Conversations with my Hairdryer introduced this meme called Summer Lovin'. It got me thinking about all the plans I wanted to accomplish this summer. Let's see how interesting the past couple of months have been.
Watching -- My summer television shows -- Big Brother, Nashville Star, Closer, Monk, and Psyche. Oh, and Masterpiece Mysteries on PBS.
Reading -- Liberating Paris by Linda Bloodworth Thomason. I have a HUGE list on my to-be-read list because I am participating in two reading challenges.
Listening to -- Robert Johnson, opera
Over-indulging on -- Diet Coke, fresh tomatoes
Thankful for -- My significant other, Keith. I am a lucky girl if I say so myself!
Praying for -- my family, as always, and my own sanity
Trying out -- Cooking for fun, landscape photographer, gardening
Gearing up for -- Our August trip to Hot Springs. Hopefully, both my sisters will be able to join. Also, Magazine ad sales. Work is the largest part of my life, so I have to mention it.
Looking forward to -- finally cleaning my closets out, organizing my office as soon as I get someone to move my desk, and cleaning out the butler's pantry (aka, my catchall for everything from unused household crap to personal papers screaming to be filed.)
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
"I've got the split-end blues"
Maggie Reads is holding a contest for the best blues name. I thought the Blues name generator wasn't very authentic because they weren't Southern names. So gave mine a little Mississippi twist. (Thank you, Mark Twain, for teaching me to write phonically.)
Itchin' Plantain Ken'dy: The prissiest, most high maintenance gal in the juke. (and her backup group, The Peels.)
Itchin' Plantain Ken'dy: The prissiest, most high maintenance gal in the juke. (and her backup group, The Peels.)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Searching for Robert Johnson
This weekend, my significant other, Keith, and I searched for the grave site of the king of the Delta blues singers, Robert Johnson, in the Mississippi Delta.
Mr. Johnson:
So, we paid homage to all three.
The back porch overlooked a soy bean field and the Tallahatchie River. Keith was jealous that his beans did not look so good.
More Johnsons live in the area:
We thought it had to be the real thing -- a family cemetery.
View from the Bridge:
The YA-YA-Yazoo!
You can take the boy out of the delta, but....
Chocolate Sin....oh, yeah!
Mr. Johnson:
Now for those of you who know Keith and me, we are polar opposites on most accounts except for our dry sarcasm, unnatural obsession with sports of any kind, our love of Southern history, and, of course, our enthusiastic appreciation for Mississippi blues. Case in point, Keith took me to Morgan Freeman's Ground Zero Blues Club on our very first date.
For those of you who are not familiar with Johnson, he is the famed Mississippi bluesman from Hazelhurst who supposedly sold his soul to the devil in exchange for talent to sing the blues. This exchanged occurred at the "Crossroads" near Clarksdale. Johnson died at age 27 in Greenwood after being poisoned by a woman's husband after his wife's alleged affair with Johnson. Read more about Robert Johnson.
Just as mysterious as Johnson's life, his final resting place is very ellusive. In fact, there are three different cemeteries where his tombstone sits.
Now, we know he died in Leflore County, Mississippi. And lucky for us, all three grave sites are also in Leflore County.
Our search began at Tallahatchie Flats, three miles north of Greenwood. Keith and I reserved our very own shack for the night to get to the heart of Johnson and his life. We stayed in the Tush-Hog House, named for the man with Johnson when he died of strychnine poisoning.
Our House:
The back porch overlooked a soy bean field and the Tallahatchie River. Keith was jealous that his beans did not look so good.As a matter of fact, it was Mr. Bubba, the proprietor, who suggested we try to find all three sites is we were true enthusiasts.
Our first destination: Itta Bena. We were searching for the Quito Plantation. There in the church yard of a chapel was the first marker. Surrounded by other Johnsons, a simple flat tombstone lay with the inscription, "Resting in the Blues." Keith felt it fitting to share a beer with him.
Quito Plantation, Est. 1904
The church in Itta Bena with the first marker:
More Johnsons live in the area: We thought it had to be the real thing -- a family cemetery.That was until we got to Morgan City. South of Itta Bena is a small cotton community known as Morgan City. Keith actually did an internship here while he was in school. He would drive out to Morgan City twice a week to check cotton.
We could not find a church, but a nice lady at the Morgan City Grocery gave us directions.
I read that Johnson was buried at Mount Zion Church, and if we did not pull straight up to Mount Zion Church. A large marker sat near the street, and we knew immediately that it was his. The obelisk was inscribed on all four sides.
The second marker:
This was the REAL one, I told Keith. He agreed.
A photograph of Johnson was inset on the monument. And fans from across the globe have paid tribute. This was proved with a British pound placed at the base of the stone.
On our way back to Greenwood, we came upon this -- the big ass bridge in the middle of nowhere.
Big Ass Bridge in the Middle of Nowhere:
View from the Bridge:The YA-YA-Yazoo!It was just too interesting not to mention. It crosses the Yazoo River.
Near Tallahatchie Flats, we found the last of the markers. It was under a pecan tree at the Little Zion Chapel. An eye witness supposedly saw Johnson buried in this spot. After finding out she never received a dime for her story, I was inclined to believe this was the spot.
The third marker:
Of course, after discussing the matter further over dinner at Lusco's in Greenwood, we don't know what the hell to think. (We had the porterhouse for two, Lusco's famous fries, and the chocolate sin with chocolate bourbon sauce, yum!)
You can take the boy out of the delta, but....Chocolate Sin....oh, yeah! It certainly is fitting that Johnson's final resting place is just as mysterious as the man.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The village idiot goes for a run
Saturday afternoon, I took a stroll through my neighborhood. Sounds pleasant, huh? Well, not so much.
With gas prices at $4 a gallon, I decided to celebrate our nation’s independence with a quiet weekend at home in Winona with friends. There had only been a few occasions where I was not with my family on the holiday weekend, and it was a little peculiar without the roar of my large family.
To lighten the blow, I asked my sister, Deana, to drive down Saturday for a cook-out. She could definitely turn my quiet weekend at home into something a bit more comforting – or at least a light roar.
Deana arrived after lunch and was greeted enthusiastically by the dogs out in the yard. She didn’t even have to ring the bell before I was alerted to her presence.
Now, I will say, my dogs love my sister, mainly because she brings them presents whenever she visits, and this visit was no different. She immediately pulled out a bag of bacon snacks for the dogs and a container of kitty treats for my cat, Deadline, who lives in the storage room.
“Let’s not bring them in yet,” I told Deana.
So we settled into the den, and Deana told me about the family Fourth of July I missed the day before. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had missed. My middle sister, Stephanie, was required to complete some sort of combat training with the DeSoto County Sheriff’s Department where she is a captain, and spent our nation’s birthday getting beat up by would-be perpetrators.
After a few minutes, I walked into the kitchen and saw it. The gate was open, and the yard was empty. My dogs had escaped and were now loose in the city. Pure panic washed over my body. My dogs had never been off a leash, and I was afraid they would not know to get out of the way of cars.
Without thinking, I ran down the steps, across the yard, and down the street – barefoot. As I rounded the corner, I noticed something running full speed down the street. Don Juan, my Chihuahua, ran right to me and jumped into my arms.
I passed him off to Deana and continued my hunt for the fastest, severely ADD creature the Lord ever created – Skipper, aka the village idiot.
It rained that morning, and water still flowed in the gutters. The grass was wet, and the dirt was mud. The rain had also washed gravel onto the street, and my bare feet were now muddy and bleeding as I called out for Skipper.
“Skipper,” I called. “Here Doodle Bug.”
I was trying to sound playful and sweet. I did not want him to realize when I caught him, I planned to kill him.
Some children on bicycles pointed me in the right direction – gravel road, mud – and a group of children who sat on church steps directed me further. Skipper was obviously touring the town, and he was headed back towards my street.
“Did you lose one?” my neighbor asked.
“Yes, the little black and white one. Have you seen him?”
“Let me see if he is around the back?”
A few minutes later, I heard my neighbor direct me behind his house and through the back yards of the houses behind him.
Then I saw him, a black and white terrier was running towards me as I called. Then I realized, this might be Skipper’s cousin, but it is definitely not Skipper. Impossible, but there is another one!
I caught a flash of white. It was Skipper. I called – all sweet remember – and he actually ran to me. I flung that raging idiot into my arms – I seriously thought I lost him forever.
I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even punish him. I just walked home – sweaty, bleeding, and muddy – with Skipper in my arms.
As I handed Deana the dog and hosed off, we discovered the village idiot could actually open the gate with his nose. We doggie-proofed the latches. Now, remarkably, I can’t open the gate.
With gas prices at $4 a gallon, I decided to celebrate our nation’s independence with a quiet weekend at home in Winona with friends. There had only been a few occasions where I was not with my family on the holiday weekend, and it was a little peculiar without the roar of my large family.
To lighten the blow, I asked my sister, Deana, to drive down Saturday for a cook-out. She could definitely turn my quiet weekend at home into something a bit more comforting – or at least a light roar.
Deana arrived after lunch and was greeted enthusiastically by the dogs out in the yard. She didn’t even have to ring the bell before I was alerted to her presence.
Now, I will say, my dogs love my sister, mainly because she brings them presents whenever she visits, and this visit was no different. She immediately pulled out a bag of bacon snacks for the dogs and a container of kitty treats for my cat, Deadline, who lives in the storage room.
“Let’s not bring them in yet,” I told Deana.
So we settled into the den, and Deana told me about the family Fourth of July I missed the day before. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had missed. My middle sister, Stephanie, was required to complete some sort of combat training with the DeSoto County Sheriff’s Department where she is a captain, and spent our nation’s birthday getting beat up by would-be perpetrators.
After a few minutes, I walked into the kitchen and saw it. The gate was open, and the yard was empty. My dogs had escaped and were now loose in the city. Pure panic washed over my body. My dogs had never been off a leash, and I was afraid they would not know to get out of the way of cars.
Without thinking, I ran down the steps, across the yard, and down the street – barefoot. As I rounded the corner, I noticed something running full speed down the street. Don Juan, my Chihuahua, ran right to me and jumped into my arms.
I passed him off to Deana and continued my hunt for the fastest, severely ADD creature the Lord ever created – Skipper, aka the village idiot.
It rained that morning, and water still flowed in the gutters. The grass was wet, and the dirt was mud. The rain had also washed gravel onto the street, and my bare feet were now muddy and bleeding as I called out for Skipper.
“Skipper,” I called. “Here Doodle Bug.”
I was trying to sound playful and sweet. I did not want him to realize when I caught him, I planned to kill him.
Some children on bicycles pointed me in the right direction – gravel road, mud – and a group of children who sat on church steps directed me further. Skipper was obviously touring the town, and he was headed back towards my street.
“Did you lose one?” my neighbor asked.
“Yes, the little black and white one. Have you seen him?”
“Let me see if he is around the back?”
A few minutes later, I heard my neighbor direct me behind his house and through the back yards of the houses behind him.
Then I saw him, a black and white terrier was running towards me as I called. Then I realized, this might be Skipper’s cousin, but it is definitely not Skipper. Impossible, but there is another one!
I caught a flash of white. It was Skipper. I called – all sweet remember – and he actually ran to me. I flung that raging idiot into my arms – I seriously thought I lost him forever.
I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even punish him. I just walked home – sweaty, bleeding, and muddy – with Skipper in my arms.
As I handed Deana the dog and hosed off, we discovered the village idiot could actually open the gate with his nose. We doggie-proofed the latches. Now, remarkably, I can’t open the gate.
Monday, June 30, 2008
The holiday curse strikes again
I had a near-death experience a week ago.
After church on Father’s Day Sunday, I slipped in the bathroom and smashed right through the plantation shutters – with my head. I kind of just lay there for a few minutes, I think, because I might have blacked out.
Okay, I have gotten ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
That weekend, I visited my family in Southaven to celebrate with Daddy. His birthday fell on Father’s Day this year, so we had double the reason for a get-together. My family celebrates EVERY holiday – Halloween, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day. We just need a reason no matter how insignificant.
Daddy’s birthday: very significant.
The problem is there is always some sort of holiday mishap. Case in point: My sister’s Thanksgiving night dog mauling. We ended up spending the entire evening at the emergency room – a private emergency room for “special” families (in other words, unruly-no-one-wants-to-deal-with-families.)
This Father’s Day, the curse struck again.
Now, my weekend was going really well up until I defied death. After getting a manicure and pedicure on Saturday morning, I met my sister, Deana, for a marathon shopping trip that took us from one side of Memphis to the other. I got back to Momma and Daddy’s with just enough time to get changed and drive back to Memphis for dinner with friends.
Dinner was wonderful as was the company, but I must say the success of the evening can be conjured in just two words – pecan tort. I made my first trip to the Cheese Cake Corner in the South Main district in downtown Memphis. It has been featured in Southern Living many times, and may I say, totally worth the trip!
Sunday morning began normally – Momma and me drinking coffee in the kitchen, Daddy wandering in with bed hair and complaining about being old. He proceeded to eat leftover pecan tort (too much for one or even two!), complained about eating the tort, and then rushed upstairs and got ready for church.
Deana and I met Momma and Daddy there, and I made a point to announce to everyone in the congregation that Daddy was celebrating his 29th birthday. For some reason over the years, I have outgrown him by four years. (Kind of hinky, but I never was any good at math.)
With a fantastic lunch to prepare, we headed back to Southaven. I dropped Deana at her house to change and drove back to Momma’s to do the same. Then I walked into the bathroom. Unaware of water on the marble, I slipped, flew into the air, and crashed.
My head broke my fall. My head and the wooden plantation shutters. Maybe the window.
The next thing I remember is hearing Momma and Daddy coming in the front door. They found me sprawled out on the floor.
A throbbing, grapefruit-sized knot rose at the nape of my neck. I thought I had died, and I almost had. A few more inches and I would have crashed through a triple-pane window.
My imagination ran away with me at that point, and I had a full-fledged panic attack. I could have died, and my parents would have found me. Daddy’s birthday would be ruined forever.
Then I started thinking about how I destroyed the plantation shutters. I figured Daddy would be furious. But no. I think Momma and Daddy were as freaked out as I was (Sextons have a way of overreacting).
Your mind does strange things when something traumatic happens. My first thought was to get back to Winona as quickly as possible just in case Daddy insisted I go to the emergency room (I know they still remember us!). Then I dwelled on ruining the party. I finally fixated on the fact that I would probably die a couple days later like that character I saw on CSI.
I managed to pull it together, eat lunch, and convince my parents to allow me to drive home.
Now that I know I don’t have a slow bleed on the brain, I realized something. As much as I make fun of my family members for their freakishly bad luck, I am now a character in one of my own stories. And I confess, it isn’t any fun being on the other side.
After church on Father’s Day Sunday, I slipped in the bathroom and smashed right through the plantation shutters – with my head. I kind of just lay there for a few minutes, I think, because I might have blacked out.
Okay, I have gotten ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
That weekend, I visited my family in Southaven to celebrate with Daddy. His birthday fell on Father’s Day this year, so we had double the reason for a get-together. My family celebrates EVERY holiday – Halloween, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day. We just need a reason no matter how insignificant.
Daddy’s birthday: very significant.
The problem is there is always some sort of holiday mishap. Case in point: My sister’s Thanksgiving night dog mauling. We ended up spending the entire evening at the emergency room – a private emergency room for “special” families (in other words, unruly-no-one-wants-to-deal-with-families.)
This Father’s Day, the curse struck again.
Now, my weekend was going really well up until I defied death. After getting a manicure and pedicure on Saturday morning, I met my sister, Deana, for a marathon shopping trip that took us from one side of Memphis to the other. I got back to Momma and Daddy’s with just enough time to get changed and drive back to Memphis for dinner with friends.
Dinner was wonderful as was the company, but I must say the success of the evening can be conjured in just two words – pecan tort. I made my first trip to the Cheese Cake Corner in the South Main district in downtown Memphis. It has been featured in Southern Living many times, and may I say, totally worth the trip!
Sunday morning began normally – Momma and me drinking coffee in the kitchen, Daddy wandering in with bed hair and complaining about being old. He proceeded to eat leftover pecan tort (too much for one or even two!), complained about eating the tort, and then rushed upstairs and got ready for church.
Deana and I met Momma and Daddy there, and I made a point to announce to everyone in the congregation that Daddy was celebrating his 29th birthday. For some reason over the years, I have outgrown him by four years. (Kind of hinky, but I never was any good at math.)
With a fantastic lunch to prepare, we headed back to Southaven. I dropped Deana at her house to change and drove back to Momma’s to do the same. Then I walked into the bathroom. Unaware of water on the marble, I slipped, flew into the air, and crashed.
My head broke my fall. My head and the wooden plantation shutters. Maybe the window.
The next thing I remember is hearing Momma and Daddy coming in the front door. They found me sprawled out on the floor.
A throbbing, grapefruit-sized knot rose at the nape of my neck. I thought I had died, and I almost had. A few more inches and I would have crashed through a triple-pane window.
My imagination ran away with me at that point, and I had a full-fledged panic attack. I could have died, and my parents would have found me. Daddy’s birthday would be ruined forever.
Then I started thinking about how I destroyed the plantation shutters. I figured Daddy would be furious. But no. I think Momma and Daddy were as freaked out as I was (Sextons have a way of overreacting).
Your mind does strange things when something traumatic happens. My first thought was to get back to Winona as quickly as possible just in case Daddy insisted I go to the emergency room (I know they still remember us!). Then I dwelled on ruining the party. I finally fixated on the fact that I would probably die a couple days later like that character I saw on CSI.
I managed to pull it together, eat lunch, and convince my parents to allow me to drive home.
Now that I know I don’t have a slow bleed on the brain, I realized something. As much as I make fun of my family members for their freakishly bad luck, I am now a character in one of my own stories. And I confess, it isn’t any fun being on the other side.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
100 New Classics
Several other bloggers listed the EW's 100 New Classics list and made a note of which books they have read, want to read, and don't have any intention of reading. I wanted to do the same -- mainly because it surprises me that some of these books made it on the list. I also noticed that I have read other books by the same author.
Bold -- those I have read
Italics -- those that are on my reading list
1. The Road , Cormac McCarthy (2006)
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling (2000)
3. Beloved, Toni Morrison (1987)
4. The Liars’ Club, Mary Karr (1995)
5. American Pastoral, Philip Roth (1997)
6. Mystic River, Dennis Lehane (2001)
7. Maus, Art Spiegelman (1986/1991)
8. Selected Stories, Alice Munro (1996)
9. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier (1997)
10. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami (1997)
11. Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer (1997)
12. Blindness, José Saramago (199
13. Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (1986-87)
14. Black Water, Joyce Carol Oates (1992)
15. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers (2000)
16. The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood (1986)
17. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez (198
18. Rabbit at Rest, John Updike (1990)
19. On Beauty, Zadie Smith (2005)
20. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding (199
21. On Writing, Stephen King (2000)
22. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz (2007)
23. The Ghost Road, Pat Barker (1996)
24. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry (1985)
25. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan (1989)
26. Neuromancer, William Gibson (1984)
27. Possession, A.S. Byatt (1990)
28. Naked, David Sedaris (1997)
29. Bel Canto, Anne Patchett (2001)
30. Case Histories, Kate Atkinson (2004)
31. The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien (1990)
32. Parting the Waters, Taylor Branch (198
33. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion (2005)
34. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold (2002)
35. The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst (2004)
36. Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt (1996)
37. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (2003)
38. Birds of America, Lorrie Moore (199
39. Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (2000)
40. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman (1995-2000)
41. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (1984)
42. LaBrava, Elmore Leonard (1983)
43. Borrowed Time, Paul Monette (198
44. Praying for Sheetrock, Melissa Fay Greene (1991)
45. Eva Luna, Isabel Allende (198
46. Sandman, Neil Gaiman (1988-1996)
47. World’s Fair, E.L. Doctorow (1985)
48. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver (199
49. Clockers, Richard Price (1992)
50. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen (2001)
51. The Journalist and the Murderer, Janet Malcom (1990)
52. Waiting to Exhale, Terry McMillan (1992)
53. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon (2000)
54. Jimmy Corrigan, Chris Ware (2000)
55. The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls (2006)
56. The Night Manager, John le Carré (1993)
57. The Bonfire of the Vanities, Tom Wolfe (1987)
58. Drop City, TC Boyle (2003)
59. Krik? Krak! Edwidge Danticat (1995)
60. Nickel & Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)
61. Money, Martin Amis (1985)
62. Last Train To Memphis, Peter Guralnick (1994)
63. Pastoralia, George Saunders (2000)
64. Underworld, Don DeLillo (1997)
65. The Giver, Lois Lowry (1993)
66. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, David Foster Wallace (1997)
67. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini (2003)
68. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel (2006)
69. Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)
70. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell (2004)
71. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, Ann Fadiman (1997)
72. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon (2003)
73. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving (1989)
74. Friday Night Lights, H.G. Bissinger (1990)
75. Cathedral, Raymond Carver (1983)
76. A Sight for Sore Eyes, Ruth Rendell (199
77. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
78. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert (2006)
79. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell (2000)
80. Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney (1984)
81. Backlash, Susan Faludi (1991)
82. Atonement, Ian McEwan (2002)
83. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (1994)
84. Holes, Louis Sachar (199
85. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson (2004)
86. And the Band Played On, Randy Shilts (1987)
87. The Ruins, Scott Smith (2006)
88. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby (1995)
89. Close Range, Annie Proulx (1999)
90. Comfort Me With Apples, Ruth Reichl (2001)
91. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc (2003)
92. Presumed Innocent, Scott Turow (1987)
93. A Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley (1991)
94. Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser (2001)
95. Kaaterskill Falls, Allegra Goodman (199
96. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown (2003)
97. Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson (1992)
98. The Predators’ Ball, Connie Bruck (198
99. Practical Magic, Alice Hoffman (1995)
100. America (the Book), Jon Stewart/Daily Show (2004)
Ok, obviously, I am not reading "quality books" according to this list. Maybe if the list included more SOUTHERN writers....
I do, however, have questions. How in the hell did Jon Stewart end up on this list. Was the author of the list gargling with bong water?
Anyway, other "what were they thinking" books are: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (there are seven of these books -- what is so special about this one?), Bridget Jones' Diary and Waiting to Exhail (both chick lit), Fast Food Nation (why?).
Well, I'm not the expert. Maybe these books do deserve to be on the list. I guess I will have to read them to figure that out.
Bold -- those I have read
Italics -- those that are on my reading list
1. The Road , Cormac McCarthy (2006)
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling (2000)
3. Beloved, Toni Morrison (1987)
4. The Liars’ Club, Mary Karr (1995)
5. American Pastoral, Philip Roth (1997)
6. Mystic River, Dennis Lehane (2001)
7. Maus, Art Spiegelman (1986/1991)
8. Selected Stories, Alice Munro (1996)
9. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier (1997)
10. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami (1997)
11. Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer (1997)
12. Blindness, José Saramago (199
13. Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (1986-87)
14. Black Water, Joyce Carol Oates (1992)
15. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers (2000)
16. The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood (1986)
17. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez (198
18. Rabbit at Rest, John Updike (1990)
19. On Beauty, Zadie Smith (2005)
20. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding (199
21. On Writing, Stephen King (2000)
22. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz (2007)
23. The Ghost Road, Pat Barker (1996)
24. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry (1985)
25. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan (1989)
26. Neuromancer, William Gibson (1984)
27. Possession, A.S. Byatt (1990)
28. Naked, David Sedaris (1997)
29. Bel Canto, Anne Patchett (2001)
30. Case Histories, Kate Atkinson (2004)
31. The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien (1990)
32. Parting the Waters, Taylor Branch (198
33. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion (2005)
34. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold (2002)
35. The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst (2004)
36. Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt (1996)
37. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (2003)
38. Birds of America, Lorrie Moore (199
39. Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (2000)
40. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman (1995-2000)
41. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (1984)
42. LaBrava, Elmore Leonard (1983)
43. Borrowed Time, Paul Monette (198
44. Praying for Sheetrock, Melissa Fay Greene (1991)
45. Eva Luna, Isabel Allende (198
46. Sandman, Neil Gaiman (1988-1996)
47. World’s Fair, E.L. Doctorow (1985)
48. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver (199
49. Clockers, Richard Price (1992)
50. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen (2001)
51. The Journalist and the Murderer, Janet Malcom (1990)
52. Waiting to Exhale, Terry McMillan (1992)
53. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon (2000)
54. Jimmy Corrigan, Chris Ware (2000)
55. The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls (2006)
56. The Night Manager, John le Carré (1993)
57. The Bonfire of the Vanities, Tom Wolfe (1987)
58. Drop City, TC Boyle (2003)
59. Krik? Krak! Edwidge Danticat (1995)
60. Nickel & Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)
61. Money, Martin Amis (1985)
62. Last Train To Memphis, Peter Guralnick (1994)
63. Pastoralia, George Saunders (2000)
64. Underworld, Don DeLillo (1997)
65. The Giver, Lois Lowry (1993)
66. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, David Foster Wallace (1997)
67. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini (2003)
68. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel (2006)
69. Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)
70. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell (2004)
71. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, Ann Fadiman (1997)
72. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon (2003)
73. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving (1989)
74. Friday Night Lights, H.G. Bissinger (1990)
75. Cathedral, Raymond Carver (1983)
76. A Sight for Sore Eyes, Ruth Rendell (199
77. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
78. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert (2006)
79. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell (2000)
80. Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney (1984)
81. Backlash, Susan Faludi (1991)
82. Atonement, Ian McEwan (2002)
83. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (1994)
84. Holes, Louis Sachar (199
85. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson (2004)
86. And the Band Played On, Randy Shilts (1987)
87. The Ruins, Scott Smith (2006)
88. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby (1995)
89. Close Range, Annie Proulx (1999)
90. Comfort Me With Apples, Ruth Reichl (2001)
91. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc (2003)
92. Presumed Innocent, Scott Turow (1987)
93. A Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley (1991)
94. Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser (2001)
95. Kaaterskill Falls, Allegra Goodman (199
96. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown (2003)
97. Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson (1992)
98. The Predators’ Ball, Connie Bruck (198
99. Practical Magic, Alice Hoffman (1995)
100. America (the Book), Jon Stewart/Daily Show (2004)
Ok, obviously, I am not reading "quality books" according to this list. Maybe if the list included more SOUTHERN writers....
I do, however, have questions. How in the hell did Jon Stewart end up on this list. Was the author of the list gargling with bong water?
Anyway, other "what were they thinking" books are: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (there are seven of these books -- what is so special about this one?), Bridget Jones' Diary and Waiting to Exhail (both chick lit), Fast Food Nation (why?).
Well, I'm not the expert. Maybe these books do deserve to be on the list. I guess I will have to read them to figure that out.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Another Reading Challenge
Okay, since there is nothing on television this summer, I have been occupying my time by reading two to three books a week. With this in mind, I have joined another reading challenge -- the 1% Challenge.
I was asked to select 10 books from the 1001 Must Read Books Before You Die list, and I have 10 months to complete the books.
The list was daunting, but I managed to select 10 books from several centuries. Please forgive my eccentric tastes. Nothing really fits with me. The books I chose are simply ones I have been meaning to read for years now.
The books I have selected are below:
Life of Pi
I was asked to select 10 books from the 1001 Must Read Books Before You Die list, and I have 10 months to complete the books.
The list was daunting, but I managed to select 10 books from several centuries. Please forgive my eccentric tastes. Nothing really fits with me. The books I chose are simply ones I have been meaning to read for years now.
The books I have selected are below:
Life of Pi
The Reader
Like Water for Chocolate
Love in the Time of Cholera
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
The Count of Monte-Cristo
Camilla
Villette
Middlesex
Check in periodically for reviews on the books.
Happy Reading!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Update: I won the 'Sense of Place' contest!
I entered the Sense of Place contest at Maggie Reads. And guess what? I won!
The winning entry:
The winning entry:
"Of course, Southerners tend to think that pretty much everything is an act of God. It's easier than trying to figure out why we lost the war, why we remain generally impoverished and infested with mosquitoes and snakes and flying termites, why there is in fact "brokenness" in our world as well as plenty of tornadoes and floods and hurricanes and ice storms and hundred-percent humidity levels. Hell, it's easier than trying to figure out what made the battery go dead or who locked the keys in the car."
Julia Reed
Queen of the Turtle Derby
Queen of the Turtle Derby
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Southern Reading Challenge
Stumbled onto a fantastic blog today -- Maggie Reads. Maggie is from Como -- not far from my native DeSoto County.
I have signed on to participate in the Southern Reading Challenge which shouldn't be too hard since I adore Southern authors of any kind. The challenge calls for participants to read three books.
My three are:
Between, Georgia by Joshilyn Jackson
One Mississippi by Mark Childress
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
I will review each one as I finish.
Happy reading!
I have signed on to participate in the Southern Reading Challenge which shouldn't be too hard since I adore Southern authors of any kind. The challenge calls for participants to read three books.
My three are:
Between, Georgia by Joshilyn Jackson
One Mississippi by Mark Childress
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
I will review each one as I finish.
Happy reading!
Mississippi: So much to be proud of
Last week, my book club met for our monthly get together. Over the very Southern dish of shrimp and grits and chocolate fudge cake, we visited for hours about books, life, children, family, and of course, elaborate tall tales.
For years, book club has been my therapy, stress reducer, and comfort. When I moved to Winona last summer, I just knew I must find a new club, or I would not and could not be truly content. Now, with a wonderful group of fellow book-lovers, I once again find comfort with my book club.
The ladies in my group are quite diverse. There is one homemaker, an English teacher, two in the medical profession, and a fellow writer. We all bring our different viewpoints and life experiences to the table with the same goal in mind – to lose ourselves in some intelligent (sometimes) conversation that runs a gambit of subjects.
This month, the book we were discussing was a memoire of a New Yorker’s relocation to the Mississippi coast. Finally, a book – not written by a native Mississippian -- that actually celebrates Mississippi, its people, and culture!
The author had survived Hurricane Katrina, but her home and her belongings did not. In her experience, the most amazing aspect of disaster was the perseverance, good will, and philanthropy of Mississippi’s people.
One book clubber (the English teacher) said it infuriates her that Mississippi is always described as last – last in education, last in per capita income, last in graduation rates. She said everyone needs to know that Mississippi is first in something – giving.
For the past several years, although Mississippi is last in per capita income, we are the most charitable state in the nation. Of course, this wasn’t news to me; I have always known Mississippi was the kindest and friendliest state in the nation – and I didn’t need statistics to prove it. Mississippians prove it to me every day.
So in keeping with my book clubber’s wishes, instead of focusing on the lasts, let’s spotlight some of the firsts.
· In 1963, the University of Mississippi Medical Center accomplished the world's first human lung transplant.
· In 1964, Dr. James D. Hardy performed the world's first heart transplant surgery.
· Mississippi College was the first co-educational college in the nation to grant degrees to women.
· Mississippi was the first state in the nation to have a planned system of junior colleges, and just look how successful they are.
· The 4-H Club, first known as the "Corn Club," started in Holmes County in 1907.
· Shoes were first sold in boxes in pairs (right foot and left foot) in Vicksburg, at Phil Gilbert's Shoe Parlor on Washington Street in 1884. (In my mind this is like the invention of the wheel! Tell me if you aren’t impressed by this.)
· Dr. Emmette F. Izard, of Hazelhurst, developed the first fibers of rayon, the first real synthetic.
· All Space Shuttle engines are tested at John Stennis Center in Hancock County. Talk about shooting for the moon!
· Alcorn State University is the nation's oldest historically black land-grant college.
· Mississippi has more churches per capita than any other state.
· Mississippians invented Pine Sol (oh, yes, we also like things to smell good), root beer, the helicopter (well, developed it anyway), Stetson hats, stick ball, condensed milk and the dollar sign.
· We also “birthed” some other cultural phenomenon: blues music, four Miss Americas, and Elvis.
· Mississippi lost more soldiers of any Confederate State in the Civil War. Seventy-eight thousand Mississippians entered the Confederate military. By the end of the war, 59,000 of the 78,000 were either dead or wounded.
· On April 25, 1866, a group of ladies from Columbus decorated both Confederate and Union soldiers’ graves with flowers and garlands. This gesture eventually became Memorial Day every year.
You see, Mississippians have so many accomplishments to be proud. Of course, let’s work to improve our weaknesses, but don’t dwell on the negative. We have too much to brag about!
For years, book club has been my therapy, stress reducer, and comfort. When I moved to Winona last summer, I just knew I must find a new club, or I would not and could not be truly content. Now, with a wonderful group of fellow book-lovers, I once again find comfort with my book club.
The ladies in my group are quite diverse. There is one homemaker, an English teacher, two in the medical profession, and a fellow writer. We all bring our different viewpoints and life experiences to the table with the same goal in mind – to lose ourselves in some intelligent (sometimes) conversation that runs a gambit of subjects.
This month, the book we were discussing was a memoire of a New Yorker’s relocation to the Mississippi coast. Finally, a book – not written by a native Mississippian -- that actually celebrates Mississippi, its people, and culture!
The author had survived Hurricane Katrina, but her home and her belongings did not. In her experience, the most amazing aspect of disaster was the perseverance, good will, and philanthropy of Mississippi’s people.
One book clubber (the English teacher) said it infuriates her that Mississippi is always described as last – last in education, last in per capita income, last in graduation rates. She said everyone needs to know that Mississippi is first in something – giving.
For the past several years, although Mississippi is last in per capita income, we are the most charitable state in the nation. Of course, this wasn’t news to me; I have always known Mississippi was the kindest and friendliest state in the nation – and I didn’t need statistics to prove it. Mississippians prove it to me every day.
So in keeping with my book clubber’s wishes, instead of focusing on the lasts, let’s spotlight some of the firsts.
· In 1963, the University of Mississippi Medical Center accomplished the world's first human lung transplant.
· In 1964, Dr. James D. Hardy performed the world's first heart transplant surgery.
· Mississippi College was the first co-educational college in the nation to grant degrees to women.
· Mississippi was the first state in the nation to have a planned system of junior colleges, and just look how successful they are.
· The 4-H Club, first known as the "Corn Club," started in Holmes County in 1907.
· Shoes were first sold in boxes in pairs (right foot and left foot) in Vicksburg, at Phil Gilbert's Shoe Parlor on Washington Street in 1884. (In my mind this is like the invention of the wheel! Tell me if you aren’t impressed by this.)
· Dr. Emmette F. Izard, of Hazelhurst, developed the first fibers of rayon, the first real synthetic.
· All Space Shuttle engines are tested at John Stennis Center in Hancock County. Talk about shooting for the moon!
· Alcorn State University is the nation's oldest historically black land-grant college.
· Mississippi has more churches per capita than any other state.
· Mississippians invented Pine Sol (oh, yes, we also like things to smell good), root beer, the helicopter (well, developed it anyway), Stetson hats, stick ball, condensed milk and the dollar sign.
· We also “birthed” some other cultural phenomenon: blues music, four Miss Americas, and Elvis.
· Mississippi lost more soldiers of any Confederate State in the Civil War. Seventy-eight thousand Mississippians entered the Confederate military. By the end of the war, 59,000 of the 78,000 were either dead or wounded.
· On April 25, 1866, a group of ladies from Columbus decorated both Confederate and Union soldiers’ graves with flowers and garlands. This gesture eventually became Memorial Day every year.
You see, Mississippians have so many accomplishments to be proud. Of course, let’s work to improve our weaknesses, but don’t dwell on the negative. We have too much to brag about!
Monday, June 02, 2008
The Weekend of Amanda
Last weekend, I did nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I slept about 24 hours, and watched tons of television. I ate fast food, and left the wrappers on the coffee table until Sunday night. I drank an entire case of Diet Cokes (yes, I am addicted.)
For the past seven weeks, I have had something to do every weekend -- had to do mostly, not wanted to do. For the first time in I can't remember, the weekend was all about me and what I wanted to do at the time.
I started off at the movie store where I picked up six movies. I thought I could watch two Friday night, two Saturday, and two on Sunday. It would be a nice addition to my weekend. Of course, I finished all six by Saturday night.
I started with National Treasure 2. Good movie. Not as good as the first one (I liked the subject matter of the first one better), but I could definitely watch it again.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/National_Treasure_Book_of_Secrets/70065124?trkid=222336
Then it was Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Two words: Clive Owen. That is the main reason to watch this film. He is hot. It is better than the first Elizabeth, but I will attribute a lot of that to Clive Owen.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Elizabeth_The_Golden_Age/70045272?trkid=229001
Charlie Wilson's War was next, and I loved it. It is written by Aaron Sorkin who wrote the West Wing and Studio 60 and Sports Night. It is smart and funny, and it is a must see for any fan of politics.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Charlie_Wilson_s_War/70060021?trkid=222336
More than two hours of my life were wasted as I watched The Golden Compass, a ridiculous movie about animal souls, talking bears, and an ending that just stopped. It was definitely hoping for sequel, but this one sucked so bad, I am sure that isn't going to happen.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/The_Golden_Compass/70060016?trkid=222336
The chick flick 27 Dresses turned out to be quite charming. It won't win and Oscar, but it was a nice breakfast companion for Saturday morning.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/27_Dresses/70082269?trkid=222336
I finished off my movie marathon with Atonement. Heavy and a bit of a downer, but well worth the watch. I doubt I will watch it repeatedly like Steel Magnolias or Color Purple and memorize all the lines, but I highly recommend it.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Atonement/70059993?trkid=222336
Best movie of the weekend: Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Thank you, Clive Owen.
I slept about 24 hours, and watched tons of television. I ate fast food, and left the wrappers on the coffee table until Sunday night. I drank an entire case of Diet Cokes (yes, I am addicted.)
For the past seven weeks, I have had something to do every weekend -- had to do mostly, not wanted to do. For the first time in I can't remember, the weekend was all about me and what I wanted to do at the time.
I started off at the movie store where I picked up six movies. I thought I could watch two Friday night, two Saturday, and two on Sunday. It would be a nice addition to my weekend. Of course, I finished all six by Saturday night.
I started with National Treasure 2. Good movie. Not as good as the first one (I liked the subject matter of the first one better), but I could definitely watch it again.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/National_Treasure_Book_of_Secrets/70065124?trkid=222336
Then it was Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Two words: Clive Owen. That is the main reason to watch this film. He is hot. It is better than the first Elizabeth, but I will attribute a lot of that to Clive Owen.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Elizabeth_The_Golden_Age/70045272?trkid=229001
Charlie Wilson's War was next, and I loved it. It is written by Aaron Sorkin who wrote the West Wing and Studio 60 and Sports Night. It is smart and funny, and it is a must see for any fan of politics.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Charlie_Wilson_s_War/70060021?trkid=222336
More than two hours of my life were wasted as I watched The Golden Compass, a ridiculous movie about animal souls, talking bears, and an ending that just stopped. It was definitely hoping for sequel, but this one sucked so bad, I am sure that isn't going to happen.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/The_Golden_Compass/70060016?trkid=222336
The chick flick 27 Dresses turned out to be quite charming. It won't win and Oscar, but it was a nice breakfast companion for Saturday morning.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/27_Dresses/70082269?trkid=222336
I finished off my movie marathon with Atonement. Heavy and a bit of a downer, but well worth the watch. I doubt I will watch it repeatedly like Steel Magnolias or Color Purple and memorize all the lines, but I highly recommend it.
http://www.netflix.com/Movie/Atonement/70059993?trkid=222336
Best movie of the weekend: Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Thank you, Clive Owen.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
They lost Joyce
“Oh, Lord, we’ve lost Joyce.”
That was all Momma could say after the airline lost the ashes of her aunt at O’Hare Airport in Chicago.
I’m getting ahead of myself, so I’ll back up.
Monday morning, I logged a marathon three-way call with Momma and my sister, Deana. It was Memorial Day, and this was one of the few holidays I was unable to spend with my family. We made up for it on the phone discussing Sexton family happenings.
During the course of the call, the three of us got tickled over Momma’s trip to Oregon to retrieve the ashes of her aunt.
You see, to get to Grants Pass, Ore., from Memphis International Airport, one has to fly to Chicago, then to Seattle, then to Eugene. Last, a little crop duster plane travels from Eugene to Grants Pass. Needless to say, Momma and my Aunt Pat were near delireus when they finally arrived in Chicago on the return trip.
After shuttling across the terminal to meet their connection, they discovered the plane had been long gone – with the Aunt Joyce’s ashes on board.
A hysterical Momma called home with the news expecting some support, advice and even sympathy. Instead, Daddy asked the same question most people would ask.
“You checked Joyce?”
Momma let loose on a tirade about the airline charging them for an additional seat to carry the ashes and about this happening all the time – one family lost their father whose body was shipped in the casket. (Casket, hanging bag. Hanging bag, casket. I can see how that could happen.)
Still, Daddy was completely perplexed at the reasoning – “You checked Joyce?”
It took several weeks before urn was finally found. Happily, it was and a proper burial was given.
It is a trait in our family to get tickled at the most inappropriate times. More than once, Momma and I have gotten tickled in the middle of the Sunday sermon or special music, and we made enough of a spectacle that we received Daddy’s signature raised eyebrow glare.
Momma said as soon as she and Aunt Pat discovered they had lost Aunt Joyce’s ashes, they broke into hysterical laughing. I am sure it was at that point they thought, “What part of this did we think was a good idea.”
That was all Momma could say after the airline lost the ashes of her aunt at O’Hare Airport in Chicago.
I’m getting ahead of myself, so I’ll back up.
Monday morning, I logged a marathon three-way call with Momma and my sister, Deana. It was Memorial Day, and this was one of the few holidays I was unable to spend with my family. We made up for it on the phone discussing Sexton family happenings.
During the course of the call, the three of us got tickled over Momma’s trip to Oregon to retrieve the ashes of her aunt.
You see, to get to Grants Pass, Ore., from Memphis International Airport, one has to fly to Chicago, then to Seattle, then to Eugene. Last, a little crop duster plane travels from Eugene to Grants Pass. Needless to say, Momma and my Aunt Pat were near delireus when they finally arrived in Chicago on the return trip.
After shuttling across the terminal to meet their connection, they discovered the plane had been long gone – with the Aunt Joyce’s ashes on board.
A hysterical Momma called home with the news expecting some support, advice and even sympathy. Instead, Daddy asked the same question most people would ask.
“You checked Joyce?”
Momma let loose on a tirade about the airline charging them for an additional seat to carry the ashes and about this happening all the time – one family lost their father whose body was shipped in the casket. (Casket, hanging bag. Hanging bag, casket. I can see how that could happen.)
Still, Daddy was completely perplexed at the reasoning – “You checked Joyce?”
It took several weeks before urn was finally found. Happily, it was and a proper burial was given.
It is a trait in our family to get tickled at the most inappropriate times. More than once, Momma and I have gotten tickled in the middle of the Sunday sermon or special music, and we made enough of a spectacle that we received Daddy’s signature raised eyebrow glare.
Momma said as soon as she and Aunt Pat discovered they had lost Aunt Joyce’s ashes, they broke into hysterical laughing. I am sure it was at that point they thought, “What part of this did we think was a good idea.”
Friday, May 23, 2008
Becoming a cat's human
A cat has joined my menagerie of pets, and she has quickly developed her own personality and, may I say, attitude.
Deadline wandered up to the Winona Times offices one Tuesday night as the staff and I worked late to make deadline for that week’s paper. The name fit perfectly for this very persistent feline.
The entire evening, Deadline waited at the front door – meowing and howling to get our attention. If we went outside to appease her, she would aggressively try to get into the building, and then howl and meow when we did not let her inside.
The next morning, she was still waiting at the front door. Then I fed her, and she was officially mine.
Afraid of what would happen to her if she wandered into Summit Street, I took her home. I created a comfortable living environment for her in my storage room with old bed pillows and blankets, and occasionally, I allow her to come into the kitchen for a few minutes. I am somewhat allergic to cats, and prolonged exposure to their dander tends to make my eyes swell shut (not a good look for me).
Recently, she has decided she would like to live inside the house, and she is once again being very persistent and annoying with her decision. We fight on a daily basis. She comes in, stretches out on the sofa, and glares at me in defiance.
When I tell her “out,” I get a firm, growling meow. When I pick her up to put her out myself, she all but grabs hold of the door frame with her paws.
Cats are odd little things, and I admit I have never caught the cat person’s devotion. Personally, I think cats are too smart to be pets. They are moody, set in their ways, and refuse to follow instruction. Let’s face it – cats are nearly impossible to train.
Several years ago, I visited the Southaven Animal Shelter to adopt the largest cat in the facility. The night before, I was sitting on my sofa watching television, and a rat ran across the floor, stopped, gave me a smug look, and continued on his way. I truly believe that vile, plague-carrying creature smiled at me.
Of course, my family thought I was exaggerating, but unless that rat was wearing white gloves and lived in a castle in Florida, I did not want him for a roommate.
At the shelter, I found a not-so-lean-mean-fighting-machine in a grey, tiger-stripped male cat with an enormous, fat belly and a tiny little head. I named him Ignatius J. Sexton after a character from my favorite book, Confederacy of Dunces.
Ignatius was a strange creature. He would escape from the yard (he was too fat to climb) and prowl the neighborhood in search of food. He would go door to door, and all of my retired neighbors would feed him chicken skins, cans of tuna, and leftovers from the fridge. I was even scolded by my neighbor that Ignatius was starving to death.
His once-enormous belly became colossal, and it would actually sway from side to side as he walked. He looked like a bowling pen when he sat – with his tiny head and enormous belly, and he towered over my dogs in height and weight (around 30 pounds).
He refused to use a litter box and chose to go outside with the dogs. He even licked people like he was a dog.
Ignatius hated my mother, and I am sure it was mutual. He would glare at her and flick his tail in disgust until she left the house.
Once she was babysitting the critters, and Ignatius propped his fat fanny on Momma’s head during the night. It took me a long time to ask her to baby-sit again.
My point is cats are unpredictable. They are stubborn, arrogant, and elitist. Sometimes I get the feeling that they think they are smarter than their human. I know Ignatius did, and I suspect from the cussing I get from Deadline about sleeping in her own room, she does as well.
My question is now that the cat has chosen me as her human, how do I show her I’m the boss? Can you hear me, Cat Whisperer?
Deadline wandered up to the Winona Times offices one Tuesday night as the staff and I worked late to make deadline for that week’s paper. The name fit perfectly for this very persistent feline.
The entire evening, Deadline waited at the front door – meowing and howling to get our attention. If we went outside to appease her, she would aggressively try to get into the building, and then howl and meow when we did not let her inside.
The next morning, she was still waiting at the front door. Then I fed her, and she was officially mine.
Afraid of what would happen to her if she wandered into Summit Street, I took her home. I created a comfortable living environment for her in my storage room with old bed pillows and blankets, and occasionally, I allow her to come into the kitchen for a few minutes. I am somewhat allergic to cats, and prolonged exposure to their dander tends to make my eyes swell shut (not a good look for me).
Recently, she has decided she would like to live inside the house, and she is once again being very persistent and annoying with her decision. We fight on a daily basis. She comes in, stretches out on the sofa, and glares at me in defiance.
When I tell her “out,” I get a firm, growling meow. When I pick her up to put her out myself, she all but grabs hold of the door frame with her paws.
Cats are odd little things, and I admit I have never caught the cat person’s devotion. Personally, I think cats are too smart to be pets. They are moody, set in their ways, and refuse to follow instruction. Let’s face it – cats are nearly impossible to train.
Several years ago, I visited the Southaven Animal Shelter to adopt the largest cat in the facility. The night before, I was sitting on my sofa watching television, and a rat ran across the floor, stopped, gave me a smug look, and continued on his way. I truly believe that vile, plague-carrying creature smiled at me.
Of course, my family thought I was exaggerating, but unless that rat was wearing white gloves and lived in a castle in Florida, I did not want him for a roommate.
At the shelter, I found a not-so-lean-mean-fighting-machine in a grey, tiger-stripped male cat with an enormous, fat belly and a tiny little head. I named him Ignatius J. Sexton after a character from my favorite book, Confederacy of Dunces.
Ignatius was a strange creature. He would escape from the yard (he was too fat to climb) and prowl the neighborhood in search of food. He would go door to door, and all of my retired neighbors would feed him chicken skins, cans of tuna, and leftovers from the fridge. I was even scolded by my neighbor that Ignatius was starving to death.
His once-enormous belly became colossal, and it would actually sway from side to side as he walked. He looked like a bowling pen when he sat – with his tiny head and enormous belly, and he towered over my dogs in height and weight (around 30 pounds).
He refused to use a litter box and chose to go outside with the dogs. He even licked people like he was a dog.
Ignatius hated my mother, and I am sure it was mutual. He would glare at her and flick his tail in disgust until she left the house.
Once she was babysitting the critters, and Ignatius propped his fat fanny on Momma’s head during the night. It took me a long time to ask her to baby-sit again.
My point is cats are unpredictable. They are stubborn, arrogant, and elitist. Sometimes I get the feeling that they think they are smarter than their human. I know Ignatius did, and I suspect from the cussing I get from Deadline about sleeping in her own room, she does as well.
My question is now that the cat has chosen me as her human, how do I show her I’m the boss? Can you hear me, Cat Whisperer?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
100 Totally Facinating Things About Me
1. My middle name is Gaye.
2. I was named for my daddy’s oldest sister, Sybil Gaye, and Miss Kitty off Gunsmoke, Amanda Blake.
3. Daddy said he always had a thing for Miss Kitty.
4. I am the youngest of three girls.
5. Until I was nearly a teenager, I thought I was not my parent’s child.
6. I thought my uncle was actually my father, and because he was an idiot, my parents took me in.
7. It makes me cringe when my mother tells me I remind her of him.
8. I had a pony named Tiny Boot when I was a child.
9. When I was little I had reoccurring nightmares about the ground opening up, falling in the crack while riding Tiny Boot, the hole filling up with water and drowning.
10. No I am not in therapy.
11. My first friend my same age was named Scooter Cooper.
12. We once had a joint birthday party at McDonald’s.
13. My favorite color to wear is green. My favorite color is pink.
14. I have one eye that is half blue and half green.
15. Until I was around 7, my eyes were blue. Now they are green.
16. My favorite show growing up was Tom and Jerry.
17. I used to cry when it would end.
18. I hate Roadrunner. It was the worst cartoon ever.
19. I never understood why Popeye would want to date Olive Oil in the first place.
20. After seeing Friday the 13th part III, I was scared to go into the hay loft of the barn.
21. I still am.
22. My best friend since we were seven is Heather.
23. We went to elementary, high school, and college together.
24. We have never lived together, not even in the dorm.
25. That is the reason we are still friends.
26. My favorite book growing up was James and the Giant Peach.
27. My fourth grade teacher read it to us.
28. She also made me love butterflies.
29. I can now tell the difference between a Hawkeye and a Monarch butterfly.
30. I have never been a lover of science, but I did graduate high school with a 100 average in Anatomy and Physiology.
31. Chemistry – not so much.
32. My favorite teacher ever was Bill Ferris.
33. He is now the director of the Humanities in Washington, D.C.
34. I majored in English and Southern Studies.
35. I actually wanted to be an interior decorator, but my father would not have it.
36. I took one class in journalism in college.
37. My professor told me I would never be a journalist, and I needed to transfer into creative writing.
38. I am now a journalist with an English degree.
39. My favorite book of all time is Confederacy of Dunces.
40. I named my cat after the main character – Ignatius J. Riley.
41. The one character I fell in love with immediately – Gilbert Blyth from Anne of Green Gables.
42. I started to hate Anne for being mean to him.
43. The other – Edward Rochester from Jane Eyre.
44. I hate Charles Dickens. Anything by Charles Dickens.
45. A writer I would love to emulate: Dorothy Parker.
46. Writer I would love to have lunch with: Dan Brown
47. My first published piece of writing was in my high school newspaper – The Immaculata.
48. I wrote Madame Amanda’s horoscopes.
49. Seriously.
50. I went to an all-girl Catholic school.
51. I had to wear saddle oxfords until I was 18 years old.
52. My favorite foods are Momma’s fried chicken and sushi.
53. My least favorite foods – beets, hummus (that is so not food), and rice pudding.
54. My favorite television show: Monk.
55. I don’t feel so bad about my OCD if I watch Monk.
56. Second favorite television show: Psych.
57. If you grew up in the 80’s you will love Psych. Tons of 80’s references.
58. Favorite movie: Color Purple. I can quote the entire movie.
59. Worst movie ever: The Interpreter
60. I am actually kind of shy. Crowds of people scare me to death.
61. I am petrified of heights. Sometimes I think I might freak out and jump. Other times, I think I will trip and fall to my death.
62. And germs.
63. And bad smells.
64. And bugs.
65. All kinds of bugs, but especially chiggers because the get into your skin.
66. Skin diseases freak me out. I would rather have the flu than a rash.
67. I’m itching now.
68. I have always had a tremendous urge to confess – everything.
69. I feel so guilty; I believe I have to get forgiveness.
70. My favorite toy growing up: Career Woman Barbie with her pink suit and pink and white pumps.
71. When I played with Barbie, I would make Barbie go off to the office, and make Ken stay at home and cook.
72. Ken sucked. Hated Ken.
73. My significant other’s name is Keith.
74. Our first kiss was in the middle of a corn field.
75. We will be dating for three years in June.
76. Keith makes the best stuffed pork chop in the world.
77. He also made me like to eat venison.
78. Keith is so much better then Ken.
79. Favorite flower: I have two – the iris and the sterling rose
80. Favorite scent: honeysuckle
81. Favorite dessert: hot chocolate chip cookies
82. Favorite ice cream: Homemade vanilla by Bluebell
83. I am addicted to nose spray and have been for like 10 years.
84. I only use it before bed.
85. When my nose is stopped up, I feel like I’m drowning and wig out.
86. I have a serious phobia about my bed. The idea of strangers sleeping in my bed will send me over the edge.
87. I hate professional massages.
88. Every time I get a professional massage, I come out bruised and looking like some sort of victim.
89. I like facials.
90. My favorite song of all time is “Oh, Sweet Carolina” by Ryan Adams.
91. It has really great harmony.
92. My favorite musicians are Patti Griffin and Lori McKenna.
93. I love folk music (especially acoustic guitar) and classical piano solos (that is what I write to).
94. I bought my dogs a sofa.
95. Seriously.
96. I have two dogs and a cat.
97. The cat lives outside.
98. Her name is Deadline.
99. She is the ugliest cat I have ever seen.
100. She is definitely not as pretty as my dogs.
2. I was named for my daddy’s oldest sister, Sybil Gaye, and Miss Kitty off Gunsmoke, Amanda Blake.
3. Daddy said he always had a thing for Miss Kitty.
4. I am the youngest of three girls.
5. Until I was nearly a teenager, I thought I was not my parent’s child.
6. I thought my uncle was actually my father, and because he was an idiot, my parents took me in.
7. It makes me cringe when my mother tells me I remind her of him.
8. I had a pony named Tiny Boot when I was a child.
9. When I was little I had reoccurring nightmares about the ground opening up, falling in the crack while riding Tiny Boot, the hole filling up with water and drowning.
10. No I am not in therapy.
11. My first friend my same age was named Scooter Cooper.
12. We once had a joint birthday party at McDonald’s.
13. My favorite color to wear is green. My favorite color is pink.
14. I have one eye that is half blue and half green.
15. Until I was around 7, my eyes were blue. Now they are green.
16. My favorite show growing up was Tom and Jerry.
17. I used to cry when it would end.
18. I hate Roadrunner. It was the worst cartoon ever.
19. I never understood why Popeye would want to date Olive Oil in the first place.
20. After seeing Friday the 13th part III, I was scared to go into the hay loft of the barn.
21. I still am.
22. My best friend since we were seven is Heather.
23. We went to elementary, high school, and college together.
24. We have never lived together, not even in the dorm.
25. That is the reason we are still friends.
26. My favorite book growing up was James and the Giant Peach.
27. My fourth grade teacher read it to us.
28. She also made me love butterflies.
29. I can now tell the difference between a Hawkeye and a Monarch butterfly.
30. I have never been a lover of science, but I did graduate high school with a 100 average in Anatomy and Physiology.
31. Chemistry – not so much.
32. My favorite teacher ever was Bill Ferris.
33. He is now the director of the Humanities in Washington, D.C.
34. I majored in English and Southern Studies.
35. I actually wanted to be an interior decorator, but my father would not have it.
36. I took one class in journalism in college.
37. My professor told me I would never be a journalist, and I needed to transfer into creative writing.
38. I am now a journalist with an English degree.
39. My favorite book of all time is Confederacy of Dunces.
40. I named my cat after the main character – Ignatius J. Riley.
41. The one character I fell in love with immediately – Gilbert Blyth from Anne of Green Gables.
42. I started to hate Anne for being mean to him.
43. The other – Edward Rochester from Jane Eyre.
44. I hate Charles Dickens. Anything by Charles Dickens.
45. A writer I would love to emulate: Dorothy Parker.
46. Writer I would love to have lunch with: Dan Brown
47. My first published piece of writing was in my high school newspaper – The Immaculata.
48. I wrote Madame Amanda’s horoscopes.
49. Seriously.
50. I went to an all-girl Catholic school.
51. I had to wear saddle oxfords until I was 18 years old.
52. My favorite foods are Momma’s fried chicken and sushi.
53. My least favorite foods – beets, hummus (that is so not food), and rice pudding.
54. My favorite television show: Monk.
55. I don’t feel so bad about my OCD if I watch Monk.
56. Second favorite television show: Psych.
57. If you grew up in the 80’s you will love Psych. Tons of 80’s references.
58. Favorite movie: Color Purple. I can quote the entire movie.
59. Worst movie ever: The Interpreter
60. I am actually kind of shy. Crowds of people scare me to death.
61. I am petrified of heights. Sometimes I think I might freak out and jump. Other times, I think I will trip and fall to my death.
62. And germs.
63. And bad smells.
64. And bugs.
65. All kinds of bugs, but especially chiggers because the get into your skin.
66. Skin diseases freak me out. I would rather have the flu than a rash.
67. I’m itching now.
68. I have always had a tremendous urge to confess – everything.
69. I feel so guilty; I believe I have to get forgiveness.
70. My favorite toy growing up: Career Woman Barbie with her pink suit and pink and white pumps.
71. When I played with Barbie, I would make Barbie go off to the office, and make Ken stay at home and cook.
72. Ken sucked. Hated Ken.
73. My significant other’s name is Keith.
74. Our first kiss was in the middle of a corn field.
75. We will be dating for three years in June.
76. Keith makes the best stuffed pork chop in the world.
77. He also made me like to eat venison.
78. Keith is so much better then Ken.
79. Favorite flower: I have two – the iris and the sterling rose
80. Favorite scent: honeysuckle
81. Favorite dessert: hot chocolate chip cookies
82. Favorite ice cream: Homemade vanilla by Bluebell
83. I am addicted to nose spray and have been for like 10 years.
84. I only use it before bed.
85. When my nose is stopped up, I feel like I’m drowning and wig out.
86. I have a serious phobia about my bed. The idea of strangers sleeping in my bed will send me over the edge.
87. I hate professional massages.
88. Every time I get a professional massage, I come out bruised and looking like some sort of victim.
89. I like facials.
90. My favorite song of all time is “Oh, Sweet Carolina” by Ryan Adams.
91. It has really great harmony.
92. My favorite musicians are Patti Griffin and Lori McKenna.
93. I love folk music (especially acoustic guitar) and classical piano solos (that is what I write to).
94. I bought my dogs a sofa.
95. Seriously.
96. I have two dogs and a cat.
97. The cat lives outside.
98. Her name is Deadline.
99. She is the ugliest cat I have ever seen.
100. She is definitely not as pretty as my dogs.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Keetha's Rebuttal
Check out Keetha's rebuttal for her avid love of "festivaling."
http://writekudzu.blogspot.com/2008/05/festival-rebuttal.html
http://writekudzu.blogspot.com/2008/05/festival-rebuttal.html
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Cucumber sandwiches and mint juleps: The joys of entertaining Southern
Being Southern isn’t just a geographic location. It is a culture with its own language, habits, rules, and interaction with other humans. In regards to that interaction, we love to gather in large groups, eat ourselves silly, exchange old stories, and bask in our Southern-ness.
Like most Southern women, I love to entertain. I guess I spent too much time throwing tea parties as a child, but nothing is more wonderful than setting a beautiful table, organizing a gourmet menu, and mingling through rooms of guests.
My parents have always entertained – Daddy’s business acquaintances, family, the pastor. I attended my first dinner party before I was five-years-old. My parents wanted to teach us how to behave in social situations, and of course, we had a learning curve.
Momma and Daddy:
As a toddler, my sister, Stephanie, pulled her potty chair into the dining room for her “way to go’s.” This was just as the main course was being served.
At around three-years-old, my oldest sister, Deana, who learned to talk in the womb, smacked the pastor for not acknowledging her when she greeted him. “Hi,” she said. He continued with his adult conversation. “I said ‘hi,’” she insisted. He ignored her. “I said ‘hi,’” she shouted as she hauled off and popped him.
As for me, my parents could not make me understand that I had to keep my dress on – I would strip down and streak through the house. They also had the problem of me pulling my skirt up over my head and showing off all my business during children’s church, but that is another story.
Regardless, I love to entertain. Case in point, the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby was held Saturday at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky, but the traditions and Southern charm of the Derby could be felt all the way to Winona.
The first annual Ferguson-Mosley-Reed-Sexton Kentucky Derby party (my co-hosts – Keith, Keetha, and Jeffrey) was held at my home on Saturday evening, and trust me (after hours of cleaning silver), we did not haphazardly throw some chips in a bowl and watch the race on television. We hoped to bring Churchill Downs to the heart of Winona, and I personally think we were pretty successful in our goal.
My Co-Hosts, Keetha and Jeffery:
And my sweetie, Keith, and me:
The menu: Cucumber sandwiches, Miss Annie Mae Wilson’s famous cheese straws, Derby tarts, pork loin on rolls with horse-get it?-radish sauce, strawberry trifle, white glove soufflé, baked brie with honey and apples, and strawberries and cream.
Like most Southern women, I love to entertain. I guess I spent too much time throwing tea parties as a child, but nothing is more wonderful than setting a beautiful table, organizing a gourmet menu, and mingling through rooms of guests.
My parents have always entertained – Daddy’s business acquaintances, family, the pastor. I attended my first dinner party before I was five-years-old. My parents wanted to teach us how to behave in social situations, and of course, we had a learning curve.
Momma and Daddy:
As a toddler, my sister, Stephanie, pulled her potty chair into the dining room for her “way to go’s.” This was just as the main course was being served.
At around three-years-old, my oldest sister, Deana, who learned to talk in the womb, smacked the pastor for not acknowledging her when she greeted him. “Hi,” she said. He continued with his adult conversation. “I said ‘hi,’” she insisted. He ignored her. “I said ‘hi,’” she shouted as she hauled off and popped him.
As for me, my parents could not make me understand that I had to keep my dress on – I would strip down and streak through the house. They also had the problem of me pulling my skirt up over my head and showing off all my business during children’s church, but that is another story.
Regardless, I love to entertain. Case in point, the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby was held Saturday at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky, but the traditions and Southern charm of the Derby could be felt all the way to Winona.
The first annual Ferguson-Mosley-Reed-Sexton Kentucky Derby party (my co-hosts – Keith, Keetha, and Jeffrey) was held at my home on Saturday evening, and trust me (after hours of cleaning silver), we did not haphazardly throw some chips in a bowl and watch the race on television. We hoped to bring Churchill Downs to the heart of Winona, and I personally think we were pretty successful in our goal.
My Co-Hosts, Keetha and Jeffery:
And my sweetie, Keith, and me:
The menu: Cucumber sandwiches, Miss Annie Mae Wilson’s famous cheese straws, Derby tarts, pork loin on rolls with horse-get it?-radish sauce, strawberry trifle, white glove soufflé, baked brie with honey and apples, and strawberries and cream.
Yes, the food was fantastic, but the guests were even more wonderful in their hats and spring wardrobes. We even had a gentleman don seersucker pants and a linen shirt (Daddy said he reminded him of Jody Varner in Long Hot Summer with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward.)
And the hats! I wish people wore hats these days! The winner of our hat contest went to Winona’s Jane Downard who sported a Victorian veiled number with plumed feathers and a Minnie Pearl price tag. Lydia Chassaniol came in second for the most creative hat featuring a foam bird and other handmade adornments. Nell Middleton was definitely wearing the prettiest hat with its hydrangeas.
The hats:
All I can say is I am giddy with anticipation for next year’s get-together.
Would you go to the Mullet Festival?
My friends, Keetha and Jeffrey, are festival junkies. So far this year, they have attended the Oxford Film Festival, the Italian Fest, the World Catfish Festival, and the Crosstie Festival. That, folks, is four weekends at some sort of festival – definite dedication to “festivaling.”
Recently, I have pondered Mississippi’s plethora of festivals and picked out a few favorites.
Gautier Mullet Festival: Named for ray-finned fish that live in the gulf.
For those who have no knowledge of fish (like myself), I thought this was a celebration of the most infamous hairstyle ever. I, of course, checked to see if famous mullet-sporters would be in attendance – Billy Ray Cyrus, every member of the band Alabama, Andre Agassi in his younger days.
I was wrong and seriously disappointed.
Wizard of Oz Festival: This festival is in Lucedale. My question: why?
Slugburger Festival: A slugburger is a deep-fried patty made of a beef mixture and soybean grits. I had a friend who went to this festival. When asked what a slugburger was like, he only had one word to describe it: “chewy.”
This makes me think of a giant food fight for some reason.
Wing Dang Doodle Festival: Forest’s celebration of “chicken and the blues.” What a great name! I don’t know how much one can celebrate poultry, but I am willing to try just to get a t-shirt.
Migration Discovery Festival: This is another festival in Gautier. The name sounds like a documentary on the Learning Channel. I would definitely not care for a t-shirt.
Johnny Cash Flower Pickin' Festival: There is a great story behind this Starkville festival. While in Starkville for a concert, a very intoxicated Johnny Cash woke and decided to go pick flowers in the middle of the night – naked. He was arrested and spent the night in the Starkville City Jail.
Today, festivals honoring celebrity stupidity might be called Third Stint in Rehab Festival or the Quickie Vegas Wedding Festival. It just doesn’t have the same ring, huh?
Recently, I have come up with a few of my own festivals to truly celebrate the culture and quirks of Mississippi.
* Gravel Road Festival: A celebration of shocks.
* Disgusting Food Festival: A celebration of chitterlin’, frog legs, cracklin’, and boiled okra (slimy!).
* Gumbo Mud Festival: The slogan can be: “Better than Super Glue. It ain’t ever coming off.”
* House Fly Infestation Festival: Self-explanatory. Also, that plastic bag of water with a penny inside hanging over the doorway so does not work.
* Squashed Bug Coated Windshield Festival: Take a trip from Cleveland to Vicksburg, and then try to connect the dots.
* Festival of Festivals: A festival celebrating festivals in Mississippi. Exactly how many times can a face be painted?
Seriously, I love being a Mississippian. Where else will entire communities celebrate a watermelon, the juke joint, or the sweet gum tree? Relish in your individualism, Mississippi, and keep appreciating the little things that make a life in our fair state rich.
Recently, I have pondered Mississippi’s plethora of festivals and picked out a few favorites.
Gautier Mullet Festival: Named for ray-finned fish that live in the gulf.
For those who have no knowledge of fish (like myself), I thought this was a celebration of the most infamous hairstyle ever. I, of course, checked to see if famous mullet-sporters would be in attendance – Billy Ray Cyrus, every member of the band Alabama, Andre Agassi in his younger days.
I was wrong and seriously disappointed.
Wizard of Oz Festival: This festival is in Lucedale. My question: why?
Slugburger Festival: A slugburger is a deep-fried patty made of a beef mixture and soybean grits. I had a friend who went to this festival. When asked what a slugburger was like, he only had one word to describe it: “chewy.”
This makes me think of a giant food fight for some reason.
Wing Dang Doodle Festival: Forest’s celebration of “chicken and the blues.” What a great name! I don’t know how much one can celebrate poultry, but I am willing to try just to get a t-shirt.
Migration Discovery Festival: This is another festival in Gautier. The name sounds like a documentary on the Learning Channel. I would definitely not care for a t-shirt.
Johnny Cash Flower Pickin' Festival: There is a great story behind this Starkville festival. While in Starkville for a concert, a very intoxicated Johnny Cash woke and decided to go pick flowers in the middle of the night – naked. He was arrested and spent the night in the Starkville City Jail.
Today, festivals honoring celebrity stupidity might be called Third Stint in Rehab Festival or the Quickie Vegas Wedding Festival. It just doesn’t have the same ring, huh?
Recently, I have come up with a few of my own festivals to truly celebrate the culture and quirks of Mississippi.
* Gravel Road Festival: A celebration of shocks.
* Disgusting Food Festival: A celebration of chitterlin’, frog legs, cracklin’, and boiled okra (slimy!).
* Gumbo Mud Festival: The slogan can be: “Better than Super Glue. It ain’t ever coming off.”
* House Fly Infestation Festival: Self-explanatory. Also, that plastic bag of water with a penny inside hanging over the doorway so does not work.
* Squashed Bug Coated Windshield Festival: Take a trip from Cleveland to Vicksburg, and then try to connect the dots.
* Festival of Festivals: A festival celebrating festivals in Mississippi. Exactly how many times can a face be painted?
Seriously, I love being a Mississippian. Where else will entire communities celebrate a watermelon, the juke joint, or the sweet gum tree? Relish in your individualism, Mississippi, and keep appreciating the little things that make a life in our fair state rich.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Hunter scored and the crowd went wild
Last weekend, with an hour’s notice, I jumped into my car and headed north to visit my family in DeSoto County. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, and I was starting to have withdrawals, and I was suffering from a lack of family stories to write.
Accompanied by my three dogs (I knew better than to ask, so I decided to ask for forgiveness instead), I arrived in Southaven around 7:30 p.m., and ended up catching up with my parents until nearly midnight. Momma and Daddy had so much news to report about the neighborhood, the church, and current events in town, I went to bed trying to process all of the information.
However, the big news was my nephew, Hunter, and his church league basketball team being invited to play a jamboree at FedEx Forum in Memphis where the University of Memphis Tigers and the Memphis Grizzlies play. For a nine-year-old, the chance to step on the same court as NBA stars like Shaquille O'Neal, Mike Miller, and Kobe Bryant was a dream come true. So on Saturday afternoon, the entire family packed up and invaded the FedEx Forum to watch our kid play.
Now, I will admit my family dotes on Hunter. He is the only grandchild and the only male child in our family. Daddy, who was smothered by estrogen his entire life (he was the only boy with three sisters as well as giving birth to three daughters), finally found someone to share a little male bonding. I can safely say he is spoiled rotten – I fondly refer to him as Beelzebub.
Nine-years-old-going-on-thirty, Hunter has been surrounded by adults his entire life. His playmates have always been more than 20-years his senior, and he would rather have lunch with my sisters and me than go on a play date with a friend.
He is all Sexton with a dry sense of humor, and a flare for the dramatic. When I told him I was moving to Winona, he asked Momma if he would ever see me again. Then on moving day, he realized it wasn’t that far of a drive and relaxed.
“I like your moat,” he said. He was speaking of Winona’s drainage ditch that runs throughout the town. I corrected him and told him it was a brook (sounds better, right?)
Dressed in his navy blue uniform with “Upwards” emblazoned across his chest, Hunter and his team, The Rockets, took the floor of the forum. The family – as well as Hunter’s favorite cousin, Mason -- occupied an entire row just above the hardwood, and we were poised to show our support. The Grizzlies announcer began naming the members of each team, and Hunter’s name echoed through the enormous 15,000 plus seat arena.
The teams tipped off and began to move across the floor with the squeaking of sneakers on hardwood. Almost an entire quarter passed before a player on either team scored because the goal was a foot taller than what they were accustomed. The players just needed to gather their bearings and get into a groove.
His team struck first. Then again. The other team came back with another goal. Then low and behold – I had been praying he would – Hunter took a shot. He scored. We went wild!
I will just say that everyone in the FedEx Forum knew whom we supported. Hunter was so excited, he didn’t even feign embarrassment. A smile was plastered on his face for the rest of the game.
Sunday, I packed up to head home to Winona. All three dogs were wound around my legs and bouncing from chair to couch to chair. My parents both hugged me goodbye. Momma told me she would be in Winona next Sunday, and Daddy warned me to be careful.
“Love you,” he said. “And don’t forget the dogs.”
Accompanied by my three dogs (I knew better than to ask, so I decided to ask for forgiveness instead), I arrived in Southaven around 7:30 p.m., and ended up catching up with my parents until nearly midnight. Momma and Daddy had so much news to report about the neighborhood, the church, and current events in town, I went to bed trying to process all of the information.
However, the big news was my nephew, Hunter, and his church league basketball team being invited to play a jamboree at FedEx Forum in Memphis where the University of Memphis Tigers and the Memphis Grizzlies play. For a nine-year-old, the chance to step on the same court as NBA stars like Shaquille O'Neal, Mike Miller, and Kobe Bryant was a dream come true. So on Saturday afternoon, the entire family packed up and invaded the FedEx Forum to watch our kid play.
Now, I will admit my family dotes on Hunter. He is the only grandchild and the only male child in our family. Daddy, who was smothered by estrogen his entire life (he was the only boy with three sisters as well as giving birth to three daughters), finally found someone to share a little male bonding. I can safely say he is spoiled rotten – I fondly refer to him as Beelzebub.
Nine-years-old-going-on-thirty, Hunter has been surrounded by adults his entire life. His playmates have always been more than 20-years his senior, and he would rather have lunch with my sisters and me than go on a play date with a friend.
He is all Sexton with a dry sense of humor, and a flare for the dramatic. When I told him I was moving to Winona, he asked Momma if he would ever see me again. Then on moving day, he realized it wasn’t that far of a drive and relaxed.
“I like your moat,” he said. He was speaking of Winona’s drainage ditch that runs throughout the town. I corrected him and told him it was a brook (sounds better, right?)
Dressed in his navy blue uniform with “Upwards” emblazoned across his chest, Hunter and his team, The Rockets, took the floor of the forum. The family – as well as Hunter’s favorite cousin, Mason -- occupied an entire row just above the hardwood, and we were poised to show our support. The Grizzlies announcer began naming the members of each team, and Hunter’s name echoed through the enormous 15,000 plus seat arena.
The teams tipped off and began to move across the floor with the squeaking of sneakers on hardwood. Almost an entire quarter passed before a player on either team scored because the goal was a foot taller than what they were accustomed. The players just needed to gather their bearings and get into a groove.
His team struck first. Then again. The other team came back with another goal. Then low and behold – I had been praying he would – Hunter took a shot. He scored. We went wild!
I will just say that everyone in the FedEx Forum knew whom we supported. Hunter was so excited, he didn’t even feign embarrassment. A smile was plastered on his face for the rest of the game.
Sunday, I packed up to head home to Winona. All three dogs were wound around my legs and bouncing from chair to couch to chair. My parents both hugged me goodbye. Momma told me she would be in Winona next Sunday, and Daddy warned me to be careful.
“Love you,” he said. “And don’t forget the dogs.”
Snowballs, brownies, and friends: The best night 'evah'
Montgomery and Carroll counties were visited by an infrequent guest this weekend - snow, and just like the children in the community, my thirty-something friends and I jumped into the fluff with all the gusto of a nine-year-old.
At dusk on Friday, large, puffy flakes began to fall, but to my despair, they did not stick to the grass or sidewalks or rooftops. I thought Mother Nature was playing a cruel joke, and went about my Friday night as planned. My significant other, Keith, and I joined our friends, Jeffrey and Keetha, for a night of cards, and we completely ignored (totally disgusted) the light falling of snow outside.
For the next several hours, we focused our attention on our game of spades. Keith and I lost, by the way, and now I am torn whether or not to give up the game completely. (I am such a bad sport!). The only saving grace of the evening was a pan of homemade brownies prepared by Keetha (she is Winona's cookbook author) that were so fantastic, I decided they were my new best friends. As Keetha would say, “They are the best things ‘evah’.”
Around 11 p.m., we decided to call it a night, and walked outside to leave. Winona had been covered with a thick frosting of white powder, and it was steadily falling in quarter-sized flakes. All four of us were enamored by the substance - immediately wanted to hold it in our hands and catch it on our tongues. However, our moment of tranquil splendor was cut short as a snowball struck me in the back of my neck and ran down my back. I am sure my scream woke the neighbors as snow was caught between my sweatshirt and bare skin. Keetha and Jeffrey just kind of stood there in shock - trying to comprehend what had just occurred.
Behind me, Keith was forming a second snowball and sent it spiraling into the side of my head. War, I tell you! It was war!
With Jeffrey and Keetha on my side, it was three against Keith. As we gathered snow to form our own snowballs, he continued to pelt the three of us with snowball after snowball. He climbed on top of my truck where the snow was thick and fresh and where he had an advantage over enemy (think Union soldiers firing on Confederate troops as they climbed the hill at Vicksburg). At one point I started looking for rocks to pack inside the snow which I know was not very Christian of me.
Finally, after a 10 minute battle and a complete numbing of my hands, I called a truce. Keith may have won the battle, but trust me, I will win the war. I am currently working on my strategy (non-snow), and will meet up with Keetha and Jeffrey to discuss the infantry.
Regardless of coming up short on my snowball skills, I have never had more fun. As I drove home, only adults were seen playing in the snow (I guess it was contagious). Isn't that always the case?
A couple of years ago, snow and ice came to Mississippi, and my family jumped right in to play with my nephew, Hunter. It was his first snow. After about an hour, Hunter was cold and tired and wanted to go inside. Of course, at that time, my sister, Stephanie, and I had taken Hunter's go-cart through the neighborhood - making donuts and taking curves on two tires. When we finally returned to the house, a smile was literally frozen on my face, and we thought it was going to take warm water to dislodge Stephanie's hand from the roll-bar. But it was totally worth it!
Isn't it funny that as we get older the more enjoyment we get out of acting like children?
For example, Hunter got a trampoline for his birthday a few years back. As Daddy and my brother-in-law put it together, memories of jumping on my cousins' trampoline came flooding back. We would jump for hours - making up routines, new combinations (flip, back flip, knee drop, seat drop), and of course, my cousins' karate competitions.
My cousins would beat the snot out of each other for hours in these so-called karate competitions. They always took things way too far, and ended up getting into a real fist fight before it was over. Once, one of them went for an axe in the shed to finish the fight. Only a small amount of blood was shed in the end. All I know is my sisters and I were paralyzed with fear on the picnic table during the entire event.
When Hunter got his trampoline, I forgot all the violence and only remembered how much fun we had. This, of course, was not reality for someone nearing 30-years-old. Jumping on the trampoline is serious exercise - running-a-marathon-type of exercise.After about a minute, I thought I was about to have a heart attack! I am certain at one time I felt a true-blue palpitation!
Oh, the joy of getting older. Now with the early signs of crow's feet and a bad back, I needed the snow. I needed to remember what it was like before bills and deadlines and tax returns. I needed to remember a time when the most important thing in life was waiting my turn to play.
At dusk on Friday, large, puffy flakes began to fall, but to my despair, they did not stick to the grass or sidewalks or rooftops. I thought Mother Nature was playing a cruel joke, and went about my Friday night as planned. My significant other, Keith, and I joined our friends, Jeffrey and Keetha, for a night of cards, and we completely ignored (totally disgusted) the light falling of snow outside.
For the next several hours, we focused our attention on our game of spades. Keith and I lost, by the way, and now I am torn whether or not to give up the game completely. (I am such a bad sport!). The only saving grace of the evening was a pan of homemade brownies prepared by Keetha (she is Winona's cookbook author) that were so fantastic, I decided they were my new best friends. As Keetha would say, “They are the best things ‘evah’.”
Around 11 p.m., we decided to call it a night, and walked outside to leave. Winona had been covered with a thick frosting of white powder, and it was steadily falling in quarter-sized flakes. All four of us were enamored by the substance - immediately wanted to hold it in our hands and catch it on our tongues. However, our moment of tranquil splendor was cut short as a snowball struck me in the back of my neck and ran down my back. I am sure my scream woke the neighbors as snow was caught between my sweatshirt and bare skin. Keetha and Jeffrey just kind of stood there in shock - trying to comprehend what had just occurred.
Behind me, Keith was forming a second snowball and sent it spiraling into the side of my head. War, I tell you! It was war!
With Jeffrey and Keetha on my side, it was three against Keith. As we gathered snow to form our own snowballs, he continued to pelt the three of us with snowball after snowball. He climbed on top of my truck where the snow was thick and fresh and where he had an advantage over enemy (think Union soldiers firing on Confederate troops as they climbed the hill at Vicksburg). At one point I started looking for rocks to pack inside the snow which I know was not very Christian of me.
Finally, after a 10 minute battle and a complete numbing of my hands, I called a truce. Keith may have won the battle, but trust me, I will win the war. I am currently working on my strategy (non-snow), and will meet up with Keetha and Jeffrey to discuss the infantry.
Regardless of coming up short on my snowball skills, I have never had more fun. As I drove home, only adults were seen playing in the snow (I guess it was contagious). Isn't that always the case?
A couple of years ago, snow and ice came to Mississippi, and my family jumped right in to play with my nephew, Hunter. It was his first snow. After about an hour, Hunter was cold and tired and wanted to go inside. Of course, at that time, my sister, Stephanie, and I had taken Hunter's go-cart through the neighborhood - making donuts and taking curves on two tires. When we finally returned to the house, a smile was literally frozen on my face, and we thought it was going to take warm water to dislodge Stephanie's hand from the roll-bar. But it was totally worth it!
Isn't it funny that as we get older the more enjoyment we get out of acting like children?
For example, Hunter got a trampoline for his birthday a few years back. As Daddy and my brother-in-law put it together, memories of jumping on my cousins' trampoline came flooding back. We would jump for hours - making up routines, new combinations (flip, back flip, knee drop, seat drop), and of course, my cousins' karate competitions.
My cousins would beat the snot out of each other for hours in these so-called karate competitions. They always took things way too far, and ended up getting into a real fist fight before it was over. Once, one of them went for an axe in the shed to finish the fight. Only a small amount of blood was shed in the end. All I know is my sisters and I were paralyzed with fear on the picnic table during the entire event.
When Hunter got his trampoline, I forgot all the violence and only remembered how much fun we had. This, of course, was not reality for someone nearing 30-years-old. Jumping on the trampoline is serious exercise - running-a-marathon-type of exercise.After about a minute, I thought I was about to have a heart attack! I am certain at one time I felt a true-blue palpitation!
Oh, the joy of getting older. Now with the early signs of crow's feet and a bad back, I needed the snow. I needed to remember what it was like before bills and deadlines and tax returns. I needed to remember a time when the most important thing in life was waiting my turn to play.
Monday, February 25, 2008
A little discomfort won't ruin my good time
Last Friday, I dropped a dry erase board on my foot and nearly broke my this-little-piggy-went-to-the-market toe. The thing swelled up like something off Snuffy Smith’s foot, and any pressure to the entire foot would take my breath. However, I was not about to let one black deformed toe ruin my weekend. Besides it’s not sandal season yet.
First stop – Carroll County Market in Carrollton.
The quirky, nostalgic environment reminded me of my Ole Miss days on the square in Oxford, and they served best barbeque pizza I have had in ages. Although the atmosphere and company were quite wonderful, the music turned an ordinary night out into a doubled-over-stitch-in-the-side good time.
It was open mic night, and when we called to make reservations, the hostess told my significant other and me to bring our instruments for a jam session. This started a laughing fit at the mere thought of me ringing a triangle and Keith playing the spoons. The trip over consisted of all of the different instruments we could conjure up to play – tambourine, jug, wash board. I figured we could become regulars on Hee Haw with our “talents.”
Entertainment for the evening was provided by a gentleman named Rex from McCool and Cecil Abels, co-owner of Carroll County Market. The two started out with a couple of numbers from Alabama and Conway Twitty. Then things got interesting.
With requests coming from the crowd, our entertainment was forced to improvise. Rex and Cecil had the talent to “fake it” and pick out a melody on the guitar or mandolin if someone sang a few bars, but the right lyrics were a different story. Whole verses were created, rhymed, and localized, and the audience followed along in laughter anticipating altered words.
After nearly four hours of hilarious entertainment, it was time to get the check.
Keith: “We need to wait to get our check.”
Me: “Why? Just flag down our waitress.”
Keith: “She is onstage playing the drums. We have to wait until she finishes this song.”
Me: “Oh, okay.”
Totally normal, right? Well, in Carrollton it is, and that is what made the night so wonderful.
When we left a little before midnight, I felt like I was officially part of the Carroll County Market family. We plan to visit our kin folk again next weekend.
Second stop – the home of Bob Doolittle of Leland, Mississippi.
NASCAR has a Super Bowl, too – the Daytona 500. With hot wings, chips, dips, and other “manly” cuisine (like poor helpless bunnies that were filleted and wrapped with bacon), racing fans from across the county gather to watch this famous race that kicks off the racing season.
I attended my first Daytona 500 party last Sunday, and unlike the Super Bowl where everyone is really only interested in the commercials, racing fans QUIETLY watched the race with the hopes that their favorite driver will take home the prize. I was unnerved by the concentration of the fans in the sport – watching for a monstrous pile up that didn’t happen this year, rough driving, and if driver Jeff Gordan (obviously considered the spawn of Satan to those I was with) would accidentally be struck by lightning in pit lane.
Although I am not a true-blue fan of the sport, I can follow along (SportsCenter junkie) and carry on a reasonable conversation about the sport. Besides, I have been properly tutored by Keith on which driver to cast my support.
Now, I bring up this little stock car soiree because of something one of the announcers said during the race. He recalled something racing legend Junior Johnson said about a breakfast of bacon and eggs. “When you sit down to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, you can be sure of one thing – the chicken was dedicated, but the pig was committed.” The poet lariat of pit road.
I love this. I want this cross-stitched on a pillow.
With my nearly-broken toe, I felt the pig’s commitment. Despite the fact that it will be months before I can wear high-healed shoes again, I bit my lip, sucked it up, and hobbled through Central Mississippi. It was well worth the trip.
First stop – Carroll County Market in Carrollton.
The quirky, nostalgic environment reminded me of my Ole Miss days on the square in Oxford, and they served best barbeque pizza I have had in ages. Although the atmosphere and company were quite wonderful, the music turned an ordinary night out into a doubled-over-stitch-in-the-side good time.
It was open mic night, and when we called to make reservations, the hostess told my significant other and me to bring our instruments for a jam session. This started a laughing fit at the mere thought of me ringing a triangle and Keith playing the spoons. The trip over consisted of all of the different instruments we could conjure up to play – tambourine, jug, wash board. I figured we could become regulars on Hee Haw with our “talents.”
Entertainment for the evening was provided by a gentleman named Rex from McCool and Cecil Abels, co-owner of Carroll County Market. The two started out with a couple of numbers from Alabama and Conway Twitty. Then things got interesting.
With requests coming from the crowd, our entertainment was forced to improvise. Rex and Cecil had the talent to “fake it” and pick out a melody on the guitar or mandolin if someone sang a few bars, but the right lyrics were a different story. Whole verses were created, rhymed, and localized, and the audience followed along in laughter anticipating altered words.
After nearly four hours of hilarious entertainment, it was time to get the check.
Keith: “We need to wait to get our check.”
Me: “Why? Just flag down our waitress.”
Keith: “She is onstage playing the drums. We have to wait until she finishes this song.”
Me: “Oh, okay.”
Totally normal, right? Well, in Carrollton it is, and that is what made the night so wonderful.
When we left a little before midnight, I felt like I was officially part of the Carroll County Market family. We plan to visit our kin folk again next weekend.
Second stop – the home of Bob Doolittle of Leland, Mississippi.
NASCAR has a Super Bowl, too – the Daytona 500. With hot wings, chips, dips, and other “manly” cuisine (like poor helpless bunnies that were filleted and wrapped with bacon), racing fans from across the county gather to watch this famous race that kicks off the racing season.
I attended my first Daytona 500 party last Sunday, and unlike the Super Bowl where everyone is really only interested in the commercials, racing fans QUIETLY watched the race with the hopes that their favorite driver will take home the prize. I was unnerved by the concentration of the fans in the sport – watching for a monstrous pile up that didn’t happen this year, rough driving, and if driver Jeff Gordan (obviously considered the spawn of Satan to those I was with) would accidentally be struck by lightning in pit lane.
Although I am not a true-blue fan of the sport, I can follow along (SportsCenter junkie) and carry on a reasonable conversation about the sport. Besides, I have been properly tutored by Keith on which driver to cast my support.
Now, I bring up this little stock car soiree because of something one of the announcers said during the race. He recalled something racing legend Junior Johnson said about a breakfast of bacon and eggs. “When you sit down to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, you can be sure of one thing – the chicken was dedicated, but the pig was committed.” The poet lariat of pit road.
I love this. I want this cross-stitched on a pillow.
With my nearly-broken toe, I felt the pig’s commitment. Despite the fact that it will be months before I can wear high-healed shoes again, I bit my lip, sucked it up, and hobbled through Central Mississippi. It was well worth the trip.
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