You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October, 2007.
Is it really October 31 today? Really? Is today really the day for trick or treating, toilet papering, egging, or however else you choose to celebrate? You could’ve fooled me.
Today marks my 12th day into the season which, this year, I am referring to as Hallowanakkah (combination of Halloween and Hanukkah). This year, Halloween, for me, doesn’t fall on October 31 because (taking a page from Adam Sandler) by the time tonight is over, I will have celebrated it for six crazy nights. People have been wishing me a happy Halloween today and I’ve had to tell them that it’s really been Halloween for over a week now. The first performance of the haunted theatre took place the Saturday before last and I’ve been in and out of costume since Oct. 20.
Oh, last night……Last night wasn’t bad considering it was a ballgame night and there were serveral meetings going on as well. Again, I had Jason in the room with me, but we also had much tougher critics. Call them Haunted House Connoisseurs. Much like a critic inspecting a new dish or a new flick, they walked through the room without so much as a yelp, let alone a scream and made snide remarks after leaving such as, “Well, that was just dumb.”
My grandmother said the other day, “I bet you’ll be happy when this is all over and you don’t have to dress up any more.”
Well, yes and no. At times, it’s been tedious getting into costume and getting to “work” on time, but on the other hand, it’s been extremely enjoyable getting to make many new friends — people who, in the beginning, snapped to attention when they heard I was from a newspaper, but later cut loose when they really got to know me. Already, I’ve racked up an invite to a flea market and a really good fishing expedition. No matter how cheesy it might sound, we really have become something of a twisted and spooky little family and I hope to get a cast picture tonight to post on here later.
So, to each and every one of you, I bid Happy Hallowanakkah.
Ha ha. Much to the deep chagrin of Pshaw and Maw Finn, my phone is back up and running again. (kinda cute, don’t you think?) But onto bigger fish to fry.
Last night while I was scaring the britches off people, mom was very quietly going through her final first grade Halloween PTO performance. Believe it or not, they still sing some of the same songs as my classmates and I did as first graders. Actually, I’m sort of glad I didn’t go to the singing because I probably would have teared up a bit. It’s still hard for me to believe that in less than two months, mom will no longer be teaching school. I’ve never known her as anything but a teacher and suddenly, I’ll have to get to know her as something else. It really feels like the ending of an era, not only for her, but for all of us. While new teachers who are my age and younger have joined the flock of educators at the school, mom slowly slipped into veteran status. I run into people all the time now who are older than I am and they never hesitate to tell me how much they enjoyed having my mom as a teacher.
The haunted theatre performance was very slow going, but I was joined by Jason himself of Friday the 13th fame, so I stayed in good (or would that be bad?) company for the entire three hours. Tonight and tomorrow night will be the final performances, so if you haven’t seen the show yet, I recommend coming over and giving it a peek. The man in charge said we were getting rave reviews and some people even said we were putting on a better show than some other haunted houses in Jackson.
But, alas, I’ve ruined three sweatshirts and counting with fake blood.
As of today, I am officially cut off from the world. No, really. My cell phone is completely and totally out of commission. I cannot make or receive calls and maybe worst of all, I cannot text or receive texts.
What can I say? I probably had it coming. Just today and yesterday I told a few people how my cell phone would no longer make any sound either by playing a ringtone or showing a video. Guess I spent so long talking about what was wrong with the phone that it must have just gotten its feelings hurt and decided not to work at all.
As a sidenote, I do know of one person now who is probably very happy ecstatic. Enjoy it while it lasts….which may end up being a few days.
If Mary Shelley herself could witness how her one-time camp fire story has time and time again been misconstrued, it might actually cause her to roll over in her grave (no scary pun intended).For years, it’s been a widely accepted fact, for most people at least, that Frankenstein is a tall green freakish monster with bolts coming out of his neck. He was created by a mad scientist and the minute the monster is declared to be “alive,” he goes about killing and destroying everything in his path. He is a vengeful, soulless, heartless and terrible creature. Right? Well, that’s the belief now that people have decided to become increasingly ameliorative of the story concerning its level of scariness.
But, go read Mary Shelley’s book.
Victor Frankenstein is a brilliant and learned scholar who, while studying, suddenly becomes obsessed with the idea of attempting to create life, so he creates a monster. The monster has no name and is only referred to as “the monster” while Frankenstein is the creator. This dispels one misconception.
From the get go, the monster is despised by Frankenstein. He is shunned and called ugly, so what does he do? Like an unwanted child rejected by his father, he leaves and goes off in search of people who care, but in his search for caring people he finds nothing but more people who reject him on the superficial basis of his looks.
After continually being rejected, he forms the idea that there might possibly not be any goodness in the world and then he begins his killing spree. When he goes in search of his “father,” Frankenstein, he once again encounters rejection and hate and when his father creates a bride for him and then destroys it, it’s the last straw. He murders Frankenstein’s only love as payback for his lack of love, care and acceptance upon his creation.
Frankenstein created the “monster” and abused him from the beginning only to have him leave and receive rejection from the world.
Who would have ever thought that one of the most famous “monster” tales in all of literature, portrayed in film and in costume, would actually turn out to be a classic, romantic and tragically sad story written on the basic concepts of differences, rejection and vengeance? All of these characteristics made Shelley’s little work follow in the footsteps of a genre of literature that was beginning to boom in popularity at the time. Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto and Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho may have hatched out the genre of the gothic novel, but Shelley’s offering is the most widely read example.
But back to the subject at hand because, after all, when all is said and done, everyone might be correct in calling Frankenstein “the monster.”
I missed the majority of what I’m hearing people call an absolutely horrid Tennessee football game yesterday, but I did watch the entire Fla/Ga game beforehand and already knew the scenario unfolding before the Vols’ game.
With Georgia’s upset, Florida suddenly was pinned with two SEC losses. True, Florida did beat, no, demolish Tennessee earlier this year, but Tennessee also somehow managed to make mince meat out of Georgia in a huge upset. Put this all together and you have a tie for first place in the SEC East division. So, last night, Tennessee was hit with a golden opportunity in an anything but shiny season. Defeat South Carolina and take control of the division which they did…..barely.
And now, with two conference losses and a less than stellar record, they suddenly control their own destiny. Wow. I am a fan, but, geez, with the way things have been going this year…..I’m just going to have to use one of sports’ dirty words……luck. There, I said it, and there, I hope the Vols keep having it.
Yes, I know, the titles are getting less and less creative, but I guess I’m just following the advice of good old Steven King in his book, On Writing, and giving the adverbs and adjectives a break. But, as you’ll notice, I used a little elementary Spanish for added spice.
The pre-haunted theatre party provided the perfect introduction to the big event. I got the opportunity to spend a few minutes with some of my favorite people in one of my favorite places with one of my favorite things. I met up with Maw Finn, Bro. Finn and Finn for coffee at BDx.
The rest of the day was a blur until it was show time. As slow of a night as Thursday night turned out to be, that’s how busy last night ended up being. Breaks were plentiful Thursday night, but crowds were continuous last night almost to the point that it was a bit difficult to get back into position after attempting to scare a group.
Getting the show off with a bang, I lept up from my barrel to scare the first group and on coming back down tore a gash in my arm providing me with real blood to mix with my paint.
The groups, for some reason, were particularly vocal in their visits. One girl loudly declared that she didn’t care to look at me and just wanted to get through the maze. Another couple of people pronounced me to be a loser who needed to get a job. I’m hoping those were people from work. Ah, tough love.
The greatest thing about the entire night was that we probably took in more visitors before 9 p.m. than we did the entire night on Thursday.
Three more nights starting on Monday. Come if you dare. I do have a free pass with some brave soul’s name on it. Be the ninth caller. 
B has been a good friend of mine since we finally decided it was no strange coincidence that we had all the same English classes together for the final two years of college. He has definitely become one of my best guy friends. We talk about a lot of things, share secrets, hopes, wishes and dreams, some realistic, some completely out of left field. I’d like to think that I provide encouragement for him.
Usually, during ballgames, I keep my cell phone shut up in the camera bag so that I will be totally focused on the game and won’t be tempted to answer it or even stare at it (Yes, and you know this is true ‘Coma). Last night, I happened to be covering a game in Milan and at halftime, when I went to get a cup of coffee from the concession stand, I checked my phone in the bag and saw that I’d missed two calls. Not recognizing the number, I brushed it off until a voice mail popped up and I checked it out while standing in line. It was B. And he was frantic. He’d been checked into the hospital in Milan for an emergency appendectomy and though this type of surgery is a very common procedure, he was scared. He needed someone there for him, so as soon as the final buzzer sounded, I rushed over to the Milan hospital and as luck would have it, ran up four staircases to find myself right at his room as soon as I opened up the door to the stairwell.
We visited for a bit. The usual subjects came up — school, work, music, books — and I left after about half an hour.
His surgery was today at 1 a.m. Hopefully, I’ll hear something back from him tomorrow.
It’s good to have friends.
Thursday night, as far as the measuring stick of haunted houses go, was a bit of a slow night compared to the opening. Chalk it up to junior high basketball and dreary weather, oh, and maybe the still continuous playing of “Never Again.”
Scares were plentiful even if crowds weren’t and I even got the crap scared out of me just as I was attempting to scare the crap out of someone else. Remind me that I owe a bloody butcher with silver hair at least half a dozen screams.
I did make one little kid cry which I felt awful about. Her dad was with her and he reached over and patted me rather vigorously on the head to show his kid that I wasn’t real. Let me interrupt here…..Puh-leeze, people, if you don’t want your toddler to be scared, don’t bring the freakin’ kid into a haunted house with chain saws, loud noises, darkness, and everything else that might contribute to their being scarred for life. Little kids don’t belong in haunted houses. Period. Now, back to the regular schedule.
Here are a couple of shots of two of the rooms. I promise I’ll have more as the performances continue.
This is my room right above where I stand. Children of the Corn meets Friday the 13th.
Wicked cool. This might be my favorite part of the maze. Part optical illusion, part actual constriction, it’s not to be missed.
Ah, what can I say? I just downed little kids earlier, but I really feel like one every time I suit up as Sumara and drench my hands with freezing water for added effect. I even have this little song constantly running through my head that my classmates and I sang in first grade:
I’ve been workin’ on my costume all the livelong day.
I’ve been workin’ on my costume. Watch out, I’m on my way.
When you see me at your doorbell, you’ll know what I mean.
I been workin’ on my costume ’cause it’s Halloween.
And then, I promptly spilled all my fingernails all over the stage right before we were getting ready to sing “Witch’s Brew.” Took up the entire next song trying to find them.
Night three commences in just a few hours. Should be a great one. I’ll let you know.
Me as Sumara.
After next week, I will bury the wig and never look back.
Dear Rain,
Yes, I know all summer long many, many people have been asking for, nay, demanding your presence to help with the crops, the temperatures, the humidity, the attitudes and the list goes on. But now that most crops have been collected for the year, the season has shown signs of finally switching over to autumn and my stomach is about to drop out of me (after it whines incessantly first), I believe it may be the time for a cease fire.
Tonight, I must cover myself in paint and even though it’s managed not to come off so well so far without the supplement of intense scrubbing to the point of rawness, the rain might just somehow manage to smear the black paint into the white paint and at least halfway ruin the effect tonight, and if you’re still here, Saturday night as well.
Also, I’ve been wanting to go fishing again and have been checking the Farmer’s Almanac calendar religiously for the past few days and according to this old standard, Monday and Tuesday both were supposed to have been good fishing days, but alas, you were here to put a damper on them. Tomorrow has been labeled as a good day as well, but from the way things look, you’ll still be here.
Sigh. I hate to be rude to a guest, but you were scheduled to have left yesterday and you’re still here. I believe that’s considered to be overstaying your welcome.
Respectfully and wetfully,
Scout
P.S. But, please, do come again another day.
Starting to get nervous again. Not the terrible kind of nervous like when you forget your lines for the lead in the play, mind you, but the brand of nervous that comes with getting ready to get up in front of a crowd and give a speech. It’s the kind of moment when all the built up nervous energy has a strange way of working in your favor. And it’s all because tomorrow night is the second night of the haunted theatre.
All week, I’ve been gearing up for the event as if I’m preparing for a marathon. Went to Wal-Mart and stocked up on black and white paint and fake blood. At home on the tube, AMC has been serving up some yummy motivational classics like “Poltergeist,” “Halloween,” “Children of the Corn” and “The Exorcist.”
Last Saturday was the trial to see what would work and what wouldn’t work and now I just have to take that and apply it to the rest of the performances. Got a little too enthusiastic last Saturday and managed to tear up some of my props attempting to leap over them for maximum scares, so I’ll have to redo a few things, but other than that, I’m all set. Just ready to put on the paint and costume.
Remind me to bring some caffeine (enough for a few people), chewing gum and, oh yes, a camera.
Here are some dos and don’ts I’ve picked up so far from this haunted house experience and from others I’ve had over the years and some of them, I’ve picked up the hard way.
Do:
Plan on losing your voice or your sanity or whatever it takes to scare people. That’s all part of it.
Use props you normally wouldn’t think of as being scary. Anything can be potentially scary in the dark from tiny water guns to hair hanging down from doorways to little plastic sticks that are there just to reach out and grab a person. In the dark these things transform into hands, spiderwebs and spraying blood.
Buy your paint in bulk. After one night of paint, I realized that my one package would not be nearly enough to cover six nights of performances.
Don’t:
Get discouraged if you’re initially not getting the screams. Chances are, you’ve got other nights to work on your scariness. Practice makes perfect in haunted houses just as well as anything else.
Chase people, especially children. Accidents can happen and the minute one does, the haunted house ceases to be scary altogether.
I’m sure the list will get longer with each performance.
At approximately 7:03 last night, as I was gathering together last minute props, making sure my face and wig stayed on and glancing up at the orange tapestry waiting for it to go dark — the signal for the show to begin — I quickly came to the decision that if I ever heard the Nickelback song “Never Again” never again it would be all too soon.Someone had punched the repeat button on the CD player and amid the feverish pace of our getting our rooms, attitudes and scariness down to perfection, we were serenaded with the neverending blaring guitar riffs of the song to the point that we all could have put down our weapons at some point and sang a group chorus of it. The rock music somehow managed to hold the power of transcending all the screaming, howling, chainsaw racket and operatic bell chiming.
Piece by piece, here’s how the opening night of the fourth annual Sharon Haunted Theatre played out.
The Setup
The haunted theatre is set up to be a maze filling every inch of the old building with constricted hallways, winding and claustrophobic paths that are at times hard to navigate without the help of a guide and rooms filled with scary characters in the form of the staff members. The skeleton of the maze is built out of wood, black plastic and orange tapestry plus whatever else materials the cast members bring in to make the rooms as scary as possible.
My room, known as the Corn Room, is rectangular in shape and surrounded with corn stalks. The corn stalks are filled with bloody hockey masks and a giant hulking demon wearing a tattered black cloth hangs on the wall across from the doorway to greet the guests.
White bricks have been spray painted on the floor in the form of a path and on the right is an opening in the cornstalks….a perfect place to set up my well. The well is a blue plastic barrel with the back cut out and I took poster board, drew bricks in it and taped it around the barrel. Very simple yet effective. Inside the barrel, I placed a bucket of water to stand in and splash around on the innocent people who walk through the room. In front of the barrel, I set up my computer and continuously played the video of “The Ring.” My brother’s friend burned the video onto a DVD for me. Initially, I was concerned about not having a repeat feature on the media player, but luckily I found an outlet close to my barrel so I wouldn’t have to go in and out to start and stop the movie.
For my costume, as Sumara, I bought a white dress at a local discount store and demolished it, tearing out the sleeves, ripping the bottom to shreds and putting brown shoe polish all over the bottom to achieve the swampy, dried blood effect. Taking white paint, I made my skin even pastier than ever by covering my face, neck, arms and legs with the stuff. Mascara around the eyes did the trick for that dead, sunken in look and I took more shoe polish and drizzled it over my arms, legs and feet. Finally, I took a long, black wig and put in on backwards and my costume was complete.
First Night Success Gauge
Groups of either four, five or six people came through at a time led by a guide and it was easy to tell when the groups were about to reach the room as someone had carefully placed a piece of tin along the hallway leading to the room and even the slightest footsteps would echo off it and send out the warning for me to get into position. The group would see the video and then I’d wait a second or two before jumping out of the barrel, flinging water in their direction and screeching, “Seven days!”
For the first few groups, I drew guffaws for this action, but I assured myself that laughs were better than no response at all. Later on, I garnered a few screams and even managed to scare the pants off a few local football players.
Overall, it was a smashing success.
Five more nights of it and maybe, just maybe, no more Nickelback.
Hopefully, I’ll take some pictures in the coming performances and post them.
Last night I finished up Friday Night Lights and I have to say that while I expected it to be powerful and emotional, I never expected it to affect me in the way it did.
Outside of worrying about the Sharon Haunted Theatre and working on football, basketball, a board meeting and an article for a local magazine, I threw myself into the book almost every spare minute I had and even last night, as I quickly finished it in my car before going into a local basketball game, I found myself nearly in tears because it was over.
In some small degree I very much related to it. True, my neck of the woods can only dream of fostering AAAAA football and while there are some very avid fans around here, if any of the local teams drop a close contest or get blown out by a much more talented team, for most of us at least, the world continues to turn and the sun continues to rise as always, but this sports book focused not only on that, but went beyond it. It isn’t just about the game of football. It’s about how football shapes everything in a mid-sized Texas melting pot of a town searching for heroes amidst the dying oil economy and strong racist feelings. It’s about how a sport, however trivial it might be to most of the people in the country, serves as the heartbeat of the community. It’s about finding a way to win at all costs just to keep that heart beating.
It just sends chills down my spine to think that, in a way, every small town has something like this whether it be a great sports team, a blossoming economy or just people who keep holding on even if they’re holding on to nothing in particular.
Even if you’re not a sports fan, this deserves a read. Do it.
Admit it. Unless your name just so happens to be Hester Prynne, you dearly love red letter days. You know….those days that only come around once in a blue moon and are particulary exciting when you least expect it. You hear from a friend through a newsy letter in snail mail. Your favorite team beats the bigger, scarier, more touted team. Or if you’re like me, you just happen to be in the right place at the right time to name a coffee.
I was over at one of my favorite stops today — BDx in Martin — and asked the head barista to make up a creation for me that I’d only ever had once before. While we were talking, Beethoven’s Fur Elise was playing in the background and the barista noted that the word “music” is an interesting word in the fact that the root of it is “muse” and a muse doesn’t necessarily have to come in the form of a sound as in ”muse-ic”. Down at the very core of its etymology, it can stand for most any inspiring sense. Upon discussing this most interesting subject, I mentioned that I was getting ready to do some work and needed a particulary strong cup of coffee as I wanted to be able to devote maximum focus to the task at hand. So, that’s how it all came together. Take a little mocha, a little hazelnut, add in two shots of expresso and viola……you have The News Muse.
Upon devouring this wonderful creation, I traveled out to various businesses in the community to take pictures of some of my favorite people in the world, the clients of Community Developmental Services in Martin. Some of them were seeing how they’d like it in the world of work and were trying out various jobs from washing dishes in a school cafeteria to folding blue jeans in a local general store to sweeping up trash in the parking lot of a convenience store. They will make you smile and warm your heart and their dedication and positive attitudes just give me goose bumps.
Here’s to red letter days for everyone!
Last night at a local board meeting, helped out by friend J. from another local newspaper, I figured out what my coffee was trying to tell me yesterday! I can’t believe how obvious it really was. It was trying to tell me what scary character I should be for the Sharon Haunted Theatre.
I won’t divulge too much, but here’s a clue…..
For more info or to just see me, come on out to the haunted theatre on the night of the 20th, 25th, 27th, 29th, 30th or 31st.
See the rings inside the rings?
What’s this cup of coffee trying to say? I’m dizzy with caffeine? I need to move to Saturn?
I have less than one week to come up with ideas for what I want to be in the Sharon Haunted Theatre because our first performance is this Saturday. Ahhhhh!!!!
I can tell it. All the warning signs are in place. Every once in a while I get this little twinge that is either telling me to go back to school or move far away from here or both. Usually I try to ignore it and hope that it will go away, but this time, I’m just not sure I want to ignore it.
When I do ignore it, it usually stifles me, makes me feel like I’m living in a cave and can’t breathe and then in its mildest form, it causes me to get depressed, antsy, bored, lonely, miserable, etc. I’m easily agitated, easily frustrated, easy to knock down if someone were really wanting to take a shot at me. And usually, I keep it to myself and don’t talk to anyone about it because it seems that most of the time, everyone else is busy and I don’t want to bother anyone with it.
I had a dream last night that one of my professors came to this blog and left me the most hateful messages on posts. She said things to the extent of, “Why are you doing this stuff? This is garbage. When are you ever going to do anything big?”
Ah, what am I going to do this time? Anyone want to talk?
I was reminded yesterday that I composed a bit of an abridged version of the fishing trip story so for anyone curious enough to know the conclusion of the adventure, keep reading and I’ll try to stop laughing about it.
As you can see from the picture two posts ago, Bro. Finn is wearing a blue sweatshirt. When we left to go fishing that day, the temperature was quite cool, but later on after we’d stood in the sun for a while at the lake, it got hotter and Bro. Finn was forced to take off the sweatshirt (but he had on a short sleeve under it). When we were packing up to leave later in the day, we realized that we needed to make at least two trips to collect all of the gear. As we were shoving everything into the back seat and figuring out how to make everything fit perfectly, in our extreme haste, something did not get packed.
The road to Garrett Lake is filled with curves and winds in a serpentine fashion around ditches of kudzu and wheat fields and as we neared the highway, all of a sudden, a long blue arm reached down from the top of the car and waved at us through the passenger window.
As I tried not to scream and hit the kudzu-filled ditch at the same time, Bro. Finn calmly stated, as if this were a natural happening you’d expect to see just any old day, “Oh, I must have left my sweatshirt on top of the car.”
Chewbacca, Bobba Fett and company. Clifford the Big Red Dog. The Berenstein Bears. Finn. Where could you possibly find all of these interesting and diverse characters? Only at the Southern Festival of Books, of course.
Maw Finn, Bro. Finn and I packed up the car at the early morning hour of 5 a.m. yesterday to go pick up the Finnator and head to the big event.
When we reached Abode Finn, we were greeted by the fabulous nephew and grandson Cooper who impressed us with his learning and charmed us with his personality and affinity for yogurt drops. I haven’t seen the Coopster since Finn and The Accountant got him in June, but it may as well have been a year as much as he’s seemed to have grown since then.
The weather leant itself perfectly to the event. Vendors for publishing companies, book sellers, universities and various offerings of food lined War Memorial Plaza like miniature circus tents. Authors, both newcomers and veterans, gave presentations and speeches and signed their works.
Upon Elizabeth’s insistence on my getting her a book, I gave in and purchased Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café for her as, in my opinion, you can’t really go wrong with a Fannie Flagg work. For me, I picked up a copy of Friday Night Lights, something I’ve always wanted to read after seeing the movie.
After spending a few hours at the festival, we headed back to Abode Finn where Cooper and his mommy played soccer, Maw Finn served as spectator and occasionally subbed in for Finn, The Accountant manned the grill and Bro. Finn and I played a few games of competitive basketball.
On the way back home, I started to drag a bit around the Paris Landing area, so Maw Finn took over and can now say she got to drive the ‘Stang for a bit. She’s one of only a very few people I’ve actually let do this.
What a day! I wouldn’t really mind if they’d put one of these events on every weekend. It definitely would never be short on characters….at the festival and otherwise.
Bro. Finn and I ventured out to Garrett Lake this past Friday afternoon for a little fishing — well, it’s only called fishing if you actually catch fish and we almost didn’t.
Trying out various spots on the bank with live bait in the form of crickets, bass jigs, plastic worms and almost everything else in the tackle box, we had no luck, but when we moved near a fallen tree sticking out into the water, I began getting small nibbles, but the fish would take the bait off the hook nearly as fast as it could before I could set it and pull it out of the water.
Finally, I took all the slack out of the line and resorted to jerking whatever was on the line out of the water as quickly as possible and by adopting this method of fishing, I landed two enormous, sparkling shiners.
So, after just over three hours of fishing, we managed to catch a couple of large minnows.
We’ve decided to stick to pond fishing from now on.
Maw Finn makes the redeeming statement that I can go up to the local library and use the wireless internet any time I want for absolutely no charge. Yes! No more sneaking around the local government buildings suspiciously as if I’m committing a crime simply by stealing off their internet (well, I guess actually, in a way, I am……I suppose it’s some sort of piracy….help me out here, Pshaw). Now maybe my bad attitude and jealousy of others having the internet anytime they want at their beck and call will go away and I’ll finally enjoy blogging again. Hallelujah! Now, I won’t have to do that post about the blog being a baby and my being a neglectful mother.
Even if I am the only one excited about this……yippee!!!
Big, fat phooey to everything else!!!
Just found out today that a second cousin on my mom’s side of the family may not make it much longer at all.
She found out that she had a family history of cancer, so she took extreme precautions to make sure she didn’t get it. She had a complete mastectomy and hysterectomy only to discover a little later that cancer had already entered her body and gotten to three of her major organs.
I never really got to know her but I did go to church with her once. She’s Jewish so we went to her synagogue — the gigantic and beautiful Temple Israel in Memphis. Although I stuck out like a sore thumb with my blonde hair and no apparent knack for reading and singing in Hebrew, she made me feel like a church member.
She and her husband have gone to France to spend her last days over there.
Putting the week to rest.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
A couple of years ago, my friend and I got wind that one of our favorite authors was scheduled to have a session at the Southern Festival of Books, so we jumped at the chance to go. At the time, the festival was going through its city location change and was to be held in Memphis, so we headed down to the Big M in the middle of a thoroughly drenching rainstorm just to see the one, the only Rick Bragg.
To pause for a bit and explain our reason for liking Mr. Bragg, his books were and still are staples of literature and composition classes at the University of Tennessee at Martin and from the moment I was introduced to his memoir, All over but the Shoutin’, I immediately shared it with my mom and her very large family and as far as I know, an aunt, uncle or cousin still has my copy (and yes, I’d like it back).
With Henrietta’s copy of AOBTS in hand, we headed to Mr. Bragg’s speech session (the room was filled and, yes, I happened to actually find three of my book-grubbing relatives listening to Mr. Bragg, and no, they didn’t have my copy of the book with them) and I immediately fell in love with the bearded, talkative, Southern-speaking Mr. Bragg to the point that I had an intense and almost insatiable urge from the back of the room to pull out a pair of binoculars and search his fingers for a wedding ring. He later rained on my parade by announcing that he was engaged. Gah…..it was already a rainy day. Why’d he have to do that??
Right after the speech and inquiry of my relatives as to whether or not they had my book, Henrietta and I grabbed a spot in the quickly-forming serpentine line that was beginning at a table set aside for Bragg’s signing of his then-new book, a story about Jessica Lynch. Though Henrietta had her AOBTS book with her, I had nothing in hand, but a marriage proposal reconsideration in stow for emergency. A couple behind us who had noticed our enthusiasm for Mr. Bragg struck up a conversation and we found out that they were from Germantown. The lady noticed I had nothing for Mr. Bragg so sign so she told me to wait a second and she left the line and came back five minutes later with a brand new copy of Bragg’s latest book. She handed it to me without a second thought despite my jaw hitting the floor in the event of a complete stranger buying me a $30 hard-copy book without batting an eyelash and I’m sure I thanked her so many times she just wanted to escape me and my raving lunatic mode as soon as possible.
When, at last, we found ourselves in front of Mr. Bragg, Henrietta practically had to hold me up as she conversed with the author and proclaimed herself a fellow Alabama native which drew a large and enchanting smile from the beloved author and made me sink to the floor even more.
As he opened the cover of my book, I managed, with great help from Henrietta, to croak out, “Make it out to Sara,” but lost wind before I could add, “You absolute literary dream, you.” He scribbled in the finest quality of chicken scratch, “To Sara,” and my wind finally came back long enough for me to screech, “You spelled my name right!!!” to which he chuckled, flashed another enchanting grin at me and finished out the inscription, “I got it right! Thanks, Rick Bragg”.
Though I walked on a cloud for the rest of the day, I made it a point to try my best to look up the couple who’d helped make it all possible for me, but never saw them again. It was almost as if they’d performed their Good Samaritan deed of the day and then disappeared.
There’s just something magical about the Southern Festival of Books. You never know who you’ll run into and you never know what surprises you might encounter, but if you do go and fall in love with one of the authors, make sure the person is single and carry a few oxygen tanks with you for the road. And if by some crazy happenchance (nod to Newscoma for inventing this word at last year’s Christmas party), the “h” is actually not included in the spelling of your name, take it all in stride.
Okay, I’ve had no less than five cups of coffee (some with added creamer and some without) so brace yourself for a transition-less, meaningless, mindless collection of poppycock. All English-degree holders and future English-degree holders please turn your heads for just a second. I promise to do my degree more justice later, but for now, I’m just gonna babble.I cannot wait for next weekend and the Southern Festival of Books!!! I’m meeting up with Finn, my cousin Jennifer ( who I haven’t seen in forever but who recently moved up to Nashville from Meridian, MS) and hopefully taking Maw Finn and possibly other Finns (the more the merrier…you can never possibly have enough Finns, I say) to the event. The only stinkola so far is that my meeting with Mr. Bragg will apparently not have an encore as the gorgeous author will be having a session on Friday and not Saturday. Finn, I think, might get to see him on Friday, so I’ll just have to probe her later and find out if he’s still married.
Nurse Elizabeth just dragged herself home a few minutes ago. Last night she worked from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. and is adjusting to the new schedule of having to sleep during the day and be awake at night. She asks that anyone around Union City please come to visit her in the CCU of the Baptist Memorial Hospital. Haaaa!!!! I just read that sentence again and am laughing my head off now for the way it sounds.
This weekend……I will be going to the Arts and Crafts Festival at Reelfoot Lake. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m festival-crazy again. It happens every few weeks. It’s become a tradition for me and my mom to go to this large festival and though I get sick of looking at all of it after a while, I can nearly always count on seeing at least 10 people I know. I started out going to the festival because I had a silly little crush on a broom maker (who was also my seventh grade history teacher) and I always hoped to see him there, but never did. If you’re around the area, head to Reelfoot this weekend. They have a lot of good eats.
My fishing partner in crime, Bro. Finn, just got his fishing license, so I am looking forward to going to Garrett Lake with him and actually catching something. I swear, if I have one more bad luck fishing day at Garrett Lake, I’m just going to have to demand that the lake be drained and checked to see if any pesca even exist there.
Right now, I’m reading this wonderful and hideously hilarious book Squirrel Queen let me borrow called Off for the Sweet Hereafter. The back jacket proclaims it to be “Faulkner meets Mark Twain meets Uncle Remus” and I would definitely have to agree with this analysis. The first sentence takes up a page and a half and manages to go through the life history of one of the main characters.
Hockey time! Yay, Preds! Still football time, but I’m just going to let hockey foreshadow that right now. Let it be heard that if I can consistently come up with the money for gas and tickets, I will go to as many home games as is humanly possible this season. That’s a promise.
Sending both birthday and get well wishes to Newscoma. Here’s hoping that this b-day will be her best one yet and that she‘ll have a speedy recovery and be as good as new as soon as possible.
What should I be for Halloween? Any ideas? Any at all? I’ve got a few weeks to think about it, but I welcome suggestions. Since I’m going to be a part of the Haunted Theatre this year, I have been entertaining the idea of going with a character from a horror film, but haven’t decided on one yet. Freddy, Jason and Michael Myers are all overused. What about Carrie from her famous prom scene? Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?
I think I’m almost out of steam. Gotta refuel. Have a great day, everyone, and drink that java!
A few weeks ago, a friend and I came up with the idea to plan our own little festival and last Saturday, our plans turned into a huge success. Many people showed up to our big crawfish eating (most of which I did not know) so it was a great time all around and a chance to meet many new friends and fellow crawfish appreciators like me.
And yes, it will be an annual event from now on.
Witches’ brew? No, it’s acutally the c’fish swimming in a boiling ocean of potatoes, onions, corn and seasoning. Edward was our official cook. Kudos to Edward!
Brian hangs out.
Morgan guards the ice chest.
It’s the Awesome couple! Matt and Kim Awesome and their dog Leavon. Yes, that is their last name and yes, they really are awesome.
Come one, come all to next year’s event and don’t worry. There will be plenty of non-crawfish items for all the craw haters to enjoy.
I’ve never wanted to be a teacher. I will admit the thought’s entered my head a few times only to be chunked, deleted and otherwise forgotten due to the many times I’ve seen my mom drag herself home half dead and completely zombified from putting up with first graders for the past 30 years. This scene, played out numerous times over the span of three decades, has served to put a damper on any dreams I’d ever have of being an award-winning, patience of Job, bonafide educator.
But let’s just take time to suppose….Just for fun…..let’s suppose a teaching job fell in my lap and not just any teaching job, but what I would consider the perfect teaching job.
It would go something like this…..Maybe sort of like an ad in the personal section of the classifieds…..
English/Biology degree holder (AKA Useless B.A./B.S. Central) seeks a teaching position either high school or college level instilling a love and appreciation of writing into students. Students will write, share with each other and learn from each other through suggestions. Writing (And let’s not call it “work,” because as a wise person told me once, the minute you look at writing as work, the element of fun completely disappears and you may as well burn your building down and start your journey all over again) will be glanced at and corrected for structural errors, but additionally, it will be analyzed for living (or not) up to the potential of its author. Concerning literature, we will look at contemporary works, but we’ll also look at classics and see if we can’t look at them in a different light….possibly from a view not even considered before by others. And in this way, the teacher will be functioning in the best way a teacher can function….as both the head of the classroom and as another student at a desk.
Because, in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about? Teaching and learning. Hey, that’s not a job. That’s life. That’s how it works.
Wow. That ad would cost quite a pretty penny. But, it is fun to just suppose if nothing else….
What do you say?