Thanksgiving At Felicia's

Rembember when you were small and your family loaded into their car (or whatever) and went to Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving? Maybe, you are the grandma and it’s your family that’s coming to your house. Maybe, you’re like me and Grandma and Mama are both deceased, and it’s either your responsibility or perhaps the responsibility of your sibling to host the family gathering.

Several years ago, my sister volunteered her home for Thanksgiving with the understanding Barbara and I would host everyone for Christmas. Our arrangement worked well enough until my niece got married, and she wanted us to come to her house. Of course she still wanted my sister to do the bulk of the cooking, but, this way, she could spend Thanksgiving with her family as well as several members of her husband’s family. The new arrangement started with our 2008 Thanksgiving and worked so well we allowed Felicia to host our respective families for Thanksgiving 2009.

We only had thirteen people for the Thanksgiving meal this year, due to the rotation system that prevents certain family members being present every year, as they live too far away to attend two different family gatherings in the same day. We had enough food to feed thirteen more people though only eight of our regulars were unaccounted for.

Felicia’s husband, Cullen Pollard, led us in the saying of grace before our meal and mentioned our collective thankfulness for the blessings of our nation and our families.

My, oh my, at the food we had! Sara Sue prepared a spiral sliced baked ham, and roasted a turkey breast, while Felicia heated the smoked turkey breast. Additionally we had ~ a grape salad, idiot's delight frozen salad, cornbread dressing, hash brown casserole, chicken pot pie, sweet potato casserole, sausage balls, cranberry sauce, carrot soufflé, corn & green bean casserole, baked ham, gravy, mashed potatoes and Barbara Anne’s homemade rolls. Desserts were plentiful as well ~ Chocolate layer cake, sweet potato pie (my favorite), pumpkin pie, pumpkin roll, and pecan pie, all made by Sister Sue.

Except for Sara’s cornbread dressing snafu, it may have been the grandest of our Thanksgiving feasts. The greenish colored dressing would perhaps have been more appetizing had we been celebrating Christmas, but it was edible. Sara blames what she described as a late-night-purchased, off-brand, poultry seasoning for the color. Though she said it looked normal before she went to bed Wednesday night, it developed an odd hue by daylight.

In addition to our family we were privileged to share our bounty with two family friends, Sam Lester of Pontotoc and Natalie Carpenter of Oxford. Sam is a friend of my son, Jason, and Natalie, whose Ripley, TN family lives too far from Oxford for a one-day trip, is a friend of Felicia’s. These two were made to feel at home with us, and we’d love to have either or both of them back again.

Thanksgiving 2009

The Christmas Season is already in full gear, at least on the retail side, but it wasn’t always like that. There was a time when Christmas was celebrated far more simply than today. We shouldn’t blame the merchants for the commercialization of Christmas; consumers are as much to blame as anyone. It is this need many feel to plunge headlong into buying and decorating for Christmas even before Thanksgiving that I find disturbing.

My favorite holiday is Christmas, for reasons too many to enumerate here, but I particularly like the gift-giving and gift-receiving aspects of Christmas. I also appreciate the sounds of the season, Christmas Carols and the Holiday Greetings including the generic term, “Happy Holidays.” Yes, I prefer “Merry Christmas,” but even the generic term adds to the feeling of Christmas.

It seems we need not only the month of December to celebrate Christmas, but we require more and more of November in order to prepare for December. All this serves to shortchange Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving should be celebrated as a religious holiday. It’s more than a feast day to gather with family and/ or friends. It’s a day to honor and to thank Almighty God for, historically, a bountiful harvest and presently for all that we have and enjoy in this great land.

God, not “the government,” has richly blessed our nation. Though, the liberals of this land would have us believe they are the source of our blessings, Christian hearts know otherwise.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for my salvation and all that God has entrusted to me, a loving wife and two wonderful children, a son-in-law, and three granddaughters. Beyond my immediate family, I’m thankful for my sister, two brothers, and all who comprise their respective families. I’m thankful for my one remaining uncle and for a passel of cousins. For good health and a house much finer than I ever imagined, that I proudly call home, and for work that is rewarding, I am truly thankful. For friends, close and far away, some I’ve never met face to face but are friends, nonetheless, I am also thankful.

My prayer is that God will see fit to continue to bless all in my household and all my relatives and friends. I pray that our nation will soon recognize that all we have is a gift from God, and will truly praise Him.

This Thanksgiving Day, my family will join my sister’s family (those of us not obligated to be elsewhere) to celebrate the day in the home of my niece and her husband, Felicia and Cullen Pollard. I’ve not seen the menu, but it’s sure to include turkey, ham, cornbread dressing, sweet potatoes, creamed potatoes, green bean casserole, and Barbara Anne’s homemade rolls. In a typical year, there are five or more desserts (seven pictured above), sweet potato pie, pecan pie, pumpkin roll, and a couple of cakes. Somehow, I must restrain myself and not overeat.

Know Your Limitations

Working out of my territory is not without its challenges. Consider finding a motel and decent places to eat when you’re four-hundred fifty miles from home, have never been at that location before, and your coworkers are not staying in the same town as you are. And, being on the eastern side of the Central Standard Time zone means it’s dark way earlier than you expect, so finding your way around at night in an unfamiliar environment has its own set of perils.

While the foregoing reasons are sufficient for illustrating my point, they pale in comparison to a challenge I stumbled onto today. I am, by nature, curious about how things work and consider it a challenge to fix anything that needs fixing. Couple this with my problem-solving brain and most anything can happen.

The Florida retailer I’m working with this week owns a family business. He and his wife and their son successfully manage their modest IGA supermarket and are “doing well.” They’re in the process of adding gas pumps on the parking lot of the supermarket, which of itself can top more than a half-million dollars in startup costs. The RV that they drove to Mississippi earlier this year to meet me at one of my fuel retailers is more than modest. By my standards, they’re wealthy, but they don’t flaunt it. They dress modestly and except for some stone-heavy rings, you’d think they’re just regular folks.

My coworker and I were to join the owners of the supermarket for lunch, and, thinking it was later than it was, the wife asked us, “When do y’all want to eat, eleven, eleven-thirty or twelve?”

I thought it a strange question as it wasn’t even ten o’clock.

“What time is it?” she asked. “I haven’t changed my watch back off daylight saving time. I need to, but I can’t get the stem pulled out to change the time.”

“SuperWayne” hearing a damsel in distress, responded, “Let me give it a try.”

She extended her arm, and I wedged a fingernail behind the stem, but nothing budged.

“Here, let me take it off,” she offered.

She unbuckled the gold-link band and slipped the watch off her wrist.

Again, I wedged a nail between the watch and the stem and pried, to no avail. Thinking I would only break a nail if I added more pressure, I reached for my pocket knife. I gently slid the blade into the same area where my fingernails had failed and applied a little outward pressure.

I remember thinking, “I’d hate to break the stem.”

Simultaneously, my bifocals focused squarely on the brand name on the face of the watch. It read ROLEX.

“Oh, Lord, thank you for stopping my reckless behavior,” I prayed or maybe I didn’t, but I should have.

I, humbly, handed the watch to her, stating, “I recommend you take this to a jeweler and let him get the stem pulled out. I don’t want to break anything.”

Friends, that’s the only time in my life I’ve held a genuine Rolex in my hands, and I’m truly thankful I didn’t damage it. On my salary, there’s no place in the family budget for Rolex repairs.
This afternoon, her husband was in the store and she mentioned her timepiece problem to him. He quickly fixed it. It seems he, too, has a Rolex.

“You have to turn the stem backwards,” he explained. “That unlocks it, and it pops out so you can reset the time. You just have to remember to lock it back afterwards. Not doing so is how I got water into mine.”

SuperWayne, Superman, and other Super Men, know their limitations. And, it is how they handle those limitations that make them SUPER.

Poor Communications

It was just one of those days, where it seems everything I saw was funny in one way or another. Driving to Indianola this morning, I stopped at an intersection where a new house is under construction on Hwy. 32 west of Bruce, MS. The ‘tin’ roof is in place, but the windows are not. What struck me as funny was the chimney sitting some distance away from the house.

I should have taken a picture right then and there, but I waited until returning home this afternoon, and the result may give you a better idea of why my car needs washing than what I though was an odd sighting.

If you think the Postal System’s a joke, or that most government workers are less than helpful, let alone necessary, then you’ll appreciate my thought. Otherwise, stop reading now, and go back to viewing news feeds on Facebook.

In my mind I saw two different government agencies directing the work on the house. One was in charge of the fireplace and chimney and the other was responsible for getting the house ‘in the dry.’ Apparently, they failed to communicate with each other. Hilarious? No, but I though it was humorous.

Were the picture clearer, you’d know the chimney is all that remains from an old home place, which partially explains why it’s standing near the new construction. But, unless it has sentimental value, I expect it will soon be taken down.

I have the feeling that should the Senate okay what will become a government-run Health Care System, I’ll be looking for lots more laughable sightings, and doing my darnedest to stay healthy.

Class Of '60 Monthly Meetings

The PHS Class of ’60 would like to invite its members and spouses to start gathering on a monthly basis. A full-fledged class reunion is scheduled for Memorial Day, 2010. However, several classmates are discussing the formation of a monthly meeting, where graduates and spouses would come together for a time of fellowship that included a meal.

Right now, consideration is being given to setting a date, such as the second or third Friday of every month for the meeting, and we are looking at possibly meeting at a local restaurant for a noon meal.

We feel with the Holiday Season fast approaching, it might be best to start our meetings in January. Once a routine is established, it will be easier for the class meetings to continue even when holidays create attendance interruptions.

Because a high percentage of our class lives in or near Pontotoc, we anticipate a monthly meeting would be well attended. We also welcome classmates, who for various reasons were unable to graduate with the class of 1960.

More information will follow, but persons interested in the January meeting should contact one of the following:

Laney Lemons Sims
Phyllis Crane Wardlaw
Linda Jones Wingo
Wayne Carter
Larry Easterling
Terry Stewart

Needs Ironing

As I stopped by the laundry room to check on some clothes in the dryer, my wife was already unloading them. She handed me a shirt, one I’ve taken to wearing for yard work, largely because it requires ironing. Since buying it, I’ve learned to purchase wash and wear shirts that are either wrinkle free or wrinkle resistant.

Looking at the wrinkled shirt, I pouted, “This one needs ironing.”

Quick as a wink, Barbara responded, “Let me put it back in and maybe it’ll come out ironed, next time.”

I hung the shirt temporarily over my bedpost and returned to the laundry room where she was still removing clothes from the dryer.

Tapping her on the shoulder and with only a hint of a grin I stated , “In this house…I’m the one who makes sarcastic remarks!”

“But, I learned it all from you!” she said.

Immediately, I was reminded of the scripture, “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” Gal. 6:7

Blinky Milk

Of the words and phrases that have all but disappeared from modern vernacular, “blinky” is surely one of them. My spell checker doesn’t accept blinky as a valid word and my American Heritage Dictionary doesn’t have it, either. Google, the online search engine, isn’t much better but finds a character or two named Blinky and also tells me that fireflies in Jamaica are called blinkies.

But, it hasn’t been that long ago that I heard my mother say, “Ugh, this milk is blinky,” after taste-testing the quality of the favorite beverage of my youth.

Okay, it has been that long ago. Mom’s been dead twenty-years, and it’s been a lot longer than that since I was a youth.

Yesterday, blinky resurfaced. I have tried to identify something I ate Saturday that would have made me sick. For the most part, others ate the same things I ate, except for the milk. Within a half-hour after eating a bowl of frosted flakes and milk (about two hours after dining), while enjoying a cup of coffee, I was no longer well. The indigestion I was experiencing worsened and my chewable Gaviscon tablets didn’t help.

Starting around midnight and lasting until after 2:00 a.m. Sunday morning, I stuck my face in the commode three times, trying to remove the last remaining contents of my stomach. It was not a pretty sight, and it was certainly not a pretty sound. My torso remains sore, even now, from the wretchedness I put it through.

Last night, I thought I’d treat myself to another bowl of frosted flakes and milk. The first spoonful had a flavor similar to that of raisin bran or grape nuts. My first thought was the cereal might have picked up a smell from the pantry, but there were no fruits in the pantry. A second tasting assured me something was wrong and that the sugared cereal might be camouflaging the problem.

Having emptied the milk container into my cereal, I dug the container out of the garbage to check the date. It was good through Monday. I removed the cap and smelled the inside of the container. It was beyond the blinky stage, though it may have been blinky two nights before when I was sick.

Earlier in the week, in an effort to consolidate shopping trips, I had bought a food item at Wal-Mart instead of swinging by the local Piggly Wiggly as I would normally have done. That food item was Great Value 2% Milk. Whenever, I buy 2% milk at the “Pig,” I can count on it being drinkable at least a week beyond the expiration date. Apparently Wal-Mart and the “Pig” use different suppliers.

Needless to say, the bowl of milk and cereal went down the garbage disposal unit. I believe the blinky milk was the source of my trouble, and I’m thankful my taste buds caught the bad milk before I ingested much of it. While I’ve not wanted to eat any more foods like I ate last Saturday, including coffee, I’m slowly working my way back to normalcy.

I don’t blame Wal-Mart for the bad milk, but I doubt I’ll purchase anymore milk at Wal-Mart even if would save me a trip to the grocery store. Anyway, today’s milk shouldn’t go blinky before its expiration date.

Home Renovation - The Bookcase Project

It seemed like it took the better part of the day to add the crown molding to our bookcases in the master bedroom. But, it probably only took about five hours.

My day began shortly after seven o’clock with me finishing up trimming the tall shrubs around our house. After that, Barbara and I mounded up most of the wood chips from a tree stump in the backyard that we had ground up last week, following getting a couple of trees removed the prior week. Yeah, I was surprised that my wife wanted to work in the yard.

The condition of our garage has been an embarrassment to both of us for too long, so once we were done with the wood chips we started piling boxes of odds and ends into the back of my truck to haul to the dump. Our painter had left the lids on the empty paint cans following our recent room-painting project so they had to be set aside for another day, as the lady at the landfill won’t allow sealed paint cans past the checkpoint. Yeah, I could have hidden them in plastic bags, but I didn’t.

We did stop by the hardware store to buy some wood stain to use on the crown molding that was delivered Friday afternoon to our then messy garage. We couldn’t get an exact match, but found something close enough and then drove on to the landfill to unload half a pickup load of “junk.”

Barbara and I stained the crown molding and the pieces we’d asked the lumber company to cut for use as book-stops. These are wooden slats about forty-eight inches long and 3/4 of an inch wide and perhaps a ¼ inch thick. Once that chore was complete, it was time for lunch.

Dot Bell came over after lunch to show us a new outfit she would be wearing Sunday evening at a reception in her daughter’s home in Germantown, TN. She also wanted to see what we’d done to the house during recent weeks of painting, flooring, carpet replacement, and rearranging. Dot liked what she saw, especially the living room which is now more conducive to sitting and visiting than before.

I had just left the house to go cut Sarah’s yard when Barbara phoned to let me know Keith Thomas was on his way over to miter the crown molding for us. Keith has all the “man toys” to make quick work of mitering, and he used a newly purchased electric brad gun to nail the crown molding in place. He even cut the book-stops to the lengths I needed and ripped off a couple of strips of plywood for me to add as a cover plate on top of the bookcases. He might have been at our house an hour, but I spent the next couple or so hours staining and installing the cover and the book-stops. Without Keith’s help, I would not have finished the bookcases Saturday.

I should mention the bookcases were custom built for our prior house on 8th Street, but we dismantled them and moved them to our present home, before we sold the 8th Street house. The late Oakley Hooker made them for us when we closed-in the carport in the early eighties. In our old house, the bookcases were on either side of the arched entrance inside the new den off the living room.

At our present location we had placed the bookcases in our master bedroom with one on either side of the doorway leading into the master bathroom. When our renovation project began, we had to dismantle the bookcases and cabinets once more. Rayanne suggested they might look good on a different wall as a side-beside unit.

Once the new carpeting was down, we started reassembling the bookcases as Rayanne had suggested. I was concerned that they might not mesh or marry well, but I was able to use my somewhat limited carpentry skills to line up the pieces rather nicely.

I was doing okay until I decided the upper portions need to be screwed together. The well-seasoned wood was giving my somewhat dull drill bit a run for its money. I don’t have a C-clamp anymore, so I was using one hand to pinch the sides together and pushing the drill with all my might using the other hand.

I failed to consider the drill would eventually push through both pieces of wood. A longer drill bit would have probably run my middle finger through and through, but the one I was using only got part of the way through the bone in the middle joint of my middle finger. Boy did that ever hurt!

The longest wood screw in my arsenal wasn’t long enough for the job, so I drilled a larger hole and inserted a bolt with a washer and nut. With everything as snug as possible, we set the bookcase against the wall and secured it. I don’t know who’ll move it next time, but I’m predicting it won’t be me.

Barbara is all smiles with the appearance of our newly ‘crowned’ bookcases, and the books-stops are a nice touch. And, my drilled-into finger is healing nicely. However, there’s a section close to the first joint that doesn’t have any feeling in it. Happily, I made it through the project without serious injury, which is yet another reason for smiles and thankfulness.

Impromptu Fun

The days of childhood, while seeming endless from a child's point of view, simply do not last long enough. Maybe, that's why God gave children so much energy in order for them to race from one activity to another.

My folks were not "into" lawn care, though my mother did like to have a flowering plant or two somewhere around the house. These were usually roses and hydrangeas or the jonquils of spring. But, watering the grass to keep it green was not something we did in our family.

As an adult, I've occasionally watered my lawn, though I've questioned my wisdom for doing so on more than one occasion. Still, there's something inviting about a water sprinkler. For children and the young at heart, a sprinkler in summer is an invitation to impromptu fun.

My present home has a lawn irrigation system that doesn't get a lot of use, but with my front lawn looking parched on the last Saturday of August, I turned on the sprinklers.

My two youngest grandchildren, Merilese and Katherine, came outside about the time I fired up zone 2 of the system and were captivated by the spider-action sprinklers. The gentle rotation of the streams of water proved too much for them and soon they were running with abandon through the spray.

It brought to mind the simpler days of my youth when I enjoyed spraying others and being sprayed by a water hose. However, as tempting as the sprinklers looked, this young at heart "old man" let the notion pass. I like my showers hot and soapy.

Tickled Pink

On January 02, 2007, I underwent a surgical procedure to have my esophagus stretched to relieve problems associated with swallowing food. For at least a decade, possibly two, I had experienced, on an occasional basis, food lodging in my esophagus during mealtime. I was not in danger of choking and was able to dislodge the food by forcing myself to vomit. I considered my situation more a nuisance than a health issue.

At the urging of my cardiologist, I saw another specialist who did the esophageal procedure and also prescribed a medication to prevent acid reflux, which I continue to take on a daily basis.

While I was happy to be able to swallow foods more comfortably than before the procedure, there was an undesirable side effect. I gained nine pounds during the next three months, presumably due to eating more food, a result of being able to swallow more rapidly than before which must have confused my brain into thinking I was less full than I really was.

I wanted to drop the extra pounds but found little willpower to do so until late last year, when I committed to a health coaching program sponsored by my health insurance provider. My goal was to start a walking regime for both cardiovascular and weight control reasons. The additional exercise had just begun to pay off with a pound lost here and there, when I developed a soreness issue with my feet that virtually shut down my walking program.

Disheartened, I decided to try eating less until I could get the foot problem resolved. I rocked along a month or two thinking I had a shoe problem, because the onset of foot pain seemed to be related to the purchase of new shoes. However, I discovered it didn’t matter which pair I wore, of the half-dozen pairs I routinely wear, they all hurt my feet.

Finally, after seeing a doctor a week ago, I learned the problem was not shoes. I had an inflammation called metatarsalgia, which was localized in the balls of my feet. A shot of cortisone in my arm removed the soreness in my feet within a few hours. And, my doctor sent me to the shoe store to buy a pair of New Balance running/ jogging shoes that purportedly will allow me to get back into a walking routine without the pain. While there, Cecil Fauver, owner of Progressive Shoe Store, sold me another pair of casual work shoes, Clarks’ Unstructured, which like the exercise shoes are extremely comfortable. But, then that may still be the effects of the cortisone dosage.

For most of this year, I’ve weighed at work approximately every two weeks. Slowly, the pounds have rolled off, and when I weighed today, I was pleasantly surprised to discover I had lost two pound, bringing my net loss to 9.5 pounds since last November. I’ve certainly not set any records for quick losses, but I’m tickled pink in having achieved my original goal and can’t wait to report the results to my health coach in a few weeks.



Now, that I’ve proved to myself I can intentionally lose weight, I intend to keep doing what I’ve been doing, supplemented with regular walking and hopefully get below 200 by this time next year. Wish me luck!

Uh - Obama's Poker Tell

The following appeared in the Patriot Post dated July 27th. I am sharing it to illustrate how the current administration and the MSM seek to rewrite history by use of filters when quoting President Obama. Mark Alexander tells us what he really said and it's certainly "telling."

=====Patriot Post========

Steve Killian, president of the Cambridge Police Patrol Officers Association called for Obama to "make an apology to all law-enforcement personnel."

Not to be upstaged by the police unions, Obama made an unplanned appearance at a White House conference an hour after the Cambridge conference, to remake his case.

Receiving a reception similar to that George W. Bush received with his surprise appearance to have Thanksgiving dinner with our troops in Baghdad a few years ago, Obama's unannounced appearance at the press conference elated his adoring MSM audience.

Hey, it's a cameo appearance. Sit down, sit down," Obama said, like some Hollywood teen idol. In one of the most contorted makeovers of his asinine remarks to date, Obama feigned "making nice" with Crowley and offered to have him and Gates as guests at the White House "for a beer." I am including a few Obama quotes below (with editorial reply), not only because he has dug himself deeper, but also because his comments were not read from a teleprompter.

Consequently, the incidence of his verbal tic, "uh," occurs at a ratio of 1.2 times for every 10 words. This is significant because for Obama, "uh" constitutes a "poker tell," an unconscious cue that he is attempting to be deceptive.

When studying Obama's unscripted comments, the occurrence of this tell at a ratio of 1/20 indicates his remarks are disingenuous. At 1.2/10, he is lying. (While the White House video mutes his verbal tics and struck all of them from the text of his comments, you can read the full -- and accurate -- text of Obama's comments here.)

"Uh, over the last day and a half, uh, obviously there's been all sorts of controversy around, uh, the incident that happened in Cambridge with, uh, Professor Gates and the police department there. ... Uh, and because, uh, this has been ratcheting up -- uh, and I obviously helped to contribute ratcheting it up -- uh, I want to make clear that in my choice of words, uh, I think I unfortunately, uh, gave an impression, uh, that I was maligning the Cambridge Police Department or Sergeant Crowley specifically -- uh, and I could have calibrated those words differently."

(I am certain that saying they "acted stupidly" constitutes "maligning.")

"Uh, I continue to believe, based on what I have heard, that, uh, there was an overreaction in, uh, pulling Professor Gates, uh, out of his home to the station. Uh, my sense is you've got two good people, uh, in a circumstance, uh, in which, uh, neither of them, uh, were able to resolve the incident in the way that it should have been resolved."

(Ah, they did not act stupidly, they just "overreacted.")

"Uh, the fact that it has garnered so much attention I think is a testimony to the fact that these are issues that are still very sensitive here in America."

(No, Obama's comment garnered so much attention because it was, uh, stupid.)

"Uh, what I'd like to do then I [sic] make sure that everybody ... uh, not extrapolate too much from the facts -- uh, but as I said at the press conference, uh, be mindful of the fact that because of our history, because of the difficulties of the past, uh, you know, African Americans are sensitive to these issues. And, uh ... interactions between police officers and, uh, the African American community can sometimes be fraught with misunderstanding."

(What is clear, however, is that Leftist socialized programs ostensibly designed to give blacks a chance to attain the American dream, have spawned a subculture of nightmares, and there is no misunderstanding about the resulting disparity in criminal activity by race, or the burden that places on society, including police officers of all racial backgrounds, who have to deal with that burden.)

"Uh, my hope is, is that as a consequence of this event, uh, this ends up being what's called a 'teachable moment,' where all of us, uh, instead of pumping up the volume spend a little more time listening to each other, uh ... instead of flinging accusations, uh, we can, uh, all be a little more reflective in terms of what we can do, uh, to contribute to, uh, more unity."

(The most teachable moment in this event was when Obama didn't have the facts. As previously suggested, Obama should learn to say, "no comment." The only folks flinging accusations were Gates, Obama, Patrick and Simmons.)

"Uh, but, uh, I just wanted to emphasize that, uh, one, one last point I guess I would make. ... Uh, the fact that this has become such a big issue I think is indicative of the fact that, uh, uh, race is still a troubling aspect of our society. Uh, whether I were black or white, uh, I think that, uh, me commenting on this, uh, and hopefully contributing to constructive -- uh, as opposed to negative -- uh, understandings about the issue, uh, is part of my portfolio."

(Actually, it became a big issue because Obama made a brainless accusation, and for sure, digging himself into a deeper hole is definitely part of his portfolio.)

"So, uh, at the end of the conversation there was a discussion about -- uh, uh, uh, my conversation with Sergeant Crowley, there was discussion about, uh, he and I, uh, and, uh, Professor Gates having a beer here in the White House. Uh, we don't know if that's scheduled yet -- uh, -- but, uh, uh, but we may put that together."

The Bodock Post

Coming soon, two of my writing friends and I will be publishing the first edition of our new newsletter. When I ceased writing the Ridge Rider News, Carl Wayne Hardeman asked permission to continue it or perhaps something similar in the way of a monthly newsletter.  When I told him I would support his efforts as long as the new publication had a different name, he and Ralph Jones asked me to help them to carry on a work I had begun. 

I have agreed to serve as Associate Editor and Publisher of The Bodock Post.  The three of us will take rotating turns in the editor's chair, but it falls my lot to format each issue, post in on our website and email it to our subscribers.  We have not decided on whether or not to print and distribute it via U.S. Mail, and for now the email version is free to anyone interested in it.

If you're interested in signing up, there's a form at http://www.bodockpost.com/ you can use to contact us.

Epilogue

It took approximately fifty-three years for us discover the joy of writing. After about a year of journalizing we began Ridge Rider News and mailed copies to three households. Our reasons to initiate a weekly newsletter were varied but would most certainly include a desire to leave a written record for our descendants, while using our pen to vent a few frustrations. To our great surprise, our readership grew as friends heard about our venture. An even greater surprise was to discover that folks actually enjoyed our writing.

As the years clicked by, maintaining what started largely as a hobby became a more and more demanding endeavor, with respect to our personal time. Thus, on the anniversary of our twelfth year of publication we chose to "close shop."

Ridge Rider News, the newsletter, is officially retired. However, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future, allowing family and friends and all others interested in our writing to peruse our archives of six hundred twenty-six weekly issues.

Our pen will likely remain active but not for the benefit of Ridge Rider News.

At this time, a joint venture is being considered by two friends plus this writer to produce an email-only monthly publication. Plans are still preliminary, but a September '08 issue is a real possibility. Persons interested in receiving our first issue should contact us by completing our comment form.

Readers Respond - RRN Closes Shop

Largely in the order they were received, the following are responses from some of our appreciative readers, who upon learning Ridge Rider News was being discontinued, chose to let us know how RRN had impacted them. We are grateful for their expressions of appreciation.

"We celebrate with you your decision to retire from this challenge! You've "done good" as folks say. I think it's been a tremendous but valuable effort, especially for your family. They will love the heritage you have left them, whether they know it now or not! God Bless!" ~ Pontotoc, MS

"The Ridge Rider, especially the early issues, introduced me to the Pontotoc city and county that played a significant part in my life but especially my family's life. I only attended school a few weeks of my freshman year until graduation. At that time my family lived in Longview. Those seven miles were a great deal farther in those days when there were only school buses and often hitched rides to the county seat. I know little about the town that shaped me for good in proportion to the time I spent there. You added depth to my understanding of myself as I came to know the names and people and events that were shaping me at that time. Our family moved to Pontotoc during my college years, I was ordained in FBC but was only an official member for two summers between school. I claim Pontotoc as my town and FBC as my church. We will be celebrating our 50th reunion next year. I guess I'll be there. My wife is celebrating hers in N. Kentucky this August. Thanks for your gift of writing." ~ Lexington, Ky

"Wayne, I hate to see you go, but I know you must be tired. I have enjoyed everything you have written. I honestly don't know how you have accomplished the feat all the years. My hat is off to you and Barbara. Thanks for the Memories."~ Dallas Texas

"Congratulationson your 12th Anniversary Issue! I am disappointed not to be reading on a regular basis with you, but I have saved your sites. How outstanding Ridge Rider News was, and I feel so fortunate that I was one of your readers! I treasure your comments about me, and Mensa definitely treasures your article about her! She felt that she was definitely the Queen of the Kitties! I do pray for wonderful times for you and your family! And yes,God bless you all!" ~ Tupelo, MS

"I'm sad! I cried reading the last issue. Oh, and I never even got mentioned. Ha, ha. We will need to have a family discussion about this." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"Thanks for all of your work through these years. It has been a good ride." ~ Pontotoc, MS
"Shame, Shame, Shame - one decent e-mail a week and now it is going away... I have enjoyed reading the articles about your family and points of interest, your travels and job. Twelve years is a long time to continue such a task as writing the perfect news letter and I congratulate you on your work (also Barbara and Sara Sue). I'm not sure what I will read when I logon to my e-mail, but I will surely miss the RRN. Spend your newfound time with the things you enjoy and consider this the beginning of retirement. We will look forward to seeing an update on what's going in Pontotoc and your part of Supervalu when you find time to tap out a paragraph or two.
Thanks again for the weekly reading." ~ Atlanta, GA

"I am so sorry to read you are ending RRN I have enjoyed reading your stories. I have made a point to read this as much as possible because it makes me feel a little closer to Pontotoc and my friends. It has been enjoyable and I will miss it." ~ Caude, TX

"Just a brief note of appreciation to you and Barbara for many years of fun and enjoyment from RRN. Very best wishes for you and the family for the future." ~ Columbus, GA

"Have so enjoyed the newsletter, but I certainly understand. Thanks!" ~ Hernando, MS

"Thanks for all the years of Ridge Rider News I have enjoyed. Though I have heartily disagreed with many of your assessments of politics, I respect you for unfailingly telling how you felt and believed." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"Thanks for sharing RRN with so many. I know it has become a part of my Monday morning ritual at work -- it's the first thing I read when I open my e-mail. Although my mother grew up in Pontotoc, I have lived here for only the past three or four years, and I am still learning about the people and connections in this town, so RRN was a great window for me...I really appreciated RRN as a source of information about the people and events in Pontotoc that I probably would never have learned about any other way. Thanks for being a window to a lot of us non-relatives too!" ~ Pontotoc, MS

"I will greatly miss RRN, although I am a new reader. I have read all the back issues and searched the articles by names of people. What a great job you all have done. I have lived away from Pontotoc since graduation...I grew up on the other end of Margin Street and have spent many hours at Mrs. Long's house you have talked about. She was a great friend to our family for a long time. So it has been good to read about not only Pontotoc, but my neighborhood. My parents moved there in 1938 or 1939. We also knew Ralph Jones' parents. Carter and Austin Grocery was an important part of our lives for many years. My dad had great respect for your dad and always spoke highly of him. Thank you for the glimpses into your family. They remind me so much of my own experiences. That generation worked so hard, but enjoyed the smallest pleasures life brought. Take care, enjoy your leisure time and please write about Pontotoc occasionally." ~ Kosciusko, MS

"...The Ridge Rider News certainly filled a need in your own life while at the same time you filled a void in the lives of your readers. You gave news a new and different twist in Pontotoc and included news that was not available anywhere else. You were not afraid to let a light search out parts of your personal life and that of your family, a most notable thing. You told the truth, even when it was sometimes not so popular. The "Political Correctness Thing" did not stop you from expressing what needed to be said in a clear and tactful way, thank you for that!..." ~ Germantown, TN
"It is with sadness that I read this last issue. You all mean so much to me and I always looked forward to these weekly communications. Reading the Ridge Rider News was my way of staying in touch. You have been a blessing to me." ~ Olive Branch, MS

" I just read your final RRN, I am sorry to see it end. I have enjoyed reading it over the years and was always entertained and engaged by your stories. Enjoy the recapturing of some free time!" ~ Kenosha, WI

"I am sorry that RRN will be discontinued, but I can understand. You have done a great job, and brought me a lot of entertaining and interesting reading."~ Vicksburg, MS

"I appreciate receiving the newsletter for the past several years. I have enjoyed it so very much. ~ Thaxton, MS
"These past 12 years for [us] have passed fast. I believe the reason for the fast passing of time has been each week expecting and receiving Ridge Rider News, each week knowing that it would be in our mailbox right on time rain or shine. ...Congratulations on 12 years as Editor of Ridge Rider News. [We] both wept in reading this last Ridge Rider News. As we have told you in the past, RRN was read at bedtime. I don't know why, except to say it sort of put our thoughts into another realm right before we would go to sleep, [sort of ] like watching the Andy Griffith Show on TV but with a more fulfilling feeling." ~ Eufaula, AL

"It is hard to believe I have received my last edition of Ridge Rider News! I will miss this highly interesting news and the bits of trivia every week, as it has been such a pleasure to receive my very first one. I was a great admirer of Miss Ada Guthrie. [A friend'] shared your tribute to her with me. We discussed the RRN and she told me she was sure I could get on the mailing list. How fortunate I was! ... You have compiled a record of local happenings and of local people with grace, and I am sure all of your readers will agree with me that a weekly highlight has gone... There is no way to say thank you for years of unrewarded effort, but i will always have a deep sense of gratitude and love for both of you." ~ Pontotoc, MS

"We have really enjoyed the RRN - Sorry we missed so many of them. Thank you for sending it our way. We already miss it! Wayne, don't think you're losing it; you have just entered the aging generation. Good wishes to you both." ~ Pontotoc, MS

RRN Final Issue

This issue of Ridge Rider News marks the completion of our twelfth year of publication. It took a year or two of sporadic publications for RRN to settle into the weekly issue most readers have come to expect, regularly and consistently. As a newsletter, RRN has grown from a readership of less than a handful of individuals to now more than one hundred households.

In RRN’s infancy, we sought a means to vent some of the frustrations we were experiencing in several arenas of life. We admit the ability to "get things off ones chest," helped reduce our blood pressure, but RRN has always been more than a means to an end.

Almost from the onset, Ridge Rider News has been about leaving something behind for our descendants. We have never aspired to accumulate great wealth, and, from a young age, established personal financial goals, which we would describe simply as "making a comfortable living."

We recognize that at the time of our passing there will likely be very little money and perhaps not a great many possessions for our children to "squabble over" and for the grandchildren to eventually inherit.

However, short of some sort of natural disaster or cataclysmic event, there will be six hundred twenty-six issues of Ridge Rider News available for our grandchildren to peruse, use, or abuse. If they grow up to be materially minded, they’ll be sorely disappointed that all that we left them were the copies of this newsletter, and they may possibly cart off their inheritance to a dumpster or landfill.

We can’t control their responses, but we shall pass from this life believing they’ll find within the pages of Ridge Rider News the answers to a lot of the questions they will surely have about what things were like "back then," what sort of persons their grandparents were, and how it is they came to be so smart (smile).

Unless we are dead wrong about our grandchildren, Ridge Rider News will be seen by them as a window into the lives of their forbears, a window that’s always there for them to look through, if only they take the time to do so. Will this not be more precious to them than gold? Continue reading...

Dynamite Hill - Death of a Salesman

Jimmy and Linda Crausby

Oddly, my aunt called him her brother, but her sister, my mother, called him Jimmy. Two persons with a common mother and different fathers are half-siblings, but Mom only admitted such was the case when the point was pressed. Perhaps Mom’s reason for withholding full family recognition of her half-brother was rooted in the times, where persons born outside of wedlock were often ostracized. Perhaps Mom’s reasoning ran much deeper. After all, she had idolized her father (William Fredrick "Fred" Crausby), and when he died following injuries from a bus/car wreck, she was devastated.

What followed was rarely discussed in the open atmosphere of conversations in the dining room or living room, but my late Aunt Jo phrased it a few months prior to her death in dated terms, "Mama acted ugly."

My grandmother’s "ugliness" netted me an uncle, James “Jimmy” Crausby, five years older than me, but I was not allowed to call him uncle, as mother insisted “Jimmy” was sufficient. Mom’s admonition was not a command, rather she phrased it in such a way that I understood she would prefer I not call Jimmy Crausby, Uncle Jimmy.

“No, you don’t need to say uncle. Jimmy is just fine,” Mom would tout on the few occasions I quizzed her on the subject.

A rift in the relationship between my mother and her mother would survive in varying degrees until my grandmother’s death in 1973. I was never told the name of Jimmy’s father. Mama had a way of changing the subject or deflecting the question whenever she was asked about Jimmy’s dad. Most likely, Mom found it galling that her half-brother was given her dad’s surname.

My mother was eleven years old at the time of her father’s death. How soon after her husband’s death grandmother starting "acting ugly," is no longer germane, but at age sixteen, my mother married William Henry Carter who offered to "get her away from all this," an apparent reference to the disreputable circumstances at home.

In my early years, I didn’t know Jimmy Crausby very well. My family moved from Pontotoc when I was two years old and returned nine years later. I have a few memories of visiting my grandmother, Mama Nona, and her second husband, "Little Man" Enlow, but I don’t recall anything of Jimmy Crausby during the years we lived away from Pontotoc.

Mama Nona and Jimmy lived on Inzer Street for a few years before selling their place to my Aunt Jo and Uncle Julius Lee "Pearlie" Collins. 

My parents’ home, the old Owen place, on Woodland Street, was also home to my grandparents, Hayden and Becky Carter, formerly of Thaxton, at the time of their respective deaths in 1960. Later, around 1962, Mama Nona and Jimmy moved into the "other side" of our home on Woodland Street, the part my grandparents had previously utilized.

My memories of Jimmy Crausby largely began during my later years of high school and then college. I remember Aunt Jo buying a new 1958 Chevrolet, which Jimmy drove on occasion. During this time, Jimmy’s best friend was Billy Joe Kidd. The two of them spent a lot of time together. Both of them enjoyed singing and were members of West Heights Baptist Church in Pontotoc.

I was probably a college student at the time Jimmy invited me to go deer hunting with him. Mama figured I would get shot in the woods, and she wouldn’t hear of me going off with Jimmy. However, when Jimmy and Billy Joe became interested in archery, I did get to go with them occasionally to an archery range a few miles southeast of Pontotoc, just off Hwy. 41. I remember it was hard for me to pull a bow with a draw weight of forty pounds, but Jimmy and Billy Joe could do pretty well with draw weights of sixty pounds or more.

Jimmy became a salesman for a small wholesale company and visited area stores assigned to his route. Later, he married Linda Todd, whose family lived a block away from my parents. Though, I didn’t attend the marriage ceremony, my sister relates that Billy Joe Kidd sang at the wedding.

"He sang How Great Thou Art, about as well as I’ve ever heard it sung," Sarah shared. "And I’ve heard it sung by persons who were trained for the opera."

One would think that two young men of such a close friendship, would never have become sworn enemies, but it happened. Barbara and I were living in Ripley, Mississippi, at the time the friendship between Jimmy Crausby and Billy Joe Kidd dissolved.

Billy Joe and his wife filed for a divorce and a custody battle ensued over their daughter. In those years, there was nothing like a no-fault divorce, where a husband and wife could break up housekeeping over something trivial or in legal parlance, "irreconcilable differences." Linda, Jimmy’s wife, was a friend of Billy Joe’s wife. She may have influenced Jimmy to testify against his friend.

Jimmy’s testimony, that he walked into Billy Joe’s store (convenience store on Hwy. 9 South) and found Billy Joe on the floor behind the counter in the throes of adultery, may have been the deciding factor in child custody being awarded to Billy Joe’s wife. Whether or not Jimmy supplied the testimony most damaging to his friend’s divorce case, there can be no doubt that Jimmy Crausby nailed his own coffin shut on that day.

When Jimmy Crausby lived on Inzer Street, one of his neighbors was Lamar Roberts. Mr. Roberts’ son Jimmy was a youngster at the time, but he has fond memories of Jimmy Crausby.  Jimmy Roberts, who is now a former State Supreme Court Justice, remembers how Jimmy Crausby was always friendly toward him and his family and how he was impressed that Jimmy Crausby took time to stop and chat with a young kid. Most of us go through life without realizing how the small things we do for others are often the things that others recall about us.

My friend, Judge Jimmy Roberts, also shared he was a law student at Ole Miss when Billy Joe Kidd was on trial for the death of Jimmy Crausby. The trial and its outcome were important to Jimmy, from both a legal perspective and his own personal knowledge of the deceased. Most of the persons who know what actually happened on that fatal December night in 1968 are no longer living, but the testimonies of several witnesses who arrived on the scene that evening provide some insight into what took place.

Shortly after the divorce case was settled, Jimmy Crausby began to receive threatening phone calls. Caller ID didn’t exist in that era, so there was little to support Jimmy’s belief the calls were from either family or friends of Billy Joe Kidd. Also, the caller or callers muffled their voice in order to avoid recognition. As I recall, there were multiple occasions when Jimmy offered to meet with the caller and would drive to a designated place only to have no one show up. After several no-shows, Jimmy was quite angry.

Circumstances often drive persons to desperate measures, and Jimmy took to carrying a .38 revolver in his car. On the night of his death, he received another threatening phone call, but this time, according to family remembrances, he recognized the caller’s voice as that of his former friend, Billy Joe Kidd. The two agreed to meet alone at a site on Clark Street known as Dynamite Hill, so named because of a structure the City of Pontotoc used for the storage of dynamite. At that time, Clark Street connected Hwy. 6 and Brooks Street.

Joe Kidd did not keep his pledge to meet Jimmy Crausby alone. Joe’s dad, Walter "Honey" Kidd, his sister, Dot Kidd, and Joe’s daughter, all arrived at the scene in time to witness and/or participate in the fighting that followed. Apparently, heated words were exchanged before the shooting and knifing occurred. The order of events, as related during the murder trial that followed, is weighted favorably on the part of the defendant as only Joe Kidd and members of his family survived to testify.

Jimmy’s revolver was fired several times with one bullet striking the elder Kidd in the chest fatally wounding him, and one bullet severing the right index finger of Joe Kidd. Joe was also shot in the chest. The abdomen of Jimmy Crausby was opened by a knife wound, partially disemboweling him.

As participants in the melee left the scene, Jimmy Crausby drove his car to the foot of the hill stopping at the intersection of Hwy. 6 and Clark Street.  A passerby, seeing Jimmy bleeding and bent over in front of his car, stopped to assist him. Soon a crowd had gathered. Those who heard Jimmy speak recall him stating that "Joe and Walt" had cut him. Jimmy was eventually taken to the Pontotoc Hospital and died on the operating table.

Among the passersby who stopped on the side of the highway to help, were George and Ruth Simon. Mrs. Simon was wearing a mink coat, and when she heard Jimmy tell bystanders that he was cold, she took her mink coat and placed it on him for warmth. Her selfless act of kindness was one my family has never forgotten.

Though murder charges were filed, a Pontotoc County jury found Joe Kidd guilty of manslaughter. The conviction was later voided and remanded to the lower court by the Mississippi Supreme Court, which ruled in part that the dying declaration was not a dying declaration in that the victim was "in no fear of impending death" but hopeful of recovery at the time the statement was made.

This contradicts the testimony of James H. Brandon, a special investigator for the Memphis Police Department, who was visiting his parents’ home, which is near the intersection where Crausby was found bleeding.

Brandon stated Jimmy said, "I know I’m dying, don’t leave me here, get me to the hospital."

In light of Crausby’s death some five hours after being knifed, it would seem the High Court made a "bad call."

Most members of my family believe Billy Joe held Jimmy while Walter Kidd cut him. Apart from the testimony by members of the Kidd family, we have no way of knowing if Jimmy fired his gun in self-defense or not. Every story has two sides, but unfortunately no one on my family’s side was a witness to the criminal act and Jimmy Crausby didn’t survive to give his account of the events that night on Dynamite Hill.

The tragic outcome of this event is not bereft of speculation: Jimmy Crausby may have been the aggressor in the fight. Billy Joe Kidd may have told the truth. Jimmy may have been the victim of a planned attack on his person. Justice may have been served by the courts.

Yet, two people died in the violence; family and friends on both sides carry emotional scars from that night, but what really happened on Dynamite Hill is something most of us will never know.

Here is a link regarding the appeal of the judgement rendered by the local court and the ultimate overturn of the judgement against the appellant.

https://law.justia.com/cases/mississippi/supreme-court/1972/46661-0.html

The Graduate Son

Jason Lamar Carter came into this world on July 16, 1973, during an economic downturn much worse (my opinion) than what the U.S. is currently experiencing. I’ve often told him the reason we have so many videos and pictures of his sister and comparatively fewer of him is a reflection of his family’s dire financial straits and not that his parents found him less cute, less photogenic, or less lovable than his sibling. Yet, until he starts raising his own family, I doubt he’ll ever accept my explanation.

At eight pounds eleven ounces, he was a hunk compared to his sister who weighed-in at barely more than six pounds. By the time he was two he was wearing clothes sized for a four-year old. During the next couple of years there was much speculation he would become a fullback for the football team of some lucky university. Sadly, before he began his ‘schooling’ his appetite for all foods diminished greatly, to the point he became such a finicky eater that he slimmed down more rapidly than his dad’s dreams of son’s gridiron greatness.

Jason never played a down of high school or college football. It wasn’t that he didn’t have athletic ability, but he had become disinterested in playing football by the time he was old enough to play at the varsity level. His mother and I refused to allow him to participate in pee-wee football, believing organized sports would be best suited for teen participation rather than small children.

Having been a teacher and having seen the stress experienced by many of my students whose parents demanded high marks of their children, I vowed that I would never "stand over" my own children and make them do their homework. My approach was to encourage them to do their best work and assure it was their work, not mine or the work of someone else. I won’t say I failed this aspect of parenting, I’ll simply remark the results were mixed.

Most parents with more than one child understand the expression, "They’re as different as daylight and dark."

I’ve found this to be true with my two children, but I’m sure the differences are not as drastic now as they were in their formative years. My daughter was largely self-motivated when it came to her education and was far more driven to please her parents than was her brother. Rayanne worked hard for good grades; Jason did not. In this respect, Jason is a lot like
his daddy. For good grades, I depended more on what I garnered in the classroom as opposed to homework assignments. I settled for B’s when a little extra effort would have produced A’s. Continue reading>>>

Another Cemetery

Neal Huskison and I were not content to end our travels over county roads in search of cemeteries of our ancestors without making the effort to find the back-roads’ route from my grandparents place near Thaxton to Liberty Hill cemetery near Lafayette Springs, in nearby Lafayette County, Mississippi. But, there simply wasn’t enough daylightremaining to sustain our day’s adventures, and we resolved to try our navigation skills at a later date.

The following Saturday afternoon seemed the perfect afternoon to pick up where we’d left off the prior week. I phoned Neal to check his availability,and he was at my backdoor in a matter of minutes. The warm peach cobbler on the stovetop was too much a temptation for him to resist, and he downed a helping before we left.

Neal and I are actually second cousins due to our respective fathers being first cousins. However, we grew up calling ourselves third cousins to each other. My folks either didn’t understand the "once removed" moniker for kinship or else didn’t use it. Thus, if my dad and Neal’s dad were first cousins, my dad and Neal were second cousins, which made Neal and me third cousins.

Neal and I were better prepared to traverse the meandering paved and sometimes graveled roads of rural Pontotoc and Lafayette counties, as we had both made extensive use of aerial maps of both MSN Live and Google on the Internet in the days prior to our second outing together.

We made our way to Thaxton and points north, traveling along what is not named Carter Road, crossing lands once owned by my relatives. Neal could remember where my great grandparents’ house once stood and recalled visiting there when he was perhaps three or four years old. The house he described, I grew up knowing as the place where a sharecropper and his family lived and must have missed the historical significance of the property then owned by Jessie Carter, my granddad’s brother.

Arriving at the intersection of Hurricane Road and Carter Road, we turned left and soon found CR 214 which led us directly to Liberty Hill Rd. We had traveled perhaps for two miles along Liberty Hill Rd. when we came up behind two women on a four-wheeler. Neal rolled down his window and asked if either of them knew about a cemetery across the road from Liberty Hill cemetery. The driver, the younger of the two, appeared to be a teenager and willing shared her knowledge of the area. Continue reading>>

Beardens Visit

For a number of years, I had the privilege of working with Lamar Bearden. Lamar and I were counterparts in our respective divisions of SUPERVALU, when I began as manager of the Retail Systems department in Indianola in 1990. Lamar worked at the Anniston, Alabama division and later moved to Atlanta.

When the process of regionalization began in earnest in 1995, neither of us was interested in the Director position at the regional office. Lamar didn’t want the responsibility, and I didn’t want to relocate to Atlanta. We ‘sweated’ though the whole downsizing process, kept our jobs, and received different job titles. We became specialists, but since the pay went up, we didn’t mind. Through our association, we became friends, and if it can be said we looked forward to regional meetings, it should be noted we saw them as opportunities to spend time together.
Later, when further consolidations occurred within SUPERVALU, Lamar was given the opportunity to retire. Though now retired from SUPERVALU, Lamar continues to work. He found a twenty-seven store retailer in Atlanta who needed his technical skills. Lamar schedules himself to work Monday through Wednesday, but his wife, Charlene, tells us his typical week exceeds that, and a three-day workweek is the exception not the rule.

If Lamar misses working for SUPERVALU, he never lets on that he does. In fact, he told me a few years ago that he makes more money and has more time to enjoy life than before his retirement.
I can’t remember the year I told Lamar about my newsletter, but after reading a few issues, he and Charlene (Pop and Gaga to their grandchildren) became fans of RRN. Lamar has contributed at least one article to this newsletter. Longtime subscribers may recall Lamar’s story on the annual egg hunt at his house, held primarily for the grandchildren.

I remember that Lamar and Charlene really wanted to attend one of the RRN backyard parties of recent years, but something always came up at the last minute to spoil their plans.

Earlier this year, Lamar phoned me regarding a project involving his group of stores and SUPERVALU Atlanta. At some point in the conversation he stated he and Charlene would be driving through Tupelo on their way to Branson, Missouri in the spring.

"We’d like to stop over and see the Carters on our way," he stated. "We’ll stay the night in Memphis, but we’d like to visit you and Barbara since we’re going to be so close."

"Hey, just let us know when to expect you," I stated. "Y’all can spend the night at our house if you like."

A few weeks ago, Lamar emailed me on a Thursday afternoon to let me know they would be passing through that Saturday afternoon. When Lamar called with an update Saturday morning, Barbara busied herself making a pitcher of tea and a peach cobbler. All was ready when the Beardens arrived around one o’clock.

Our granddaughter, Anna Butler, came over to visit, also, bringing Zoey, the dog. While I had met Lamar’s wife in the nineties on a business trip and had visited in their home in Villa Rica, Georgia, just a few years ago, it would be Anna and Barbara’s first time to meet Lamar and Charlene.

We were able to visit for almost two hours before the two were ready to drive into Memphis for the evening. Lamar and Charlene seemed to enjoy getting to visit our home and see the neighborhood both of which they’ve read about for several years. Barbara and I thoroughly enjoyed having them stop by our house, and we look forward to a time of reciprocal sharing if we happen to be traveling near the Bearden’s present home just south of Atlanta.

Thaxton Trip

Even with a map, it had required a bit of luck and persistence to locate Liberty Hill Cemetery. Then as we were leaving, Neal Huskison, driver of the lead vehicle, asked me if I thought we would be just as well off to continue down the gravel road, rather than turn around and go back the way we came. I agreed the road should take us back to the Lafayette Springs road, and off we went. We hadn’t traveled a mile when we came to a fork.

"Which way?" Neal asked, and before I could respond he made a decision to take the left fork.

A mile or so further we came upon a Tee. Again Neal asked which way but remained stopped until I answered.

Flipping the map upside down to get a sense of direction, I stated, "Take a left."

Jeannie, Shannon’s younger daughter had switched vehicles with Brenda and was beside me in the backseat.

"Did you just turn the map upside down?" she asked.

"Yes."

"My husband thinks it's weird when I do that," she shared.

"Well it sometimes helps," I replied. "Since we’re both Carters, I’d say that might account for our similar thought processes."

We didn’t have to drive very far until we came to Lafayette Springs Road and knew where we were for the first time in a while. Our plans were to stop at Janie Luther’s cabin, where part of the expedition would be spending the night, then drive into nearby Thaxton to visit the Thaxton Cemetery where other Carters are buried. Janie Luther and Ladine, Shannon’s late wife, were half sisters. Janie owns a home in Pontotoc but lately spends a lot of time at the cabin her son built. It’s a modern log cabin, and all the floors and interior walls are wood. After a few minutes spent taking in the cabin and its remote location, it was easy to see why Janie enjoyed staying outside of "the city."

The two young girls had all the traipsing in cemeteries they needed for one day and willingly chose to remain at the cabin with Janie while the rest of us headed to Thaxton. Continue reading>>