Kip Powell

Edi's Memories

2009-06-30T15:49:00.001-07:00

Today at 12:39pmSo great to be back in contact with you! I think often of you all and your parents. Mom gave me a "memoirs" book that she filled out for me--a book that asks specific questions about her life from childhood to now. Of course, she has lots of stories about Bett in there! You probably know that they had their own little "soap opera" going between your parents and mine! Daddy liked Mom but was too shy to approach her so he started hanging with Bett to get to Mom. Bett, in the meantime, liked Louis who was Daddy's friend. So she hung out with Daddy only to get to Louis! Daddy and Bett went out on one date and Bett came home and told Mama, "You can have Russ--his ears are too red."!! (Mom said that since Daddy worked outdoors, he was always conscious about not having that "outdoorsy" smell when he was around girls so he would scrub his ears so hard when bathing that they would turn very red!) Anyway, they all finally had the courage to make their true feelings known and everybody got with the one they wanted in the first place!! Glad to know that you're happy and doing well. Take care.

Rumor

2009-06-30T15:44:00.001-07:00

Rumor

Rumor like an unwelcome guest leaves its bed unmade and with feline hunger never gets its fill. Discarding glittering apparel for another to clean of the stigma of ruined lives, lost friendships, and frozen confidences. As a firefly pierces the dark so rumor’s loud voice shatters the resting ear. And a new day’s ambition is slowed to the pace of rumor’s slumbering breath.

Green eyes spark from the soul
Flaming tongues of venom lapping white coals of envy
Murmuring breaths of roaring red, pulse of malice
Die at dusk doused with moral right
Embers of ashen faces, blemished hands, scorched feet
Simmering beneath to sneer and point – swift to devise
Wicked imaginations fanned with a convenient breeze

Once Upon A Childhood

2009-06-30T15:42:00.001-07:00

Once upon a childhood, Greenville favored. Smaller towns routed through and viewed, shortcuts from bases regional to homes and hearths of extended family, the journey in sweet anticipation serenaded by daddy's tenor, mama's alto, and coming of age sibling harmony. Dawn commencement fragranced by the fresh linen smell of pillows cleanly cased, with perfumed toiletry and makeup cases lastly placed. Onward pilgrims pioneering joy, the happiest couple before us, still solid ground behind, below.Really scary bathrooms in real service stations a dread but NEHI drinks from an outdoor icebox and confections a comforting prospect at the country store, a timely soothe accompanied by the creaking cadence of foosteps across the old-time wooden floors; jarred by "djah fine sumpin ya lack dahlin'" and an even more awakening, loving hard pat on the face from that midland Carolina accented protector

Narcisissy

2009-06-30T15:39:00.000-07:00

NARCISISSY
Characters:
Kukla Joffrey
Twila Cruse
Rafe "Chaz" Rafferty
Munchie Warbutton
Ego-Ho
Slade Bledsoe
Robert "Bob-alone" Cassidy

Chaz frequents gay bars and clubs because he is worshipped by a number of the regulars and all of the first timers who allow him to walk on water, playing it straight reminding most of them that they're really in the wrong kind of bar after all if this is the kind of guy they're looking for.
Twila, red Nicole Kidman hair and showgirl pizzazz not only wants Chaz but eclipses anybody else's chances with the help of Kukla. Chaz is sentenced to pussy Sing Sing, a hole name Joy (Joey) joined at the hip by day and leg locked at night. Chaz plays it cool with Twila so as not to alienate the boys which pisses her off and prompts her plot device with Kukla's help to free Chaz from Joy. Chaz is jealous of their relationship but can't resist Kukla's attention so he strings them both along. Kukla is filled with disgusted attraction toward Chaz and as always feeds Twila's obsession with destructive and forbidden behavior.

Munchie, a paraplegic from Australia is allowed a voyeuristic ringside seat to the above. He was paralyzed in a mechanical bull riding accident. He wasn't thrown. but, in a moment of elevated crowd expectation, he tried to vault over the moving bull and landed behind the jukebox on his neck. All he can remember is "I'm a happy girl" skipping over and over while he tried to scream "UNPLUG THE FUCKIN' JUKEBOX." He was given the nickname Munchie after the accident and his first post-paralysis sexual encounter.

"Bob alone", a drag queen in training goes by the stage name Slade Bledsoe. Her mentor, credentialed by a loyal if short lived, straight stint at PTL is Jeanne D'Orly, last seen instructing Slade how to cartwheel in high heels. His chubby boy breasts reverberating in cadence to the slap, click of his startling success. Jeanne speaks her approval in mock pentecostal tongues and ends with GLORY HALLELUJAH!! SHUBMADAYEDHYLHL THNKDH NAY!! Not offended by this as sacriligious since the Baptists think of this as an emotion instead of a gift. One can laugh and wonder at Jeanne's obvious devotion to that lost cause and her subsequent descent into this demi-monde.

Chaz names one of Kukla's domino fish Bob which Kukla, drunk and offended curses until I rename it Wanda, drawing a coughing fit of laughter from Kukla. He falls onto the purple sofa behind Twila who is leaning up to douse her fag into a garage sale ashtray. She reclines onto his torso while he rests his head on Chaz's side. Chaz places his arm around Twila and for the moment all is silent except for the crinkling sound of Kukla's plastic clothes as he and Twila breathe against each other. Munchie breaks in by asking me how old I am which prompts a quick guess by each to discover who is oldest to youngest - 2 Aries, 2 Tauruses, and one Aquarius. Kukla is oldest by 15 days. We discuss having reached our sexual peaks at the same time -agreed that there is no such thing. Twila and Chaz try out Kukla's short, high 200 year old bed , for a simulated poke and crash off the end of it in a weakened heap. Munchie runs over my foot enroute to investigating while Kukla stares with an indifferent gaze at the security mirror he stole from a textile mill. His bleached Billy Idol doo and ruddy face framed his eyes and set them in a supernatural blue blaze. I broke his trance with my involuntary, inebriated movement toward the drama unfolding in the bedroom. We formed a two man conga line and pushed Munchie out of the doorway, where we all observed the motionless couple glowing beneath the lavender neon that framed the bottom of the bed on all sides. Someone made the statement "Boy,girl, boy, girl" one of those incongruous moments that seem so normal and sensible when you mix coke, pot, liquor, and poppers. A concerted earnest hilarity ensued as we engineered the possible combinations available - 1 girl, 1 guy, 1 bi, and 1 on wheels. We concluded there was really only two that were acceptable using Munchie as the wild card. Stevie Nicks gathered us again into the fishy, art deco sitting room, part of a big house in the city's historic district. I stared out of the curtainless window at the columned manse across the oak lined street. Christmas decorations were in place even though it was early November and I wondered if anybody was doing somebody up in there.

Last Rose of Summer

2009-06-30T15:36:00.001-07:00

Fare thee well durable rose, you leave us without fanfare. Your eminence recognized, appreciated, and favored, yet your season taken for granted until we touch your darkened petals. Chancellor, queen mother, beauty emeritus, dowager, silver threads web over precious golden thorn, your glorifying protective stem. They call you summer's last weary beauty yet your countenance is the face of experience against the newborn baby blue autumn sky. Your sisters whisper with bowed heads, serenity a perennial truth.Kip Powell

I Saw

2009-06-30T15:33:00.001-07:00

I saw, standing irreverently built on hallowed ground, ground which unceremoniously gathered the blood of all, gray and blue, white and brown, ground on which blood spilled has washed away that of a child rescued by this mother’s balms for scraped knees and stubbed toes. I saw standing, reverance of a sort in this concrete and synthetic existence, one holy with it’s materialistic fulfillment provided, oh for woe.

Blithe Spirit

2009-06-30T15:14:00.001-07:00

Blithe spirit, buoyant apparition, ghostly talents lifting them above and beyond solemn deaths of mirthlessness, appalling to my shaded soul, thespians of cosmic melodrama, exiting stage left conceding the curtain call and approbation to the embodiment of semblance and façade.

Attendant blight, attendant blessing paradox of carnal knowledge and spiritual heritage. Worldly eyes would seclude the virgin in shame while their only hope, the revelation and redemption cried love and compassion. His sweet voice breathed everlasting life and spoke infinite peace before any heard. His hands…….

Be Still

2009-06-30T15:13:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been absorbing a blessing such as a beautiful day, coffee with a friend, or a ride alone through the country, and yet a melancholy feeling swells within? You struggle to reconcile this battle in spirit that belies your simple expectation of joy. I usually agonize, analyze, and obsess until the blessing is forgotten. Granted, there are times when peace just truly passes understanding. At what times I am plagued with arrows of oppression I have found a shield of faith. That is simply stated but profoundly sensed. Then, I may ask the who, what , when, where, and how of the Holy Spirit. Be still.Today, He gave me something I haven't experienced in years. Birds were singing, tussling with each other in the peach tree, and in the flower bed, different sounds as I have heard before, or maybe I had just forgotten. A lady bug and a yellow jacket zig zagged in a near tango, and I actually heard the reverberation of a donkey' s bray over the next hill. Earth sounds, heaven sent.

When Inhumanity Begets Character

2009-05-29T13:09:00.000-07:00

I wish I had a less overused term than Religious Right to plaster to my opinion here but it is still the brand that sells. Thinking maybe Religious Self-Righteous, or Jesus Love Us, but He Can't Stand You or JLUBHCSU for ease of transcription. Anyway, following is a review I did for my blog, after reading a book, mentioned in the next paragraph. I believe it is applicable to the post on which I am commenting. My summary reflects my ongoing examination of where the hell I came from and who WERE those people in my wilderness. They may be the same type of terrorists described in this book. One thing is for sure, as ever, their religion is a canopy and just big enough to cover the chosen few. As the crowded mass of perfection underneath meets prospective entrants, somebody naturally has to go. This evolving purification maintains the elect and survival of the fittest, the rules changing form and substance like a lava lamp, and just as dated and tacky.

Just read an autobiography of Anne Moody called "Coming of Age in Mississippi". She was one of the first to participate in a sit-in at Woolworths and was on the front lines when the NAACP emerged in Mississippi. Every word on every page drips with the agony, horror, hope, devastation, faith, lack of faith, vision, exasperation, and committment of a young woman who was called. She wrote the book in 1968.

At the end of the book (384 pages), she is boarding a Greyhound to Washington to testify of the attrocities in the South, especially in Mississippi. Little Gene Young is full of hope and natural excitement as he tries to stir Anne out of her weariness in well doing. I can just see this kid in my mind now, big brown eyes and flashing grin. Here he is, just like any other kid who, no doubt, was just hopping up and down over the prospect of an adventure. Unlike most other kids though, he had not had the inalienable right to walk in and out of a candy store without being under suspicion, cross the street without looking to see who was on the other side, covet some plaything or suit of clothes through a shop window without being shooed away, with added insult to injury muttered under some old fart's breath, or worse, screamed at him. Any childhood curiousity could not be enjoyed with youthful absent-minded abandon. He could have been the little boy who had acid thrown in his eyes by an old white man who was mad because he was peeking through an opening in the fence around his yard. He might have been one of the children whom Robert Kennedy encountered when the Senator arrived to see the hunger and poverty, changing the priorities, for just a moment, of addressing prejudice, racism, justice, freedom, and voting rights. He might have been one of those children, lined up on the steps of their shack, self-consciously bouncing against the wood frame siding, whom when asked by this compassionate man, "Have you had lunch yet?", answered, "No sir, not yet." He, with hereditary pride, would probably not have spoken the shameful truth that growled from his little stomach. The "No sir" part gets to me. Some loving guardian had taught this child the very thing absent in the makeup of men and women two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight times his age - RESPECT! A child, innocent, black, hungry, denigrated, poor, reduced, and forgotten through no fault of his own. Here he is, nurturing a couple hundred years of character, sweetness, and goodness compared to every other person's singular suffocating breath and wasted mind. But here is little Mr. Young, we would be about the same age. I hope he is out there somewhere, saying "YES WE DID!" He says, "Moody, we're gonna git things straight in Washington, huh?" As the other bus riders are singing "We shall overcome", Anne Moody ends the book with "I wonder. I really wonder." This book made me ache, grieving about the culture I grew up in, little girls in their white dresses and patent leather shoes bombed to death in Sunday School ( I bet the bombers would claim to be "pro-life" ), innocent adults left bloody and mashed like dixieland road kill, something left to fill a buzzard's gullet. The mentality that annihilated, in great measure, black people's lives, carefree childhoods, hopes, and opportunities seethes today - different time, same shit. We may not be witnessing a genocide or holocaust, for the moment, but the virus of narrow-mindedness has mutated, morphed, and metastasised as attempts are still being made to "cleanse" the land by the most vocal pledgers of allegience, and perverters of the culture of life. As these provincial reactionaries proudly reach the crescendo of "with liberty and justice for all" they should just as well remove their hand from their hearts, grab their so called "principles" and customized "morals" and stick it where the Son of God don't shine.

Narrow Minds

2009-05-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

On the subject of "civil discourse" I am pretty pessimistic. As a scion of a large Southern Fundamentalist Baptist family, I, a suspected apostate and borderline anathema, haved lived through the destruction "force" of non-thinking people. Immersed in a separate bizzaro world for nearly 40 years, a hermetic ante-inferno of DO NOTS, STAY AWAYS, and WE ARE CHOSENS, I learned that intellect, dissent, debate, and worldviews were foreign anti-God convictions. Those notions could be conceived only by one who followed the Devil. The hypocrisy of these most proud crusaders and creators of schisms doom them to a lifetime walk in a circle of uncertainty. Their faith is not strong enough to be challenged and their fears are allayed by deconstructing opposition. Their surmisings are self fulfilling prophecies as they make enemies in pre-emptive strikes against anything different. Their way of life, they say, is threatened and everybody else must be stopped. The scary thing is I believe THEY make the world a dangerous place and my non-violent nature may be tested as they become more irrational and paranoid. Diplomacy and disclaimers are a given for reasonable people, and bumper stickers may be a good way to let the steam out. Fundamentalism is not open to negotiations, is deaf to prefaces, and illiterate to profound liberal speech. The very literal mission of these extremists is EXACTLY like those we see in all of those other "uncivilized" societies. I am tired of prefacing everything I say so let me say here at the end - I AM A BELIEVER too, just not perfect like you.

America the Land of Entitlement

2009-05-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

We separate from real reality to lose ourselves in Jon and Kate? Mel and his Octomom lookalike puppy lover? Jen, Brad, Angelina, TomKat, Suriname Tsunami, Apple Dumpling Paltrow, Dredge, Pookie, Treysemme, Castoria, Whig, Tory, and Duma Palin? A soccer, hockey, princess mom wielding her forest green tank plowed up behind me on I-40 in Knoxville yesterday...cell phone ablaze, self-indulgent reminder of her own importance and necessary prop to demanding in her choreographed performance that nothing is real except her own expectations, of you not herself, and the notion that easy on easy off exits to and from her mausoleum and sepulcher of dry boned shallow cul-de-sac existence is what matters most.

A MONTH OF SUNDAYS Chapter One

2009-05-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

The pecan groves, until today, seemed an ancient childhood memory of sweet south Georgia Sundays. The bone-soaking warmth of the familiar summer stillness had been suspended for these many decades, transcending the meanwhiles and maybes. Sweeping fragrances wafted through the open window of my old Chevy Belair agreeing in my spirit and stirring melancholy at the same time. My reverance of this journey's expectations was interrupted by an immediate concern over my wilting coif and sweaty back. I caught my pensive smirk in the rear view mirror as I recalled Dickie Workpants. He was a sharecropper nicknamed by an outlet store clerk for the purchase of seven ill fitting coverhauls, one for each day of the week. Ample room to carry tools although Texie Pete said it was "so's he had room to fix hisseff".

The first red-headed black girl in proximity to YMCA Street, Texie came up with her own new persona by changing her name from big ole Texas Petty to the hot firebrand label Texas Pete. She got the idea from the sauce that sat in the middle of every formica table in the Five Points Diner. She worked there and her fascination with Richard Workman began the day he put his big dusty brogans under the red and white checked oilcloth. Boredom changes the course of personalities and reputations and Texie kept pace with the attempt to escape what she considered the dullest place on earth, not that she had been anywhere else. She bowed close to rumor's slumbering breath and shattered resting ears with the loud voice of wicked imaginations.

"Dickie" exuded an earthy charm and smelled like dirt. Not stinky, Texie would explain, but "fresh, fresh, fresh, like turned under soil." Texie began to live up to her colorful name with surmisings fanned with a convenient breeze sparked from coals of envy and agony. An amusement to some, Texie was mostly an object of ridicule, a failed exercise in trying to "live above her station". Rescue may never come for her but she never stopped believing that the day would come when she would be raptured from this place. She would lean in the doorway of the diner, propping open the screen while she smoked and just shake her head at this scene - where fat men and fatter dogs vie for a place in the sun.

Texie lived as much through the pages of Glamour and Photoplay as anyone else in Dougherty County could have in a lifetime. In Cousin Ma'Rie, a piquant contemporary, Texie discovered an engineer of small town survival, as well as a supplier of endless catalogs, travel brochures, and movie magazines. Most days, after work, Texie would step over General Sherman, one non-conformist hound who slept on the stoop in front of the diner. A misnomer for this dog as his owner loved him and Robert E. Lee equally. Texie would walk to Ma'Rie's by way of Callaham's peanut field. Dickie would often be there and if he saw her he would hold up a clump of bounty as a hello. He stayed curiously distant at times but Texie could bring him near enough to observe the simplicity in an intriguing but stifling lifestyle, according to her. She was never able to approach him casually, having seen him take more interest in things than in people. Cracking pecans on a rock and picking out the meat with his hawkbill knife prevented him from taking notice of her more than once, for whatever reasons. Only when she delivered him a Mason jar full of sweet iced tea did Texas "Texie Pete" Petty become an impressionist figure in Richard "Dickie Workpants" Workman's still life.

Ma'Rie's converted Airstream trailer reflected across the expansive groves and guided visitors to plastic pinwheels, ceramic statuary, and animal cemetery. The Florida room that Bud had added collected more stares than sun because of the banana tree that died and was left standing in a corner. The room looked like a giant garage sale dish garden but came in handy when Ma'Rie needed a place to hang her record breaking chain of pop-tops. She had stretched her latest work of excellence across the blond bedroom suite until Bud tripped over it one night. He retaliated when the shag covered toilet lid kept falling in the middle of his morning pee. No more theme decorating. Ma'Rie wanted to use the sunroom as a beauty parlor ever since her success with Texie's hair. If nothing else, the space could be used to store the personal cleansing products that she sold. Stacks of newspapers and magazines shredded by scissors gave the appearance of another prosperous venture. Article clipping gave Ma'Rie the corner on this cottage industry. She enlisted Texie to help but lost her to "Life's Year in Pictures" and the Atlanta Constitution.

In between the mess and instructions the women would talk. While they clipped and skimmed, thoughts of Aunt Vashti prompted them to play "name the presidents". As girls, Vassie would serenade them to sleep with her rendition, starting all over if she missed one name, then doing the same with the fifty states, and Washington DC Texie reminded. Vassie never asked how they wanted their morning eggs, so she fixed them the way Uncle Dowd always ate them - fried and runny. Sugar and cream were not offered with coffee and the girls were too bass-ackwards to ask. Breakfast there was nothing like Granny Queen would fix. Vassie did not inherit that thing so innate in most southern women, black or white. However, there was an ever present delight and mystery at the Dowd clapboard homeplace. Every room was divided by curtained doorways, and shroudlike lampshades cast a macabre dimness throughout the house, especially into Vassie's bedroom. Her dusting powder mixed aroma with the mustiness to create a disturbing sense of deja vu - portending an apparition's eminent presence. The antique vanity with a large oval mirror held her cosmetics placed precisely on lace doilies. Their handmade history surely a point of contact for a conjured ghost. The imagined blended with reality when Old Annie came to live and help with the house after Dicey Dahdalia Elzira Ophelia Bell Dowd died. Never asked how they got Vashti out of that. Old Annie, who she was, what she was remained to speculation. Black, white, mulatto, family, friend, foe, murderess, temptress, eccentric, they never saw her in the light as she never entered a room with people in it. Ma'Rie's and Texie's glimpses of Annie's hand and face peeking around a velvet portal were their last remembrances of the Dowds.

The tacky cheeriness of the trailer comforted them out of this chilly memory. Ma'Rie rolled out of her work area while Texie picked over the reading material oohing and aahing over this in that. They parted at the door laughing, as usual, and Texie started home down the Sylvester Road. The county road was unpaved but well traveled when school was open. The road, hers in the evening and weekends, was hard red clay, dried and bleached, bouncing the sun's rays horizontally before her. Southern summer insects in the ditch and weeds beside her broke the stillness but their droning was hypnotic, perfect for this dreamer. Texie walked with her one true friend, lonesomeness, speaking to her loudly and preaching hallelujah sermons in a hail of passion. Deaf ears and heavy eyes of everyone else around her rebuke the call for adventure and vision. They trip over stone and root wincing at the stride and andrenalin required to exist. Texie was jarred back to the present with an aged voice of responsibility, echoing with the pulse of retreat and abandon, but the easy, difficult, known, unknown present, just a skirmish to the front where solitude lies, the destiny of spirit and this sojourner woman.

Momzi's Life Story

2009-05-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

Some events in the life of Rose Lee Bell Kay, daugther of William M. And Lula Callaham Bell.

Momzi’s “Life Story” (which she wrote for me May 21, 1988 two years before her death)

Page 1 Baby Girl

I was born August 31, 1902 on a farm about four or five miles south of Honea Path, South Carolina. My mama and Papa named me Rose Lee. They say I had lots of black hair, and was so long my sisters would tie it up with ribbon. I was the eighth child of eleven. My oldest sister was about sixteen when I was born, and she cared for me when my mother was cooking etc.

When I was about a year old, and beginning to learn to walk, I took whooping cough and double pneumonia. I was very sick, the doctor told my mother he had done everything he knew to do and there was no use for him to make any more house calls. It was in the Lord’s hands. My mother prayed continually for the Lord to heal me. I lost weight and was a skinny little baby. I wouldn’t smile at anyone or take an interest in anything, but still my mother kept praying, she wouldn’t give up. At last I began to get better, but I wouldn’t smile or notice anyone. One day my mother put some pillows in a rocking chair and put me on the pillow and my sister was rocking me. Mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner. My sister got behind the chair and would peep around at me and say “boo”. She kept doing this and at last I laughed. She was shocked and happy. She ran into the kitchen and said, “mama the baby laughed”, then she did that again to show mama, and I laughed again. Sure enough I laughed again. (and I’ve been laughing ever since). When I got stronger I had forgotten how to walk, but the family soon had me walking as well as ever. They say I was a funny looking thing, big head of black hair, and skinny little body. But I began to gain weight and was soon a healthy chubby little girl. I know the Lord brought me through for my mother didn’t stop praying and had faith in the Lord.

Page 2 Starting to School

As the years went by I was a healthy child, but I was nervous. I was afraid of thunderclouds and I was SO afraid of a worm, although I was a Tom-Boy. I loved to climb trees, ride horses and do any thing my brothers did. When I was about two years old my brother Elmer was born. I loved him very much and we grew up together and enjoyed playing with each other. My brother Gene was three years older than I was. He loved me but enjoyed playing tricks on me. When I was seven years old we had a big closet in one of the bedrooms, mama gave it to me to play in with my dolls and toys. I spent lots of time playing in there. It didn't have a window or a light but I kept the door open and that gave me plenty of light, but Gene would creep in quietly and close the door suddenly. That scared me, I would scream and bang on the door, then mama would come and Gene would get a whipping. But that didn't bother him.

We went to school at Honea Path High School. By the time I was six years old and had to start school we had moved to the north of Honea Path two miles from school. We walked to and from school, except on rainy days. Papa then carried us in the buggy. We enjoyed walking to school everyday. All along the way other children joined us, and by the time we arrived at school there was a big group of us. We carried our lunch everyday. Everybody had a lunchbox. Mama fixed the nicest lunches. She made tiny biscuits, with country ham on them, made cookies cut in shapes of stars, etc., with different colored icing on them, and the best sugar pies. Most of my friends lived in town. They would bring candy apples or bought cookies but they thought my lunch was something to be proud of and would want to trade their lunch for mine, and of course I was glad to trade some of mine.

One fall there were army worms on everybody's cotton. These worms would cover the cotton plants, and eat all the leaves off, then go to the next field and do the same thing. There were cotton fields on each side of the road, on the way to school. One day as we were walking home from school, we came to these cotton fields. The worms had eaten all the leaves from the cotton on one side of the road and were crossing to the other side. The road was covered in worms. When I saw them I stopped and started crying. I said I wasn't going to walk through those worms. My sister Mary broke a limb from a bush and said she would sweep a path through the worms for me to walk, but that didn't help. There were so many of them they kept crawling back. I wouldn't walk through them so Mary picked me up and carried me till we were clear of those worms. After that Papa carried us every morning and came for us in the afternoon till all the worms were gone.

Page 3 Girl About Town

I was in the advanced first grade that year. The first grade went in at 8 o'clock and got out at 11 o'clock, then the advanced grade went in and stayed till 2:30, when all the school got out. I had to go to school each morning with my sisters and brothers, as it was too far for me to go alone. Each morning I would go up to my Aunt Rose's home and stay till time to go to school. Aunt Rose's daughter Elsie was in my grade so we enjoyed being together. Aunt Rose just lived about two blocks from school. One morning when we got to school (I was walking up to my aunt's), there was a patch of cotton on one side of the street. I was walking along not looking down and the sidewalk was covered with those army worms. That scared me almost to death. I started running and ran like a turkey till I was clear of the worms. When Elsie and I were ready to go to school I told Elsie I wasn't going the way I came, so we had to go around several blocks further, but safe from the worms.

There was a little girl in my grade named Emma Ruth Moore. She also lived out in the country. She came to school every morning with her big brother. She stayed around the school till time to go in at 11 o'clock. One day she asked me to stay with her instead of going to my aunt's, so I did. After school had taken in she and I played hop-scotch and bouncing our balls and jump rope till we were tired of that. Then we decided to go up town which was about two blocks from school. I had a nickle, I told her we would buy some candy. Miss Rosa Cox had a candy store there in town. You could get a big bag of candy for a nickle. When we got to the store and got the candy I asked Miss Rosa to give me an extra bag, then I divided the candy and gave Emma Ruth half of it. We walked along the street looking in the windows at the pretty things. Misses Ella and Ida Brock ran a dry goods store and sold hats, caps, and lots of things. When we looked in their window I saw a pretty tam. I said, "Oh I like that tam, I'm going in and ask Miss Brock to let me try it on." When I looked at myself in the mirror I wanted it. Emma Ruth tried it on also. She liked it too. The price of it was fifty cents. Emma Ruth said she was going to buy it the next week (this was Friday). I said I saw it first and I was going to get it. Neither of us had fifty cents right then. Miss Brock said, "Well girls, both of you want it. the first one that comes in for it will get it." We almost got into an argument after we got out of the store over that tam.

When I got home from school that day I told mama about the tam, and how I wanted it, and so did Emma Ruth. I also told her Miss Brock said the frst one that came in for it would get it. Mama said, "Well, in the morning you and Elmer can go into town and get it." The next morning Elmer and I hitched Prince, our horse, to the buggy and were there when Miss Brock opened her door. When Miss Brock saw me, she said, "You said you were going to get it." I put it on my head and then we went home. I was so happy. I was anxious to go to school Monday and show it to Emma Ruth. When she saw it, she said she didn't want it any way (SOUR GRAPES). I knew she wouldn't get it for her mother wasn't sweet and good as my mama was. I spent the night with her one night before that and her mother wasn't too friendly and made us wash the dishes and make our bed the next morning before we went to school. When I had company (and that was quite often) we didn't have to do anything but play.

Page 4 Mischief Rising

My Aunt Rose was a widow, her husband, my Uncle Sam, was killed by a run-away horse. He was going into town one day (they lived on a farm near my home). The horse got frightened by an oil tank on the side track of the railroad in Honea Path. The horse was running, and one of the buggy lines broke, and my Uncle couldn't control the horse with one line. He was thrown out of the buggy and his head struck a tree. Later Aunt Rose moved into town, and rented her farm out. She kept a cow and a hog. she had a nice place in town with a barn, an orchard with peaches and apples. Besides Elsie, which I've mentioned before, she had three sons older than Elsie. In the fall of the year her children had to work after school. A farmer who lived near them had a cotton field. That's where my cousins worked. They picked cotton when I went home with them from school. I worked with them (I didn't have to do that at home although we were farmers). One afternoon when I picked cotton with them I made twelve cents. The next morning I told Elsie I was going to go up town and buy candy with my money, so I did, and she and I had a feast, Ha.

Sometimes we had to pull grass and tie into bundles for the cow, and sometimes we had to go over into the woods and pick up acorns for the hog, but we had fun doing all that. I ddn't do all the visiting, Elsie went home with me from school too. My mother was a good mother, and she never "spared the rod" when it was needed. She never allowed us to run from her when she was going to punish us. But one day Gene did something wrong, she was going to whip him. She went out and cut a switch, I was in the dining room with Gene. When I heard her coming I said to Gene, "SHE'S COMING, RUN!!" Mama heard me, and Gene did run. He jumped out the window. Mama picked me up, put me across her knee and spanked me HARD. I was laughing. She said, "I'll change your tune", and she did. That was the worst spanking I ever got. I never told Gene to run anymore.

At the front of our house on the right, our house stood a few feet higher from the ground than the rest of the house. It was high enough for a child to play under. On rainy days Elmer and I played there. When I was growing up we were taught to not do anything on Sundays, like cutting out paper dolls, or using the scissors in any way. We couldn't sew, the boys weren't alllowed to cut wood on Sunday. We cooked on a wood burning stove, so the boys had to cut enough wood on Saturday to do till Monday. Nobody was allowed to dig with a hoe or anything like that. Well, one Sunday it was raining. It rained all day. In the afternoon Elmer and I went out under the house to play. After we had played awhile, I saw a hoe lying there, I picked it up and stood at the edge of the house and reached the hoe out in the rain and started digging a hole. I was enjoying seeing the water splash and run back into the holes, but suddenly there was a gurgling sound coming from the hole and water ran down into it fast and kept making that noise. I stopped digging, threw the hoe down, started running into the house crying and saying "'cuse me God, 'cuse me God." I thought that was the Devil coming up to get me because I was digging on Sunday. I kept looking back. I knew the devil was after me. When I got into the house mama said, "What's wrong? Are you sick? You are so pale." I told her what happened and she said, "That wasn't the devil, that was a water vein or maybe you dug into a mole tunnel and the water ran in fast and made the noise. After that I never used a hoe on Sunday.

Page 5 Daredevil Emerges

On our way to and from school we had to cross the railroad at the edge of town. One day, as we were on our way from school, a freight train was in town shifting the boxes around. When we came to our crossing a string of car boxes were across the crossing. We stood there a long time waiting for them to move. I got tired of waiting. I told them I was going to crawl under that train. My sister Mary told me I had better not, but I didn't pay any attention to her. I crawled under. When I got to the other side I wasved at them and started walking. There were houses all along the road, till I was out of town. I was afraid to go further alone so I sat down under a big oak tree and waited for the rest to come along. Mary said, "you know mama is going to hear about this don't you?" I said, "Of course, TELL TIT!" (that's what we called anyone that was always telling on you). Sure enough she told and I got a spanking.

Broadmouth Creek ran through our farm. Below the house it crossed the road and there was a bridge across it. The bridge was several feet long and on each side of it were thick timbers bolted down with big bolts. The timbers were about twelve inches wide. One day we all were playing on the creek and by the bridge. My nephew was with us. They lived near us. While we were on the bridge he said to me, "You're not game to walk from one end to the other on those timbers." Telling me I wasn't GAME to do anything was like waving something red before a bull. So I said, "Okay, if you walk one I'll walk the other." Mary was with us, she told me I'd better not do it. I knew better, but I just had to do it, so I started and so did Claude. We went across without any trouble. The creek wasn't deep under the bridge, but there were big rocks. If we had fallen we wouldn't have gotten drowned but some of our bones could have been broken on the rocks. Well you know what happened, Mary told ("Tell Tit") and I got a spanking. So did Claude. I don't know what made me do "dare devilish" things like that. I was twelve years old at that time and knew better. Mary was a sweet sister and I loved her. She was just trying to keep me safe, but I couldn't see that then.

Light Their Way

2009-05-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

Teach them to smile, don't they know they are only children? A baby smiles in his sleep without responsibility to graciousness but with a dependent sense of security and faith in the love of his guardians. When does the laughter die and the children cease their play? Have THEY laughed? Have THEY played? Do they remember a time? Surely a memory can turn a dimpled cheek upward even if their eyes tell another truth. Maybe this is all they know - hungry in the womb, hurting in the world.

In Your Eyes

2009-05-09T17:08:00.000-07:00

What did you not see when you thought of me

Blinded by words dividing and conquering dueling at equal pace with same quickness of the draw
Minus luck plus curse cerebral fraternity great and damning
Expectations adamant relentless resolve

Synergic power of sibling rivalry depleted by individualism at any cost
Freedom for you conformity for me
Islands unto ourselves deficit of goods and economy
Walled borders heightened fears generational suspicions perpetuated

Blessings of father and mother lived for and died for each of us claiming them in our corner
Wishing them here glad they are not
What would they think we think we know
Twenty years may have changed them
It has us

Battles nuclear warriors gray souls blue survivors
Fresh green tender verdant among ashes beasts at the ready quests determined
Brothers and sisters veteran to damage and casualty

Rage on your losses have been great my failures as much
Your early morning wail in that July hell is fresh Gahena to me
Our gentle giant hewn down how could I ever be for you
Like the greatest man we barely knew

Our lady of virtue creation of joy and mirth precious above all that we valued
She would be there with the hand of wisdom
Cool palm upon our raised brows of bitterness
The look of love sufficient to heal

Soar

2009-05-09T17:01:00.000-07:00

We would see an eagle, on wing in tree eminent o'er craggy dome and shadowed butte. Majesty upon majesty mount to mount great spirits muse purposed in it's span of resplendent power.

SWEET ABIDING HOUSE OF JOY

2009-05-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

"Cleanliness is next to godliness" is one of those arbitrary exhortations that mamas use to suppress bath-time protests. I have never understood how washing behind one's ears has placement in the grand scheme of holy living, but purity of heart, singleness of mind, and fullness of spirit bring wholeness to one's being. A prayer for cleansing fires passion and praise, and surrender forces an affinity to something greater. A clearly defined spiritual peace washed over me in the crispness of one particular October morning, as I absorbed the freshness of a Smoky Mountain dawn.I checked the progress of the developing fall foliage againset the azure sky. Sweetum, sugar maple, and dogwood were displayed like rows of old fashioned candy jars, standing in nature's confectionery of red, purple, yellow, and orange. Woodsmoke from the chimneys of the "burg"evoked a variety of sensorial recollections in which to lose myself. Family camping trips with scores of relatives singing by the bonfire, and evenings at home with daddy searing sausages over an open flame forom the living room hearth transported me. The childhood adventure of making coffee over a backyard "army" campfire established a life-long love for the hot brew, outdoors, and the night life. A little dime-store aluminum pot, with the glass percolator top, would be blackened by unobstructed flames. That first dark bubble of Maxwell House would be highly anticipated by us boys - brothers, cousins, and neighbors. That fragrant blip of the real man's elixir signaled all to be at the ready with his individual mix of sugar and milk - lots of it. We would have already presented our mugs of choice, some saying "world's best dad", another depicting a hillbilly dancing, or one that said Cherokee North Carolina. Here we were free to pour the strong solution into a saucer and slurp it the way Papa Kay did. Of course, mama would not let us do this at Momzi's table where her matching Country Roses China (or some knockoff thereof) made the coffee extra good.Without a doubt, waking up to the smell of breakfast in her happy home ensured no disappointments for a day. We would emerge from the cold back rooms into the embrace of the oil heater's warmth. There, finding the guardians of our heritage about their work, we were children. The crack of the linoleum, underneath the armless rocker, kept perfect cadence with the occupant's rhythmic movement. One good natured Marine making the best of his infrequent furloughs, happy just to be surrounded by his kids and his sweet Betty Rose. For all the things grieved for, loss of fellowship, unconditional love, and wise counsel, I long for the subtleties that were taken for granted. The look of contentment on the lanky boy from Batesburg was a constant image of the warrior. This "mighty man" of Psalms, softened by a glimpse of his legacy, saw reward in the fruits of his labor and sacrifice, armed with the arrows of posterity. What did he see or know of our future?

Apron Strings - Mother's Day Tribute

2009-05-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

Mama's routine, a stage set as the backdrop for my exclusive role of baby boy, enabled joys of a wonderful childhood. Free to be all day long and at select times among my older brothers, when alone with mama, I was the most important person in the world. I have never felt safer, more secure than when I looked up at her as she ironed, ironing everything, daddy's handkerchiefs, sheets, pillow cases, curtains. The smell of heat pressed against linen soothed me, accompanied by unknown tunes whistled through her teeth or pursed lips. Her song was one of contentment, memorable just for its impromptu composition. Another blessed vision of mama exceeds the cinematic. The choreography of washing dishes displayed the movement of an inner dance beamed through her eyes as she looked out of the window above the sink. She wasn't watching, she was showing - her soul. The fragrance of hot soapsuds preserves this memory and places me at her skirt asking, rather blathering. For some reason I would apologize for talking too much and she would look down at me, searching my face, letting me know this was our time. I loved watching her profile as much as longing for her look. As her gaze continued beyond the porcelain sinks and knotty pine paneled cabinets, I took stock of her beauty. Her mousy brown hair falling on her shoulders silhouetted her brown skin. Her high cheek bones led to hazel eyes, those orbs of understanding, compassion, and resolve. Beautiful thick lips which she pulled together in a self-conscious attempt to keep her pensive smile from spreading into a grin. This futile exercise in modesty yielded to the involuntary and frequent laughter for which she was known. I couldn't have looked more different than she, I, towheaded, blue eyed, and terminally fair skinned, nevertheless flesh of her flesh, souls knit into the very fabric of two hearts.

Pitiless Sea

2009-05-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

I am lifted, my breast above the torrent. Day breaks - the seasoned breath of your blessing brushes my soul with obeying wind- ripples of joy, encircled grace, widen with the stirring of your hand. Sea bird songs break the vastness, terra firma just in sight. I waft nights long in the deep and dark stilled deception, but the drifting is guided by your piercing helm -ahoy I wake - founded mercy.

Sad Sallie Girl

2009-05-07T14:56:00.001-07:00

Sad Sallie, latchkey collie, your matted pelt baptized by forest dew, a witness to your rendezvous through dark nights and lonesome days. Your feet, swift to mischief, know the way to the house of compassion. The hands that feed and hearts that bleed dwell there and are not raised against your sweet face or turned cold toward your need. Rest breathes whispers of stillness and comfort yawns wide, a prelude to immoveable slumber in the porch chair. Yet, what charity redeems, reality challenges. Another day, one that is not your own, to make or be made as you please. Your eyes belie your unassumming loyalty to masters underserving and plead with darting glances to stay. Your call to go home, instinctive and perpetual moves you reslolutely and regrettably. Assurance and approbation, longed for of more familiar surroundings, fills the hole of rejection but is sacrificed for the fleeting hope of the acceptance and natural affection of those you really need.

2009-05-06T23:47:00.001-07:00

Letter to Courtney Pointer when she was about 3 yrs old. Just found it, been saving it to give her. She is now nearly 13.

Well, Jesse and Mikey are gone now. They have been replaced by Maggie on one side of Papa and Nana, and Toby and Holly on the other side. Maggie's owner let you run all over the backyard while she dragged you giggling at the other end of ther leash. You always have to remind me which of the other neighbor dogs is Holly and which one is Toby. You say, "Holly is a girl." You still have to place your hands through the fence while they lick your fingers and they lie against the chain link obstacle yearning to come over and play. You say "Hey baby" and "night night" to them. You are not afraid of anything. We catch lightnin' bugs and you want to hold them and let them crawl on your arm. You probably would hold a snake but we made the mistake of telling you (and transferring our own fears to you) that they were bad. I tried to correct that , but I didn't want you endangered. I am glad you're trusting and I want you to experience all of the world's wonders - the safe ones anyway.I met you and Papa and Nana at McDonald's Sunday for lunch. It wasn't our idea of a Sunday dinner but that's what you wanted and that's certainly good enough for us. You always grin with your eyes whenever you see me and if you're not trapped in a restaurant booth, etc. you usually run to me and hug me - this is the highlight of my LIFE. This day you were at the table eating your McNuggets so I went behind you and kissed you on the forehead as you looked at me upside down. You in that yellow checked dress, white frilly socks, and patent leather shoes - a burst of sunshine you are to me. After we ate you did come to me and I enjoyed that small but redeeming walk to the car.I decided to brave the 100 degrees and bloated belly and follow y'all back to Nana and Papa's to read the paper while you played in your new pool, but as usual you enlisted me as your playmate. Whether we're playing basketball, chasing each other, looking for dinosaurs, or pretending to catch a bus to Gatlinburg, I am allowed to enter your world and remember the pleasantness of childhood peace and the sweetness of joyful abandon, an innocence I see through and in your eyes. God forbid that you will have to grow up too fast or that modern times,technology and a world turned upside down will dim the memories we make now, or the view of life that you now hold. You entreated me to get into your tiny pool. When I hesitated you assumed the experienced adult role and said "TRY TRY". I jumped in - but that wasn't enough so I sat down - JEANS, SHIRT, AND ALL. I took up about two-thirds of the pool but when I asked you if I should get out you said, "No, stay here". When Nana held the hose pipe up high making an arch with the shower of water you wanted us to run under it. After a couple of times I was still dry so you made sure that the next time through I was far enough over to get wet. You really liked that. After that you would slide into the pool or Nana would spray you, you would open your eyes wide to clear them and then run back in a circle with your tiny butt stuck out in your little fluorescent green bathing suit.

Aunt Bobbie

2009-05-06T23:46:00.001-07:00

January 22 at 3:53pmOkay, you asked for it! I promise I won't bombard you with stories everyday! But since we just had Christmas---When Mama was a girl, her favorite thing to do was to play Dick Tracy. She read every DT comic book she could get her hands on. Bett was always her sidekick--I think she had a name, but I'll have to ask Mama about that again. Anyway, Mama would write out whole scenarios of a crime or a mystery. She would work out all the clues, etc. and then they would play it out. One day her "play" called for them to go up in the hayloft to look for clues. They were carefully scouring the whole loft for clues when they noticed a tarp covering something over in a dark corner. (This unexpected find added a whole new level of excitement to their game!) Staying in character, they crept over to the tarp and lifted it up. There they saw all of their Christmas gifts for that year! Mama said, "We didn't solve a crime that day, but we did solve the mystery of Santa Claus!" That is when she and Bett found out that there isn't a Santa Claus!

Rest in Peace Mrs. Annie Nicholson and Mrs. Rosa Oliphant

2009-05-06T23:45:00.000-07:00

I stood over your memory, so deeply entombed in Edgefield County clay, searching for the rationale in the austerity and abandoment of your life offerings. The granite slab that seems to seal all that you were, I studied, for signs of authenticity and history. Your vital statistics revealed your story, as much as I am allowed to hear it. Born 1802, died 1864, Mrs. Nicholson. Born 1830, died 1929, Mrs. Rosa Oliphant. Don't even know the actual day you were born into slavery, can't even say Happy......well, was it ever a day of celebration? Your sister is remembered, just over there in that overgrown knoll, "All joy is dead since our mother is not here." She was 36 when her children carved these words of grief, almost running out of room between the irregular shaped edges of forest stone. I came here to stand among the spirits of my own. I collected the fragrance of turpentine that bleeds from the piney woods into the soil you worked and returned to. Whispers of ancestors, with obeisance, cannot speak above the tumult of your stifled protests and silent sufferings. I do not know them, and I am not acquainted with you. Miz Rosa, how you must have LIVED, don't ya know, 99 years. You were young enough to start over after the war, but you died here. Did you shout in that church right there, a convenient breeze among the peach groves carrying your hallelujahs down Long Cane Road stirring souls in shantys, and shacks, and scaring folks in manses and homeplaces. Sermons swept through the Mount of Olives Missionary Baptist Church cleansing like a poor boy's brushbroom across a dirt yard. Did you have an old black kettle that you used to boil peanuts and wash clothes? You may have used it to cover a hole dug into the ground inside an outbuilding, where you crawled to pray for freedom. Your muffled agony heard only by your Savior, the cast iron providing a place to hide your soul. Did you say "It is Well"? You would have great-grandchildren living today perhaps. Your heritage and legacy live on. I presume upon your life of meekness to ensure lessons learned and an inheritance promised. Thank you for letting me stand on this hallowed and common ground.

I Come to the Garden

2009-05-06T23:44:00.001-07:00

Love that Dare Calls

2009-05-06T23:42:00.001-07:00

Blithe spirit, buoyant apparition, ghostly talents lifting them above and beyond solemn deaths of mirthlessness, appalling to my shaded soul, thespians of cosmic melodrama, exiting stage left conceding the curtain call and approbation to the embodiment of semblance and façade.

Attendant blight, attendant blessing paradox of carnal knowledge and spiritual heritage. Worldly eyes would seclude the virgin in shame while their only hope, the revelation and redemption cried love and compassion. A sweet voice breathes everlasting life and speaks infinite peace before any heard. Hands…….

25 Things About Me

2009-05-06T23:41:00.001-07:00

1) I hate to argue but I love having the last word.2) Talk is cheap, put up or shut up.3) I am a good negotiater but sometimes if the other party is a horse's fatootsie, a smackdown may be in order.4) I have terminal insomnia.5) When I was little mama said "If dancing wasn't a sin Kip could make a living at it." As Eunice Higgins used to say "Ah coulda been a dansuh!"6) Erik told me once when we were teenagers that I should have been a lawyer because I never forgot anything and would throw it in your face- we were arguing at the time.7) I love you but not your house pets. If I visit you remember that I seriously doubt Precious Pup really really likes me no matter how much he licks and smells me.8) No matter how the previous entries sound I am not a curmudgeon.9) I'm really suuuuuuuuwheet.10) Love to make people laugh even at my own expense. Man, I used to be painfully shy.11) I have never wanted to do anything but become an actor ever since I was a kid.12) My wicked pleasure would be to write a best seller that would be an Oprah's Book Club selection.13) I love the 1940's.14) I would love to play drums in an all black college marching band. Aiight!!!15) I made drastic changes in my life about 10 years ago so I could travel.16) I want to complete that plan and spend most of the year abroad.17) I think about street orphans everyday especially those iin the slums of Nairobi.18) I fantasize about making millions and spending it replacing the garbage heaps there with housing, playgrounds and schools for tens of thousands.19) I cannot and will not accept the excuses and reasons for war when every country has failed to put hungry and orphaned children first.20) I would love to work for Larry and Frances Jones with Feed the Children.21) I love my cousins as if they were brothers and sisters and I know they feel the same.22) I believe that those who have the least give the most.23) I cannot wait to see the meek inherit the earth.23) The thing I remember most about people is their laughter.24) The best laughers I know or knew are/were Bett Powell, Cathy Powell, Sheila Truax and Renee Miller, Edith Norton, Louis Powell, Dan and Mary Truax.25) The Holy Spirit is the most mysterious and beautiful gift I have ever been given. The Presence has been proven and manifested most powerfully in those places and times where all else and all others have failed.

Edi Turner's Memories

2009-05-06T23:40:00.001-07:00

When I was 14, Corelle (the dinnerware) was invented. In 1971, our family returned to Greenville for 3 months so that Daddy could sell Granddaddy Turner's livestock (Granddaddy had broken his leg and was going to have to give up his side job of farming--he was employed fulltime with Southern Railroad.) One day, some of the family was at Edith's for a meal. I remember sitting on one of those "chair stools" at Edith's counter, and I was watching Momzi, Bett, Edith, and Mama clean up the kitchen. (This wasn't a Kay family dinner-we weren't using paper plates. We were using the glorious recent invention:Corelle dishes!) Momzi was washing the dishes, Bett was drying, and Edith and Mama were putting up the leftovers. All four women were talking at the same time-and they each knew everything the other was saying! At this particular moment, they were extolling the virtues of Corelle. Its claim to fame was that it was unbreakable. They all were chattering about how great this invention was and wondering if it was really true--that you couldn't break it. Momzi said, "Well, let's find out," and all of a sudden, her hand flew up out of the dishwater with a plate in it, and she tossed it over her shoulder-soapsuds and dishwater flying! The plate landed on the kitchen floor with a crash--and we beheld the miracle!! It wasn't even cracked! Bett and Mama just died laughing. Edith had this startled look on her face for a few seconds (can you imagine anyone slinging soapsuds and dirty dishwater on EDITH"S FLOOR?!!!--Only Momzi could have gotten away with it!). Then Edith started laughing. Momzi just had this mischievious grin on her face! I sat there grinning from ear to ear, enjoying 4 of the most wonderful women God had ever created!

I Remember

2009-05-06T23:38:00.001-07:00

The white frame house on whose steps I played diaper clad and asked for choc-it ice cream.Sleeping in the crib when company came and loving every minute of it.Asking the ice cream man in Albany GA for an Eck-ee-moe pie and being embarrassed when he laughed at me.The spit of snow we had one time in south Georgia and dancing around with Lori Rivera catching snowflakes in our little mittens.The smell of leather upholstery and heat in the big black car that drove me to kindergarten, the big blackheaded lady who picked me up, the big blackheaded lady who taught me, and the big black crayon she gave me instructing me to color an entire piece of paper.The weak half a Dixie cup of orange ade and soft vanilla cookies with red jelly centers for our snack.Wanting to stay in bed and never go to kindergarten again.Mama saying okay.The glorious smell of grape soda we got at the military commissary.Playing Hangman with Shayne in the car while daddy shopped at the commissary.The purple treehouse with white polka dots in someone's yard near downtown Albany.The Piggly Wiggly Store, Five Points Grocery, the theater seen from my bedroom window.Daddy letting me get back up after Erik and Shayne had gone to bed to watch the Arthur Smith show and eat Neopolitan ice cream and sugar wafers.Mama telling me after we were grown not to tell Erik and Shayne so they wouldn't feel badly.Seeing the kitchen light on under my door, hearing daddy open a bag of snacks and falling asleep in self pity.The rose that a Marine colonel gave me off his trellis to give to mama and the safe place in the dash where I kept it until daddy and I got home.Laying on army blankets on the bare floor of our new residence after being transferred to Norfolk VA, hearing children playing outside, sitting on suitcases to eat at a table left by previous owners, the smell of cooking gas.The small hedge separating our small front yard from the sidewalk, the pieces of slate leading up to the front steps, the cold shady gray concrete bleachers on each side where friends and I would recline.The gold colored 8617 address plate above the door, the small tree between the walk and the street where I fit perfectly in it's embrace.The Bozo lunch box , the wax paper, the medicine bottle full of chocolate syrup to kill the "cowy" taste of the half-pint school milk.The wet lunch trays and my imagination of how they got that way.The smell and vivid colors of the paints in art class - the huge brushes and the ominous iron gate pushed against the wall, beyond where the upper grades began.The scores of rubber balls and jump ropes as we performed like a juvenile athletic dance troupe from China during gym.Mr. Whitson, the P.E. teacher, his grin, and my thinking it was because of my inferior physical performance.

Aunt Bobbie

2009-05-06T23:37:00.001-07:00

The question Mama answers is:"As a young person did you volunteer for work in church, community, or social services?"Mama writes:Not really--We went to church and did our "duties" concerning that--and we were "good neighbors," usually--unless Papa had to shoot a man in the leg or something--but we had enough social services to take care of at home!This just cracked me up! Not that Papa shot somebody,but the way Mama wrote it! Daddy and Mama have told me several stories about Papa loosing his temper. Once Papa walked into a little store and some men were badmouthing my daddy(he wouldn't let them hunt on his farm anymore because they kept leaving the gates open and the cows would get out).These men didn't know that Papa was Daddy's father-in-law. So Papa walked up to the biggest one in the bunch (Papa was tall but he was skinny) and grabbed his shirt at the throat, and said, "That's my son-in-law you're talking about and if I ever hear you say anything like that again, I'll come looking for you with my gun!" The men knew Papa and knew he meant business, so they didn't say a word! Mama said Papa could be so sweet, but he was short-tempered, especially if he was tired. She said that Bett got so many spankings because she always had to have her say!! Mama said Papa never spanked her, but Mama would hardly talk if he was in the room. Sad, isn't it?

Brothers' Keepers

2009-05-06T23:35:00.001-07:00

ONE EVENING AFTER TWELVE HOURS OF DISOBEDIENT BEHAVIOR ( KNOWN AS THE DAY OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY) SHAYNE JR. AND HEATH WERE SENT TO THEIR ROOMS (AFTER HAVING BEEN GRANTED REPRIVE UPON REPREIVE) TO WAIT FOR THEIR FATHER. WHEN HE ENTERED THEIR WALT DISNEY DECORATED SOLITUDE, TWO PAIRS OF EYES - ONE SET OF STEELY BLUE AND ONE SET OF WIDE BROWN MET THEIR FATHER'S GAZE WITH DETERMINED EFFORT TO READ THEIR FATE. SHAYNE READ A BIBLE VERSE ABOUT CHILDREN OBEYING THEIR PARENTS "FOR THIS IS RIGHT IN THE LORD". HE THEN POINTED OUT THAT THE ALTERNATIVE TO SPANKING COULD BE A PRAYER OF HELP TO BE A KINDER SWEETER CHILD. THE SIX YEAR OLD SHAYNE STARED STRAIGHT AHEAD. SUDDENLY THE FOUR YEAR OLD HEATH JUMPED TO THIS KNEES AND SAID, "DADDY, LET'S JUST PRAY".Kip Powell

2009-05-06T23:34:00.002-07:00

Favorite Quotations:
From Bett Powell (1) What in the cat hair are you doing?(2) I'm going to stomp a mudhole in you! (3) I'm so low I could sit on the edge of a dime and dangle my legs off.(4) I'm going to snatch you baldheaded. (That's not what happened to me, it occurred naturally).

II. Spiritual(1) Defiance does not spell courage.(2) Have fun but not folly.(3)Loss is nothing else but change, and change is Nature's delight - Marcus Aurelius(4)It is a foolish person who lives in the minds of others - Thomas Merton

From Louis Powell (1) I wish he would take a flying leap at a rolling donut(2) If that's true my butt's a chinese typewriter

From Jesus (1) I was a stranger and you took me in.(2) I was hungry and you fed me.(3) I was sick and you visited me.

Movie Quotes: There's no place like home. (Wizard of Oz)Ah'm jest havin' a baad daay! (Sissy Spacek in Crimes of the Heart) after her 3rd failed attempt at suicide.Don't bother me I 'm thinking (Ralphie to the kid behind him waiting to see Santa Claus - The Christmas Story)You'll shoot your eye out! - The Christmas StoryI went to sleep a wretch - I awoke an actorI was born for the lampsYou ARE my home

About Me: THIS I BELIEVEJOY is that thing I most yearn for, the blessing of blessings, the crown of grace.LOVE is boundless, to die for, die from, sensual, spiritual, holy, eternal, short lived, contingent, conditional, deep, superficial, lonely, omnipotent, complex, weary.I want to learn to make the Holy Spirit my Plan A.

Stupid Human Behaviors

2009-05-06T23:34:00.001-07:00

During a lull in business, I took a break to sit awhile on the bench outside the hotel lobby. My eyes were directed to a startling blob that slipped out of a restaurant "to-go" box and plopped on the sidewalk like a fresh cow pie from Pete Elrod's dairy cows. A guy, with disgust, placed the container on the parking lot's river rock wall and stomped ahead of his girl companion. She, with evident second nature, picked up after her man and cackled as I lunged forward with a quick laugh myself. The guy, a typical reactionary male exhibited an obvious sense of loss and failure. He, the hunter/gatherer is demeaned in the presence of the masses. Upon closer examination (yes, I HAD to look) I discovered the sad refuse of chocolate decadence. This inappropriately colored confection, one small square contribution to stupid human behavior, directed Gatlinburg's Saturday night foot traffic. Some studied it while others, not looking, stepped aside, seemingly directed by their involuntary "eeuwww" sonar. I mourned the loss, went back inside, and found comfort in that sweet thang named Little Debbie.kippowell

Rock a My Soul

2009-05-06T23:32:00.000-07:00

The creak of the armless rocking chair sawing away at the linoleum entrances my seven-year old body. Silence pulses a breathless stream from my place in daddy's lap to the steady tick of the cuckoo clock, where Momzi pulls the chains with the cones at each end to set the time. Mama and Momzi talk in soothingly audible whispers while daddy keeps time with the rocker by drumming on my belly - "thrump, thrump, thrump". Bedtime comes gradually, so then much more acceptably as my semi-concious soul is floated into one of the crisp, cold back rooms and placed as if in Dorothy's poppy field, beneath sun-drenched linens and half a dozen heavy quilts. My exposed nose gathers in the smell of dusting powder from the bureau and the faint securing sounds of my protectors fade at last into nothing- no dreams, even pleasant ones would take away from the spirit cleansing peace of that nothingness. but a gracious awakening in the form and fragrance of bacon, grits, coffee, eggs, and broiled buttered toast brings me back to reality. To have the best time of my life I would have to return to that little house on Paris Mountain, those people, and this memory.

I Believe License Plates

2009-05-06T22:58:00.001-07:00

South Carolina, the statistically challenged state (low positives, high negatives), once again is manipulated by opportunist politicians who use the state house as a righteous novitiate. Running for, or staying in, state office is a shake-n-bake recipe for some, that requires stirring a mob mentality among rebels and fundamentalists into an incendiary soup. The concerted campaign for the I Believe license plates depends on the unquestioned lack of discernment among our state's largest constituency. As a scion of a strong evangelical family, and native South Carolinian, I am compelled to offer my credentials of personal redemption. In other words, yes I believe too. Personally, I could not display that license plate because of my tendency to use "certain" gestures when I am driving. I have even done that on my way home from church...to one of the deacons. What is certain, and serious, is the self-centeredness of those who insist on hijacking others' rights in exchange for a little golden star of faith. How would they argue against a different group of "believers" who could rise to become the majority? Christians should not check their deductive reasoning in the church vestibule. The South Carolina state government owns part of the property that sits in everyone's driveway. The state's literal attachment to those graven images on wheels could be a rude, daily awakening to some of the faithful if the "wrong" group suddenly had their way.

Bett and Bobbie

2009-05-06T22:55:00.001-07:00

Mama wrote about the times they would dress up. "We didn't have many dress-up outfits, but we would get an Easter dress every year. We were always so thankful for our Easter outfits. The most dress-up outfits we wore were when Bett, Norma, Martha, and I {Norma and Martha were Bett and Mama's two best friends in their preteen and teen years.} would go to the attic and dress up in all kinds of garb stored there.Then we would go outside and walk up and down the road like we were grand ladies! Can you imagine how we must have looked?! But we were young and silly so I guess we are excused

Dying to Live

2009-05-06T22:54:00.003-07:00

Weary weary, silent night, tomorrrow too long but quickly comes, hunt and gather, wait, grief for the unseen, the left behind, rolling against wakes, a sea that employs me, man and nature - creations in kind, but both disowning a soul. Lament, spirit pressed, what is will without hope, hope without purpose separated from my own humanity, unknown, unknown.Call my name, let me hear it's meaning, call it in assault, derision, or death, but speak.A dwelling to come, but never home, ground not higher but firm, a place to return as dust, buried without judgment, returning uncalled, joy bypassed.I breathe, divineness courses through this corpse, I lie not down, with power to bless, I take it up, man, body, soul, mind, strength, passion, aching, mourning meets choice.I LIVEKip Powell

Ode to the Telephone Booth

2009-05-06T22:54:00.001-07:00

You stood. Steely gray and aqua, not so quaint as in literary description. Rather tacky next to your historical sisters, heather greens, country blues, and rustic red. Oh 3 by 3 demonic clot thou art to surge in the veins of blessed preservation. Thy very presence provokes the sagacious dignity of the native masonry. Thy arrogant gaze attempts to convince the natural that you belong. Without cause you play the part but time honored elements are intolerant. Like nouveau riche in this land of old money you turn your back where you face the lowers, where you are better and taller and higher. You attend the prophetic apocalypse of antiquity which fortells a place in time when you shall belong because generations will have served you with righteous inheritance when cracks in the mortar and rings of the trees cry infantile praises to your rusted wisdom. Come back then? Be not a monolithic blight on our Rock. Ease on down the road where history neither begins nor ends. Then you can ring your bell, show your goodtime numbers and collect your sticky moths. Then we can live preserved.

Lil Erik

2009-05-06T22:52:00.002-07:00

HE CALLED HIS "GRAN'MA BETT" TO SAY PRESS'Y NEEDED A SPANKIN' CAUSE SHE GRABBED HIS TOY AND THAT HE LOVED GRAN'MA BETT "VERYY, VERY MUCH". L'IL ERIK'S WIDE BLUE EYES WERE MAGNETS OF CURIOSITY AND MIRRORS OF THOUGHT. THE 2 YEAR OLD'S PENSIVE COUNTENANCE PROVOKED ADULT CONVERSATION WITH PARAGRAPHED SPEECHES CLIPPED ONLY BY PAUSES FOR QUICK BUT SINCERE TEETH BEARING GRINS, AND OCCASSIONAL ILL HUMOR. HE DOESN'T LIKE A SPANKING "CAUSE THEY MAKE MY EYELASHES CRY".Kip Powell

Daily Prayer

2009-05-06T22:52:00.001-07:00

Let today be one of discovery. Open my mind and my heart. Remove the veil and show me Thy mysteries. Let me be bold in my desire and find delight in my presumption. Your will I long for all the day and trust to find with each breath and heartbeat. How will I trust in my state of wonder? Allow me to be ignorant to distress and anxiety and have pleasure in nothing at all but the things hoped for and not seen and nurture the seed of my faith. Bless this day and house and all that are in

Ode to the Ole House in Powdersville

2009-05-06T22:51:00.003-07:00

It wasn't the knobs on the shower faucet being backwards or the television whose colors changed depending on which part of the livingroom you walked through. It wasn't even the upside down light swtich that made me say, "enough is enough" . The night I tripped over the Gym-Pac, fell in a swivel chair and rolled into my bedroom catching my robe on the place where the doorknob wasn't, I began to reflect on how easily one arranges his life around the negatives.We were always the type family that thought the worst when something went wrong - a burned out lightbulb meant a faulty wiring system, a clogged drain most likely had it's root a hundred feet uderground and a spot on the carpet would require a complete room renovation. This attitude has been the root of my bent toward procrastination. When we had our bathroom remodeled we were like cave men seeing the wheel for the first time. We never realized the floor could be level, the walls sparkling, and the toilet silent. I don't know - I had sort of grown fond of the little Clemson football helmet lamp with no shade that was confiscated from little brother Joel's room when the bathroom light shorted out - we were right that time - it did require an attic visit by an electrician. For a year after that we kept telling people the kitchen light also had a short in it until mama decided - uhh just for the heck of it to change the light bulb - IT WORKED!!

My Girl Courtney

2009-05-06T22:51:00.001-07:00

If I could see, not only WHAT you behold in your extraordinary baby blues, but also HOW you perceive your world. As I watched you I noticed everything you looked at, everything I had already seen many times before and probably without any particular impression of the dogs, wildflowers, weeds, and dirt mounds in the backyard. Without fear you beckoned Jesse by poking your sweet little face into the fence that surrounded his doghouse. You finally gave up on his stubborn refusal to play and you turned your attention toward Mikey and friends in the backyard of the other neighbors. As you were walking in that direction you graciously turned and said, "bye bye" in the same cajoling tone that we use on you except that your display of affection was astounding in it's evidence of intellect and creativity. Your trusting hand reached into the fence to pet Mikey but MY distrusting hands pulled you back, much to your disliking, but as I directed your attention toward picking a flower for Nana Lib and Papa Danny your interest became fixed on the tall weeds that had lost their cotton heads. I found a little periwinkle and gave it to you. You twirled it between your precious little fingers and ran to give it to Papa. When we went to get one for Nana I found some of those weeds witrh their perfectly shaped heads intact and I showed you how to blow them away. When you tried they stuck to your lips which you had pursed tightly. You looked like you were going to laugh as you cut your famous eyes at me. When you figured out how to do this trick the downy tops disintegrated into your face, hair, and mouth - then you did laugh and you continued to giggle as I helped you hop from one patch of grass to the other.

Monuments

2009-05-06T22:49:00.002-07:00

Chicken Fanger Eatin Sweetie Pie

2009-05-06T22:49:00.001-07:00

I met you and Nana Lib for lunch today at Fuddrucker's downtown. At first you wouldn't look my way, so I sat at another table and covered my eyes with my hands. You immediately walked over to me and grabbed my neck, at which point I picked you up and squeezed you tightly and I said, "Where have you been? I missed you so much, I was so sad." Your sweet little hand patted me on the back and that forever sweet mischievous smile and sparkling blue eyes lit up my somber world.

Momzi's Hands

2009-05-06T22:48:00.001-07:00

HANDSFolded in her lap, their silent members each one a small monument to her character. The thumbs usually twiddled while she waited, always waiting, one over the other mechanically, like a well oiled engine, constant just like her patience. The index finger her wield of correction spared the rod literally, - short and pointed, strong just like her presence. The little finger a balance to power, prim, lifted, caring just like the person. Those hands, controlled, busy, responsible, reaching down, lifting up, prayerful and tender. Healing hands I have not known, but the comffort of those hands on my furrowed brow or against my cheek have driven away sickness of heart and fear of tomorrow. Working hands abused by scrubboards, hot wash water and plain old labor. How is it that their touch speaks softly their sermons so treasured?

Movin' Up Sunday

2009-05-06T22:47:00.001-07:00

The smell of my new Sunday School book stifles the imagined essence of Mama's awaiting past noon repast;CHICKEN LEGS AND TATER SALAT, THE MAN PREACHES TOO LONG, AND THE CHEESE IS SURELY ELBOWING IT'S WAY THROUGH MUELLER'S PASTA THRONGI'm in the intermediate department now -brother won't be able to work my puzzles now - there aren't any;KEEP THE STRAWBERRIES - GIVE ME THE CAKE, JUICE AND BIRD'S EYE.DADDY SAYS IT'S NOT REAL CREAM, BUT IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO MY PECAN PIEAre we gonna have to read these lessons on our own? The print's too small, the teacher's probably gonna be borin';IF I HAD MY WAY THER'D BE A WATER COOLER BESIDE EVERY HYMNBOOK, LET ME HAVE A GLASS OF SWEET ICE TEA BEFORE I DIE - GET ME OFF THE HOOK.The preacher's talkin' 'bout goin' up, (this is what the Superintendant calls promotion Sunday) but he's not talkin' about Sunday School now - it is about a better day. He's almost through now - what did I miss? They ARE right, I don't need Jacob's Ladder crosswords now - it's time to listen.....In Jesus' name, Amen. PASS THE BREAD PLEASE - TURKEY AND DRESSING AND SWEET POTATO PIE? Sunday's sure are a changin', nobody told me "goin' up" would be like this. Kip Powell

From the Banks of Clouds Creek

2009-05-06T22:46:00.002-07:00

The midland Carolina river road that sliced through Clouds Creek was illuminated by a nearly full moon. Soon it would be a harvest moon, or as daddy called it, a "yokum moon". I never asked him what that meant, so my imagination had conjured up "kinfolk" staring into the indian summer night sky from the vantage point of a swing on the piazza. Why his people called the porch by that name is another mystery. That place would have been the focal point of entertaining as the household and an assortment of guests might volley with words and phrases not recognized by most of the English speaking world. That influence is felt when I am among that other world, like an anthropological find run amok in concrete jungles, I hear those voices and I either hide the speech or fast forward into a semi-geechee accent. I can blend, whether in a slalom around a throng of irritable New York taxis, sharing a bit of craic with an Irish pub owner, or shootin' the bull with a street hustler. I can walk away with my money, humor, AND life intact.The sun has offered it's final dusky bow and I am resisting the beckoning glow of the Waffle House's yellow and black trademark sign. Saturday night, late, on a truck route, nowhere else to eat for the post honky-tonkers clamoring out of the bars before they stagger into their cribs among the government pines. Their satellite dishes set ready like big plates at a family reunion offering everything under the sun. As I pass the shotgun style diner I glimpse the surreal activity inside - a sort of redneck Cirque du Soleil and blend of broken dreams all in one. "Come back to the five and dime", "prop me up next to the jukebox when I die" and rockabilly the night away with pecan waffles and eggs - grits with every order.That luminescent sphere, a herald to the pleasantness of the summer twilight cool - twenty degrees less until mid-morning. I pay homage to this gift by opening my car window to receive unidentifiable fragrances and sounds. I speed through pockets of cool air as I approach creeks, branches, and streams and I am entranced by the hypnotic cadence of tree frogs. These are the same sounds that frightened me as a child sleeping in the old Powell homeplace - great granddaddy's clapboard house with no screens on the open windows and a spooky goat that used to run around the wrap-around porch. Once he chased me into the house through the breezeway that ran through the center of that entire civil war era home. The most dreaded place in that house, besides the clawfoot bathtub with questionable discoloration that I thought, as a child,would run away with me in it, was the kitchen, believe it or not. This is where I thought swamp creatures were prepared and we would be required to consume them with no snurling or gagging. Poor ole Aunt Lillie never learned to cook growing up with servants and probably never tried until she became Uncle Dan's third wife. What I thought was gravy was revealed when mama scooped up a ladle of grease two inches thick which protected a large bowl of hash underneath. I quickly reached for the redeeming bowl of rice and filled my plate while mama watched me cautiously, sympathetically, and dreadfully. Retiring to the parlor was a welcome respite from this wretched repast. Aunt Lillie would play the pump organ and cry while Erik, Shayne, and I sang "Tell Me the Old Old Story" and "The Old Country Church". This Victorian room with the bay type window prevalent in old southern homes looked like something from Petticoat Junction. Jim Butler was Uncle Dan's second wife's brother who was their "drivah". I never saw him do anything else and it took them several hours to get to our house in Powdersville because he was required to drive slowly. He always carried his billed cap in his hand and his gold toothed smile intrigued me as much as his soft geechee accent. Everyone said he was "sweet" on Aunt Annabelle Abrams who also had a gold tooth. She caused a stir among the family when she "paahked" her mobile home in Uncle Dan's yard. "Waitin' to get everthin' when he dies" was the talk. Bless their hearts - they had to eat alot of hash for nothing - the step-daughter got it all. Her son Mr. Bledsoe got the house and land, remodeled, stripping away all the spirit of the old homeplace while preserving the physical building. We take refreshment out on the porch - simply lemonade - yum, give me a big glass mama. I don't know if lemon scented Pine Sol was on the market then but Aunt Lillie concocted something that she should have used on that bathtub. Okay enough of this, no sleep, no food, no drink, sad sing-a-longs with Pearl Bodine. Let's walk across the road to Uncle Bud and Aunt Kate's, who haven't spoken to the other folks in years. They live with daddy's old maid cousin Helen and Brownie, the country chihuahua. Uncle Bud was sitting in his truck when we arrived. He said, "Lurris, ya wanna go dawn t'da wallamellon patch?" We boys jump in the back of the truck expecting a long country road journey. Uncle Bud drives directly behind the house and stops.........this is it? Aunt Kate fills her kitchen with the best smelling and tasting southern cooking but doesn't cook in abundance. Mama whispers for us not to "take out" too much. Aunt Kate cooks on a woodstove even though she has an electric one. Once Aunt Kate fired up the stove and didn't know her cat had climbed in the oven.....FELINE MIGNON!! Aunt Kate and Helen had a pet cemetery and had each grave was circled with little rocks. Another relative who flipped everyone off when she died as she left her estate to her animals. Kate and Bud had a son named Bubba ( I swannee that is right) and his wife's name was Mickey who lived across the road also. Mickey was a career woman they said with mocking tone or pride, I couldn't figure. What career in these parts, Mary Kay Million Dollar Seller? No pink cadillac to show for it, unless she had a model one of Elvis'. Vivacious Helen, the "old maid" stayed with her parents until she died of cancer. She worked at the only mill in town and received very few mourners at her funeral at the very small mortuary. The service was held in a small room with us seated in chairs that didn't even match. From the nonactivity on the road to the dress rehearsal funeral, I expected to see Rod Serlling standing aside espousing a provocative moral fitting to this Stepford scene. I step back from this black/white memory into a shaded one as I hear Bubba Jr. (Wayne Powell) telling Uncle Bud "Gran-diddy, come ovah heah and sit in a chaah with ahms - ya need a chaah with ahms." I knew that not only was this the beginning of our disappearing history but it would leave a big absence soon. I had the opportunity then to appreciate the legacy and snatch my heritage immemorial. The spirits of generations can be felt among those homes, graves, and churches.Uncle Herman Dowd was Chief of Police in Johnston SC. I couldn't wait to see this icon of family lore. I expected a Rod Steiger "In the Heat of the Night" type but actually encountered a much more colorful reality. There a uniformed robust gent leaned back in a cane bottom chair against, I presumed, the police station. It looked more like a sentry's guard house and set curiously next to the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the strip of businesses on main street. On the other side of the rails big houses followed the road into deeper country. These weren't plantation homes per se so I wondered how the families that built them supported their construction financially.Everyone is gone now, then, we were modern children visiting something foreign and dispensable. Now, more than 30 years later, we have become the history that is to be told, treasured, and longed for.

Pillow of the Commu'aty

2009-05-06T22:46:00.001-07:00

Eulogy

Today Cledus Dingleberry was ushered into the presence of the saints. Imagine his surprise if no one was familiar –none of them were just like him, and a perfect, absence of prejudice, judgment, glances, ostracism, misunderstanding, hurt, sermonizing, and isolation.

His love for the Mud Creek Muskrats T-ballers was exceeded only by his love for the Lord. Always having been a man one could lean on, he could be called a “pillow” of the community. He was proud of his accomplishment of being in the state’s top 10 record for catching a 50 pound catfish. He loved his “youngins” – Li’l Cledus, Strawberry Rose, Jemimah Naomi, and the twins Siam “Skinnamarinkydink” and Foz “Fizzlehead” Dingleberry. He leaves behind to mourn her remaining days alone, Mizriz Coon Dingleberry who loved him like no other. Together they struggled through the birth of the twins which came as a surprise as doctors had told them that they were just two fibroid growths. Cledus and Mizriz still weren’t sure until they heard cries coming from one of the questionable orifices.

Mr. Dingleberry owned Dingleberry Farms, known far and wide for its sweet corn and manure processing.

Happy Hallooooween

2009-05-06T22:44:00.001-07:00

Dear Courtney, My Sweet Girl,Today was another difficult day for me - selling the house, looking for a job, trying to figure out how to pay bills. Nina Lib told me to come over and eat left over pizza for lunch. I was glad to, since I was broke and tired of grits and eggs. You answered the door wearing one of Papa's t-shirts. You acted shy for some reason but, as always, you quickly warmed up to me and grinned your beautiful sweet smile - mischeivous flashing blue eyes full of giggles. You ate "hallow-weenies" and laughed at me spinning crazy bread on a toothpick. You wanted me to eat all of my pizza that way too. So, as usual, you and I cut up at the table - making Nina Lib tell us to behave. Then we made a game of tossing dirty napkins back and forth to each other.

Eventide

2009-05-06T22:43:00.003-07:00

His "hee, hee, hee" laugh, the slewfooted jig he would perform enroute to a commercial break icebox raid, his "yeah boy" answer in the affirmative, the Sunday news slipping right out of his hands as he nodded off between reading Sylvia Porter and Dr. Thosteson. He would come back from the kitchen with olive loaf, souse meat and cheese rolled delicately between his long guitar fingers. The curl of hair hanging with no direction from the mostly bald head, a sign of his relaxation as he would smoke any type of meat over the livingroom fire with an extremely long fork and hand out samples - improbably getting me to try his salami slices etc. They WERE good, only because of how, when, where, and by whom they were prepared. That was one of those cozy family moments kept alive by vivid recall and purged only by a failed memory. Why then the experience at all? "Happy is the man... whose quiver is full". Daddy had the Joy of the Lord. I didn't consciously realize this over smoked sausages, I just thought he was being a good daddy. A godly man to say the least - but he was just, and good - how else was he supposed to act.Kip Powell

The Day the Lord Hath Made

2009-05-06T22:43:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday Mama Nov. 4,1988

2009-05-06T22:42:00.001-07:00

A Rose is a Rose is a Rose!!Not BETTY Rose, there is just one of thoseMy "partner in crime" if work and worry were against the lawShe's slightly wilted from being both "Maw" and "Paw"But the thorns and thistles which plague the vine are transformed into rugged beauty when this Rose blooms bright; she releases fragrant strength from each petal of mightWhether in long-stemmed solitude, or pressed between pages of heartache, our Rose stands alone but forever in gracious array.

Charlie Brown Easter

2009-05-06T22:41:00.001-07:00

The last time I was at a Kay Easter egg hunt, I realized that I am no better at hunting them than when I was a child. When the aunt or uncle in charge hollered "GO", all I would see were my cousins and siblings running directly to all the best hiding places. It was only a blur to me. Waves of color washed over me and I remember feeling delirious. The older cousins would later patrol the hunting area helping anyone with the fewest eggs in his/her basket, so now at the word GO, each little one would run to one of us for an assured "golden egg" find or a two-dozen egg blitz. It mattered not that I helped hide the hundred plus eggs. An old trauma resurfaced.....my ears started to ring....(oh, someone had found an egg under an old cow bell). I could not even see a pink or yellow egg. Forget about the green and blue ones. Someone hollered for me to help Heath - he had only five eggs. Such a nice young fellow - he trusts me. It was sort of like having the government ask me to keep an eye on its nuclear weapons while it went to the bathroom. I wasn't going to drag my 4 year old nef to the depths of this endless Easter egg exile that I have endured through the years. I sent him over to the uncle who hid the golden egg. Ii have had nightmares about the dozen or so eggs that are never found. After Easter was over and everyone was gone, I would walk around looking for those last few. MY HEART POUNDS, THE THRILL IS STILL THERE. THEY ARE WAITING.. I'M WILLING. Why can't I find one? THEY know I am no good at this. As I turn to leave.... THERE..in a pink dogwood tree five feet from the ground I see a multi-colored oval shaped piece of art. The egg that someone had so patiently dipped in six different colors from lightest to darkest shades and overlooked by fourteen pairs of little eyes.....AH EASTER!!!!

Miz Pinson's

2009-05-06T22:40:00.001-07:00

Coming to Greenville 1960's

2009-05-06T22:36:00.000-07:00