11-23T14:02:00.000-08:00

No turkey for me today.
Ironically enough, I've been blogging lately about how underrated and underappreciated Thanksgiving is and now, as a huge supporter and backer of the holiday, I've been forced to gracefully bow out of celebrating it.
That's right. Call me a traitor. A regular Benedict Arnold.
I've been bedridden, though, so it wasn't entirely my decision not to do Thanksgiving. My body kind of decided it for me. I'll have to remember to thank it.
Falling into and out of sleep periodically, I've had some extremely interesting dreams. I've been chased by a monster turkey who wished to stuff me only to be woken up by mom on the phone who told me that this year, they didn't have a turkey. They had ham instead. Coincidental? I think not.
In the second dream, I was having an operation to repair my brain, but the surgeons kept hacking away at my stomach area. I kept telling them (because I was awake the entire time for some strange reason) that they were missing the mark, but they said that in order to get to the head, they had to start in the stomach. Yeah.
We'll just have to see what other dreams may come.
Also, last night, my dad saw the white rabbit again on the side of the road in the exact same place I'd seen it before!!! Good thing I wasn't along with him as I'd undoubtedly feel the need to chase it again and I'd be even worse off than I am now.
With that said, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!!

2006-11-23T14:00:00.000-08:00

Accepting Newscoma's challenge, I will now reveal a few nice and not so nice things about myself. Here goes.
1. No queso if you please.
Cheese of any color, shape or form disgusts me to the highest degree. No allergies here. Just pure unexplainable hatred. Once, a friend offered to pay me $10 to consume an entire Kraft single slice. I couldn't even make it halfway before getting sick.
2. I am really a bit of an old soul.
"I Love Lucy," TCM flicks, jazz, Broadway, classic books, old (or new) coffee houses, art or history museums, farms....give me any of these compared to the modern stinkers of Will Ferrell (couldn't make it past "Old School" and never desired to watch anything else of his), most reality shows and most anything under the genre of pop music (with some exceptions).
3. I have an almost perfect record in H-O-R-S-E and Gotcha.
Dating back to before junior high school, around the time I first started practicing basketball hardcore, I would challenge almost anyone to a game of H-O-R-S-E and later, Gotcha. It stuck with me and sometimes, I'd give almost anything to be playing basketball regularly again. Guess that's one of my dreams. Building a private court one day.
4. I will let emotions build up inside of me over a period of time and then let them spill out when I get too full.
This is hard to admit, but it's true. Way, way waaaay too sensitive at times, but on the other hand, I embrace the rolls of true blue friend, supporter, confidant, encourager, counselor and peace maker. Weird, huh?
5. Go for the unexpected.
I admire people who go against the grain. Have a conversation with a stranger. Stand up for something you believe in even if it's not the most popular decision to make, but at the same time, respect the decisions of others. Embrace differences.
6. Forever labeled as quiet and shy, I can be a bit of a blabber mouth and a joker, but shhhh! Don't tell. Wouldn't want my reputation to be ruined.
That wasn't so bad. I dare someone else to try.

2006-11-21T05:36:00.000-08:00

Never thought I'd live to hear myself say it, but I am in a deep depression over city government.
Though at worst, they blatantly broke the Sunshine Law, publicly ridiculed their police officers, destroyed charter rules and regulations and badmouthed each other, they were born entertainers and last night, I sat in an overcrowded senior citizens center and mourned the loss of the former Sharon board.
Reluctantly, I began the journey down the path to their highly comedic board meetings, outright ignorance of the law and constant questioning of basic parliamentary procedure, but two years later, I realize that, despite their shortcomings, they somehow managed to make an impression on me.
And James Gary Roberts, the former mayor, well, the minute I first scheduled an interview with him two years ago, I was struck dumb by his rugged good looks, cool pride and calm demeanor. He definitely had something and I could see it from the very beginning. I could tell it when he hugged me in front of everyone, when he brought me into his office several times after meetings just to express his appreciation and let me in on some good story ideas, when he quickly ran to get some napkins to help me clean up a simple water spill and finally, when he told me how much he'd miss me, but that he'd keep in touch. And sentimental slob that I am, these board meetings over the years have made me mad enough to cry, but the one with the least controversy and the most normalcy nearly did.
Sometimes a town doesn't necessarily have to look like the best on the outside to have the best on the inside.
Thanks, mayor.

P.S. I have agreed with a little coaxing from Parks and Rec. director Bill Bostwick to be a part of the Sharon Haunted Theatre if I'm around next year.

2006-11-21T05:31:00.000-08:00

Coming back from the board meeting last night, I noticed a huddled white mass on the side of the road and was compelled to just stop the car and see what it was.
Parking the car in a driveway clearly marked "No Trespassing," I got out while traffic whizzed past me on the Greenfield Highway and trudged over to this obviously hurt animal. As soon as I reached it, the fluff ball sprouted long ears, big feet and a puffy tail....yup, it was a rabbit alright, but....white? A domestic pet rabbit? I was drawn to it, but as I approached it to see if it might possibly be hurt, it started hopping away as fast as it could. That wouldn't have been so bad if my humanitarian gene hadn't picked that exact moment to kick into overdrive. I began chasing that little lagomorph all over the pitch dark wheat field, stupidly thinking I could actually catch the thing, but it finally found a culvert and dashed in, leaving me rabbitless.
But, this has to be a sign, so I have been contemplating it.
Was that my great white hope just dashed down the drain (or the culvert) because I coudn't catch it?
Nah. Must just mean I'm late for a very important date.

2006-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

Can't get enough of Mr. Roughhouse.
Here he is with his "pissy" little prissy -- the divine Miss Cabbage, a 25 lb. veggie from Sharon.

2006-11-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

Whistling Dixie!
Without further ado, heeeerrrrrre's Dixie, the rat terror, uh, rat terrier that is.
She's lean, mean and full of caffeine. So far, I've succeeded in teaching her how to sing, a talent she seems to like to do on cue late at night, and dance.
Quite the entertainer.
And now, I'll leave you with Dixie in mid canine song.

2006-11-19T13:13:00.000-08:00

There are very few places in the world as eye-opening and environmentally-invigorating as a small town. The people are rich. Yes....rich. Most of the time, they're not rich monetarily and their community is certainly not blessed with the richness of convenience, but lacking this, their imaginations burst with more than worth their weight in gold due to extensive exercise and use.
A patchwork house on a farm in the middle of the corn and wheat fields of the unincorporate and largely undiscovered Herndon, Ky. is one of one of those places that invites the frequent use of imagination.
I spent the weekend in a place mostly uninhabited by people, but bursting at the seams with animal life. Lacking in buildings, but never short on trees. Exteriorally, it's a Norman Rockwell painting of true blue collar Americana, but inside, it's a bittersweet drama worth of the stamp of Tennessee Williams.
This is the house of the Flemings -- the grandparents of the afore-blogged Heather, and though her Grandpa Fleming painstakingly chopped the wood, laid the foundation and birthed the structure all by himself splinter by splinter, it now steadily falters due to the very elements most associated with it.
Each and every time I visit its tiny little corner of the Bluegrass State, I see less and less of what makes it great and more and more of what's choking it to death.
Not far down the road lies an anchor of the community -- the white clapboard Olivet Baptist Church. I immediately deemed it as "progressive" because on my first visit to the house of worship with Heather, a girl in Sunday school class when inquired about her health declared, "I'm just pissed off."
Some would argue that a place having noticeably nothing to lose and everything to gain is hardly worth defending, but allow the often charged intangible criminals of familial ownership, greed, heartlessness and disease to take the stand and watch a new case unfold.
Suddenly, the simple things do matter and imagination becomes even more important as a tool.Heather and I contemplated cures to the inoperable disease over Starbucks in nearby Clarksville, Tenn. and concluded that someone was definitely to blame and that someone must certainly be in possession of an out of shape imagination.
I leave this story vague and unfinished because I've watched it unfold over the course of four years and details would only slice the wound deeper.
I choose to end on a lighter note and remember the place that, controversy or not, will always serve as the little corner of the world that shipped me to childhood and back all in the span of a trip down the driveway and a bit of imagination.

2006-11-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

There is a time and a season for everything, but just as hurricanes have the potential to strike in December, the greater Weakley County area recently experienced a heavy downpouring of holly wreaths mingled with a whole lotta fa la la la la the week of, gasp, Halloween.
Consequently, it should come as no surprise that, as Thanksgiving is hitting without warning or introduction next Thursday, one of our country's most beloved symbols of togetherness and pride is suffering from clinical depression.
It must be said that old Tom Turkey has, of late, frequented the psychiatrist's chair to sit around and gobble about the good old days when Thanksgiving was Thanksgiving and Christmas hadn't yet become the selfish and greedy holiday it now is.
Dr. Seuss conveniently scheduled Tom's session right after he chatted with the completely disheveled and disheartened Freddy Krueger who suffered from a similar malady.
Insiders followed the once proud bird into the doctor's office and what follows is his testimony of past happiness.
Dr. Seuss: "Okay, your time begins now."
Tom Turkey: "Doctor, Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year, but this year, it did the unthinkable and even swallowed up Halloween. Christmas is all well and good, but I don't appreciate it when some uppity holidays think they're so special that they must overshadow other lesser holidays. It just really ruffles my feathers."
DS: "Now, don't lose your head, Tom. Just keep talking. Keep sharing. We must extricate all your bad feelings. Exorcise those demons."
TT: "Thanksgiving once marked the peaceful union of pilgrim and native American. I'm a large part of that. In fact, do you realize that Ben Franklin himself wanted to name me the national bird? I lost by a beak to the bald eagle."
DS: "Uh, Tommy, let's get back on track, shall we?"
TT: "Sorry, doc. Still a little bitter about that. Anyway, the pilgrims and native Americans set the stage for future Thanksgiving days with their generous example that no matter what happens in our personal lives or with our country, we can still set aside a day to give thanks for what we DO have. People and turkeys alike talk enough about what they don't have. It's a time for family to get together who never see each other for the rest of the year. How could Christmas try and take that over?"
DS: "Now, don't be accusatory, Tom. You know there will be plenty of elves just waiting to hunt you down and stuff you for this. Just do me a favor and wrap this up, okay? I have a 2 o'clock with Little Bo Peep who's now lost much more than just her sheep."
TT: "Again, I'm sorry, but gee, doc, I just wish my words could be broadcasted to the sympathetic listeners out there. Of all holidays, let's not forget or fail to celebrate the one that allows us the freedom just to simply say 'thanks.' Thanks for mom, thanks for dad, thanks for family, thanks for good friends. Thanks for kind words, thanks for food to eat, even if I must serve that purpose. It's a holiday that, for one moment in time, lets us come together as one, forget wars and terror and focus on what's good and right."
DS: "Time's up."
TT: "Oh, I hope not."

2006-11-14T13:08:00.000-08:00

HOMECOMING

My mom and I sat beside each other in an overcrowded charter bus bound for Orlando, Florida my senior year of high school. We were headed to Disneyworld on a Spanish Club trip, but more than that, we were spending time together before mom had to come back to reality and undergo a hysterectomy to remove her endometriosis-infected female parts. Throughout the entire time in the Sunshine State, she put on a happy face and enjoyed her time, though later I found out she was scared to death. But, she recovered and my world was okay again.

Tomorrow, something similar is happening and it is giving me the same feeling. My boss, Newscoma, has been absent from work for a few weeks now recovering from a similar surgery and to put it honestly, things may have gone smoothly while she's been away, but a spark has noticeably and definitely been missing and we've all been missing it — the leadership and the laughing. It will be very very good to have her back and healthy again. All will, again, be right with the world.

Welcome home.

2006-11-12T11:44:00.000-08:00

All I ever needed to know, I learned from Mabel.....

1. If life deals you short-leggedness, use your dogged determination to push yourself ahead.
2. You were given two great big (as in Mabel's case) ears so you could listen twice as much as you talk.
3. No matter color or race, we're all created equal and equally wonderful (Mabel is black and white and half rat terrier half Welsh corgi).
4. Keep a steady bark in the face of danger, but always keep your bite in check.
5. When all else fails, sometimes just looking adorable gets you farther than you could ever imagine.

2006-11-12T08:25:00.000-08:00

Geez, I've been a spazzy blogger this weekend. Must be all the caffeine. I'm way over the legal limit now having consumed three Starbucks fraps.

But that's not what this post is about, so I'll move on.

Yesterday, I didn't pick up a copy of the Jackson Sun to check out the second week of high school playoff results, but I did go to the TSSAA web site today and was greatly disappointed.

I already had heard about Westview's coming up short against regional opponent Humboldt, 14-12, but I was very disturbed to see McKenzie fall to Jackson Christian 28-7. Triple A and projected unstoppable school, Crockett County, fell to Covington of all teams, 33-28. The adopted favorite of my dad and me, Camden, was SMASHED by CPA 57-28.

But......on the bright side, those Milan Bulldogs are still hanging on. They came back to squeak by Trenton Peabody 15-14. The Lake County Falcons will also live to play another day as they defeated Trinity Christian 32-27.

If Rodent Queen didn't snap the picture I found on the Internet to use, then call me a monkey's uncle.

2006-11-12T05:43:00.000-08:00

WANTED:
Pumpkin Patch (AKA Patsy Tibbs) and Gallavantin' No Good Gerta on numerous charges. Just a few of the most serious include vandalism, candy stealing, running amok and, oh yes, several counts of murder.
If you see either of these two, please contact Deputy Charles Coker (left) as the two have, so far, been able to out-finagle the officer into missing prison time.
And yes, they are most certainly considered armed and dangerous.
REWARD: Oh, really, you'd just be lucky to escape with your life if you run into this pair.

2006-11-12T05:39:00.000-08:00

Folgers, nothing.
The best part of waking up is.......

2006-11-11T22:02:00.000-08:00

In an earlier post, I mentioned thinking it was a little ridiculous to be getting ready for Christmas before Halloween had even passed.
I take it all back.
Showing "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" on T.V. tonight more than made up for it.
I mean, really. Unless your heart is three sizes too small, you gotta love it.

2006-11-11T21:36:00.000-08:00

Right now, just a little north of here, the 50th annual Telethon of Stars is airing live on WPSD channel 6.
This is an event that has become very near and dear to me and not just because I have served as the PR person for the local chapter of CDS (Community Developmental Services) for the past couple of years, but because I have gotten to personally know the people who are benefitting from the funds donated to the show.
Community Developmental Services is a local organization that, in a nutshell, helps people who are developmentally challenged find a place in the world.
I once asked Sandy Stevens, the director of CDS in Martin, to describe the organization in one sentence and she said, "If you've ever wondered what became of those people in school who had to go to special ed classes, this is where they can go." CDS affords their clients the opportunity to have paying jobs and live on their own when other people would be more than ready and willing to dismiss them as lost causes.
For me, watching the biographies of the poster people flash across the screen, seeing them interviewed by the news anchors and pointing them out cheering madly in the crowd is always nothing short of purely heartwarming.
This year's poster person for Tennessee is Paris native Belinda Edwards. I got the chance to meet and talk with her and her smile was just unforgettable.
These are the real heroes. It is these people who can always manage to smile through adversity who serve as the examples and not the exceptions. I'm thankful to be a small part of it.

2006-11-11T18:24:00.000-08:00

"Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered weak and weary..."
I'm either on a EAP kick or the Ravens are playing the Titans tomorrow.
And the answer is C) All of the above.
Steve McNair will be facing his former team (if he can keep that breast bone and turf toe in check) and the Titans will be looking to improve on 2-6.
Will the Titans continue their lackluster play?
Quoth the Raven, (hopefully), "Nevermore."

2006-11-11T17:21:00.000-08:00

Sooey!
Tennessee is taking on the Hogs from the natural state, and as the last two meetings between these SEC clubs have come down to a fumble by QB Clint Stoerner in '98 and a six overtime nailbiter in 2002-- both resulting in TN victories -- history says this contest should be close as well.
As it is right now, with just under three minutes on the clock in the second quarter, Arkansas is leading 28-7 and I know of at least one person and his family who are probably celebrating.

2006-11-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Don't everyone un-"leash" your jealousy at once, but this Saturday night's main feature will be Dog Sitting at Newscoma's starring the fabulous Mabel, co-starring the cantankerous canine duo of Kirby and Duff and making a special appearance, doggie villian Jura.
Will the ghost show up in this episode or not? To be continued....

2006-11-10T08:10:00.000-08:00

For all of you would-be aspiring novelists out there, this little gem comes straight from Writer's Digest. Thanks to Finn for sending it my way.

Writer’s Digest.com
The Novelist's Survival Kit
Yes, it's scary. But it's time. So take stock of these essential elements for getting your book going, and you'll be typing away in no time.
by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

Novel writing is like entering a new relationship—equal parts scary and exhilarating. All your insecurities will arise at the beginning, and you'll find yourself worrying about the end before long.
The major difference between a relationship and a novel draft is that you have control over your novel's outcome. With deference to the unruly power of the creative mind and the strange twists of your own imagination, as a novelist you can make people change, play overlord to their circumstances and create and destroy at your whim. However, you'll have to loosen your expectations and be prepared to write something that might just be terrible at first. You wouldn't expect to know a person completely overnight, so why should you expect to get your novel right the first time down, which likely contains multiple characters, plotlines and physical locations? Here are tips designed to help the commitment-shy writer make it through the most difficult part—writing the first draft.
YOUR NOVEL-WRITING SURVIVAL KIT
Every new novelist needs a survival kit of things both physical and intangible, which will help you feel prepared for the journey and force you to stay on the path when you're tempted to step off.
o Blind faith. There's one aphorism that's, perhaps, most fitting when you begin to write a novel: If you could know what the process was like at the beginning, you might never begin. Hence, you must begin with an ample dose of blind faith. Faith that you have something important to say, that you're competent and capable of writing a novel, and that if you don't begin now, then when?
o Two notebooks, fat and thin. Purchase two fresh notebooks before you begin. The first should be small enough to be portable but bigger than an address book. Keep it with you at all times during your novel-writing process; it'll be your repository of inspired moments pertaining to your novel. For example, say you're having lunch with a friend, and you notice a sad-looking elderly man eating alone, which strikes in you a feeling that a similar scene in your novel would reveal your character's guilt about her elderly parents. Or maybe while driving to work, the explanation for a bizarre incident in your novel comes clear to you. Inspiration almost always strikes when you're away from the computer, right? If you keep that small notebook handy, you'll be able to capture it.
Your second notebook should be larger and heavy, so you'll not be tempted to move it away from the computer, word processor or typewriter where you regularly work. This notebook will hold details you might otherwise forget. Perhaps there's a timeline of events in your novel with lots of dates, or a character who has quirks that don't show up every time she's in scene, but which are important to remember. This notebook will be your self-created index to your novel; anything that you can't hold in your mind during the process of writing, but which you don't want to forget or might need to reference at a quick turn of a page, should go in here.
o A reward system. Because there's no paycheck, no cheerleading squad and no glory for the novelist- in-process, you need to reward yourself for sitting down to write—especially if this isn't the first time you've attempted to write a novel. It doesn't matter if the reward is edible or for the home, whimsical or practical. If you're commitment-shy, you'll need to be trained like Pavlov's dogs just to show up.
o A schedule. All of this is pointless if you don't give yourself consistent time to write. You're likely a busy person, with a job, maybe a family and sundry hobbies. But this novel is important to you. Set yourself a schedule and then stick to it. Whether you write once a week for 20 minutes, or carve out an hour each day, you want to do everything you can not only to motivate yourself to show up but also to protect this precious time. Shut doors, put up signs that say, "Writer at Work." Make sure your family and friends know that you're taking this seriously, because they probably won't.
BUILDING BLOCKS
Now that you've assembled your survival kit, there are two details you won't want to start without.
1. Plot. What's a plot, exactly? In essence, it's a sequence of events with consequences that happen to your characters. E.M. Forster writes in his famous book on writing, Aspects of the Novel, that a plot "demands intelligence and memory." He means that for a story line to qualify as a plot, it must persist throughout your novel. A plot cannot be solved midway through a book. A quick and easy way to flesh one out is to use what Aristotle first called the "narrative arc." By using this arc, you can divide your plot into three sections: complication, crisis and solution. In the complication section, you set up problematic circumstances that your characters find themselves in—the reason for this novel being written. Then you build on this initial complication with consequences that follow your characters' actions. Finally, in the last third of your novel, you begin to find resolutions to these problems and bring everything to a close. This is a simplistic formula and only one way to write a novel, but remember, you're writing a first draft here, so you're allowed to take short cuts.
2. Characters. You can't have a plot without characters. Begin by creating a simple biographical sketch for your main character(s). This will include basics like what they look like, their desires, fears and what/who they love. Remember your large notebook? That's a good place to write down details like physical appearance and other character traits. Get a feeling for how they sound and talk. Are they timid or outspoken? Imagine how you would describe your character(s) to someone else.
KILLING YOUR CRITIC
Novel writing is a tender process. A great vortex of insecurity can rise up around you and threaten to pull you into doubt. You may start to feel slightly crazed as voices fill your head with negative slogans and antagonistic values about how you aren't qualified to write so much as a grocery list. It's wise to adopt a mantra of sorts, one like this: "I don't need to save the world—just finish this book." Or, "Doubt is just a form of procrastination," or even just, "Shut up—who asked you?"
It's important to remember that some of the greatest writers also wrote bad first drafts and revised repeatedly.
Writer Natalie Goldberg says this about the inner critic, or "editor," as she calls it: "After a while, like the jabbering of an old drunk fool, it becomes just prattle in the background. Don't reinforce its power by listening to its empty words. If the voice says, 'You are boring,' and you listen to it and stop your hand from writing, that reinforces and gives credence to your editor."
BEAT PROCRASTINATION
If you made it through even one grade of school, you're no stranger to procrastination—that wall of resistance that hovers between you and getting your work done. Procrastination is typically a fear that the process will be too difficult or possibly that it'll be so good you'll actually have to take yourself seriously. Either way, here are some quick tricks to avoid its traps.
o Reduce research. One of the most effective ways to procrastinate, and therefore never finish that novel you've been dying to write since you were 12, is to launch yourself into research. You know how it is: You begin with a tiny piece of information you want to verify, like whether women's stockings actually had a seam up the back in the 1960s. Then you stumble onto a tangent: Not only did they have a seam, but they were all made of 100 percent silk; none of that practical latex and nylon we have today. And suddenly you stumble into a fascinating history of the man who designed the first pair of stockings...but you've penned nothing more toward your novel. Research is useful and necessary in many cases, but if it keeps you from writing, it's only hampering you.
o Revision is for second drafts. There are likely perfectionists reading this who haven't yet written a novel simply because they can't bear to do it imperfectly. Let me remind you that a first draft is imperfection embodied, and in this case, that's a beautiful thing. Show me a famous painter who went to the canvas and came away with something like the Mona Lisa. Show me a sculptor who, after just a few tries, sculpted like Auguste Rodin. Art doesn't happen that way. If you want to get a novel written, you must resist the temptation to be perfect. If you want to get off the Procrastination Express, you must resist the temptation to edit and revise as you go.
o Scene-blocking. Pick a number between three and 10. This number will be your horizon—the number of chapters ahead you'll allow yourself to see, as you lumber through the writing process on the road to your first draft. Maybe you're the rare writer who knows the contents of her novel from beginning to end before you even start writing. More likely, you just have an intriguing notion, a compelling character or a powerful theme and are walking into the darkness of your novel with no more than a flashlight's beam to light the way. Don't worry! All you need to do is to take that golden number above and block out that many chapters forward. Blocking looks like this: Chapter One: Main character Hamlet learns that his father, the King, was murdered by his uncle. Goes berserk. Setting is a castle. A couple other characters are introduced. Maybe his hyperemotional mother and the cuckolding uncle who has just married her.
The point of scene/chapter blocking is to write down the basic details that will help you string together a plot. Then, when you sit down at your scheduled time to write, you don't have to wonder or struggle with what comes next because you've given yourself a rough blueprint and taken the guesswork out of where to go next.
o Quantity over quality. Once you take the leap from blocking to writing, you'll again be visited by the goblin of perfection. This foul creature will whisper in your ear and make you want to quit. This is where you remind yourself that if you were building a house, you'd first work with beams of wood and nails to make walls and floors. Your novel is the same, only its walls and floors are made of words. To get them down, you must simply...get them down. One of the most effective ways to do this is to give yourself a word-count goal. Perhaps you fix on 75,000 words, or approximately 300 pages. If you write 1,000 words a day, it will take you about 75 days to get a first draft written. A number goal may seem to go against your writing nature, but you'll be amazed at what a word count will do. It takes the pressure off the idea that you're undertaking the lofty activity of novel writing. Instead, you're just meeting your word count. If this offends your artistic sensibilities, well, then you're likely to still be yearning to write a novel and not actually writing one.
If you stuck with this article, congratulate yourself—you're ready to take the process seriously. Go ahead and tell your friends: You're writing a novel!

2006-11-10T06:48:00.000-08:00

Random silly Friday pondering.

Something I've always wanted to know.......Why, in most every instance other than maybe popsicles, is raspberry portrayed as being blue in color? Look at most any fake fruit product on the market (i.e. Starburst™, Laffy Taffy™, Gatorade™, etc, etc, etc) and strawberry is red, cherry is red, fruit punch (which may or may not contain raspberries) is red, but raspberry is blue. Do marketers and producers feel red has been somehow overused and feel the urge to attach the color blue to a fruit? Why not blueberries? On the other hand, do they feel that the raspberry is somehow a sad fruit and should be accordingly painted the shade of melancholy? Did the president of the worldwide raspberry nation decree that blue is suddenly a better color for a red fruit?
Someone shed some light.

2006-11-07T12:14:00.000-08:00

Suppose it would be very unchivalrous of me not to blog politically today at least once, so here goes.
Yesterday, I talked with our county's director of the election commission and she reported that, in early voting, roughly 4,500 of the 19,000+ registered voters had turned out to cast a ballot equating to around 23 percent. That's about average.
This past weekend, I traversed over to east Tennessee to attend a ballgame and saw a sight that made my jaw positively drop. A huge Ford Jr. rally was taking place at one of the major intersections with mostly older adults leading the charge, something that, as a friend pointed out, was very very unusual.
As to the amendments, this past Friday morning, there was a rather large rally in front of the courthouse in support of voting 'yes' on amendment one. People of all ages were waving these little handheld signs as if they were picketing for Goodyear and area churches had scheduled rather important speakers to vent their opinions on why marriage should be "protected."
I listened to the words of the speakers, but one particular statement one of the female speakers made just stayed with me and caused every other statement to just fade into the background.
"Homosexuality is a treatable malady," she proclaimed to wild cheers. "Just look it up in the DSMIV."
Mull it over because it disgusted me immediately.
Sorry, but I must rant for just a couple of sentences. It goes beyond religion to me. It goes straight to the core of human nature. Voting 'yes' on amendment one, for me, would be spitting in the faces of some of the best friends I have. I just couldn't do that.
Finito. The end. Stick a fork in me. I'm done.

2006-11-07T06:59:00.000-08:00

How completely and totally irresponsible of me!!!
Yesterday, two very important individuals celebrated birthdays, so without further ado...
Happy 28th to Heather Harned!!! Heather is a school teacher at Glenellen Elementary in Clarksville and is one of my bestest friends in the world.
Happy 9th to Rascal!!! Rascal is my big, brown New Zealand Giant rabbit.
Happy birthday to all and to all a good night.

2006-11-06T13:52:00.000-08:00

It's six days into writing the novel in a month and I've managed to learn a couple of things about myself so far in the short period of time I've been working to complete the project.
1. I have a completely overactive imagination.
2. As a consequence, I should probably be taken to Western State.
But, it's so much fun.:-)
I hardly see how I can stop now.

2006-11-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

My weekend, Master Card style

Tickets to the Tenn./LSU game to sit 13 rows from the top: $20 each (down from $125 each two hours before the game)
Parking: $5
Smokey dog: $3
Watching TN's stagnant offense and swiss cheese defensive line (How many times do you see a team turn the ball over four times and still win?) give the game away with nine seconds left in the contest and over 100,000 roaring orange fans rocking Neyland Stadium: YUCK!!!!
Sitting in the dead center of the LSU student section with the jumbo-tron just off to my right for wonderful instant replay viewing, watching orange and white fireworks exploding just over my head and chatting with a die hard big orange fan who was counting on his lucky turtleneck to win us the game: Priceless.

2006-11-02T09:02:00.000-08:00

I have just been issued a challenge and because I'm such a giving person, I've decided to accept it and pass it on.
So, Finn, you're it.
Your mission, should you choose to accept, is as follows in this description via good old copy and paste from Newscoma:

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.

As you spend November writing, you can draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other National Novel Writing Month participants are going through the same joys and sorrows of producing the Great Frantic Novel. Wrimos meet throughout the month to offer encouragement, commiseration, and -- when the thing is done -- the kind of raucous celebrations that tend to frighten animals and small children.

2006-11-01T13:33:00.000-08:00

Everyone say a quick collective prayer that I will soon be the new owner of Dixie, the rat terrier.

2006-10-31T15:31:00.000-08:00

Got a little confession to make on this evil night of Samhain.
I'm truly a scary movie buff. No joke.
I appreciate all the oldies....Halloween, Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, The Exorcist, Poltergeist. I love the creative Stephen King flicks. I admit, I am a fan of The Evil Dead, Saw I and II (haven't seen the third) and The Grudge.
Do I have a favorite?
Geez, that's a toughie.
I'd probably have to give it to The Ring.
Blood and guts don't really do it for me. Playing with my mind does. Not only was the movie freaky, but my editor used to also drive a VW Jetta. Aaaahhh!!!!
Got a favorite?

2006-10-31T15:11:00.000-08:00

Spontaneity brings forth randomnaity (a little old word we English majors invented in capstone class)

Much catching up to do.
Guess if I'm going to blog sporadically like this, may as well cover all the territory.
I was arrested today.
Well, not really. Since I go to court every Wednesday and Thursday for work, the people on the insert crew have taken to calling me a common criminal, so today, for Halloween, I dressed up as a convict. One of the insert crew members, Charles Coker, wrote out a warrant for my arrest and arrested me. On what charges? "Plagiarism," I told the people at the Republican Headquarters.
One of them, Marilucile Counce, sends a big shoutout in the direction of my boss.
She said, and I quote, "Tell your fearless leader I hope she gets well soon. We should send her a card."
Haven't been blogging much lately because I've been reading all about Finn's adventures in Europe and speaking of old Huckleberry, she will be having a book signing along with her mother this Saturday at the C.E. Weldon Library in Martin. If you're able to get there, get thee quickly to the biblioteca pronto.
Talked to Mr. Ron Gifford yesterday at Super Wal-Mart. Was a very very good visit. Giffy has grown out a beard and was his usual talkative self though the Civil War metaphors and allusions were shockingly absent. He is helping his father build houses and staying as far away from politics as is humanly possible. He introduced me to Donna Wright, a former WCP worker. Not too long ago, Giffy had a stay in the hospital with double pneumonia, but is back in working order now and informed me that he refused to take meds as they would make him even crazier than he is at present and that could not be humanly possible.
With all that said, Happy Halloween everyone!

2006-10-31T15:06:00.000-08:00

I've been kidnapped!!!!

Kidnapped by Aliens came up from Oxford last Saturday to spend a bit of catching up time in Martin.
We chatted politically and nonpolitically, school and work and all that jazz. KBA is working on getting his master's degree from Ole Miss and will then go straight into a doctorate program. To say the least, the guy is a computer genius, and we caught not one but two haunted houses (kudos to the city of Sharon for letting us in free) before stopping in for a quick flick at the Cine.
It was a good night. Those don't happen too terribly often, but it was a good night.
That gorgeous image up above, by the way, is Rowan Oak, the home of William Faulkner.

2006-10-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

This past Monday morning, I met up with old acquaintance and new political candidate Lowe Finney.
Lowe is running for state senate on the Democratic ticket against political switch hitter Don McCleary. We chatted for a while and while I was impressed with his knowledge of his subject along with the info he was giving me on my new interest -- law school -- I left the early A.M. breakfast with a very good feeling that I could not put my finger on until I got back to work and blurted it out to an unsuspecting Sabrina.
"Lowe Finney is cuter than I can remember and I know why now."
She looked at me, completely intrigued.
"He looks like Mr. Tumnus from The Chronicles of Narnia."
That makes you pretty darn special in my book......or C.S. Lewis' for that matter.

2006-10-31T14:53:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes and YES!
I'm still rolling in the shock of it all, but the Cards, with their measley 83 regular season victories, took the World Series away from those suddenly overachieving Tigers of Detroit. There'll be no bandwagon joining for me. No siree. I've been a red birds fan practically from birth when my ginormous extended family used to take us to games almost every summer.
While we're on the subject of sports, football season is over and I saw another victory this past Friday night as the Greenfield Yellowjackets completely slammed the South Fulton Red Devils for their second win of the season. Milan won over Westview and grabbed a first-round home field advantage for the playoffs....yes, those same Milan Bulldogs I questioned might possibly have fallen from grace. On the same token, the Camden Lions have won their region outright and I'm glad as I had predicted they'd be a team to beat from week one.
In college pigskin, the Vols survived the Gamecocks and Steve Spurrier to live another day. I'm praying hard for another Florida loss, however, to stuff in the mouths of all the analysts who have been brainwashed into thinking that Gatorville is the only team in the SEC to even bother mentioning with a breath of positivity. Lee Corso and all of his "sweethearts" can hopefully chew on that.

2006-10-27T09:13:00.000-07:00

The drama is continuing over at the local Goodyear plant in Union City with the most recent news of an aggravated assault taking place between a trucker and a picketer being plastered over television stations and newspapers across the country.
The company itself has become the main character of this theatrical production. This is what most people know and accept, but what almost everyone is not privy to seeing are the people behind the scenes.
Last week, I had the privilege of traveling to Union City to interview one of those unsung heroes and what she told me (and wouldn't necessarily let me use in the article) cut me to the core.
Expecting a story of pain, I was instead offered a lesson in forgiveness.
As wife to a Goodyear husband, mother to two Goodyear sons and a former factory worker herself, she poured out her soul to me before asking not to have anything negative said about the company.
Here's the little part you won't read in the papers. Unedited.

Her husband was born with 30 percent hearing loss as a direct result of his mother having the measles during his conception. After the couple had moved their family to Union City, the husband went about looking for work and picked up an application to work at Goodyear. He was refused because of his handicap. He applied six more times, each with a negative response, until he grew frustrated and was at the point of giving up. His wife continued to get him applications, but he would immediately wad them up and throw them away. Crying and pleading, his wife would grab them out of the garbage can, unfold them and beg him to keep trying. Finally, persistence paid off and he was accepted into the Goodyear family. Nineteen years later, he fell off a ladder at work, his heart burst and he died.
"Goodyear has been so good to me," his wife persisted in repeating throughout the interview. "I know it's not the people here that have stirred up everything now. It's the people in the national offices."

Because she feels such loyalty to the company, she feeds the picketers regulary, has yard sales to raise money for them and has even decided to leave her life of retirement to find a job to help support her two sons who are now unemployable because they've been branded with a "scarlet letter" of sorts for being picketers.
Forgiven, but not forgotten.
On my way out of her house, she picked up her late husband's navy, worn Goodyear sweatshirt and held onto it tightly as if her life depended on it.

2006-10-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

Friend and local radio announcer Misty Menees wrote a story about her summer experience with a young girl who, just a few months ago, was struck by lightning and eventually perished. Though I don't have her permission to use this, I simply must share it or die because I didn't.

Five years ago I gave up a week's vacation from work to teach a Kid College class at UTM. Chris Brinkley talked me into it. I'm not really good with children so I was reluctant to say the least. It's not that I don't like kids, but I'm just not good with them. I'd probably make a terrible mother.
We had two classes of "Radio-Active" where kids ages 5-7 learned all about radio. We had them draw pictures of how the radio signal goes from the station, to the transmitter and to your car radio. We staged a pretend crime scene where a bike had been stolen and had them be news reporters gathering all the who, what, when, where, how facts about the case. The stories were hilarious.
They got to play with microphones. Kids love microphones. And we let them write their own commercials for a store or product of their choice. We then taped them reading their copy, added music and sound effects and played their commercials on WCMT. We even put them online and for some reason they are still there. Check it out. http://www.utm.edu/staff/cbrinkley/RadioActive1.htm
That week reaffirmed my belief that I'm not good with children. They tested my patience in every way. I gained a new respect for school teachers that week. I really had no control over the class and if it weren't for Chris I don't know what I would have done. Chris by the way is great with kids. He's an excellent dad and children respect him.
As for my class, One kid got up on the table and told everyone where his "pee pee" was. One kid stamped on my toe, HARD, when I put him in time out. One kid repeated everything I said and one talked non-stop...non-stop...non-stop.
But one 6 year old stands out from that experience. She introduced herself that first morning to the class taking in a deep breath and saying nervously "Hi...(nervous giggle) I'm Maadi-sin Fay-gin." What I remember most about Maddison is her sweet little Tennessee accent. A little southern belle with tons of innocent charm and that smile.
She had a sincere in interest in media. She paid attention to the lessons we taught her and she gigled nervously the day we recorded her commercial for WalMart. She never acted up in class, always had questions, and made the week I spent at Kid College worth the time.
Madison later became the school news reporter for Martin Elementary writing a weekley column for the Weakley County Press. I hear she was a great softball player. And she never lost that charm that won Chris and I over from the first day of Kid College back five years ago.
We never understand why God takes the ones he does. Why Madison? It doenst makes sense when a child dies. Madison's case is no different.
Yet in this case there is no one to blame. A drunk driver didn't steal her away. A terrible disease didn't invade her body. A preventable accident didn't happen last Sunday afternoon.
God sent a bolt a lightening down from the skies and in that instant called Madison home. As much of an angel as Madison was to us here on Earth, I feel if he must have really needed her for something special to have taken her in that manner.
People say God works in mysterious ways. Though I may never teach a Kid College class again, I'm glad I got the chance to know you Madison. You were the bright spot in a trying week for me so many years ago. And i never forgot you.....never will.

2006-10-22T14:33:00.000-07:00

Guess what, everybody?
Finn's back!
Hallelujah! Much rejoicing!

2006-10-22T14:29:00.000-07:00

Well, it is happening tomorrow.
Newscoma is having her hysterectomy.
I think time, in the office, will actually stand still until we find out that all is well. She will be missed more than she can even comprehend.
Keep her in your thoughts.

2006-10-22T14:27:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday, returning from lunch at the Republican headquarters and after engaging in some wonderful academic conversation in hob nobbing with elephants great and small, our office manager, Nell Scott, turned to me and innocently asked, "Did you have fun conflabbing with them?"
"What's that?" I asked. "It sounds like something you do after a dinner conversation to try and work off the excess pounds."
And we wonder how the term motor mouth came to be.
She meant "confabbing," of course, but we agreed that her new word out to be submitted to Mr. Webster himself for consideration in a new edition of his dictionary.
In looking up the word "confab" in the dictionary, I learned that, like most other words, it has a noun and verb form, but no adjective form. So.......latching onto Nell's inspiration.......look for "confabulous,"or to be particulary wonderful and stimulating at conversation, to come to a dictionary near you.

2006-10-22T14:25:00.000-07:00

Three for three baby!
If I were a prognosticator, I'd be fired, but as it is, I don't really give a rip because I witnessed not one, not two, but three victories this weekend.
The Vols sqeaked by 'Bama, my Cards destroyed "Day-Twa" in game one and I, for once, witnessed another county football team besides the Westview Chargers win a game. If my sinuses and allergies had been up and running properly, I might have called this a red letter weekend, but we can't have everything.
At the typing of this, the Cards have yet to start Game Two today, but in the spirit of keeping this a totally positive sports blog, their game will not really count (unless later on it turns out to be a victory, of course).
GO CARDS! Sometimes it rocks being the underdog. Everything to gain and nothing to lose.

2006-10-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

Went to a book signing this past Thursday night and as it took place at my old place of work on the UT Martin campus and was surrounded by my former peeps in the English department, it was bound to happen.
I came face to face with the professor who has probably taught me more about me than anyone else and was once my biggest fan, but since I started writing for the newspaper, became one of my harshest critics.
She was talking to the sports information director and a local radio personality about how well the university football team is doing this year, so I slowly ducked into the conversation and edged my way towards talking to her.
Before I could really say anything, she looked over at me in mid-conversation and asked the two men, "Now, what are we going to do with this girl?"
I could tell it was going to get stranger and stranger, so I suddenly wanted to leave. I can't stand coldness and indifference and I definitely can't stand disappointment, especially if I somehow caused it, so I walked away.
But, at the reception, there she was, and I had to just say something, so I approached her again.
"Don't give up on me yet. I haven't quite given up on myself," I said, rather firmly.
Turning to me, she halfway smiled and asked every so characteristically and bluntly as is her way, "So, what are you going to do about it?"
And I proceeded to tell her my plan. Or what I hope to be my plan. And her smile was coming back, the way it used to look, almost as if she had wanted me to come and argue with her that I was not planning on being a nothing.
The book signing was great, but the reuniting was even more wonderful.

2006-10-22T14:18:00.000-07:00

Dabbled in teaching again the other day.
At the book signing, I was asked by a friend from the English department to lead the Young Writers Conference members in a marathon.
Well, I didn't have to be asked twice. Leading a writing marathon? You bet.
My students came from all over the state and, after dividing them up into groups, I was personally in charge of five people from various walks of academia. Kyle was from Westview and Jessica hailed from Camden, but John and Kate came from two different high schools in Clarksville and A.J. is a student at Germantown High.
Starting out at the library on campus with pens, notebooks and water bottles, we wrote for seven straight minutes without stopping and when time was up, anyone who wanted to share was given the opportunity to open up and let everyone hear what he or she had been inspired to write.
Moving onto the second location, I took them to the supposedly-haunted Clement Hall dorm on campus where we wrote in the courtyard and followed the same rules.
The last stop was the writing center.
And after the last stop, came getting back to point A before time ran up. Needless to say, my group wrote everything from haunting poetry to inspired prose and....we won! We were the first group to get back to the classroom.
How about that? My first marathon with pen and paper and we were all in such good shape none of us managed to even break a sweat.

2006-10-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

He looked at me slyly before laying it on thick.
"Now, when you vote, vote for -------- for mayor and then vote for -------- as alderman and be sure to vote Yes on amendment one."
Wish I could say this was the voice in my head, but sadly, it was the voice of my dad trying to tell me which way to lean and, believe it or not, it really bothered me.
What was the nature of my comeback? A little bit defensive to be sure, but I tried to drown my anger with some good old common sense.
"Now, when you tell me to vote for --------, is it because you don't really like the person already in office or do you think -------- could do a better job?"
I had him bumfuzzled.
Then I decided to make him extra mad just to make him feel bad for trying to tell me how to vote.
"Oh, by the way, Dad, I'm not really sure how I'll vote on amendment one."
I may as well have thrown a bucket of hot acid on him.
"WHAT do you MEAN you don't know how you'll vote? It's very simple really. You don't even have to think about it. Are you abandoning everything you were ever taught? Do you not remember anything? Let me tell you something here. You listen to me and listen good...."
Just trying to let you know, Dad. Leave the campaigning to the politicians and I'll decide.

2006-10-17T07:43:00.000-07:00

Thought I should make a comment about last night's football game between the Chicago Bears and the Arizona Cardinals.
BLECH!
'Nuff said.
On a lighter note, my family got back from east Tennessee last night with....a copy of Fannie Flagg's book for me. Yay family! Have not been able to put it down since then. Nearly had an accident trying to read it and drive to work. There's just something about the storyline and characterization contained in a Flagg novel that just makes a person laugh out loud and realize that all the crazy people in the world pale in comparison to the kooks in one of her novels.
Things are good now.

2006-10-15T15:57:00.001-07:00

The National Geographic Channel aired a documentary this past Tuesday night about the infamous incident known as the "Jonestown Massacre."
It took place a little before my time, but the story and its images have stayed with me, ingraining themselves into my brain, especially in light of Martin's recent encounters with another radical religious sect, the Westboro Baptist Church.
Nine hundred and thirteen people died from ingesting grape Kool-Aid laced with a lethal combination of cyanide and tranquilizers all because their leader brainwashed them into believing their deaths would be wonderful for the world to see and pity.
In this Halloween season, I honestly don't think I could possibly witness anything that would give me more nightmares than this act.
Truly devastating.

2006-10-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

Quite a few people have been blogging lately about the Christmas decorations already shooting up in store windows long before even, gasp, the kiddies have so much as uttered "Trick or treat."
So, I think I'll now stick my finger in that pie and attempt to make some sense of it all.
Two political parties exist in the world of materialization, but oddly enough, these two parties co-exist in peace, agree with each other whole-heartedly in all matters and even work together to get their ideas passed into law.
Every year, the minute the News Year's confetti is swept up, the members of Holidays are Always Marketable (HAM) and Working for Industrial Greatness (WIG) plan the schedule of how to best hurry up the holiday shopping and bump up the holidays to bring in the dollars faster. Sometimes, in these sessions, referred to as "HAM-ming in up with the big WIGs," new holidays are invented for off months which normally have no holidays in the calendar if it appears that HAM is moving toward a sandwich, but those holidays have a strange way of disappearing the next year or "WIG-ging out."
This year, the chapter of marketers established in Nashville, known as the Country HAM, decided that this Halloween wasn't quite going to bring in the bacon, no pun intended, so they voted to put out the Christmas decorations in early October. They brought this idea before the local WIG chapter and presto! Christmas is coming earlier than ever this year.
Of course, due to the young age and lack of experience of the new president, Albert J. Egg, protests have already begun and one particularly vocal citizen, Sam Smith, proclaimed, "I do not like green Eggs in HAM! I do not like them, Sam I am!"

2006-10-15T15:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll try and get all my sports giddiness out in one blog.
Last year, my family and I decided to visit our relatives in Lansing, Michigan. On the way up there, I was discussing things to do and brought up the idea that I'd like to go to a Detroit Tigers baseball game. Of course, I was shushed immediately because, as my dad so eloquently put it, "It's out of the way, it's dangerous, you'd be going by yourself and besides, the Tigers are terrible and not worth paying to see."
Case closed.
Well, Dad, who just won the National League pennant this year? Yup, those terrible Tigers.
On the other side of the diamond, the Cardinals are fighting the battle of their lives against the NY Mets. I grew up rooting for the Cards, have remained a loyalist through thick and thin and am now just praying for a miracle that St. Louis can survive.
In college football, Tennessee had a well-deserved weekend off, but all I can say is Go War Eagles! Auburn upset the No. 2 Florida Gators and as a big gator hater, I cannot thank Auburn enough for raining on their overrated parade.
And....Vandy beat Georgia. That's right. No kidding.
Locally, those Milan Bulldogs who are fighting for their playoff lives just whipped the tar out of my alma mater but hopefully, they can cream Dresden county rival and extremely overrated Westview in two weeks.
It's been a good week.
Go Cards!

2006-10-15T15:50:00.000-07:00

Home alone! (insert Macauley Culkin scream)
Yes, my family made a trek over to east Tennessee to celebrate their fall break this weekend and I decided, for once, not to be a trekkie.
Seems that the mountains were a popular destination as Newscoma and Rodent Queen also went there on business.
But, for me, it hasn't been all fun and games. I've been sleeping a good portion of the time because I managed to catch a cold from the winter-like temperatures that have plagued the area lately.
Yesterday, I found out that my brother, Jeffrey, took his 25 cent pocket knife he'd gotten out of a machine, attempted to rip into a package of gum just to be cool and slashed his finger open to the bone.
Since losing fingers apparently runs in our family (see my earlier post), he was rushed to the emergency room in Sevierville where he waited four hours and was given three stitches.
This weekend hasn't been a total loss, though, because last night I headed over to the office watering hole of choice, Cadillac's, to get some answers to this week's Man on the Street question, "How has the Goodyear strike affected you personally?"
Owner, Rick Wilson, put together a NASCAR catfish party and while the men dug into the generous buffet provided by Chef extraordinaire Sandy, they were quite serious about answering my question.
One fellow who had fallen particulaly deep in the sauce, however, rambled on and on and on about his troubles as if I were his personal psychiatrist until I finally had to stop him and ask, "Yes, but how exactly does that relate to the Goodyear strike?"
Three out of the five good answers I received came from Goodyear employees just dying to voice their concerns and, oddly enough, every single one of them was completely open to having his picture taken. Usually, I practically have to pull teeth to make that happen.
Without question, the best Man on the Street I've ever done.
And to think I almost missed it in favor of going to east Tennessee!

2006-10-11T15:52:00.000-07:00

Refresh my memory.

Did I ever actually say, 'falling from grace,"?

Guess it was just a slight slip of the tongue.

Even after having to forfeit their first five games due to utilizing an ineligible player, the Milan Bulldogs are playing their hearts out and as if their playoff lives depended on it (which they do).

You know what that means.

Watch out everyone else.

2006-10-11T15:49:00.000-07:00

Let's now pause for a moment of silence.
My cell phone is officially dead.
It was murdered by my own hand.
Butterfingered little old me fumbled the electronic device straight into the toilet and sent it to a watery grave.
Yesterday, I went to get a $20 upgrade, but was informed that I won't be eligible until April 2007. That means that unless I just want to be dead to the world of communication, kinda like my old phone, I must shell out enough money to buy a new phone.
Yes, yes, I know, Kidnapped by Aliens. You are rejoicing at my loss of a loved one. Keep your laughter and celebration down a bit, please.

2006-10-11T15:48:00.000-07:00

Got a good Halloween story to share?
Batesville, USA and I at the WCP are in search of some good ghostie stories to share with the readers.
We're doing a series on supposedly haunted places around the county and, joy of joys, I think we're visiting a Civil War battle site and my old junior high school.
Any suggestions?
I am up for absolutely anything. Just call me Ghostbuster.

2006-10-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

Finn's in Europe.
Wish her well.

2006-10-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those moments that just make you tingle with joy and glad to be alive and exactly right where you are?
Last Saturday, I attended a wedding and while I was standing around the reception and talking, I heard something that made me do an about face.
A strong southern accent krept up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder and I proceeded to have a conversation with Mr. John Pritchard, a native of Tunica, Miss., an English prof. at the University of Memphis and, most importantly, quite the well-known author.
His debut novella, Junior Ray, made the Barnes and Noble Top Ten Bestseller list.
And he wanted to talk to me. Said he knew writers in Oxford and could get me the hook-up if I seriously wanted to be published and break into the world of books.
He told me I intrigued him, wrote down his email address on a napkin and informed me we'd be in touch.
Sometimes you don't even have to look for things. They just sneak up with strong accents and discover you.

2006-10-04T14:35:00.000-07:00

Got an unexpected visit today from good friend and loyal P'ville Pirate the one and only Joel Griffith.
He dropped by to check up on us media peoples and just, in general, chew the fat.
Joel is cool.
He single-handedly coined the phrase "open up a can of whip-hiney" some 20 years before Adam Sandler used it in "The Water Boy" and left some of it to one of his enemies in his senior will in high school.
Someone dared him recently to try and catch a baby turkey, he did, and now he's discovered that Pet Tom is really a chicken. He says he's waiting for her to lay some eggs and I keep reminding him that SHE may possibly be a HE. In the meantime, he built a regular chicken penthouse complete with a fence and a front porch and he lets his dog sleep in an old burned-out barrel.
That's Constable Griffith for you. Never a dull moment.
Keeping the streets of Martin safe with his ferocious black guard chicken.

2006-10-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

Mark Merwin captivated her from the minute she set her young eyes on him, peering every Sunday from the cold wooden family pew to his front row seat.
Shyly gazing into his deep blue occular infinity, she saw confidence, power, strength-- traits she sorely lacked-- and knew she had to have him. Had to make him her own.
But playing hard to get, she pulled up her feelers, closed the curtains to her heart, and yet, when his calls stopped coming and his eyes stopped searching, she wondered why.
Growing older, getting married and living life, his muscles and mind began to slowly fail him and steadily losing things taken for granted, his wife abandoned him and gave up the will to support him against the MS as easily as discarding a dead battery.
He had graduated at the top of his class, had gotten through Union in three years much to the extreme pride of his parents, had followed in the footsteps of his father as a Baptist preacher and had commanded a business corporation.
But now, he was confined to a cold hard mechanical chair.
No job.
No wife.
But, again, unexpectedly but just when they were needed the most, the shy eyes came back to gaze upon him.
Taking in Ensure through an IV and watching Braves baseball on the television were about the only things he could do because they required no movement, but one day, he worked up enough energy and pent up muscle power to slur out, "I love you," to those eyes and it made them dance.
Today, I went to the funeral for Mark Merwin in a small country church in McKenzie, packed to the gills with admirers.
A stew of emotions simmered inside me, causing me to fade into the background, become invisible and just allow the events going on around me to unfold as they had to.
Mom's shy, tear-stained eyes gazed into his now closed ones and I knew that part of her was gone, abandoned, like atrophied muscles, never to work again.
As "Abide with Me," strained sorrowfully out of the organ and voices cracked while raising the song up to Mark, my heart ached for my mom, for her years of grief and anguish.
Even though, had she not played a silly game as a teenager and lost him forever, she never would have found me.