MEMORIAL WEEKEND 2011

With appreciation and gratitude we remember those who fought and still fight for freedom, ours and others.

Dense, sky-reaching trees surround a thirty acre clearing in the Hills that could have been the setting for a pow-wow, Civil War battle, or Mississippi mule race.

In the shade of the truck we unpacked our lawn chairs and coolers. JB looked around for someone to talk to; imagine that! It wasn't long before he returned with a new friend. "Have some craw fish," he offered from the bushel he'd won in a coin toss the night before. The guy was thrilled. So was JB. The guy offered him a new place to hunt.

5 pm, race time at Grenada County Dirt Track, Gore Springs. Engines roared or chattered. A few drivers red lighted, took off too soon. Once was forgiven; two cost the driver the race.

There's chatter on the sidelines, too. Whose truck is the baddest? Who can run he three-hundred feet the fastest? Roughly four and a half seconds of roar, zoom and dust separated the men from the boys. The pink modified truck "Here Kitty Kitty" ran like a scalded car. Near midnight the winner by elimination was the black Chevy Luv, "Tasmanian Devil". But our night wasn't over. We had a long drive and two road blocks to clear.

I'm the DD, Designated Driver, and forever grateful I burned myself on booze the first time I imbibed what I thought was punch. Tasteless vodka was the culprit. Two days of recovery convinced me to not adopt the habit. We cleared a hill and there they were thick as lice: racing lights blazing and bright flashlights zeroed on faces and documents. I handed over my MS license and proof of insurance. One look and I was cleared. Did I look honest and sober, or was it my age?????

We hope you had a great weekend. Take care and God Bless!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Backyard love

There's been a lot of "cluck and strut" in the backyard but not a lot of action, if you know what I mean. The old-timer needs to retire. A banty legged, dark fellow with luminescent tail feathers was imported from the hills.

New Man strutted around Old White Man. New muscle met old, feathers flew and longer spurs were winning.

Coup keeper nabbed Old White Man and shoved him into an outside cage where he flew out the other end that wasn't hooked. New Man and two hens saw freedom and ran for it. Pandemonium!

The rest of the story: Not a wham bam kind of guy, New Man worked at warming their hearts. He saw opportunity in a watermelon rind. Plucking bits out of it he left them lay for the hens. They perked up, evidently not used to a smooth hand. Easing to the bits, they sampled. Yum! He softly clucked. They cooed and circled closer. Within reach he carefully snipped bits of watermelon and put it in their mouths. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'll let you know when the chicks hatch.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series