Rain Must Fall

Swirling toward the marsh, I see it coming.

I don't know if I have time to venture out of Randy's Country Store, make it to my car, and dash home before the deluge arrives.

But if I wait it out, who knows how long I'll be trapped here.  And one thing I knew about Randy's place....it has some really crappy magazines.  Guns 'n' Ammo, Fishing magazines, Redneck joke books, nothing of even the slightest appeal.

My Smart phone was in the car.  Not smart of me to leave it there, huh?

"Look, Mr. Boston, it's a-fixin' to come up a gully washer!" exclaims Randy, standing next to me, looking out the big plate glass window.  Randy is a tall, rail thin man in his thirties, with a full Duck Dynasty beard.

"Ah-yah," I affirm.  My name is Sam Ralston, but the locals called me Mt. Boston because of my thick Massachusetts accent.  I didn't care enough about it to try and stop them.  I look up at Randy (short, stocky fellow that I am) and muse, "I wonder if I-ah should make a dash for it."

"It's a-comin' fast.  I'd stay here.  I'll give yuh a free Coke and a Moon Pie," offers Randy.

Yes.  The exquisite height of Georgia cuisine. "Thanks, Randy,but I'll pass on the pop 'n' pie."

Dozzie Gipson pulls up in her aging Jeep Cherokee.  The rain starts to spit sprinkles. Dozzie cracks her door and hesitates getting out.  Her bare feet and legs stick out of the open door.  Her legs are finely shaped, taut and muscular, her toes painted a deep red.  I let out a sigh.  Randy smiles slyly at me.  My sweetness for her has been inadvertently revealed.

Dozzie leaves her car, treks across the parking lot to Randy's.  She is a true Southern gem, all short shorts and halter top, long platinum blonde hair and sassy blue eyes.  She smolders so much,  you think rain would evaporate when it hit her.

The wind howls and the rain picks up.  Lightning hits right behind Dozzie, and knocks her to the ground.

"Oh, Lord, Mr. Boston," Randy squeals.  "She done been hit!"

I do not hesitate.  I do not stop, I do not think about it.  I run our of the store, into the deluge, and I go right to her.  I help her up and say, "Ma'am, are you all right?"

She looks up at me, her hero, her rescuer.  She puzzles at me, as if the bolt has amnesiaed her. She speaks!  "Git yore hands offa me, you Yankee perv!"

She pushes me aside and puddle-paddles towards the store, her red toes flashing in the the water.  "Randy, I better have not gone through this for nothing!  I want a Blue moon on th' house, pronto!"

I stand in the rain, thunder still rattling nearby.  The deluge is biblical.

I am all wet.

I am as wet as I have ever been.

How I Stopped Playing Football

Jonathan Winters                                            Robin Williams


As a Freshman in high school, I tried out for the football team. I had shown some potential in junior high, mainly as a halfback.  The first week of practice was rough, mostly involving a lot of running.  Short sprints I didn't mind, but cross country runs I couldn't stand.

I noticed a poster for tryouts about a play called Harvey, the one wherein the movie version, Jimmy Stewart sees an eight-foot rabbit.  I figured, what the heck. Audition and see what happens.  It has to be better than endless running.

But what to do for tryouts?  I tried for the major roles and did not fare well.  There was a small part for a Judge in his eighties, and I thought, this may be my last chance, but how do I approach it?  How do I stand out?

And then it hit me.  I would steal from my favorite comedian.  The incredibly talented Jonathan Winters.  I borrowed and adapted his mannerisms from his Grandmotherly character, Maude Frickert.  And it worked.  I got the part.  Football was history, and theater became a lifelong passion.

Robin Williams later took Jonathan Winters madcap improvisational sills and notched them to the nth degree.  And he showed me that a great comedy talent could also do great dramatic roles.  He taught the balance between letting go and restraint.

Like both of them, I always feel onstage when I am in a group of people.  I do everything I can to make them laugh and smile.  Sometimes it's subtle things, sometimes it's not so subtle.

Like them, I tend to shy away sometimes, particularly one on one with people I don't know.  At parties and some social functions, I feel very uncomfortable and fade into the shadows.  But give me the floor or a mike...hoohah!

Like them, I suffer from some depression.  Certainly not to their degree, but I do know dark moments.  And it's tough to explain to people why.

Now they are both gone.  They leave behind a rich, incredible body of work, performances that I will cherish for a lifetime.  Many have commented on Robin Williams movie performances, which were fantastic and richly varied.  But I will primarily remember him through his television work, and as a stand up comic.  Mork was an incredible bolt of electricity going through the nation's airwaves.  His appearances on late night talk shows were often things of manic beauty.  I liked his most recent series, The Crazy Ones, especially the outtakes at the end, with Robin unleashed.

Robin made me laugh more than any person outside my family and friends.  He was close to my age, and naively I thought he would always be there.  I thought I would always have new Robin Williams performances to look forward to.

Alas, that is not to be so.

Robin and Jonathan, thanks for making me laugh.  Thanks for inspiring me.

Hear that thunder?  Right now, Heaven is splitting its sides with laughter.

Sweet Savannah Weekend with My Honey and Honeys

It was a sweet weekend.

I took my honey to Savannah for her birthday weekend and we tried a lot of honeys and sweets.

First was the Two Women & A Cookie bakery, where we got a dozen cookies to take with us, and had a cookie each there on the premises.  We got of virtually every kind they made. I was determined  to leave no cookie type behind.

Then later that night we ate an Italian restaurant and then went on a ghost tour.

The Ghost tour was more about magic tricks than scares.  If you have young family members, or just don't want to be scared silly, I highly recommend this tour.  The magic tricks that were done were entertaining and mystifying,  and I'm still not quite sure how they were done.

After the tour, we went to Leopold's, an ice creamery that has been a central part of downtown Savannah for almost one hundred years.  Ir was very popular, and we waited in a long line extending down the block.  I had HONEY Almond Cream.

The next day we toured downtown Savannah, starting with Chocolat by Adam Turoni, where I had a delicious chocolate square sweetened with HONEY.

Our next stop was the Savannah Bee Company, where I sampled NINE different types of HONEY. only to discover that the type that I preferred was ALL OF THEM.  We got three jars to take home.  Picking the three to take involved blindfolds and spinning.  Just kidding.  Sort of.

Later, after braving an intense storm, we hydroplaned our way to Whole Foods, where we got cupcakes to celebrate Alison's birthday.

That night, we went back to Downtown Savannah, and ate a great Greek restaurant.  The food was fantastic, with some of the best hummus we've ever had, but the service was slow.  They compensated by giving us free dessert...Baklava, a delicious pastry made with layers of filo mixed with chopped nuts and generously sweetened with HONEY.

We were not alone for most of our tour.  She had a pair of friends show us around, one of whom worked for the Savannah paper and had experience with Savannah tourism.  He had also discovered, just a couple of days before we arrived, that he was diabetic.

Given that, our sweet tour could be considered a tremendous act of selfless generosity, or a Last Hurrah.

Either way, they were great friends and kind hosts, and Alison and I had a wonderful, sweet time.

The $%#@@# President is on Vacation Again Saturday Political Soap Box 90

Chill out.

I'm sick of the memes that the President spends too much time on vacation.

And I really don't care who the President is.  I don't care if they are like Reagan and Bush, Jr. who worked very little even when they are "on the job" or a workaholic like Carter.

Why?  Because a President is never truly off duty.

They take a huge cadre of Secret Service, advisers, military people and briefings wherever they go.

Reagan and the Bushes took off many more days than Obama.  But they had second homes and ranches and compounds and all sorts of wealthy accouterments, so it was often like doing their job from a second home.  Presidents like Carter, Clinton and Obama did not have fancy resort-like homes to retreat to so consequently their "vacation" days were/are fewer.

The true measure of a President is response time in a crisis, wherever that may be.

Do they take days to respond to a storm like Katrina?

Do they respond right away to a plane being shot down, or do they wait days like Reagan did?

Do they take years to respond to AIDS, after tens of thousands are dead, or do they take measures right away, as President Obama has done on several occasions?

Do they have a Congress that is willing to work and compromise with them, or do they have that takes dramatically longer vacations than you would EVER dream, and when in session, are determined to do whatever it takes to destroy you, regardless of the cost to the American people?

The President is our servant, but he's not our prisoner.  The job is hard enough, ages one quickly enough, that we need to snipe at them for their days out of the Oval Office.

No matter where they are, they are President 24/7.

Respect.

The Dixie Swim Club Takes the Plunge

The faster we swim, the sooner we all win!

The Dixie Swim Club has been assembled at WACT (Waycross Area Community Theater) and is preparing to show you scenes from their best reunions ever!

Anna Pinder is the team Captain, Sheree Hollinger, the energetic and hyper organized center of the Dixie Swim Club.  She's a health food fanatic, and just watch where some of her hor d'ouerves end up!

Rhonda Powers is  Atlanta attorney Dinah Grayson, a wise-cracking workaholic.  

Mary Beth Kennedy is Lexie Richards, a real honest to gosh Southern Belle, and with several husbands and cosmetic surgeries to prove it.

Caroline Sanford is sweet and ditzy Jeri Neal McFeeley, a nun who brings a little something extra.

Nadine Borrelli is Vernadette Simms, the one who has had less than a charmed life, but she faces her troubles with a sharp sense of humor and the supporter of her friends.  She is also a proud defender of southern biscuits.

These extraordinarily talented ladies are going to be working hard to bring you the finest, funniest play that you have seen in ages.

So plan now to come on down to the reunions!

Coming to WACT at the Ritz Theater the first two weekends in October!

Thursday Without a Theme

Yes, I know today is Throwback Thursday.

I just don't feel like throwing it today.

This seems to be a fairly recent invention.  I don't recall much about it even a year earlier.  It seems like an excuse to share an older picture on social media.  For some of us, that means YEARS ago, but for others than might mean last month.

Yes, I know my posts with pictures get more page views.

I just don't feel like hunting one down today.

So I'll just take the hit today.  Or lack of page hits, that is.

Yes, I know that I could rile people up about politic or religion.

I just don't feel like doing it today.

I could say something about the Israeli-Gaza conflict, but that might require more research than I can muster in my precious few minutes to write before I head off to the job that pays the bills.  Well, some of the bills.  Alison's job contributes mightily as well.  Suffice to say on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that both sides have legitimate grievances, and that as difficult as it may be, both sides need to negotiate in order to end it.  Or at least end the active killing of each other.


Yes, I could write a piece of fiction or poetry that I will enjoy but few others may see.

I just don't feel the muse this morning.

A part from one of my inter-related novel projects usually takes three to four hours to write now.  So even if I start one, I couldn't finish it this morning.  For a short story I have to have an idea on fire, which I don't this morning.  Poetry comes better at night.  I'm not sure why.

So this morning, this is it.  This theme-less broach of writing etiquette.

Or maybe musing on not having having a theme is like having a theme.

Whoa!

This is just great.

Now I have Keanu Reeves stuck in my head.

Benjamin Takes Eighth Grade!

Last year of middle school!  Woohoo!

Benjamin started his 8th grade year Monday.  This might be a surprise to some of my friends and followers who don't live in Georgia, but the school year here is already underway.

He starts this year taller than both me and Alison.  If he follows my genetic pattern, he may have already reached his optimum height, but you never know.  Not all patterns are the same.

His extras again are Band and Gate.  He inquired about Choir, as he has developed a deep bass singing voice, but alas, there is no choir at Benjamin's middle school.  Of his regular classes, he is most looking forward to Physical Sciences.  

I am very happy to hear that in Language Arts they will be reading To Kill A Mockingbird.  Someday, the way things are going, they may pull this classic of liberalism and tolerance away, but thankfully it has not happened yet.

The days of hearing him be called "Benjuhmim" or "BenJerMan" by small children are over,  Now it's trying to get used to hearing the abbreviated "Ben".

He is in a new group of students, with few of his friends from prior years.  He is friendly, but subject to the mood swings and hormonal shifts that all young adolescents experience.  I am sure he will find people he can get along with.  Each year, however, he is discovering that it is more and more the athletic boys who rule the school world.  And with his occasional allergy-related asthma and natural inherited Strait coordination, athletics are a tough road, and the other boys are growing less and less tolerant of those who do not do well.

So off he goes, BenJerMan no more.  But he is a fine young man, our Benjamin, our Ben.