Cemetery Walk

This week we've had mist to drizzle to down pour. April is living up to her "showers" reputation - tears after March's bi-polar rant. This morning was foggy as the Blue Ridge Parkway. Fog lights lit the roadsides and driving was treacherous when last we traveled it.

Here at home I took my umbrella and went for a walk without boots and raincoat. Even though the day reminded me of Scotland, I was confident our drizzle would not turn to straight-line rain. There hasn't been a recent hurricane in the Gulf.

My destination was Oakhurst Cemetery. The drive curves around old, old oak trees. The recent graves were my priority. I wanted to see (with my mind's eye) who was dead and didn't know it. (Only the body dies. The soul doesn't skip a beat.) I touched each heart so they knew they were acknowledged and not alone. Heart to heart we conversed. Those who were ready to go "home", I took to the tall, wood carved double doors that open into the afterlife. The right door opened a sliver for them to enter. I did not. I have more work to do here.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Flower Lake Cyprus Knees

I love the knees weird shapes.
 A group of them will bind together

and become a tree.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Lost in Mississippi

I'd gone to Warren's to get JB and make arrangements for AAA to pick up his truck. Sat. night a spring popped out of the door, and it wouldn't shut. In the daylight, it was a simple solution. A beautiful fall ahead of us, Warren looked around, "We're going on an adventure."

Adventure water and a bag of turkey and cheese sandwiches in tow, we piled into his open Jeep bumped and swayed about the Hills, over dusty, scrunchy gravel roads and lumpy cotton fields African Safari-ish with the radio wide open. No creeping up on wildlife, people either. We didn't see either.

There was a little grit on those sandwiches, good for the gizzard. The guys searched for places to hunt while I pondered how they cleared the land to begin with; MS has been wooded since before Moses.

Our last forward turn was not an exit to the highway; we dead ended in tall grass lost as a goose. Daylight would last about an hour, and there was no phone service.

I don't pay enough attention to where I am when I'm not driving. I kept still and prayed. Warren slowly turned around. "We better go back the way we came."
"Does anybody remember how we got here?" JB asked.
The picture is a gooey spot with our tracks, a good sign.

Scrub trees forked and tracks weren't visible, I held my breath. Warren stopped. I'm thinking, if we make the wrong turn, we might run out of gas, night would be cold, I for sure am not sitting here while they go for help. His thoughts sorted, he turned to the right. It took almost an hour to reach civilization, but we made it. Whew! An adventure Mississippi style!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

I-just-want-a-driver's-license saga

My maternal grandparents, my parents and I have always licensed our vehicles in Saunders County. Grandpa was among the first to have tags on a vehicle when tagging originated.

Today I went to get a MS driver's license. The clerk said, "First you need car tags."

At the Court House I heard, "You need to bring in the title." Luckily I knew where it was. She took my money and kept my title to send to the Capital. It will be researched, to be sure it's mine (12 yrs.)and sent back to me weeks from now. I hadn't planned to sell it anyway.

'PAT 960' is my new tag for just the back of my car. MS doesn't tag both ends. It has a lighthouse on it for the coast and in memory of Katrina victims. It's pretty with the red sunset on the Gulf.

At the License Bureau I happily produced the tag info, my driver's license and social security card. "Your name is not the same on both." Crap! "You will need to take your marriage license and card to a SS office to get a new social security card and come back." This isn't New York City! I bit my tongue and kindly wished her a nice day.

I don't remember the last time I saw my marriage license. Who would have thought I'd need it after thirty-six years and Leonard dead thirteen of them? $37 later I have a certified copy coming. I pray I wrote everything right so they can find it, and it gets here before I need to change my insurance.

Explaining my frustration to Uncle Ben he shook his head, pointed at me and cautioned, "Be careful now, you hear. You could get opticalrectitis."
Naive me, "What's that?"
"A shitty attitude."
I'm close.

Since I will have to go to the SS office in Grenada, I might as well stop at Wall's overstock store. That's a happy thought. The last time I was there with a friend who found linen sheets, and I found cashmere sweaters. It's the only retail store I've ever been in where we were 'told' to put the clothes we didn't buy back on the rack. So much for order.

I'd close this chapter with something profound, but I don't think I can top Uncle Ben.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Post St. Patrick's Day Cabbage Math

After weeks of cold, rainy, gloomy weather reminiscent of Ireland, 3/17 was a sunny blessing. For me, no sun equals no sense of direction. JB points and says, "That's north." Nuh-huh, that's east. Nebraska's roads are generally square miles. Mississippi roads follow old Indian trails, creeks, and around stumps.

On the 17th, friends of JB's stopped by for a chat. Lawn chairs were pulled out and placed in the shade at the nose of the motorhome. They reminisced hunting and drag racing, while I pondered how to feed them with a single head of cabbage .

Hunger interrupted their tales; God knows they will never run out. Hilton said he had some fresh slab (2 lb.) crappie, hushpuppies and potatoes. Cecil had a fry daddy. Derek said coleslaw would taste good. I volunteered our cabbage. He offered tomatoes, onions and mayo. JB setup the table.

Cabbage + fish + friends = a tasty feast with leftovers.

©2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ladybug Bushouse

In our absence ladybugs moved in to stay, play and propagate in our rarely visited Mississippi motorhome. They don't leave an odor; they are just everywhere and inside things, as if they studied building ships in bottles. I'd sweep up a few and more would drop. They're stuck to the ceiling, in drawers, on everything, and between screens I can't vacuum. We think they're responsible for the clogging the sink.

I found three vacuums to cleanup the deceased. The handheld dirt devil inhaled and exhaled through the cloth bag rearranging the dust. No collecting bag inside. One upright electric broom wasn't worth a push, the other sounds pneumatic, asthmatic. There isn't one good suck between them. In my trunk is the mother of all suckers, my Kirby, and I can't get to it. It has rained nonstop since Wed.

We adjust. Madchen and Schatze have new scenery and spaces to explore. They lie on the foot of the bed watching the space heater turn red and fade out. JB reads "Ripley's Believe It Or Not." I'm into a mystery. We are soothed by the rain on the roof and nap. No TV. Simple snack meals of sliced veggies, apples and leftover KFC. A pair of beagle coon dogs whoop mournfully. Peaceful. This is country.

I suspect 99.9% of the ladybugs are deceased. The few remaining tickle my neck walking the rim of my collar, light on the cat's noses, and crawl up JB's fingers encouraging us to be light hearted.

If ladybugs are good luck, we ought to have bushels.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Was it the luck of the ...

...Irish, draw, rabbits foot, salt over the shoulder, Friday the 13th, prayed up or spared?

Friday the 13th of February, JB got the call no parent wants,"Your daughter has been in a car accident and won't make it through the night."

Pray first, put pants on second. We left at midnight to drive the 800+ miles on Valentine's Day. No time for romance and cards, it was crackers and peanut butter and smoked oysters that left a smelly, greasy stain on the passenger's plastic floor mat. Daylight revealed the oil had spread to the shape of a heart.

Hour by hour the details unfolded. Brandi was riding with a girlfriend on the narrow, twisted roads of Mississippi. The white line is about 2" from the edge and the shoulders aren't graveled. The driver went off the road and over corrected causing the car to flip end over end. Brandi was pinned beneath in the mud.

A nearby homeowner heard the crash, slipped into her shoes and ran to the scene dialing 911. Brandi's face was in the windshield on the outside of the car. The frame of the door rested on her neck. She wasn't breathing, believed dead. The engine was smoking. The woman helped the driver out and away.

Chuck, a Deputy Sheriff, happened upon the scene and organized volunteers to lift the car off Brandi. She took two deep breaths. An ambulance rushed both girls to the hospital. Doctors told the family Brandi would not make it. The driver had a broken wrist and torn ligaments at her knee.

Brandi's vitals stabilized. Too foggy for a helicopter, an ambulance transferred her to Elvis Presley Trauma Center in Memphis, TN where people go to die. Non-responsive, doctors again said she would not make it.

We arrived at the hospital at 2 pm. Little John warned us about the size of her head: basketball or watermelon. But she was awake and asking the same question over and over. More tests. At Elvis's wall outside ICU, the line of concerned family and friends grew longer.

Sunday she announced she was hungry. Later in the day she started walking. Monday pm she was dismissed from ICU to go home. Not one miracle, many. Praise theLord! Is luck Divine intervention?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

The 4th Report

No goats roasted. Some folks toasted.

Host Ben is a river boat Captain and a master of Southern Hospitality who lives in the hills of Mississippi. In the shaded pasture near his house, Boston butts, barbecued ribs and chicken parts were grilled on a special-made king-sized double grill. Big families require big accommodations. The come-hither scent traveled throughout the acreage and into the house. About 100 people came with food in hand and healthy appetites.

Ed shucked pecans from their yard and made two delicious pecan pies. A neighbor made a two-layer chocolate cake presented on a pink Depression glass plate. Tina brought deviled eggs and beans. Ben's wife, Jimmy Nell, passed in '07. To include and honor her we dug out her '06 bread and butter pickles and pickled tomatoes.

Patty and I made potato salad, deviled eggs, doctored pork 'n beans, purple-hulled peas and cornbread. Brandi made coleslaw and her famous corn salad with all kinds of fresh veggies. Patty squeezed lemons and made two refrigerated lemon cream cheese pies. Bubbles brought an ice cream dessert. There were chocolate cupcakes frosted by a child who licked the edges before I noticed. Laughter could be heard in all quarters. Jimmy Nell would have been proud. Life is going on.

Meat goats, turkeys, a variety of small black and red chickens and a pair of Barbados black-belly, no wool sheep watched from a safe distance. I suspect the tropics affected their coats. They definitely weren't dressed for a Midwest winter. Feeling bold and safe with the grill cool, the goats came around at cleanup time expecting change-of-menu trash, but willing to eat the beer cans, if not. We made sure we didn't turn our backs on them. They can't resist a sneaky butt over the fence. What are they thinking? I know, a goat rodeo. They win.

Sunday we took Ben's pontoon boat out on man-made Enid Lake. In the distance I saw what looked like a forked campfire stick with a burnt marshmallow on top. A closer look revealed a dead tree sticking out of the water topped by an eagle's nest. The mother and two young did not want to be bothered. We didn't.

And I had my picture taken. Nobody will believe it. Sharon Osborn tells all before the media finds out. I'm not famous, but I'm telling before you hear it. Imagine this: I was sitting in the middle of the pontoon, the go between for cigarettes and beer. When I had one in each hand, I heard a click. For the record, neither touched my lips.

I hope you had an enjoyable 4th.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

July 4th, 2008 Fireworks & Fundamentals

MSN photo

Our freedom to worship as we please, speak our mind, go where we please, become all we can be is what the United States of America is about. Democracy allows us the opportunity to be represented. I pray our United States of America stays united forever.

Over the 4th I'm going to Mississippi for a goat roast. And probably some goat rodeo, too. There's a story or two in the making.

I hope you have a safe, Happy 4th of July. God Bless.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Around the World on a Bowl of Stew

It's snowing out. Three to four inches expected. Dunking La Brea Pane Toscano in my homemade stewed tomato, cod and shrimp stew, I looked around my kitchen, the extent of my travels for the moment.

Framed hundred-year-old colored magazine prints from Hay-on-Wye, Wales, feature chickens. A pair of black and whites with hats hang opposite a pair of black and whites with feathered feet. I can hear the hen's gentle voice calling her chicks and the rooster's bellowing crow over his proud family.

The print of an outdoor Paris flower market at the end of the table fills my mind with scents of lillies and daises. I want to sit at the umbrella table, sip coffee and eat chocolate filled croissants - several. The horse drawing the buggy leaves its own aroma. The pigeons are drawn to the beauty and possibility of crumbs.

My Nantucket switchplate lookes like scrimshaw on whale bone. I think it's plastic. The whaling ship is standing still or I might get seasick just looking at it.

Three two-inch square Dutch tiles display windmills, a small sailing boat, typical miniature houses, marshes and water in shades of blue. The sky is musty grey. Nothing dries outside. We collapsed a clothesline trying. I appreciate the contribution the Dutch have made to the world through flowers.

There's a card on the table with Mississippi cardinals. Brandi says when you see a cardinal, make a secret wish.

I met Mae from Ireland in London at Harrod's fresh fish display. We marveled at the fresh fish nailed up in a sunburst pattern. She crocheted the tea cozy and sent it.

There's a miniature Mexican coastline mural on the wall complete with parasail reminding me of winter vacations spent in swim suit and caftan, cliff divers, table dancers, silver jewelry, too much fresh fruit, grilled seafood and lazy days. Aaaaaahhhhh.

The French espresso cups remind me of Paris - again. At every turn I found a warehouse of information. It was like coming home.

There's a Chinese calendar on the wall. I have yet to walk the Great Wall.

I lift my cup of Chai tea to travels of the past and those to come.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where my suitcase dropped:

Alabama. Seagulls land in the parking lots, storms come up quick and violent, and the countryside is steep Iowa-type wooded hills. I used to hit every shoe sale until I ran out of closet space. Now I can't pass a fresh fruit and vegetable stand.

We cook fresh string beans with new baby red potatoes, onion and bacon. Delicious. Non-slimy okra cooked in a little v-8 juice, with fresh chopped tomatoes, summer squsash, zucchini, shallots, onions, and chopped fresh basil is wonderful with a slice of toasted garlic bread. I'm going to try it cold with a chopped cucumber and some sour cream - gazpacho of sorts. Breakfast is a ripe peach sliced with blueberries, strawberries, a mini-banana and plain yogurt: clock food. It keeps my sytem on time.

I've learned Crawfish are edible if they're curled. If they're straight it means they were dead when cooked, and they're poisonous. My first experience with crawfish wasn't good. They tasted muddy. Since I learned how to shuck them and remove the vein, I like them.

My gracious friend Dot's motto is: if it's NOT broke, I can fix it! And she'll paint it and move it. Shop tools are her passion, and she can sense a yard sale for miles. She seems to have a hotline to the Universal storehouse. Her needs aren't always voiced aloud, but whatever it is, it shows up: ie, a tall lamp for the living room. A couple of days later she came home with one somebody threw out, and the bulb still works.

To beautify her yard, Dot wanted a saga palm. Without her saying so, a friend brought her one that was "left behind." Pathetic. The shape of a pineapple and dead. She planted it by her back deck, talked to it, and watered it daily. Weeks went by before a sign of life appeared. "It's a miracle," she exclaimed. Send birth announcements. When it displayed a dozen leaves each a foot long, her riding mower got away from her crashing into it with blades a whirling. She exploded in tears apologizing to saga.

Her son came running. "What's wrong?"

"I killed my saga." Big tears.

"It'll be okay," and under his breath, it's just a plant.

"It's my baby." More Dot tears.

Daniel tilted the mower and dislodged the pulled-from-the-ground saga. Sad story. It's no longer round. The east side is flat. They planted it back in the ground, added water, and the last time we looked, six leaves survived, three more are scarred - paint won't help, and three are missing.

We celebrated the 4th early picniking on the deck with seafood gumbo, dirty rice, seafood salad, (We can't get enough fresh seafood when we're near the sea.) watermelon, brownies, and loving concern for the saga palm. On the 4th we're going to a Mississippi goat roast. That's another story. May your 4th be equally as pleasant.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

MSN photo


Good Morning! 

Cypress knees "bond" together and grow into a tree.
Good work!


verse copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series