Red Shoes with Green Heels

     Splashes of brilliant blue sky passed through the holes in the roof.  Walls made with sticks and plywood, here and there, nothing solid.  Rafters pointing at an angle to the sky, only connected at the walls, not joining at the center, like the rib bones of a dead bull drying in the sun.  Standing in stark contrast to the brightness of the sky, is this my prison, is this my future, is this my broken soul?  No ceiling here or there, but no rain comes in.  Small shacks with dozens of people milling around, touching shoulders, but not making any sounds or connections.  Small shacks turn into a mall, sitting on a hill with no sides.  Gullies with mud and dirt, no grass or vegetation, caused by bombs and heavy equipment, always around but never seen.  Buildings jutting out over the cliffs with only small boards to walk on, over the dizzying heights above the gullies.
     Sheila leaves on the Olds, driving over the dirt road, now mud, now dirt, now water.  I drive alongside in my truck on the dirt airstrip, now mud, now dirt, now water.  I look up at her and we turn right.  We stop at the on ramp of the interstate to bale hay.  We can't because of all the garbage.  Instead we edge the two feet of grass alongside the interstate ramp.  It is straight up, move you Angus bull, I can't edge the grass with you doing jumping jacks.  I take the bush axe and perfectly edge the bright green grass showing the mars black soil underneath.  In the field, several people are baling hay by hand, among the white milk jugs.
     As I merge onto the interstate, cars whiz by on the outside and inside lanes.  I am walking down a city street in the center lane.  Hundreds of people are swimming downstream against me.  I slip in and out of the school of people with the grace of dolphin, not touching a one. None of them break the school wall and hit the oncoming automobiles, knowing that if they did the cars would take wings and fly away.
     Are these three maroon aluminum poles in my hand a knight's lance?  There is a handle on the end.  Let me look.  No, when I turn it around to inspect it I can see that it is a church steeple.  Long and skinny with a bulbous end, when joined together, will stretch over a hundred feet into the sky.  Just then, I see the cathedral, in the distance, where the rafters do not meet.  I know that I can walk the rafters and install the steeple,  I look down at my cadmium red dress shoes with the green Bahia grass seeds and the sienna sesame seeds held wetly to the John Deere green stacked heels and jump deftly from rafter to rafter.
     Night is taking over as I walk down magnolia lined Park Street.  Not as many people, but they are very sinister and look at me with hunger in their eyes.  Maybe I can get home soon.  Where is home?  Houses stacked on houses, some with walls, some with roofs, some floating, some half buried in the dirt.  Ah, here it is, a French Tudor.  Cream colored stucco with dark brown stained wood trim.  I am in bed.  People come in and out of the bedroom through the closed French doors, with white lace curtains.  With pillows piled high all around me to make a high wall.  People milling all around the room looking at me. looking past me, looking through me.  Talking and laughing with each other.  All I can think of is, where are all the ghosts?  It is lonely without them, I guess they are busy elsewhere.  In their place, the witches are brewing up trouble in a pot.
     I am asleep, is this a dream?  Could it be another dimension?  Just because I am asleep, does not mean that it is not real.  If I am awake, could I not be dreaming then?  Maybe all the pain and suffering, work, bills and headaches are really just a figment of my imagination that I can see only when I am awake.  Sleep may the reality with just a bit of surrealism.

Sheila's Sunland

     Every once in a while, a man realizes how lucky he is to have a good woman.  If he doesn't on his own, she will remind him.  Fortunately, this time I got it all by myself.  I go to three or four art and craft festivals a year.  They are to much work for me to do by myself.  Sheila is gracious enough to give up her weekends to help me with these ventures.
     We had gone to Marianna's spring festival and oh what a disaster.  The wind was blowing so hard, it blew a sunken Spanish treasure ship up all the way from the gulf.  Finally we gave up and took our tent down before it blew away.  As we were loading our stuff into the wagon, the lady next to us was telling Sheila that we needed to go the Christmas festival at Sunland.  She said there was always a big crowd and everyone was buying Christmas gifts.
     The big day of Sunland's festival had finally arrived.  Up at three a.m., the wagon is already loaded, and we head off to have fun.  We get there just before dawn and it is bitterly cold.  By the time we find our spot, unload and set up, the sun is shining bright and we have shed our heavy jackets.  The crowds were there, but no one was buying.  Thoroughly disgusted, we answered questions and carried on mini conversations with everyone.  All the time wondering when are the paying customers going to make an appearance.  The heat was getting to be oppressive, the dust was stifling, and Sheila's frustration level was rising.
     Around lunch the crowds got really heavy.  There seemed to be a lot of people there with problems.  Even for Florida, this was unusual.  The black lady at the tent next to us was a small framed, neat and dignified elderly woman with class.  As the white woman, in her face, shaking with the palsy, bent over at the waist. talking incoherently, scratching her nose, the lady acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.  I looked at Sheila, her mouth was open and a bewildered look was upon her face.  I was looking at her, looking at the black lady's husband, looking at the black lady.  No one offered to go her rescue.  Poor thing.
     There was a procession of groups that came by the vendors.  Each group had five or six people with diminished mental capacities and one normal person as a chaperon.  A few had a near normal grasp on reality, but most were off in space with no way home.  Some were able to move around on their own, but others were not.  Sheila looked at me with a puzzled look on her face.  "What is going on?", she asked.  "Do you know where you are?  This is Florida's mental institution", I informed her.  "What the **** are we doing here, you jack***?" she asked.  I explained that the Christmas festival is their way of raising money and allows the patients to mingle with friends and family.  She calmed down and eventually got into a festive mood.
     As the day wore down, we were loaded and ready to go, Sheila had to go to the bathroom.  While she was gone, I helped myself to a coke out of the ice chest.  About halfway finished with the drink, I heard the sound of steel striking flint. When I looked up I saw Sheila coming across the hard dry dirt.  Her hips were on her shoulders, her arms swinging stiff with each step.  Her stride covered six feet easily and each time her heel touched down, sparks flew in every direction.  After being married for thirty nine years, I knew better, but stupidity always wins.  "Do you want a cold drink?", I ask.  "Shut up and get your ass in the truck," she responded.
     Leaving the compound, she told of going into the restroom.  It was deserted, and when she sat down in the stall, she heard the door open.  Some one came in and yelled "Whooo, whooo, whooo.  Then she went by each stall banging on the doors. When she finally got into a stall, Sheila got out and started to wash her hands.  When the woman heard the water, she yelled Help, help and started banging on the walls of the stall.  "Ain't my job", Sheila said and left.
      I stopped in the middle of the drive and laughed until I cried.  This pissed her off even more, but I could not stop.  She finally came around and started laughing also, albeit not as heartily as I.  To this day if I am having a bad day, thinking of this brings a smile.  If I am having a good day and think of it, I bust out laughing.  Thank you, Sheila for an interesting life.

The Scrooge With Rouge

There is an old town
in England, it is told,
of a man of great reknown.
But if I may be so bold,
to tell of one living with the prick,
who in trying desperately to feel fine,
gave up beating him with a stick,
and gave in to drinking fine wine.
Every day just before lunch,
you know that she was feeling good,
simply because shse had drank a bunch.
Picking up the stick of wood,
she threatened to put him in his place,
she yelled, I am the Scrooge
that every day, to my face,
I apply a pound of rouge.
You had better be nice and make a pass
or I will grab the spirits three,
and with them, I will thouroughly beat your ass,
turned pitifully over my knee.
Merry bah-humbug Christmas from
the Scrooge with rouge.

Charles Sims

The Greatest Gift

     Ah, the sounds and smells overwhelm me.  Food and people everywhere.  The fresh home baked bread sent it's wonderful pungent aroma over to me on the slight breeze blowing my way.  I had not eaten in several days and the fragrance was overwhelming.  The small amount of food that we had went to feed the wife and kids.  With no money to buy food, I watched the street vendor out of the corner of my eyes.  I was not normally a thief, but with hunger and the amount of people milling around, I was just waiting for my chance.  Eureka, there it was.  He turned his back for a moment to speak to a customer and quick as a fox, I snatched the bread and ran. 
     "Thief, thief", he shouted and I knew that I was in trouble.  My bad knees slowed me down and allowed the young men to overtake me.  As desperate as I was, I could not escape.  Being caught could mean the loss of my hand, but desperate times make for desperate measures.  After loosing a couple of teeth and a broken nose, I was taken before the magistrate.  As he looked at my condition and listened to my sad story, he had compassion on me.  Instead of cutting off my hand, he sentenced me to six years hard labor.  Now I know why I got to keep my hand.  Nothing to do with compassion.
     Prison was hard, however I did get one meal a day or rather I got to eat one time a day.  Just enough to keep up my strength, but that was more than my family got.  During the day was terrible, moving heavy stones to pave the roads was back breaking work.  Later due to my age, I was given to the group that poured sand and soil into the cracks around the stones to level out the road.  It was night that was the worst, though.  We were kept in the dungeon with no light, locked in our own stocks by our hands.  You soon learned to control your bodily functions until you were released in the morning.  The sound of grown men crying and weeping made my plight only the more deplorable.
     This night, at the end of my sentence was different.  From a slight distance, we could hear two men praying and singing psalms at the top of their lungs.  Praising their God as if they were on top of a mountain, not down in a deep, dark, damp dungeon.  They were locked in their stocks with hands and feet.  This was reserved for the worst offenders.  When they had been brought in during the day, the jailer was given strict orders to guard them with his life.  If they escaped, the jailer would be killed. 
     As Paul and Silas prayed, the dungeon was rocked back and forth by a massive earthquake that shook the foundation.  The doors came open and the stocks were broken away from all the prisoners.  The jailer seeing the destruction and supposing the prisoners gone, pulled his sword to take his own life.  Paul cried out with a loud voice, "Do thyself no harm, for we are all here."  The jailer cried out for a light and went in and kneeled to Paul and Silas.  "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?"  "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved and thou house."
     As I heard the story of Jesus Christ and His death and Resurrection, I believed also.  The following week I was released and reunited with my family.  I knew that had I not stolen the bread, I would never have received the most precious gift of all, eternal salvation.  God is with us
    

Bill Sketo

Ahoooo! Ahoooo! clackity, bang,
As I look up with a start,
my fork falls with a clang,
the misty vapor makes my eyes smart,
Who's there? Who's there? I ask
as I reach deep into my vest,
and pull out my half empty flask,
as he reached out, it put my heart to test,
and grabbed my liquor. "Sketo, Bill"
he shouted, as my whiskey he downed,
while he rested on the window sill,
give that back and leave me, I frowned,
or a rope I will find,
and a tree with a low limb
to hang you from behind,
and rename you Jim.
Take your spirits back from me,
all I wanted was a soul to scare,
and you wanted to find a tree,
just to show that you did not care,
Oh, but I do, I do and that is true,
as the air is clear and the moon is bright,
my liquor is not shared by you,
as you gave me such a fright.

Newton's Hole

Ah, here it is, finally. We have been waiting for this day all month. This has been building up for weeks now. Sheila and I, Charles and Maureen, Donnie and Thelma and Wayne and Paula have been visiting the cemeteries at night looking for ghosts. If there were any around, we probably scared them off. All of us would pile into my two door Chevy, drink beer and hit the back roads to the cemeteries. Oh, the lies we told and laughed at.



This Halloween fell on Saturday, with a full moon shining so bright that you could see forever. As we headed out to Mt. Carmel Methodist cemetery, Sheila was the designated driver, since she did not drink. We were going to check out the haunted grave of Bill Sketo. Charles Cook was telling us of the story of how Bill had been hanged as a deserter of the Confederacy, during the civil war. He was not a deserter, but the home guard was mean as hell and bored. The six members of the home guard were in a hurry to hang him and misjudged the height of the tree limb. Bill was a tall man and able to stand on his tip toes to avoid strangling. One of the lynch mob took a post oak limb and dug a hole under his feet. To this day, more than 130 years later, the hole could not be covered up. Legend has it that Bill Sketo comes by every night and cleans it out. Well, that whipped up our appetite for the adventure.



After we looked around the cemetery for awhile without seeing his ghost, someone suggested that we head off to Newton and find the hole. We all excitedly piled into the car and went to Newton. There next to the Choctawhatchee bridge we found the hole. As we got out of the car, we grabbed rocks, sticks and debris to fill up the hole. As soon as we had it filled, the moon went behind the clouds,and It became pitch black. We were surrounded by thick woods on all sides, and a small footpath was the only way out. The katydids were howling, the owls were hooting. We could see red eyes glaring at us from everywhere, and the air was thick as blood. And then the coyote with a sense of humor screamed at us from just inside the tree line. I had never heard Bill sketoe in my life, but I know that was surely him. Some one screamed and we all hauled butt. In the dark we were all lost and confused, running in all directions. Panic stricken, I ran into a tree, saw a blinding flash of light and fell into the hole.



I could feel the weight of the world pushing me down. The hole opened up and I started falling down the hot, dark hole. I screamed, but no one was there to hear me. I reached out to grab the rocks on the side to slop my fall, but they turned to loose sand. As I fell the darkness gave way to an eerie red glow. The heat was unbearable. After an eternity, I landed in a large pit and the sight was horrific, and the smell of sulfur and fresh blood left me in a dark despair. The sight and sound of demons biting off the head, arms and legs of the lost souls was terrifying. You could hear the bones snap and the muscles and tendons tear apart with screams. As the demon chewed, the parts grew back and the faces of the lost souls relaxed and peace returned for just a moment. Then the scene repeated itself.



If I lie very still, maybe no one will notice that I fell into hell. Oh shit, that large green toad with the red eyes and yellow teeth is glaring at me, with an evil gleam in his eye. With a quick leap of his frog legs, he had my head in his mouth. Before he could bite down, I screamed, "Lord help me!" a that moment, I awoke at the top of the hole.



Sheila was holding my bloody head in her lap. What happened?, I asked. You doofus, you knocked yourself out when you ran into the tree, she replied. Everyone was standing around laughing and talking about the fun we had just had. the sun was coming up in the east and dawn was fast approaching. As the rays of the sun touched the edge of the hole, all the stuff we had piled in began to disappear. It was deathly quiet and we all froze. No one moved and we watched in horror as the hole cleaned itself out. I was glad that Sheila had pulled me out of the hole before daylight, or I might still be in the bottomless pit.

COCK of the WALK

     In the spring of 1956, our family moved from my grandparents farm to the outskirts of Headland.  We rented a house from Mr. Joe Parrish.  This particular Saturday, mom was cleaning and dad was off with uncle Tex fishing.  They left it up to Wayne, who was ten, to look after me and Benny.  I guess for a while he did pretty well, but since he was all macho man, we had to head off to the Cock of the Walk fertilizer building.  It was the largest building I had ever seen.  One hundred feet high and wide and three hundred feet long.  It was made out of asbestos sheets for the roof and sides.  It had a walkway at the top that ran the length of the building, with a row of windows on each side.  Most of the panes were broken.  Not by us, we could throw rocks pretty well, but they were too far off for our young arms.  The train tracks were on the other side, and the loading dock ran the length of the building, with piles of pallets and cardboard.
    The big doors were locked, but as small children, we could slip between them and the building and go inside.  There it was, on the inside, was our personal playground.  The white powder bat guano was piled to the ceiling.  Three different piles, each just a shade different.  Wayne had been there before and knew to bring a piece of cardboard from the loading dock. Motioning for us to follow, he headed up the stairs to the cat walk.  That was the best thing we had ever done.  Our hearts were pounding from the excitement of breaking in and the height of the stairs.  We could barely contain ourselves.  The bat doo-doo was about five feet below the catwalk, and sloped to the bottom in a cone shape.  Wayne jumped with the cardboard, hit with a smack and started sliding downhill fast as lightening.  Benny and I jumped, but we did not have a cardboard sled.  We buried up to our knees in the white powder crap, and had to struggle to get to the bottom.  Wayne, however was going so fast that he could not stop.  Just as he reached the bottom, he rolled off head first, only feet away from smashing into the wall.  When we reached him, all we could see were his legs sticking out of the bat crap, and kicking like crazy, up and down.  We grabbed a leg each and pulled him out.  We were laughing at him and embarrassed as he was he bounced each of us on the side of our heads.  Smaller and younger, though we were, we bounced back.
     When we tired of blood and bat shit, Wayne showed us some dynamite that they used to break up the guano when it clumped together.  Now at this moment, fifty four years later, I know what happened to the windows.  It also explains why we could slip inside the doors.  Wonder if the building is still standing.  Wayne was smart enough to take only the blasting caps and fuses.  I think he knew that the dynamite was too dangerous.  On the loading dock was a three foot length of 2" pipe, a cinder block and an unlimited supply of rocks from the train tracks.  And every kid worth his salt, had a cigarette  lighter.  Well with all these ingredients for a fun filled Saturday afternoon, what could possibly go wrong?
     Instead of aiming the primitive mortar across the tracks to the empty field, Wayne pointed it at the White's house, a quarter mile away.   Wayne lit the fuse to the blasting cap, dropped it into the pipe, Benny dropped in a big rock and I got the hell out of the way.  No need to worry, the rock came out the end of the pipe pretty as you please.  You could see it flow through the sky and land on the tin roof of the White's house with a loud bang.  They scattered out of there like red wasps coming off the nest when you hit it with a corncob.  They heard thunder and the sky fell on them.  They were hauling ass somewhere, but where?  They never figured out what happened.  Are you going to tell them?  I sure as heck ain't.

Wild Hog

      I know that this a status, not a diary, but it is also a good place to post my stories.  This one is my entry for the September competition in writeandreview.webs.com.  The category is dreams or nightmares.  I thought some of you might like it.

     Hon, will you turn off the light when you come to bed?  Phil did not really expect an answer from Mary.  He knew that she would.  Through all the pain and suffering she was his one constant rock.  That and Joe, his best friend from grade school.  Oh, the things that they had done.  No wonder they were always in so much trouble.  Joe had married Sheila and moved in down the lane.  For Phil that was the best thing that could have ever happened.
     As he was drifting off to sleep he was giving thanks for all his many blessings. When sleep overtook him, he began to walk down the path in the field, to the woods, where Joe lived.  Rain was dripping on his face and he could feel the chill.  Wonderful!  He had never felt so alive.  His senses were on fire, almost as if he knew what was about to happen just seconds before it actually did.  A quick jump to the side, he landed nimbly on his feet as the ferrule boar rushed by.  He had heard him coming and his body, acting as a fine magnificent clockwork, moved in perfect timing to avoid the sharp tusks.  As the boar, fuming from the miss, turned around and charged again.  Phil reached up and grabbed the limb over his head.  Pulling his legs up just inches from danger, he teased that old hog until he finally tired and ran off.  Hopping, skipping and laughing, down the lane, without tiring, he eventually made it to Joe's house.
     Tapping lightly on the door, he waited patiently for an answer.  Sheila slowly made her way to the door and opened it.  Hey girl, how's Joe doing this fine morning?  Doing better Phil, he's already dressed and waiting for you, she replied.  Good, let's go get him.  Joe, you ready? I asked.  Yeah, he replied, just help me into this damn wheelchair and we will be off.
     Phil could tell that he was putting up a brave front.  That was him as he had always been, strong and brave.  As we strolled down the lane, that old hog came after us again.  With just a wave of his semi-useful hand, he just whisked that old hog away.  Thanks Joe, I am really tired of that old swine.  The light awakened Phil with a start.  What is it Mary?, he asked.  You were squealing with joy and it awakened me.  Were you having that dream again?  Yeah, Mary I did, he replied.  And the best part was when I picked you up in my arms, lay you on the bed and we made wild passionate love.  Just wait until Joe comes to help me into my wheelchair in the morning.  I'll bet that he will tell us about his nightmare.        

Life

     As hard as it is, I am going to take the advice that was so rudely given to me.  "Quit feeling sorry for yourself, get over it, and move on with your life."  Through the strength and grace of my Lord and Savior, I will.  Through Him, all things are possible, even this.  With the weight of the world on His shoulders, when He  was on the cross, He could still see me & Sheila, Ashley & Jason, Natalie & Justin, Paul & Jeanette, and He knew that His grace was sufficient to heal us 
     Some of the fiery darts of the wicked get past my shield of faith and infect my soul.  The corruption comes out my mouth as character assassination and cursing.  He washes me daily and I wallow in the filth of self-pity and have to be washed again.  Just like the yard dog that gets a bath, then rolls in the dirt and has to be washed again.  All tribulation has an expiration date and this too will end.

HELL AND BACK AGAIN

     There's that stupid alarm clock again.  It's almost daylight and all I have done is toss and turn all night.  Dozing, between turns, I would dream of the coolness of the past.  There you could walk down tree lined paths in the shade, during the middle of the day, and enjoy the cool breeze hitting you in the face.  Because it was a dream, it was not strong enough to hold.  The oppressive heat is stronger and wakes you up.  The night is always aglow with a soft orange light.  The light along with the heat is terrible.  I long for the days before the world was knocked off its tilt, by the two volcanoes erupting at the same time.
     Then you could get cool even in the summer.  Cities were bustling, busy with people walking to and fro.  Some even had bicycles and rode in the streets, where automobiles once ruled.  It was hard for us to kick the oil addiction, but as with any addiction, you feel so much better when it is over.  It was a hard sell to convince the world community that fossil fuels were destroying the world.  When public opinion got behind the movement, people slowly began to walk wherever they went.  More and more people joined in and after a few years, cars were very seldom used.  The benefits were immediate.  Obesity was over, diabetes, cancer and heart disease were almost unheard of.
     With the population feeling better and the oxygen levels going up, people began to be nicer and crime was down.  Now there was no need for drugs to help you cope with life's problems.  Life had slowed to a pace that people could keep up with.  I can barely remember those days as I was just a small child.  Our parents would sit all of us down in the afternoons and tell us of water filled pools.  I can not imagine that much water in one place.  They would tell us of the way things were before the eruptions.  I guess that is why I have such vivid dreams at night.
     No one wants to wake and face the day.  We don't walk around during the day anymore.  It is so hot that bums have a new way to light their cigarettes.  All they do is hold them up to the sky and the tip bursts into flames.  The only way to do it, since all the matches caught fire long ago.  As I go outside, I begin to hear the sounds of the day, people stirring, footsteps clicking on the hot sidewalk, the frustrated greetings of the neighbors.  "How's the weather out there today, Bob?" asks Joe, the clerk at the newsstand.  "Hot as hell, Joe", I replied.  Looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face, he answered.  "If hell is this hot, I don't want to go."
    As I walked down the street, trying to stay on the shady side, I could see that the heat had already stirred up anger and resentment.  It was if you were locked up in a small room with no air and the walls painted a bright red.  Two men were fighting in the street.  How can they do that?  Any movement and exertion only made the heat worse.  One of them pulled a knife and threw it at his opponent.  "You asshole!" he screamed as he sidestepped the knife.  As he stepped, he pulled a small .380 automatic from his pocket and fired, killing his foe instantly.  We were all so accustomed to this violence that we did not even flinch.  The street cleaners would be along soon enough and clean up the mess.  The guy with the gun just faded away into the crowd.  If anyone knew him, they would never tell the police.  The cops did not care anyway.  All they cared about was finding a cool spot.  If they had to investigate every killing, they would be in the heat all day.
     Damn, when I got to my office, I could see right away, there would be no air conditioning today.  Mary was sitting at her desk with fire in her eyes, makeup and mascara streaming down her face.  The legal pad that she was using as a fan just made it bearable.  The air that she moved with it was hot and almost unbearable, however stopping would allow the heat to stifle you.  As I slowly trudged up the stairs, all I could think of was getting back to my restless sleep and perhaps dreaming of the coolness again.  When are they ever going to fix the stinking elevator?  All it is used for now is a urinal, since it is closer than the toilet and takes less energy to get to.  The stench is unbearable at this early hour and will only get worse as the day goes along, since there is no way to get fresh air into the building.  The smell of urine and unwashed bodies makes me wonder why we come to work at all.  After all, we don't do anything and we don't get paid.  Even as I ask myself this question, I already know the answer.  We have to have some semblance of order in our lives.  If we stay home and do nothing, we will not be able to remain sane.  At least this way, we feel as if we are doing something.
     What is that noise?  I look up with apprehension and see George, half running and half falling down the stairs.  I start to speak to him, but from the looks of him, I know better.  The heat has finally gotten to him.  His eyes are all crazy and blood red, foaming at the mouth and beating himself on the chest.  I move to the wall and am quiet as I can be.  I do not want to draw attention to myself, as that could be fatal.  As he stumbles by, I can tell that he probably won't make it to the lobby.  Yep, sure enough he falls dead at the bottom of the landing.  God, I hope that the cleaners feel like doing their job today and move him before the stench gets to bad. As I sit down at my desk, on my broken chair, my, spirits are at an all time low.  My chair is broken because I try to break the window with it every so often.  All to no avail.  Knowing that no one will come in all day and the phone will not ring, ever again, I sit with my head in my hands.
     I can feel the cool breeze in the air.  So refreshing.  Is that rain?  When was the last time that happened?  All my cares melt away as I enjoy the ice cream, that I am holding.  All the workers come by the door, the clatter and chatter is lively and upbeat.  I haven't heard pleasant conversation in years.  Everyone has a cool drink in their hands.  Some even have ice cream cones.  Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, what a glorious sight.  Laughing, joking,  How are you today Bob?,  Good to see you George.  He looked as if he had never fallen down the stairs.  The air conditioner was working, people were going up and down on the elevator, phones were ringing off the hook.  I am so glad that life is back to normal.  I am not even missing my hot apartment and dread leaving work.
     As the day ends and I head back home, the street is cool, with shades on both sides, people are laughing and talking, involved in conversation with neighbors and friends.  As I pass Joe at the newsstand, he throws up his hand and asks "Hows the weather today Bob?"  "Just wonderful" I replied.  He smiled and greeted George as he came down the street.  Tonight I am going to get a glorious night's
sleep, just like a log, not even turning over.  what a wonderful life.
     I am awakened  from my nap, by the rapid fire shots of the .380 automatic.  The man from the fight had found his way into our building.  My heart is beating out of my chest, my mind still in a fog from the nap, I had just taken.  What can I do?  It is to hot to hide under the desk, and there is nowhere else to hide.  There he is!!  Standing at the door pointing that little gun at me.  With no expression on his face, no life in his eyes and a hot soul, my heart stopped as he squeezed the trigger.  I sat there dumbfounded as the firing pin made a metallic snap as it hit an empty chamber.  I started to laugh hysterically with relief.  That shocked him back to reality.  When he realized what he was doing, he threw the gun to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", he sobbed.  "Don't worry" I replied as I slowly got up from the brown spot and walked over to where the gun lay.  As I reached to pick it up, anger consumed me.  Burning up, I flung it against the window with all my might.  The window exploded with a shower of glass and the wind came rushing in, refreshing me and causing the anger to subside.  The wind was cool to my face.  As I looked out the orange glow was gone, the stars were back in place.  The noise from down in the street was different.  What was going on?  Could it be that Mars has shifted back into it's normal tilt?

Eternal Bond

    From the beginning, it was a love-hate relationship.  I knew that things would be hard between us.  From as far back as I could remember, even to my young childhood, he was there.  Always acting superior, acting as if he were ashamed of me.  Always knowing what I was going to say and what I was going to do, even before I did.  He always let it be known that I was a burden to him that he had to carry around and look after.  Always trying to get away from me, always looking up.  He  always told me "look up for your redemption draweth nigh."    
     Being the person that I was, I tried to ignore him and do things my way.  He was always there, pointing out my shortcomings, encouraging me to do better, to be more like him.  Try as I might, I could not.  All I wanted to do was join the in crowd, drink the most, cuss the most, smoke the most and to be the meanest.  Always picking on the underdog, kicking him while he was down, never giving him a chance to recover, or helping him to his feet.  Even after doing all that, he never condemned me, but chided me and made me feel bad for the way that I acted.
     Many times, after a long night of drinking, finally passing out in some desolate, God forsaken place, he would look after me.  Not letting any harm come to me during my drunken stupor.  After coming to and feeling like shit on a stick, I could hear him, off to the side, gently berating me for the way that I carried on. I tried to ignore him, but he was always there, always talking.  Lord help me, don't you ever shut up?  No, he replied, it is my job and duty to never leave you alone.  For years, I tried to put him out of my mind, but he was always there, needling me every chance that he got.  Do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that.  If you do this you will surely die.
     As I grew older, his voice and presence became stronger and closer.  I began to listen to him, and came to feel that he was a friend, and not the enemy.  Eventually we made peace.  I was glad that he was there, always around, giving me advice and insight to problems that arose.  You know, I found out and accepted the fact that he was superior and it did not bother me anymore.  Actually that knowledge was comforting to me, knowing that after all these years my best interest was his primary concern.
     As I near the end of my life, he and I are inseparable.  Every trial and torment, we go through together.  Isn't that the way that it should be?  I know that I don't have long for this world and I begin to worry about what will happen to him after I am dead.  What happens to you, I ask, if I am burned, smashed to bits or drown in the ocean?  If my body cannot be found.  Will that happen to you as well?  No, he replied, even though we have been inseparable all these years, we are completely different.  You are made from the dust of the earth and to the dust of the earth, you will return.  I on the other hand came from the breath of God, and at your death, that is where I will return.  At the appropriate time, when the trumpet sounds and our Father tells His Son, "Son, go and get your bride."   Regardless of where you are or what shape your body is in, even if it is cremated, you will rise to be with the Lord forever.  There, we will be joined together again for eternity.  You will have a glorified body, with no aches or pains or infirmities. As I slip from life, I am comforted by the knowledge that however long I am separated by death from God, Jesus, and my soul that one day we will be reunited.  Thank you Father for the breath of life.  In my youth he was a burden, in my midlife he began to carry me, and at the end he carried in his arms.  When I turned loose at the end, he just floated up toward the heavens and out of sight.

Comic Books, Cigars and Sex Education

     As first grade came and went, I survived school and actually kind of liked it.  At the end of second grade and the beginning of third grade Charles, J. W. & Rickey moved into Mr. Joe Parrish's house.  Every afternoon after school, we were bored and tired of being cooped up. Since we lived off  Broad St. we had about a mile hike everyday, and it carried us through downtown Headland.  As we hit Church St., just before the park square, across the street from The Thrift Store, there it was; Holley's Drug Store.
     Sometimes we would have enough change to buy a soda.  My favorite was a lemon sour.  Carbonated water, lemon juice, and salt; what could be better for a growing boy than that?  Really, buying a coke was just a cover, so that we could read comics at the magazine rack.  After reading about Spot run, and Dick and Jane do some crazy thing over and over again, we were ready for a good story.  And we were never disappointed.  Super Man, Batman and Robin, Dick Tracy, The Green Lantern, and The Flash kept us entertained for several days a week.  By the end of the month, we had read all the good comics and had to read Archie and Jughead, Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse.  Then Mighty Mouse would always come in at the last minute to save the day.  The first of the month would always bring in a fresh batch.  The Hollys were good patient people.  They never once complained about us being there.
     After we tired of reading those wonderful literary masterpieces, we would head out the door.  As soon as we walked out, the Thrift Store was directly in sight.  I would always look to see if a crowd was in front of the store.  It would take me a while to realize that the blacks only gathered there on Saturdays.  Then there would be a big enough crowd to make a Tarzan movie.  To get to the service station by the Headland National Bank, we had to go through the town square.  It was lined with big magnificent oaks that were already old in 1958, their canopy met and looked like a medieval cathedral ceiling.  Gave you a warm and secure feeling.  The square was a wonderland, with the walkways meeting in the middle and bushes planted all around.  The war memorial always amazed me.  In 1958 the soldier still had the rifle in his hand.  I guess he never did throw that grenade.
     Anyway, back at the service station, some of us would stay outside and a couple would go inside.  When they caught the attendant not looking, they would palm a pack of cigarettes.  If they were lucky, sometimes they could get a box of  Swisher Sweet cigars.  Man!, those were some great cigars.  After leaving there Wayne, J. W., Benny, Charles, Rickey, Walter and I would cut through the alley and hit Forrest Street.  There was a garage there that had a pin up calendar in the office.  We could see it through the window.  We were so young that we did not know what we were looking at, but we all seemed to like what we saw pretty well.  The mechanic would pick up a rock and throw it at us and we would run and laugh, happy that it was Charles that was hit and not us.
     At the end of Forrest St. at the intersection with Broad St. was a line of wooden warehouses.  They were all locked up(we checked), but they were built up off the ground, resting on brick pillars. The dirt was dug out a foot or so below grade.  We could almost stand up under the buildings, and there was enough debris laying around that we could build walls around us.  We were hidden from the world.  Safe in that cocoon, Wayne and J. W., being the oldest, educated us on the finer points of treating women like ladies.  We heard how to pick up girls, how to treat them, what to say to them.  Kind of ironic to have all this knowledge and being so afraid of them, that you could not use it.  And at 8 years old, for Pete's sake.
     All the while we were puffing on those cigars.  There was so much smoke pouring out from those buildings, I am surprised that the fire department did not show up.  I am not sure if all that smoke came from the cigars, because we all thought that we were pretty hot.  We learned a lot about girls (being very generous here), but it was all a failure.  None of us knew it at that point in time.  That did not matter, as we smoked, talked dirty, laughed and bragged.  Quite a sex ed. class.

Best Friends

       Man, why can't everyone just be quiet?  This is an emergency room after all.  The doctor is supposed to be in here soon to let me know how my friend is doing.  When I brought him in, he had lost a lot of blood, and was cut up pretty bad.  It did not look good for him, he was very pale and unresponsive.  I don't think he had any broken bones, though.  When I carried him out of the woods on my shoulders, I did not hear any grind together. He had been lying there for awhile, unconscious, before I found him at the base of the large tree.  It looked as if he had backed up against the tree, and put up a heroic fight, before the overwhelming crowd took him down and left him for dead.
     We are blessed with only a few dear, close friends in our life and he is one.  Whenever I see him he is always overjoyed and glad that I showed up.  When we do things like hunt, fish, or just sit around we very seldom speak.  It's as if we know what the other is thinking.  If we are hunting and I think that he needs to go left to flank the prey, all I have to do is motion with my hand to the left.  He, seeing this, will silently head off in that direction.  If he sees something that I don't, he will point to it, and I will know what he is telling me.  We never judge one another, and treat each other with respect.
     However, a few hours ago, things went terribly wrong.  We came across the hog tracks in the field, and they headed off into the woods.  Even though we were not armed, we decided to just follow them for a little ways.  The woods were thick and dark, the perfect habitat for wild hogs.  All that brush was thick and covered with vines, making it difficult to walk through.  For a long way we were on all fours, crawling through the undergrowth.  This is a dangerous position to be in when hunting hogs, Because of their low center of gravity, and sharp tusks.  They are strong as an ox and smart as a whip.  We came to a clearing where I could stand upright.  I decided to rest here for a while, since all that crawling had my back, knees and hands sore as all get out.  However, his one fault is impatience, so he goes on without me, knowing that I will catch up soon.  In a few moments I  heard him scream and the squeals of the wild boars.  All of a sudden it was quiet.  Eerily quiet.  Hurriedly, I scrambled and pushed my way through the thick undergrowth, scared of what I might find.  Some of the way I still had to crawl, and then there he was.  It was not a pretty sight.  I had to bind his gaping wounds with my belt and shoe laces.  I carried him on my shoulders, where I could, dragged him, where I could not.  It seemed an eternity before I could get him to the truck. I was praying the whole way for the strength to get him to someone that could save his life.
     As I am sitting here waiting for the doctor, I fondly remembered another close friend from my childhood.  Unfortunately, he did not make it.  I was praying that things would work better for this friend.  Just then the doctor walked in with a smile and relief washed over me like a nice warm bath.  "He has lost a lot of blood and is cut up pretty bad, but I stitched and stapled him pretty much all over"  He will need a long recovery period, but should make a full recovery."  Can I see him now?, I asked .  Yes he would like that very much.  When I walked in, he looked very pale and weak , lying on the bed.  With pity in my heart, I leaned over and softly said "Buck".  He opened his eyes, wagged his tail, licked my face, and gave a weak bark.  Thank you, I knew then that he will be ok.

Stoopid Frog

     Late every afternoon, Sheila and I will take our dogs and ride our old syle bikes around the place.  I took the 8-n Ford tractor and box blade and made trails through the woods.  There is a lot of leaves and small sticks that will make it difficult to ride, but when I clean out a trail, it is a pleasure to ride through the woods.  I built a bridge over the ditch and we like to stop there and rest.  From there we go to the bottom pond at the back of the property and then come back over the pipe, behind the barn, around Starkota Pond and then over next to the neighbors.  It takes us about ten minutes to make a lap.  It is good exercise for us and the dogs.
     Before we started riding bikes, the dogs would run circles around us, go out in the woods to chase squirrels and chipmunks.  Now it is all they can do to stay up with us.  By the end of the first lap, they are just barely keeping up.  Two weeks ago, by the time we got back to Starkota Pond, they were tired and anxious to go for a swim. At that moment, Sheila saw a moccasin at the water's edge.  We stopped the dogs and looked around in the pond.  I could see four snakes with their bodies floating just under the water and their heads cocked like revolver hammers, above the surface of the water.  I walked to the house, shut up the dogs, grabbed my rifle and rat shot, and headed back.  I got rid of two, but missed the others.
     Next afternoon, I went out with the gun again and killed one, but the other escaped, heading for the drain pipe.  That pipe is ten feet long, so I grabbed a long slender pecan limb and held it on the ground above the pipe to make sure it would go all the way through.  At the back of the dam, the pipe comes out at about waist high.  I was very careful about where I stepped, looking at the ground with tunnel vision, making sure that when I put my foot down, it was nowhere near a snake.  I leaned over to look into the pipe, inserted the limb, and pushed back and forth, twisting it all around.  After a couple of minutes of this, I stopped and looked into the pipe again.  Not seeing anything, I told Sheila to watch the end of the pipe next to the water.  Reluctantly, she agreed.
    Here I go banging on the pipe again.  the snake, coiled up in the grass, next to the pipe, two feet from my head, said "If this man is going to kill me, I am going to have to go into the pipe."  Lucky for me he went into the pipe.  As soon as he moved, my body was stretched out forty feet, but my feet were still anchored to the ground.  After I left a pile, my feet came back to life, I hauled butt to catch up with my head.  After I gathered my stuff back togather, I started around the edge of  the pond looking for Mr. Snake.  My nerves on edge, I heard a loud plop.  I knew what it was as soon as I heard it, but my reflexes said "snake".  I felt like a fool for my reaction but it was too late. It was a bull frog with a twisted sense of humor, cause I could hear him laughing underwater, at my jumping when he jumped in.  Sheila had planted some azaleas  on the bank under the pecan tree, and we had a 5 gallon bucket there that we used to water them with.  I decided to turn it upside down and  let the jelly drain from my legs as I sat down. to wait for the snake to surface.
     Sitting there for a few minutes, I felt something staring at me.  I turned to the left and looked down. There at the edge of the water, was the biggest snake head I had ever seen.  No wait, that is a bull frog with a head the size of a Pillsbury bisquit, just staring at me.  So thankful that he did not bellow at that moment.  We looked at each other for a few moments, before he disappeared under the water.  I figured it was about time to call it quits for the day.  The moccasin made it through the night, but I got him the next morning.  I still hear the bullfrog croaking every night.

My First Cousin.

     The hangout at recess in the second grade, was the see-saw and swing area at the back of the building.  The third graders had outgrown them and the first graders were not able to take them over yet.  It was a cold, cold day and my cousin, Charles Cook, who was in the first grade, was talking to a girl that I had never seen before.  I went over to talk to him and asked him who this girl was that he was talking to.  Charles, don't you know that boys don't talk to girls?  This is my first cousin, Helen Taylor, he replied.  It's hard to figure out life, when you are seven, so I said, "then you are my first cousin too."  She looked at me with a stern hard look, pulled her long coat tight around her, stuck her hands into her pockets, and informed me. "I ain't kin to you"  It was in March of 63 before I spoke to another girl again.
     Some people just have a hard lot in life, and Charles was one of those people that stuff just happens to.  When he was five years of age, he was riding in the car with aunt Katie Bell, his mom.  She was involved in conversation and not paying attention to her passengers.  In 1956 you did not know to, or have the capability to restrain passengers.  As she went around the curve in the road, the door came open and Charles fell out.  The car following behind them stopped and picked him up.  He had a few cuts and bruises and a soft spot on his head.  They finally caught up with aunt Kate, a few miles down the road and returned Charles.  He never did cry, even though his mom was hysterical.
     Every sunday, we would all gather at Daddy Frank's house to visit and eat.  He lived in Midland City on the street behind Jeff Richards store.  There was always a crowd of fifty to sixty people gathered around.  All the kids would stay outside and play while the grownups ate and talked.  The smell of fried chicken and fresh vegetables wafting out of the kitchen was overwhelming, but we knew better than to go ask when we would eat. I saw a cousin do that one Sunday, and he has never been seen since.  When they finished , then they would call you to eat, and don't be caught between the food and the rush of kids coming to eat, or you would be hurt.     Back in the day, not everyone had indoor toilets.  Daddy Frank and Maw were ones that did not.  They did have a nice two seater out house, though.  Even as a child, I knew to hold on when using the facilities, or you might slip through the hole.  Well guess what?  When we were all playing hide and seek, Charles picked the out house to hide behind.  As he leaned against the back of the thing, one of the boards gave way and he fell in.  That was the biggest commotion I had ever seen.  All the grownups came running out the house, trying to figure out what all the screaming and crying was about.  When they found him and got him out, that was the most laughing and joking that had ever taken place there.  And believe me, there were some charactors in that crowd.  By the time he was cleaned up, that was the most humiliated child that had ever walked on the face of the earth.  Aunt Kate told him, it would almost be easier to have another child, than to clean you up.  He probably agreed.
     After that he had a pretty uneventful life until his early forties.  Alcohol played a large part of his life, as it did for many others.  Driving and drinking was an everyday occorance for him and his friends.  Driving on a dirt road in Dale Co. gave him a false sense of security and he became emboldened with each curve that he conquered.  However the one curve fooled him and he lost control and flipped the car.  Just like in 1955, he was not wearing a seat belt.  By the time the accident was over, his life was changed forever.  His neck was broken, and after a long stay in Birmingham, he returned home as a quadraplegic.  He has very limited movement in his arms and feet.  It is a shame and a waste that things like that happen.  He told me one time that he really missed swimming with bow-legged women.

Walter O

     Well, here it is; the last day of my freedom forever.  No longer will I be able to drown Grannie's baby ducks or sneak off down the hill in the ditch, to see David Jenkins.  Since she can't hear, there is no way that she can see me.  So what if I am gone for half the day, she will never know.  The only reason that I left when I did was because David kept picking up spiders in the barn and letting them crawl on his hands and arms.  He wanted to put them on me, but that did not work out very well.  When I finally crawled back up the hill in the ditch, I had the board of education waiting for me and it was mad as fire.
     All that is behind me now and I am walking up the concrete steps at Headland Elementary School for the very first time.  Not so bad right now, because I am with Wayne and Benny.  There was enough kids around, to fill up North Foster Street  in downtown Dothan, for the National Peanut Festival Parade.  I had never been inside a school before and I did not know that we would be separated into age groups and that they would put me in a room full of strangers.  I was scared to death and had to spend the rest of the day in Wayne's class.  I did not care that his classmates were laughing at me crying, I just cried all the more.  I know that Wayne felt like whupping the tar out of me, but he was gracious enough not to.  I knew what to expect the next day and I made it pretty well.  The third day at recess over near the swings, I was running as fast as I could around the corner of the building.  Judy Pippin was running around the same corner, but from the oppisite direction.  My front tooth hit her forehead, and folded back into the top of my mouth.  She had a nasty cut on her head and I had blood coming out of my mouth.  Mrs Kirkland made me walk home, about a mile from school, and mama pulled it back into place and it stayed,  The root is dead now and it is more yellow than the others, but at least it still works.
     Most of the boys went to school, as we did everywhere, barefoot and the soles of our feet were as tough as old leather.  We could walk over hot pavement and through sandspurs without much discomfort.  However we had a thermostat tht did not like cold weather.  Except for one; Walter O.  The names have been changed to protect the guilty. Walter was a big, rough and tumble, full grown boy.  As the weather grew colder, the rest of us boys started to wear shoes.  Not Walter, the colder it became the better he liked it.  I have seen him come to school and step on the ice in the mudpuddles and the ice water would shoot up between his toes.  He would just laugh and say "are ya'll cold?"  Heck yeah, and now more than ever.
     After butting heads a few times, I figured out that I needed to be friends with him, and that was a good decision.  In second grade we moved onto Oates Street, about 2 blocks from Walter's house.  This gave us an opportunity to hang out after school.  We played football in the vacant lot behind Dr. Morris' office, which was about halfway between us.  The most fun we had though, was terrorizing the neighborhood with our B B guns.  Every cat and every bird in sight, was in grave danger of being hurt or worse.  We were crack shots, but we could never figure out why we could not kill a mockingbird.  They lived a charmed life, I guess.  We were just boys and did not respect other's property.  We would take flashlights and hunt birds at night, roosting on the eaves of the neighbor's houses, until the man down the street caught us.  I don't know about Walter, but I got another board of education applied to my behind.
     Benny, Walter, and I were on Railroad Ave. one hot fall day, and the sun was glaring down bright with no wind stirring.  Across the tracks was the Headland Gin Co.  When they cleaned the cotton, they used a long conveyor belt to pile up the cotton burs.  The pile was about 25 feet tall and was like sand; spreading out from the center in a cone shape.  If you have never been on cotton burs with bare knees and feet then you have really missed out on one of life's most agonizing experiences.  Each bur has 4 points and each point is sharp as a tack.  Climbing up hill in a bur pile shows how little entertainment was availablle in 1960.  By the time we reached the top we were cut up pretty good, but not one of us would complain.  The skin would grow back soon enough.  We sat on that pile of burs like we were conquering soilders and nothing could hurt us.  All of us felt invincible at that moment and felt as if we could do anything.
     Walter said "look" and pointed toward Midland City.  Nothing good ever comes out of Midland City.( I have a lot of relatives there, so don't write and complain)  There they were, about a half dozen kids walking down Railroad Ave. coming our way.  What fun we were going to have.  We did not even plan it, it just happened,  We dug a foxhole in the top of those burs and got in.  When they got within range we ambushed them.  We were about 50 yards away and they could not hear the B B guns.  By the time the pellets reached their bare legs all the power was gone and no damage was done, only a small sting.  We heard them holler "Bees, Bees, Bees" and they took off.  They did not how true their words were, but it was metal B Bs.  We thought that was a lot of fun, but now I know that it was wrong and I am glad that no one was seriously injured.  Also glad that they went the other way, or Walter, Benny, and I may have been seriously injured.  Probably deserved it.

Sir Kenny

Long before computers, video games, a tv in every room, and movies on demand entertainment was easy to find. If the weather was halfway decent, most everyone was outside doing something. The grownups, if not working, were sitting under the shade tree sit with their feet propped up on the tree trunk. The younger kids were pushing 2x4 blocks around in the sand, pretending that they were dump trucks and cars. You could make a nice road with high ditches on each side. Others were shooting marbles around a ring drawn in the sand. A big shooter was a prized possession. Some were playing ball, with the stitches coming loose and the leather held on by hay wire wrapped around it. Grandpa's place would have fallen apart if it were not for hay wire. On cold days he would sit under the shed, the sunlight flooding over him and warming him up, pulling nails from old lumber. Banging them with a hammer to get them straight again. It was an art that he had perfected over the years, and very few of them got tossed away. Growing up in hard times made him use what he had and to thrive at it.
We were friend with the Nowell boys, who had horses that we all rode. Way back then all the roads were dirt and riding horses on the road was safe. Well, from being hit by cars anyway. You know that two young boys, such as Kenny and myself, and two horses were headed for fun for us, but fear for our parents. We had ridden for hours and the poor horses were worn out, when we found some cardboard tubes about six feet long, that roll linoleum came in, laying in the ditch beside the road. The magic number was 2 and the light shined on both of us at the same time.
He grabbed one, put it on his left arm, and rode off about 30 feet. I took the other one, put it on my left arm, and turned to face him. At the count of three(no one there to blow a trumpet or even to witness the spectacle) we dug off at each other. My legs, being longer than his, allowed me to wrap around the horses belly and stay on him. It did not however, lessen the impact and I can still feel the pain in my chest where the tube hit. Poor Kenny, though did not fare as well. He hit the ground with a thud and a curse. When I got my breath back, I laughed long and hard; so did he, albeit not as genuine as mine. He challenged me to another match, but common sense prevailed and I declined. I'm sure that he wanted to knock me off that horse and I'm sure that he would have. Maybe video games are safer.

WARNING!!!! DO NOT READ BEFORE MEALS

Some things will not be forgotten, even by trying, and since the world is round, everything happens over and over again. Different day same stuff. Back in the day, grandpa would go around the community, during the growing season and get kids to help hoe the peanuts. It started at daylight, before the dew dried up, You would walk through the grass at the end of the row and your pants legs would be soaking wet. Believe it or not at that time of the morning it was cold on my skinny legs. Come about 10 o'clock, I wished for that coolness. One of the perks of working for grandpa, was that grannie would feed you lunch. And oh what a meal. The best cook in the state of Alabama, she would have fried chicken, all you could eat, turnips, purple hull peas, butter beans, mac and cheese, and corn bread good enough to kill for. Dr. Danny Nowell still talks about her tea cakes.


Any way, there was 5 or 6 kids, grandpa, grannie, and me, fixing our plates before we sat down and blessed the meal. Noise so thick you could not think, and then it happened. I don't know why I was looking at the kid, but just as I glanced over, his nose discharged. Green and shiny, he tried to pull it out, but it stretched out as long as his arm, so he doubled up and grabbed it again, One of his buddies took a pocket knife and cut it loose. I don't know what happened after that, I was having a discharge of my own.

Several decades went by and Sheila and I were trying to figure out a vacation destination. Glenn Jones and Joe Walden came into the shop to order some signs for the nuclear plant. During the conversation, Glenn(a regular customer) and Sheila began to talk about places to go. Glenn and Joe, both at the same time said "Cedar Key". I had never heard of it, but they assured us that it was the destination spot of the century. I don't know why they were so mad with us. We never make reservations, we just go and have always found a good place to spend the week.

We should have known at the Hardees in Tallahassee to turn around and go back home. Standing in line to order a breakfast biscuit, I noticed that the guy in front of us was a free spirit. A long, dirty, gray, and stringy ponytail was his best feature. He had on a dirty t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, and the flops were the icing on the cake. His feet had not been washed in a while, and the lamisel monster had established a major city under his toe nails. They were about an inch long, curling up at the ends, wrinkled, and yellow. They looked like shelled pecans that he had glued to his toes. I was elbowing sheila to get her attention, It was like a train wreck and you wanted someone else to see it with you. She was oblivious to me, her attention was elsewhere, and when I found out where It was not a pretty sight.
Standing beside the lamisel man was his significant other. Some where in America, somebody will give you soap and shampoo. The first thing I noticed about her was her greying hair. No wait, that was not hair that was grey. Her shoulders were covered with a fresh frosting of snow, but not the wet kind, and it was coming from her head. We toughed all that out because we were hungry, and we tried to ignore it. I have a weak stomach in the best of times, but I did want a sausage biscuit, and now without the white gravy. Ok, we made it to the counter, and the black girl asked for our order. When I looked up, I could see that she had already sampled the gravy biscuit, because the gravy was stuck in each corner of her mouth. No, I replied, I left my wallet in the car.
We did stop and eat somewhere further down the road. Cedar Key is a long way off the interstate, and it was almost dark by the time we got there and found a place to stay. We went out that night and had a good seafood dinner and a few drinks. Next morning we got up and walked through the town. Did not take long, it is smaller than Headland. I thought Cowarts was full of rednecks, but they look downright sophisticated compared to these folks. We found a small cafe that was still serving breakfast, so we strolled in and grabbed a seat. I think Sheila is smarter than I am, because she took the seat facing away from the kitchen, Word of advice; do not sit where you can see the cook. We had finished our coffee and orange juice, and lo and behold, I thought I was back at grandpa's kitchen table. About the time I looked at the cook, she was pulling a wet green string out of her nose. It went to the end of her arm and she had to double up on it and pull again. It finally broke free and popped her fingers with a snap. Well, what do you know, it's time for me to go. We wound up at Indian River and had a good time for the rest of the trip. Moral of the story: Do not sit where you can see the cook.

FLUTE, XYLOPHONE, PIANO

I woke up at 5:30 this morning, after a good nights sleep. I looked over at the clock and saw that I had 30 more minutes before I had to get up. The bed was warm and comfortable, but I was tossing and turning with the problems of my daughter and her husband, and my parents and brother. My mind was racing like it was on caffeine. Should I have done things differently, should I have not interfered when my son-in-law assaulted my wife? Now what kind of man would I be if I allowed that? Then it swings over to my parents and the things that have happened there. Could I have done any different? No, it was out of my control.
My soul was a hard knot, hiding under my heart and weighing as much as the world. From the far corners of my mind, I could hear the soft low sounds of a flute,lightly floating over into my conscience. Closer and more clear it became, with the wondrous rhythem of a man and a woman. Then I could hear the xylophone with the soft taps. This continued to soothe my soul for a few minutes and then the piano joined in from the low end. Beautiful and soothing, the sound loosened the knot of my soul and it began to grow and spread.
As all the instruments joined togather and became louder and the tempo became faster, my soul soared and and grew lighter. Brightness was feeling warm on my face and I looked toward the heavens. As the music reached another level, I could see the countenance of God. My soul was filled with relief and joy unspeakable. I could feel God touching my soul with the soothing sounds of the music. Heaven must be a wonderful place. It could not get any better and I never wanted to leave.
The joy and peace is shattered. What in the world is that horrible, awful, terrible tormented sound? Oh no!!! It is the alarm clock. What a sad dissappointment. Oh well, I got up with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. When you all see an old person sitting with their eyes closed, they may not be asleep. They may be basking in the glow and letting God replenish their soul with the beautiful music playing in their minds, remembering things that were and never will be again.
No, Virginia I am not on drugs.

Our Move to Town

In late spring of 1956 we moved out of the country into Headland. Mr. Joe Parrish owned the house and lived next door. On the other side of his house was Cleveland Lee's garage. On the other side of us was another house that sat next to the Methodist cemetery. Across the road was Roy Henderson's store. a vegetable processing plant, and closer to town was the Cock of the Walk fertilizer plant. Between there and town lived Alto White and his family.
They were like the Limpnicke's, only much more intense. Several boys, a couple of girls, and Mr. & Mrs White, lived in a small rundown two-room house. The boys were older and looked mean as fire. Wayne and one of the boys (Eston) had gotten into a fight at school and it followed them home. We had a rock throwing duel at the cemetery. The boys were mean, but they could not throw rocks very well. As you recall from another blog, Wayne had a pretty good throwing arm, and to survive Benny and I had to be able to throw back at him. We were on one side and they were on the other. When all the rocks were gone from the center and piled up on each side, we all had cuts and bruises. We had expended our anger and our energy was spent. That gave us an opportunity to call a truce.
One of''m asked us to go to their home and play. Wayne said o.k. Not the last time he led Benny and me down the wrong road. It was dark when we got there and we went inside. The house was jumbled up like crazy, with stuff piled on top of stuff, stuff lined up against the wall. I think the house walls may have just been stuff. With just a small walkway from the front of the house to the back, it was really the only place to stand. A small child or animal probably would have gotten lost. I was six and I was worried.
Once everything settled down, the older boys got their B B gun and loaded it with a broom straw with a needle pushed about halfway into it. One would shoot and the other dummy would hold his hand against the wall with his fingers spread apart. If the shooter missed his finger, he would get to shoot again. If he hit his finger, the one that got hit would cackle with glee, because it was his turn to shoot. There was blood everywhere on the wall. I was a green hay seed of a boy, fresh off the farm, but I had better sense than that. I called them dummies, but we were the ones that were throwing rocks at them.
Wayne and I were talking about this a couple of weeks ago and he said that he participated in that game. I let him know that I was concerned about his sanity.
Dad told us that Mr. white lost his arm trying to dynamite fish. He had his arm raised to toss the dynamite in the pond, when lightening struck him detonating the dynamite. He also had a stick in his back pocket. When he came to, a bull was coming up to him and he ran to the fence. He realized his arm was gone when he tried to grab the fence and jump.
Some one carried him to Moody's Hospital in Dothan. The doctor thought that he dead and just moved him over into the corner. After about 30 minutes he raised up and said, Hell, doc are you going to help me or not? I thought that you were already dead, said the doc. Mr. white replied, Not yet, no thanks to you. Now that is a tough old bird. He lost his arm to one stick, no telling what damage the one in his back pocket did. That bull doesn't know how lucky he was that Mr. White got away.
I started first grade that fall and ran into Walter Oates. Some of you know him and some of you are related to him. In the coming weeks I will tell on us. Tell him not to worry, I checked on the statute of limitations and we are safe.

Gloom, Despair, and Rejoicing

Laying in bed a few nights ago, the cares of this world began to crowd in very tightly on me. We had taken on the daunting task of reworking our home. As you know, one thing leads to another. Paint the garage, the foyer looks bad, paint the foyer, the kitchen looks bad, so on and on. Doing the work at night and on weekends gets old in a hurry, but you can't get off the ride until it stops. When the paint looks good, then the carpet and cabinets look as if they need to be replaced. Well hell, why not put hardwood in the dining room? Ok, we adjusted to that, we'll just put it in all the downstairs. Why, we can't leave off the kitchen cabinets. Thank goodness I can do the back splashes for the stove and sink.


If you have ever been self employed, you know that some months are not going to be as good as other ones. That's what happened to us. We are spending money and the work stops. Even though it is budgeted, you are plagued by the thought that maybe you should hold on to this money at this time. You would think that I would be used to this cycle by now, but I am not. I know from past experience that it will pick up again and soon. For the last fifteen years we have been having serious problems with our children. We have 2 granddaughters that live only a couple of miles away from here, and we haven't seen them for 18 months; not our choice, because we dearly love them and it keeps us up at night. Then my neighbor after 22 years and a survey that she did 5 years ago, now says that the line is on her 50'. So now you know the mindset that I was in when I turned in for the night.


This night was different, the weight of the world was crashing in on me, and blacker than night despair was making itself known, each breath was hard to come by and my heart was pounding. Tossing back and forth, to and fro, up and down I could not get any relief. My legs hurt, my back was sore, I could not get any relief. I know that God through His Son will take care of everything, but I am only a man, and need to be reminded of this fact every once in a while. When I called on His name, everything suddenly became clear. I was held in place by His loving arms, as the ground was jerked out from under me. I could not have fallen if I wanted to. I could see the earth below me, with people floating around at every imaginable height, going in and out of the clouds effortlessly and contented. It was not the black night that I had just experienced, but just twilight enough to see everything clearly. I heard a strong voice inside my head, "If I can hold you up over all of this, without touching you, then you can rest assured that I will take care of you and the cares of this world will not reach you. I am sufficient for all your needs, and will meet all of your physical, spiritual, and emotional needs."
That allowed me to have the best night's sleep that I have had in a long while.He reminded me and wanted me to tell ya'll that whatever it is in your life that is trying to take over, that He is in control and will keep us until the end.
Since this blog goes directly to facebook, some of my friends will remember me in high school as a drinker and all around unsavory character. So, why should you believe or listen to me? Good question. Saul persecuted and killed Christians before he saw the Light on the Damascus road and changed his name to Paul. Look at what God did through him. I have not killed anyone, but I have done some stuff. If Jesus looked at me from the cross 2000 years ago, and said I am doing this for you and everyone else that will listen and believe, just imagine what He can and will do for you.

Broken Heart and Backache

About 2 weeks before Thanksgiving, Sheila and I began painting the interior of the house. It all started 2 years ago when we painted the garage. I have dealt with paint all of my adult life and I knew better when I asked the clerk how much paint I would need. As I was walking out the door with 7 gallons of paint I knew I had just had a senior moment. We used 3 gallons. Sheila, being the tight ass that she was called by Gary Kirkland, our banker. was not about to waste that extra 4 gallons. So she started painting the utility room, the laundry room, the entrance from the garage, her closet, and under the stairs. When she finally used up that paint, the rest of the house really needed painting. That's where I came in to the picture. All the trim work had to be painted in the kitchen and bathrooms. Since they had wallpaper we did not paint in there.
We would work during the day and paint at night. Originally the color throughout the house was seashell, which is a very pale pink. You really have to be secure in your masculinity to live in a pink house. We really went dark with earth tones in each room, with three colors in the hall. All the furniture in each room had to be moved and then put back in place. During Christmas and new years we closed the shop and painted day and night for those two weeks. Last Thursday we were finished except for the trim in our bedroom. Two hours and we were going to be finished. Just move the furniture back in and relax.
When I came in from work I did not find Sheila downstairs, so I hollered for her. I'm upstairs she replied, but you're not going to like what I'm doing. My heart dropped, I had been picking up signals for several weeks, and had seen the far away look in her eyes. What am I to do? I did not see any vehicle when I came home. Do I go upstairs, or do I leave? I decide that I am going to be a man and go see what she is doing. By the time I get to the bottom of the stairs, I am feeling very oppressed. It is hard to put one foot in front of the other. Halfway up I can hardly carry the weight on my shoulders. At the top my feet are so heavy I can barely lift them, my heart is pounding like jackhammer. As I walk around the furniture, the silence is overwhelming, the bedroom is empty except for the ladder standing in the middle of the room. Oh no.......there she is in the dressing room. I don't know whether to be mad or fall on my face and cry like a little girl. What am I to do? She is knee deep in wallpaper and I am so tired. Sheila, I thought that we were going to rest up before doing this. Well, she replied, I had a few hours to kill and wanted to see how hard it was going to be, to strip this paper off. Today is Tuesday and we still have 3 to 4 hours in that room and the hall bathroom and the half bath downstairs to do. By the time this job is over I will be an old man.