A juggling technophile shares personal stories, challenges, humor and perhaps some political commentary.
My past. A recording of my memories and stories
This brings back memories. I have no idea where I learned this but when I was 11 or 12 years old, a friend or my brother and I did this. Cars do slow down! But for the record, eventually an angry man gets out of his car and rips you a new one.
EMBED-Invisible Rope Prank II – Watch more free videos
And why are they in my house?
To steampunk or not steampunk; that is the question!
Smart kids are more likely to be heavy drinkers "There’s a link between a high IQ and developing alcohol problems"
I remain at a mostly at loss for words. Of course, two very unexpected things happened as a result of September 11, 2001. First, Amy happened. Second, September 12, 2001 happened. September 12 is a day I will never forget for it was the first time I my life, the only time, I can remember looking into the sky and not seeing a single airplane. No flashing lights. No contrails. No engine noise. No whump whump whump of helicopter blades. Only sky, birds, and at night, stars. For such tragedy on September 11th, there was an ironic peacefulness to the skies in the hours and days that followed.
What ever happened to those little combs? As I grew up, I constantly had 4 things: 1) my Old Timer pocket knife, 2) my watch, 3) a handkerchief, and 4) a black, hard plastic comb. I never carry a comb anymore but I can predict my wife will be quick to comment on my pocket stuff (today consists of 2 pocket knives, 2 sets of keys, wallet, change purse, handkerchief, cell phone, and a pen). Happy Days was a favorite show of mine and what boy of my generation didn’t grow up sweeping a comb through his hair doing a Fonzie? So, whatever happened to these combs? I cannot recall the last time I actually saw someone fix their hair with one and slip it back into their pocket much less create a kazoo!
The new Regal Cinema on Gay Street opens this week. I will be juggling from 5pm to 6:30pm at the Opening Night Celebration. My understanding is that it is a street party although the first press release I read implied invite only. Same press release, different location.
Ah! Here is some better information. Looks like the events within the theatre are invitation only while a street party is being held for the public. I will be juggling in the street party. Watch for the fire! Michael Messing will be performing magic and there should be other entertainers.
On Monday, August 27, the Regal Riviera will host an Opening Night Celebration. On this evening, there will be an invitation-only party to celebrate the new theatre and recognize those who made this theatre project possible. The public is welcome to enjoy a “Street Party” on this evening as well. This free event will be held on Gay Street just outside the new Riviera. The “Street Party” will feature a live performance by East Tennessee’s own RobinElla and a ceremonial ticket tearing to commemorate the opening of the new theatre.
The exciting week of promotional events continues on Tuesday, August 28, Wednesday, August 29 and Thursday, August 30. Everyone is invited to these Preview Events for $1 movies, $1 popcorn and $1 soft drinks with proceeds benefiting local charities. Through September 30th Riviera patrons will be able to enter Regal Cinemas “Rediscover Downtown” Sweepstakes to win a $2,000 prize pack: $500 Regal Cinemas Gift Card, $500 Mast General Store Card plus $1,000 to spend as you like downtown. No purchase is necessary. Sweepstakes rules are available at the theatre.
On Thursday, August 30 there will be added entertainment available at the Riviera Stadium 8 with a free fireworks show presented by Pyro Shows. The night-time sky will light up at 9:30pm with a spectacular display choreographed to popular movie theme songs simulcast on WIVK 107.7 FM. The “Salute to Cinema Fireworks Show” will be easily viewed from all across downtown Knoxville with additional fireworks accentuating the Regal Riviera’s marquee on Gay Street.
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I think it is very interesting that the site of the theater is the same as the 1920’s Rivieria Theater. Good move Knoxville! From the Knox Heritage site:
510 South Gay Street – Riviera Theatre (1920)
Art Deco, two story brick with corbelled cornice, projecting engaged pilasters. Chicago window in central of three bays, flanked by two smaller windows. Vertical mullions divide top side and all windows are topped by transoms divided vertically. Flat roof. Altered storefront. GONE-Demolished in 1988.The Riviera was built in 1920 into an existing Victorian building that stood on the east side of the 500 block of Gay Street. It featured a Wurlitzer organ and the innovative “Typhoon” ventilation system. It seated more than 1,000 and was hailed as “a shrine of the silent art.” It christened what would be more than half a century of movies with DeMille’s silent film, Conrad In Search Of His Youth.
Like most theaters, the Riviera featured its share of live entertainment, from dancer Ginger Rogers to early jazz bands like the popular local orchestra Maynard Baird’s Southland Serenaders.
In 1927 the Riviera showed what was almost certainly the only big-studio film shot in this area during the silent era, Stark Love. The star of the controversial film, which included a brief nude scene, was Helen Mundy, a reluctant actress whom the director had discovered in a downtown Knoxville soda fountain. The movie was a national sensation for about a week, hailed by some critics as one of the great films of the year; then, like its ambivalent star, it was forgotten.
The Riviera burned in 1963, sending an audience who had come to watch the special-effects adventure film Jason and the Argonauts fleeing into the street. Except for the façade, it was considered a near total loss but, remarkably, was restored, less grandly, in a matter of months, and reopened with the Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant thriller, Charade. It continued showing films until Adios Amigo in early 1976, followed by a series of second-run films the following summer; after that came a dozen years of broken dreams, as one developer after another proposed reopening the Riviera as a performing arts center, a dinner theater or an “ultramodern” office building. Though there was a sentimental effort to restore the theater in the 1970s. The rear of the building, for years, displayed a large black-and-white mural of Charlie Chaplin, clearly visible from James White Parkway.
The building was torn down around 1988 with little comment. The site is now paved for a parking lot.
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They should update that bit about the parking lot. Cinema Treasures has another reference to the 1920s Riviera. See you in the streets!
Not having A/C and relying on fans has taken me back a bit. There is a distinct smell to a house that is not cooled with A/C. There is a definite humidity not felt under the unnatural A/C. The sounds are different in a house closed from the world to contain the conditioned air. It takes me back to the summers I spent at my grandparent’s apartment in Richmond, VA. It reminds me of the times spent in my great grandmother’s in Wilmington, NC. These are not bad memories. And this is not a bad time. I do not want to go an extended length of time without A/C but living without A/C is not all that terrible.
Alright, to do list:
I have also learned that no one trusts any hvac repair person in Knoxville and that everyone has the guy to call. Yes, that’s right..it’s a contradiction…
Tonight is a Blogfest! We will be there. Rich, one of our Blogathon partners is already at Bailey’s on his shift.
Bailey’s holds a special place for Cathy and I because that was where we had our first date. We met for all of 2 minutes at a Halloween party being thrown at my house then 4 months later we were behaving like nervous school kids on a first date over a pool table at Bailey’s. I rapid fired every joke, with increasing naughtiness, I knew to cover my nervousness. Cathy flirted and wow’d me seducing me with her beauty and wit then upping the ante on my innuendos until everyone in the bar had quit playing pool to watch us being suggestive with pool cues, lessons, and across the table exposures. We had a blast! And our friends who got us together to commiserate our similar situations, hoping that we would take some frustrations out on each other and move on, just sat back and enjoyed the show as two grown adults fumbled around trying to remember how to date.
I almost blew our relationship. I was so overcome by Cathy that I really did not want to screw things up by coming on to hard. So in the parking lot I tried to be all casual and attempted to say, "I don’t want you to feel pressured or rushed into a relationship" but the words came out something like "if you want to get together and have sex without a commitment, I’m your man!" Oh yeah! Smoooooth.
Heading to Bailey’s! Oh! You can still sponsor us! Pleeaasse! Read more here.
Thanks to Instapundit, I just had a little flash back to hard earned quarters being sucked into the video game vacuum cleaner Dragon’s Lair with its exceptional graphics and somewhat kludgey game play. I spent a lot of time and a lot of money on that game!
I want to know if JayMonster remembers Action Park in Vernon Township, New Jersey. Although I lived in Medford, NJ (1983-1986) while it was open, I never ventured that far north. Instead I played at Great Adventure (saw the Monkies anniversary tour there). Here’s a fantastic description of Action Park. And here are pictures of the abandonedout of season park. These comments are very interesting too!
I was a lifeguard at Action Park for a summer. We called it Traction Park, and man could I tell stories about that place. Let me just say, it is very, very difficult to rescue an obese, panicked man who just dropped acid. The scratches were incredible. Can’t wait to read the Wiki — I’d never have thought to look.
Edit: A few funny things the wiki omits (although there’s obviously nothing funny about the serious injuries and deaths).
First, a large Hassidic community was located not far from the park. For those who aren’t familiar with the sect, females are required by religious edict to wear heavy ankle-length skirts. Always. As you might imagine, this sucked for swimming, but the non-lifeguard staff, who were often fourteen, were generally responsible for letting visitors go from the tops of various cliffs and slides. They were easily bullied, and every damn time I saw a Hassidic woman at the top of the cliff jump, I knew I was going in. It was outrageous. On the speed slides, which did not have lifeguards because they lacked deep water, it was enormously entertaining to watch our insistent patrons arrive with their ankle-length skirts over their heads.
Second, the wiki forgets a “cannonball” slide that went underground, completely enclosed, and dumped patrons in a very deep pool beyond sight of the launching point. Many non-swimmers launched with no idea they’d hit deep water. Trouble is, a fourteen-year-old non-lifeguard was responsible for letting people go, and the lifeguard at the bottom was all alone. This was, by far, the most terrifying lifeguard assignment. You’d go in for one drowner (or two, as there were parallel chutes) and the nitwit up top, if he wasn’t paying attention, would drop new drowners on you. If you got in trouble, you could whistle and hope guards at the nearby Tarzan Swing would save your ass, but nearby concerts often made this improbable. I was pulled under by people on drugs (they break all the rules you’re taught about water rescue — in particular, they don’t reflexively let go if you swim down); had to pull out an entire family simultaneously; and did, of course, have to pull out the odd Hassidic woman entangled in her own skirt. The scariest thing I saw occurred in my very first week. A large man on drugs (again, you can tell b/c they don’t let go if you swim down), headlocked a female lifeguard who probably weighed 100 pounds. Three guards piled on and had to beat him repeatedly about the head with rescue rings (about the firmness of a baseball) until he let go, by which time he was unconscious and the girl he headlocked had two lungs full of water. It’s something of a miracle that the place stayed in business as long as it did.
[Source]
As I child, I was taught to "never air your dirty laundry." I am certain that many people, family in particular, find it confusing that I am so willing to openly share my life with the world touching on such taboo subjects as sex, drugs, politics and religion. Why dredge up the forgotten past and mar my reputation, or future possibilities, with a permanent record of folly long forgiven? This is a good opportunity to point to the Why I Blog page.
First off, I want to say that blogging is stupid. Most bloggers, such as myself, have no journalism training. We are not professionals, are prone to errors, tempted to propagate rumor, and are busily creating a permanent record of non-retractible statements. We paint targets on ourselves and encourage friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers to make comments which, depending on our mood, may hurt our feelings or cause us to make a flippant remark in jest or anger that changes our relationship with those commenters. It is dangerous waters. [Source]
That said, I do hold back a lot that others may find interesting. I have done much in my life. I have explored. I have experimented. I have experienced. I have done good and I have done things for which I am not proud. Some of these stories, told briefly in writing and out of context, could all too easily be misconstrued. I would never want to lose friends, job opportunity, or something as important as being able to volunteer with the Boy Scouts of America over a misunderstood story. Now, for a story from my past, which I had hoped to let fade from memory and never have retold.
I love mentoring. I love leading. Years ago I was promoted to a management job. That was the greatest job! I took one last look at my swimsuit calendar and passed it onto a ex-peer. I deleted all my inappropriate jokes, sanitized my office of general offensiveness, took some leadership classes, and stepped into the position ready to be the world’s greatest manager. I planned to be friendly without overstepping bounds. I would be approachable but demanding. If the staff went to an after work gather and I were invited, I would be the last to arrive and the first to leave, if I showed at all.
One day, one of my female staff asked for a meeting with me. We made it a walking meeting since the weather was nice. She asked that I promote her into a position that didn’t exist. When I explained that I did not have hiring authority and that I definitely did not have authority to create a non-existent job, she said, "you’ll regret that" and walked away. I then spent my remaining days in that job giving HR a daily report on how this one particular employee was not being harassed, how the environment was not hostile, and answering questions about the various rumors which flew around the staff. Apparently I was having the greatest sex of my life because there weren’t many people I hadn’t slept with–if you believed the gossip. I was fortunate that HR was on my side; they had good files and we would have triumphed in a legal battle! None-the-less, it did hurt. My reputation was tarnished. Decisions had to be made on the assumption that this employee told an unproven truth. My boss was 2000 miles away receiving my stories, HR’s version, and the gossip. It detracted from the business at hand and I am certain was an underlying reason for the final closure of that division of the company.
The irony is that I saved that employee. She had come from a different division of the company which was being downsized. She was slated to be laid off. I didn’t need any additional staff. As a favor to a VP, I created an additional position for her (yes, that authority I did have) and she was transferred instead of laid off. It is from that position that she insisted I promote her. I should have promoted her. No. I should have fired her on the spot.
I may be a little jaded when it appears that someone is trying to makes gains at someone else’s expense. I don’t like win-lose. I don’t like lose-win. I like positive. I like win-win!
Dimes are my habit. I always look at the edge my dimes. See, before 1965 dimes were minted out of silver. You can tell a silver dime by looking at the edge. If its solid, it’s silver. Post 1965 dimes have an edge that shows half copper and half nickel. The actual composition of a post 1965 dime (and quarter) is 75% copper and 25% nickel due to the Coinage Act of 1965. Coincidentally, a few 1965 dimes were accidentally minted in silver and those errors bring a fine price to a collector.
As a child, I fancied myself a coin collector (but didn’t we all). As an adult, when the hard times came my coin collection bought bread or gas without even the effort of looking for a doubled die error. What remains are the oddities. I have 3 silver dimes including a Mercury head from 1939 and two Roosevelts from 1952 and 1964. They are not in mint condition but they sure are cool to hold! And I can still remember the excitement I felt the day I found one of them in my change.
What’s in your pocket?
When I was 8 or 9 I would ride my bike down to Ashworth’s and order a hotdog and a fountain cherry coke. It felt so big to come home and tell Mom, "I’ve already had lunch!" and I’d checked out that Old Timer pocket knife at Pete’s Hardware ($13 dollars allowance later it was in my pocket and still is). I should road trip Saturday!
As part of its 50th anniversary celebration, the [Ashworth Drugs] is selling hot dogs for 57 cents and Coke products for 10 cents. [Source]
I was listening to Chicago’s 25 or 6 to 4 on the radio this morning and the opening lyric "waiting for the break of day" caused this sort flashback to a time loooong ago when I used to closeout the bars around the UT campus. Many Fort resident’s will share fond memories of Griffins. See, there’s a subculture to the bar scene. You have your regulars and the horny people hoping to drink enough that it doesn’t matter who they sleep with and then there is everyone else. As the night lingers on and the horny people’s beer googles grow thicker, their pack thins. Of course the everyone else crowd just dissipates over time and the words "last call" send them packing. That leaves the regulars. I frequently found myself among The Regulars.
"Last call!" doesn’t mean the bar closes. It means it closes to everyone on the outside. Griffins, for instance, quit serving beer at last call and switched the taps to sarsaparilla which just happened to taste a whole lot like beer. The comradery experienced after hours is beyond description. Social barriers fall as the bartender joins the crowd and the taps open to anyone who wanders behind the bar. Bonding occurs. Tarot cards come out and futures are told. Eventually it all goes away. At some point, a brave soul decides it is time to leave the cave, the womb like environment. Those windows painted over in flat black guard the outside from the revelries inside and protect The Regulars from the harshness of the outside until they stupidly open that door and the 7am sun cuts through them like the unholy opening the Ark in Raiders! Bodies vaporise. Souls vanish! And these tales go untold…until the next Last Call.
Great Granny passed away. This meant driving to Parsons TN (map) (yes, that’s the whole thing.) Living in the South you tend to forget why people make jokes about the South. We do not hear our own accents and most of the jokes seem dated upon old stereo types because surely we are not that backwards! At least that is what I thought. Since our life has taken us down a path of being sequestered within our own house, I had forgotten what it was like out there. After loading everyone in the van with the misfiring engine (I thought it was a bad spark plug but had someone talk me out of changing the plugs..turns out it was a bad spark plug) and praying that we could drive across Tennessee and back, we hit the Interstate. It wasn’t long before we saw a flag pole towering over the trees to the right side of the Interstate flying the Confederate flag (debate with wife over its racial symbolism versus Southern pride/Southern heritage/historic symbolism ensues) then a couple of miles later to the left of the Interstate an aluminum, giant cross (I mean like 60 feet tall or better See the cross on I-75 by the adult bookstore and a cross in TX.). This thing could have doubled nicely as a water tower. Near Nashville we had a friendly store owner’s sign reminding people to "Thank a veteran — in English!"
Now Friday morning I awoke to find green writing on my forehead. I really need to quit falling asleep before my wife. As we packed I noticed the box that our "supplies" are in had moved from its hiding spot to the headboard so obviously the wife was prepared in case by some bizarre circumstance we ended up with a hotel room to ourselves.
We hit the first welcome center to grab a map and I was struck by Tennessee again. I had my phone in hand but couldn’t bring myself to take a picture. I should have! For walking out of the crowded welcome center was a man in overalls and nothing else. Granted, I think he had shoes but the baggy overalls with no shirt did not hide the fact that he wore nothing underneath them. This was textbook hillbilly.
We had a relatively pleasant trip to Parsons. I found that the van performed better at higher speeds…like 145 kmh. Once in Parsons we located the hotel and found out that Uncle Danny had lost the keys to his rental car but that’s a different story. Our family takes 4 rooms of the hotel. There appear to be no other guests. A quick count of the beds leaves some hopeful optimism that perchance Cathy and I will have a room to ourselves! The children tend to like to disperse themselves amongst the relatives they rarely see. Cathy asks if I came prepared since she left me clues like the writing on my forehead and the box on the headboard. With mouth agape, I explained I thought the box meant she’d taken care of things. Does Parsons have a drugstore?!
Hunger overtook our crowd. Let’s go to the fish restaurant where Granny and Granddaddy had their wedding reception! "It’s down to the traffic light and take a left. Has a big sign shaped like a fish." That’s right. "the traffic light" Our hungry mob takes off as we dilly dally a bit longer. After getting everyone buckled we follow the directions. Down to the traffic light and left. We immediately lose signal on the cell phones. Fewer dropped calls! Drive. Drive. Drive. Scratch head. Drive. Drive. Ah! Buildings. Drive. Drive. Bar. Drive. Bar. Hey look! It’s Patrick Swayze! Drive and finally! The restaurant with the big fish sign…and no lights on…and no cars in the parking lot…and no cell phone reception. We debate heading back to town to make a phone call for directions but decide to drive another mile and, sure enough, we locate the other restaurant with the big sign in the shape of a fish.
Our crew, which consisted of our Cathy, myself, Tommy, Sarah, Noah, Amy, Evan, Uncle Danny, Uncle Matt, Aunt Carmen, cousin Gabriel, cousin Abby, cousin Elizabeth, Granny and Granddaddy converge on the restaurant. We enter and the building goes silent as everyone stares. The waitress’ mouth hangs open as a single dish crashes to the floor. We blink and the noise of chatter and utensils clinking to plates return. I head to the restroom. Now, you know it’s gonna be good eats when on your way to the restroom you spot a Haynes manual on one of the patrons tables, the plumbing is run outside the walls, and the towel dispenser in the bathroom is cloth.
The menu reads "fried _____" You name it and they’d fry it. I had the seafood platter and later the nice lady at the hotel desk explained to me "that seafood platter is too big for one person! It could feed two." The seafood platter was fried catfish, fried oysters, fried clams, fried shrimp, fried something I couldn’t identify, fried frog legs (caught fresh out back), hush puppies (that’s fried bread for those that don’t know), my choice of french fries or baked potato (I order the baked potato but requested it fried), and two boiled shrimp just to prove they had something other than a deep fryer in the kitchen.
After dinner we head back to the hotel and I figure I’ll head out to the drug store; however, Fred’s Pharmacy and Dollar Store is ominously dark. Closed! Well, at least Food Giant appears open. Ironically, Food Giant appears to sell only food. Not looking good for the visiting team. Eventually I chance upon the feminine hygiene aisle and at the tampon section I see KY Jelly! That’s promising. Looking up and down the aisle I just am not finding any prophylactics. I start to realize that perhaps KY has some other use which probably has to do with shoving cotton in a dry place. As I am about to give up hope, I notice a bottle of KY personal warming lubricant. Now surely a "warming lubricant" has but one use! Still no condoms. Apparently some ladies prefer their tampons warm.
I consider giving up but decide to have to have some fun. I turn to the two teenage boys mopping the floor in the back of the store. "Do you guys sell condoms?" They stare at each other for a moment then say, "if we did, they’d be on aisle 11." (that’s the feminine hygiene aisle) Then one boy’s face lights up and he whispers, as if I should know better, "dude, BP. On the corner." He is right. I should have known better.
At the gas station, I purchase my 3 pack of wishful thinking and, to make some utility of the trip, purchase some STP gas treatment. For good measure, I throw in a scratch-off lottery ticket since one way or another I’d like to get lucky tonight. In the end, the condoms were unopened, the van still misfired, and the lottery ticket was a loser. However, I do return to the station before it closes for the night for beverages.
I returned to the hotel room and later that night Cathy was overcome with the sickness Evan had earlier in the week. So in the morning I head over to Fred’s Pharmacy and Dollar Store to get some Pepto-Bismol (if there is only one link you click today..make it this one!). Since this is a pharmacy I take a half a moment to look for condoms (out of curiosity). I see none! But they do sell Astroglide near the tampons. This town must have a bad case of vaginal dryness and teen pregnancies. I guess no prevention makes a big city out of a small town.
Breakfast time! Cathy rolls over in agony so we leave her in the hotel room callously failing to hang the "do not disturb" sign on the door so the cleaning staff trying to make their 11:30am deadline repeatedly open the door hoping to annoy Cathy out of the room. Meanwhile the rest of us have a salt lick disguised as country fried ham, bacon, sausage, pork patties, mystery meat, eggs and other artery clogging goodness for breakfast. It was delightful! I sorta lie to the family and tell them "Cathy is putting herself together."
We retrieve Cathy then head over to the funeral home and Cathy’s mother tries to assess who looks better..Cathy or Great Granny. Great Granny wins and various family members try to slip Cathy Tums. For the next hour and a half or so we play "herd the cats" with anyone under 3 feet tall while family and friends catch up and tell some great stories.
On Sunday, Amy visited Great Granny. On Wednesday, Amy was in the car when we drove Great Granny’s sitter from the hospital back to the nursing home. Amy cheerfully announces, "That’s Great Granny’s house!" 
That night Great Granny passes away. Friday Amy and I talk about Great Granny petting Lucy in Heaven. Saturday I held Amy as she looked at Great Granny lying peacefully in her coffin and bravely told her goodbye and that she loved her. My eyes watered for Amy then and as I type this. Tommy handled himself well but I could see him struggling with his emotions. Sarah always keeps things locked in and deserved awards for babysitting ALL the children without complaint. Secretly she is probably thankful to not have to visit the nursing home anymore. Noah was hard to read; he could be stoic and mature or he could have missed the boat. Evan was just on an adventure.
Small towns people are friendly! And there is a properness to everything. A small town Southerner can make you feel like you are family, like you have known the person you are talking to for years, and like you have been living in the town your whole life. You are welcome! We were treated fabulously. After all, most of the people around us were kin or long friends of someone in the immediate family.
The pallbearers were called to a meeting. Having only been to two funerals my whole life and having never been a pallbearer I was looking forward to this meeting as I had been told the instructions would be forthcoming. I was tasked with gathering up the 5 other pallbearers. I knew two. After letting three know about our meeting, I stepped into the funeral home director’s office and the two I could not find were there with the funeral director having carefree, grinning conversation which quickly wrapped up with my entrance and instead turned to the business of being friendly. Best I can figure everybody in Parsons holds two jobs. For instance, the preacher is also a farmer. The funeral director beyond any shadow of a doubt is also the auctioneer. With utmost seriousness and sternness the instructions were something like this:
[audio:http://realityme.net/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/pallbearerinstructions.mp3]It went without saying that no one had questions and we absolutely did not follow the plan for five minutes prior to the service the family had already seated and the pallbearers were sent to the chapel where the prayer was performed instead of the viewing room.
Great Granny was honored very well at the chapel service. She was loved. The preacher gave a wonderful tribute. We celebrated her life rather than mourning her death. Her mother passed when Maedelle was 10 years old so she helped raise her siblings yet still managed to put herself through school and college at the University of Tennessee. But Cathy says all that better than I possibly could in her tribute posts and stories (none of which mention vaginal dryness): This is a part of life too, Spending the weekend with family (live and otherwise), Trees and Fields, You know you’re in the rural south when…, Even worse than a poop story, Random scattered thoughts, Small small world, Children and funerals, and Finally, the cemetery.
After the chapel service we drove slowly to the cemetery with the van threatening to sputter to a halt. That would have been embarrassing! The pallbearers lugged Great Granny to her final resting place (if you’ve never done it, coffins are heavy!) and awkwardly decided where to put their buttoners (lapel flower). Half went to Granny and half went to Great Granny. After the graveside service we played in the cemetery then hit the road. But that’s another story.
