The Complications of Generic Forgiveness

Some people who do mean things do them out of plain old meanness. Other folks do mean things thinking they have been issued a higher purpose in their action. This old woman who used to live here--she died a few years back--was one of those who figured she had been called to square up the lives of those who, unlike hers, were full of inequities. One of the things she would do was what I call generic forgiveness. She would walk up to a person and tell them she had been praying on it and had decided to forgive them. When they asked, "Forgive what?" She would say, "Oh, you know well enough." And then she left them to figure it out on their own. I overheard her going through her forgiveness routine with this poor old man that I knew to be as innocent as new born calf. I caught up with her as she made her escape and told her I was on to her little act and told her she should be ashamed. She said the Lord had called on her to minister to sinners and this was just one of her tactics. She figured it would do any person good to sit down for a week or so and think over their shortcomings. She said if she had played some small part in turning a life toward the Shining Light then she had done her royal service. I said, "I see. Well, you're a better person than I am 'cause there ain't no way in hell I am going to forgive you, sister."

Tales of Harper, short stories and poems about the fictional town of Harper, Mississippi is available on Amazon Kindle

Hacked

It's Harlow Booney again. Yesterday, down at the barbershop this fellow, a stranger to me, was all upset about his computer being hacked. He said he was damn tired of it. Harlow said, "That ain't nothing. My wife stays hacked. She even got hacked on our honeymoon when I run out of gas on the way down to Gulfport. And she's pretty much been hacked ever since." He went on to tell this man with the computer problem how to deal with his adversity. "What I do, you see, is just give her something to be hacked about. I mean right on the spot, usually as soon as I see her ever day. That way the hacking is a matter of my own choice. You see, I kinda take her out of the equation. That way I can sit back, laugh, and live with the situation." The computer guy gave the rest of us a confused look and said to Harlow, "Thanks, Bud. I'm gonna try that."

Sarcasm

I was born sarcastic and I've been sarcastic ever since. Most people around here have no idea I am being sarcastic and that should take some of the fun out of it, but it don't. Dorothy gets my sarcasm and I use it sparingly around her. Once back in my teen years a girl told me she would love me forever and ever. When I told her forever would be long enough she took offense. Forever stopped right there in the back seat of my '39 Chevrolet. I told another girl she was so ugly she was cute and she took it as a high complement and followed me around for weeks. Some of my sarcastic remarks that went unnoticed:
"Your singing is only slightly offensive."
"Most fat girls sweat more."
"I would get drunk drinking champaign out of your slipper."
"I think overweight girls are cute and you are among the cutest."
"I am confident you have delusions of adequacy."
"Keep striving and one day you will be adequate."
"Your piano playing is not nearly as bad as it sounds."
"You carry your warts well."
There's more but I won't bore you with those now. You would think that I would give up on sarcasm when so few people get it. Dorothy told me yesterday that I thought my ability to produce humor was vast, but in reality it was only half vast. I got it but I couldn't be offended. If I was I would have to consider dropping all my sarcasm and I ain't gonna do that.

Pants on Fire

We got this man here in Harper who is a born liar. He was in school, a couple of grades behind me, while I was at Harper Elementary. Even back then he was known for not telling the truth. He cheated on his homework, used Classic Comic Books to make his book reports, and wrote answers to test question on his forearm. If he was ever caught he would swear he had not written anything on his arm. He claimed somebody must have sneaked into his bedroom during the night and did the evil deed. When the teacher called his mother in, the mother claimed her boy would never lie, he may tell a few harmless stories but he would never lie. Later in high school things got so bad the school psychologist recommended special counseling for the boy. The counselor came up with a good solution, the boy should pursue a career in either journalism or politics. The boy became the youngest mayor in the history of Harper. I'll have to say he did good things for Harper. He once convinced the state government that Harper qualified for natural disaster aid because it was located in a hazardous clay zone. He produced a paper claiming that the red clay hills around Harper emitted clay ions, little rays that caused people to prefer ignorance over learning. Grants for special education were approved and Harper became a test site for mind improvement exercises. The irony in all this is the main factor in getting the government's approval was the mayor's convincing evidence that the people must be stupid and gullible if they elected him mayor in the first place. I want to be sure y'all know I never voted for him.

The Sound of Oil

I know a woman who can't stand the sound of a piano. It just grates on her nerves somehow. It has always been funny to me how some people can think a soprano singing a Verdi aria is one of the most beautiful things they have ever heard and some people would rather listen to cats fighting. Other people enjoy the sound of a car revving up in a driveway and while some go nuts when they hear it. Just yesterday, Mazie Middlefog stopped me on the street and complained about the noise from one of my oil wells, one that lies close to her property line. She doesn't have mineral rights so makes no profit from the flow of oil anywhere. She told me the sound of the pumping was keeping her awake at night and asked me if it didn't wake me up too. I told her yes, sometimes it wakes me up, but I just smile and go back to sleep. I'm afraid, from the look on her face, she didn't like the sound of my voice at least at that particular moment.

Spare the Rod

Way back when I was in school, the teacher used to apply what they call corporal punishment. They mostly used a paddle. Sometimes the teacher would get the shop teacher to drill holes in it. The idea was to cut down on wind resistance for a quicker smoother swing. I always figured it was to make the pain from the hit more severe. One teacher used a rubber tube. Today people won't allow spanking. They say children can be controlled with more temperate measures. I have no idea what those measures are but the results are there for everyone to see. Now I ain't saying we need to go back to all that spanking (there was a lot of it in my day and I always thought my teachers enjoyed a little too much.) But I am saying people need to figure out some way to get people to act a little better.
I never spanked my kids and they turned out pretty good. The oldest boy is in California and we haven't heard from him in  years, but he's a busy movie star lawyer and kinda turned his back on Harper and his upbringing. The other boy got back together with us a few years back and he's real regular on writing and gift sending. My girl turned out good enough. She has overcome marrying the wrong man, three different men, and has settle down with a right steady fellow. She is even trying to get that FALSTAFF tattoo removed from her forearm. I guess my point is most people will find their way if you give them a little direction at the start of their journey.

Selling Salt

I can't figure out if some people are just fantastic at selling stuff. Or if some people are just stupid enough to buy what they are selling. Back when I was a young'n I got a job bagging groceries at E.Q. Dunwiggle's grocery store. My first day at work I noticed how much salt he had on his shelves. I said, "Mr. E.Q., you sure got a lot of salt here." He said that's nothing boy and took me back in his store room which was filled to the brim with salt. Then he took me down to the basement and there too was salt floor to ceiling. I said, "Gee whiz, you sure sell a lot of salt." And he replied, "No, son, not too much but that guy that sells me salt sure sells a lot of salt." I would like to think people are smarter today, but all you got to do in watch the news to see that ain't so.

Things You Can Learn While Waiting in Line

My cousin over in Georgia called me last night. He had waited in line for his driver’s license for over three hours and was exhausted. Unfortunately, he had misread the basic instructions (his fault) and did not realize he needed a copy of his birth certificate in order to prove he had been born. My cousin is basically an optimist and provided me with a list of ten things he learned whiled waiting in line.

1. There are shades of nail polish he has never seen before.

2. All deodorant does not have the same effectiveness.

3. Adults still read comic books.

4. A person should never get in any line without peeing immediately before queuing up.

5. When they call out numbers like B24, somebody sooner or later is going to yell BINGO!

6. People are fatter than he thought before this line up.

7. There are T-shirts that say almost everything.

8. It is 5 billion times easier to register for the vote.

9. Never. I mean never remove the dress from buttock crack of the lady in front of you.

10. People will go through hell for the privilege of driving.

My cousin's new book tales of harper is available on Amazon Kindle.

Sectional Sofas

I don't know what we are gonna do with Harlow Booney. He's the fellow that got upset when they elected a Cardinal as pope. He thought they ought to have at least considered one of the Braves. Well, Harlow came into the barber shop today ranting and raving about C.K. Barnburn selling his single daughter, Piety Sue, a sexual sofa. He claimed she was a good girl but nobody needed to live their life with temptation sitting right in their living room. We told him the sofa was called a sectional sofa not a sexual sofa, but he couldn't pick up on the sound difference in the two words. Bill Board, the barber that has the last chair down by the coke machine, tried to explain further. He said, "It's just a sofa for people that want one that comes in pieces." Now that really set him off and he grabbed old man Wheeler's walking stick and headed down to the furniture store. Luckily C.K. was fishing that day.

The Ambassadors (Hollis)

The Ambassadors by Henry James
Paris - late nineteenth century - Strether, ambassador sent from Massachusetts to rescue son - Chad, son and heir to a manufacturing fortune - Madame de Vionnet and her daughter - runaway son a better person from influence of Madam de Vionnet - additional ambassadors sent - Strether's evolution into a better person
For me Henry James is very hard to read. He can tell you a man crosses the street in 1000 words or more - I will say, for all the difficulty I had in reading this work, I must have understood what I was reading because I scored 90% on the spark notes test.

Choices

We got this woman in town who is known for making bad decisions. She has married the wrong man, four different wrong men. Her garden doesn't progress because she plants things at the wrong time and in the wrong place. She has invested in several green energy companies that turned out to be more brown than green. At least twice she has confronted a hostile dog with biting consequences. She advised her oldest boy to drop out of med school to help her with a multilevel marketing scheme that was supposed to assure lifelong wealth for both of them. Once she showed up at prayer meeting wearing a mini-skirt (that was a long time ago, but none of the women have forgotten it.) She picks the wrong doctors, lawyers, and accountants. The other day she came up and sat at my table at the cafe with express purpose of having me agree that God had dealt her blow after blow. She asked me what she should do to overcome all her adversities. I advised her to settle in a quiet place, pray, consider all the possible solutions to any problem, and go out and do just the opposite. Do y'all think that was sarcastic? I wasn't trying to be sarcastic.

tales of harper (Hollis)

tales of harper by Malcolm L. Wilkinson
short stories and poems about our little town - author grew up here - he says it's fiction but I recognize some of the characters, I think.

The Jury's Still Out

It's been about a year since those girls came to live amongst us here in Harper. Mayjean is gone. She fell in with this cowboy type fellow she ran into down at the Do Drop In. They said he was covered in tattoos even on his ears and the back of his fingers. She didn't even leave a note for Karl Buck. He didn't seem to be too messed up about it and is currently dating one of the girls from his church. Tanya seems to be doing pretty good. Most of the people here have accepted her as one who has seen the evil of their ways and is trying to be a good person. A few people have not. But they are the same ones who think dancing is wrong and are strongly against premarital sex because it may lead to dancing. There are a lot of common expressions for the holding pattern Tanya is in: the coin ain't hit the ground yet, the fat lady hasn't sung, and the jury is still out. I hope she will be steady to her decision to come here. We will all be waiting to see.

The Adjustment of Karl Buck's Wife

I haven't said a lot about Karl Buck's wife because she was not a Harper resident for very long. Now that she's not among us I will not be as kind as if she were a permanent citizen. I know that's not a good quality in me but that's how this is gonna come out. A lot of bad things were said about Mayjean, that was her name. At least that was the name she used while she was here. I won't get into what her life was like before Karl Buck other than to say I am confident she knew about the fine detail of several ceilings in the French Quarter. The girls and their husbands lived only a few yards from each other and Merijoan had a nice sidewalk installed between their homes. She figured they should have easy access to visits to keep them from backsliding. Tanya took to Harper pretty good, but Mayjean not so much. She once told Tanya she did not understand why she fell in with her mother-in-law so well. And Tanya told her that Merijoan was the only real mother she had ever known.
Tomorrow: The Jury is Still Out

A Little Period of Adjustment

A lot of things can be said about Merijoan; she spontaneous, certain, overbearing, intimidating, and manipulative. But she does have a high degree of common sense. When she got back to Harper with her boys and their wives, she didn't try to throw those girls directly into the fire of Harper life. She knew they would need time to adjust to the fresh air, clean living, and wholesome food that we have to offer here. So she set up a little time table to gradually adapt them to a greater life. One of the first things she had on her agenda was makeup. She started with Tanya Hyde, the one she favored the most, and had her wear a little less every day until she got down to the quantity that was the norm for the town. This was difficult for Tanya. She said, "I just feel naked without my makeup." Merijoan said she didn't understand since Tanya walked around naked on a stage in front of strangers. "I ain't never done it naked," replied Tanya. "Well ninety-nine percent naked." "No, mamma," said Tanya. "It was never more than ninety-eight percent."
Tomorrow: The Adjustment of Karl Buck's Wife

French Quarter Wedding

One of Merijoan's strongest beliefs was that a marriage that wasn't performed in a church wasn't a marriage at all. But sometimes when faced with a real hard decision we all take a path that may not completely consider all our principles. Merijoan went down the street from where Bill Joe and Tanya were living in sin together and arranged for a wedding ceremony that very afternoon. And right after the service she packed up her youngest son and his bride and drove them back to Harper, Mississippi. I am sure she took no time to consider any of the pros and cons of such a move. After they were installed in her home she turned around and headed back to New Orleans to collect her middle son, Karl Buck. It was her hope to bring him back alone and she swore on the way down if had had enough sense not to put his live-in woman in a family way she would figure out a way to dump her. The situation was worse than she could have imagined. Karl Buck's woman was showing. This trip to the wedding chapel was easier, Merijoan already knew the ropes.
Tomorrow: A Little Period of Adjustment

Bill Joe Chimes In

One thing Tanya Hyde didn't think of or expect was how much Bill Joe loved his mamma. She told him that night as they were getting into bed. He drew imaginary pictures on the carpet with his big toe and looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds. It didn't take him long to make up his mind. He told Tanya if it came down to her or his mamma he would take his mamma every time. She said she couldn't understand how he could leave his mamma and come to live with her and now he would pick his mamma's side of this argument. Bill Joe kinda sighed and said, "I reckon it's a matter of distance. You know mamma's just a couple of blocks away as we speak." That night he lay on his side of the bed and left Tanya on her side doubting her female powers. The next morning when Merijoan showed up ready for her daily devotional Tanya was forced to play her ace in the hole, a card even Bill Joe didn't know about. When Merijoan opened her Bible to a passage she had selected that had to do with living outside of marriage, Tanya told her she had something to say before the lesson began. "Lady, you need to know I am carrying your grand-baby."
Tomorrow: French Quarter Wedding

Merijoan's Promise

Merijoan pulled into the French Quarter about 9:30 AM and spent twenty minutes parallel parking down the street from where she had been told her youngest son was living. His apartment was above the House of Oysters. She took the stairs and knocked loudly on the purple door. After ten minutes of banging, the door opened as far as the security chain would allow and she saw the, as Merijoan described them, Maybelline eyes of her prospective disciple peeking out. "Yes," said Tanya. "I'm Bill Joe's mamma and I got something for y'all," said Merijoan. "Come on in," said Tanya. When Merijoan was telling us about this she used some pretty descriptive language. I'll try to remember it.
She said, "There stood this harlot looking creature in a skimpy night gown with the top part of her body kinda leaking out. Her hair was big and looked like it had been through a thunderstorm. All her nails were painted black and some of her makeup had wore off on one side. I reckon she left it on her pillow. I have to tell y'all she was a shapely little thing and I could see where a good hot bath and a trip to my beauty parlor could made her into Harper material."
Then Marijoan opened up her Bible and started in on her conversion attempt. She reported to us that Tanya looked like she was being confronted by a rapist. When Marijoan finished. She said, "I got me a room down the street at this bed and breakfast and I will be back everyday until you see the light. That's a promise." Tanya said she wouldn't have it and she would get Bill Joe to stop her from her harassment. "Well, honey, you can try. But I better warn you them boy's really love their mamma."
Tomorrow: Bill Joe Chimes In

The Bat and the Bible

If you take the highway down to New Orleans you have to go through a pretty good stretch of swamp land. There is something about watching mile after mile of gnarled leafless trees stretching out of murky water that makes a fellow think. A lot of minds have changed direction going through this territory. I reckon it gives hope in a way 'cause you know it ain't gonna last forever. Merijoan had that same kind of  mind shift. When she left Harper she fully intended to put all her stock in swinging a baseball bat. But when she looked out over that vast stretch of nothing she started to pray for guidance and that brought on saying aloud Bible verses and that lead to deciding to change her purpose from murderer to missionary work. She was gonna convert these sinful women. They would become lures for the Lord.
Tomorrow: Merijoan's Promise

Merijoan Takes the Reins

Merijoan decided to go to New Orleans herself to rescue her two wayward boys. She sat down one night and made out a list of things she needed to think of and things she needed to do. At the top of the think of list was written: Think through the penalty for murder. At the top of her to do list: Pack baseball bat. The bat was stored in the back of her closet and had been removed from her car years ago when the preacher had called her into his office and warned her of the wrath of the Lord and, not to be minimized, the wrath of the state if she carried out her threat against Maywinnie Baltz, a local hair dresser. It seems Maywinnie had been spotted parked out at Harper Lake in a car, in the moonlight with Merijoan's husband. At the bottom of the to do list was: Pack Bible. So off to New Orleans goes the wounded wife and mother with killing in her eyes and justice against all loose women in her heart.
Tomorrow: The Bat and the Bible

Merijoan's Delemma

When Merijoan Fitzbanks made the decision, probably not a good one, to send her middle son to New Orleans to rescue her youngest son from the lure of Tanya Hyde, who turned out to be a stripper on Bourbon Street, we all held our breath and waited for the two to return to Harper. As I said they both were hooked. Merijoan went to her preacher, Rev. Bubba Blatt, and requested his prayers and advice on how to resolve the situation. Why I'm thinking about all this is because it was on Mother's Day a year ago when she talked Rev. Bubba right after church. His best council was that she would have to send her oldest boy, Bartholomew Fitzbanks, down to New Orleans as her best choice as an ambassador for success. Merijoan told the preacher she just couldn't do it. She needed that boy to run the business and just couldn't afford to lose him too. "Well, I'll go then," said Rev. Bubba. "No, no, no," said Merijoan. "We just can't afford to lose you either."
Tomorrow: Merijoan Takes the Reins

Lures

When somebody says lures I automatically think of fishing. Not Merijoan Fitzbanks. She thinks of New Orleans, loose women, and her two lost sons. The Fitzbanks run a house painting company. Old man Fitzbanks died back in the 90's and the mother and her three boys took it over and did real well with it. I reckon they painted just about every house in Harper at one time or another, either inside or out or both. Everything was going fine until her youngest son, Bill Joe, went to the city with a group of his buddies. He did not come home. When his friends were questioned they told a tale of Billy Joe and a woman who called herself Tanya Hyde all tangled in a romantic affair. Billy Joe is a good looking young fellow and was always considered a good catch for the local girls. Well, Marijoan, in an act of desperation sent her middle son, Karl Buck, down to New Orleans to fetch her youngest child and bring him back to all the pleasantries of Harper. To this day Karl Buck ain't come back either.
Tomorrow: Merijoan's Dilemma.

A Case Before Judge Gill T. Vardick

When you are retired and generally healthy sometimes you have to look around for things to do. Every now and then I go down to the county court house and listen in on some of the cases. Last week I was there when this lawyer from New York came down to defend her brother who was being charged with breaking and entering, pickpocketing, and battery. There were other things but I'm not sure they were all presented in this hearing. I hate to say it but the defendant was one of those people who just look guilty. When his sister stood before the judge she kept mentioning New York, her northern education, and even went so far as to say she was very uncomfortable in front of a judge who had the bad judgement to use the name of Gill T. Vardick when he could just as well used his full name and it wouldn't sound so intimidating. She spoke with all the northern accent she could muster. Judge Vardick looked her up and down and said, "Your papers say you're from New York, you talk like you're from New York, and you even dress like you're from New York. But, lady, you got Mississippi written all over you. That kinda calmed everything down.

Guilty of Not Thinking Things Through

Y'all probably remember how I get a little riled up by what people name their kids. That name has do go along with those children into their adult lives and careers. Some people try to take advantage of a strange name. It is easier for people to remember them. We got a judge down in the county that is named Gilbert T. Vardick. He could have painted those letters on his door but he choose to have GILL T. VARDICK put up. I reckon to plant a little fear into those facing him for sentence. I don't know that he is particular rough on law breakers but everybody thinks he is. This may work to his advantage. Another case that may or may not work to help promote a business is the name of a local doctor. The sign hanging outside his office is Peter Payne, Urology. Poor Amanda Love has had a hard time finding a mate and for whatever reason May Bloom never did. You may have to think about that last one a while.

The Innocent (Hollis)

The Innocent by Ian McEwan
Berlin - 1955 - post war Germany - British - Russians - Americans - tunnel - wire taps - lust - love - devotion - killing - saws and an unused ax - heavy cases - discovery - misunderstandings - resolution?
Very good reading. Movie changes a few things. As usual, book is better.

Precocious Kids

There is no doubt kids are smarter than they used to be. I mean I was probably twelve years old before I had any idea where babies came from. Nowadays kids know all this before they ever go to school. I reckon there are good things about all this. Yet I have a doubt or two about jumping into life too soon. We were content with a stick and wet dirt to draw in, now children have easels, paints, and brushes to experiment with. We used to take a wooden block and use it as a car or airplane and we supplied our own sound effects. Now kids have motorized toys that duplicate the noise of the real thing. Yesterday in the cafe I overheard two kids talking to grownups. One little girl who must have been no more than four years old overheard her mamma say she was unaware of something that had happened. The little girl said, "Where are you from? Mars?" The she proceeded to tell us Mars was a planet. A little boy across at another table kept staring into his glass of milk. After a period of time he looked up and said, "You know the first man that milked a cow must have been really sick."Me thinks they think too much.

Rhyming

Way back, a poem had to rhyme. Now-a-days a rhyming poem is kinda looked down on. Somebody told me that a poet in the search for words that do rhyme sometimes gets sidetracked and departs from his original thought. Seems like the real good poets of the past figured that one out okay. I was also told that even nursery rhymes lost track when making things rhyme. Like Mary, Mary, quite contrary. Maybe Mary wasn't contrary at all. Maybe she was nice and sweet. But none of those words rhyme with Mary. Now country-western song writers have a real advantage 'cause there are so many words in the dialect of country-western that rhyme. Like car, fire, tire, hair, even borrow in the c/w speak are car, far, tar, har, and bar. It just ain't fair. I mean far.

The Importance of What We Call Things

Sometimes I wonder if I had been named let say James Jefferson Whitmire instead of Harvey Lee Whitmire would my life have been different. They change the names of movie stars for a reason. Cary Grant may not have been quite as successful as Archibald MacLeish, but I reckon we will never know that for sure. What made me start thinking about all this was Willard Wannabunk, one of our Harper philosophers, bringing up the subject of nomenclature down at the cafe yesterday morning. He was upset because his wife's doctor had told her she needed a "his-torectomy." And that in addition she was being treated for "him-rhoids" (a little too much information for my taste.) Then he went off on the fact that all his wife's hormones were out of whack. He figures that if we wanted to get real about all these things we should be more specific. There should be "her-mones" and "his-mone" since they are so different. He ended his diatribe with his contention, "If it's important enough for towels, it's important enough for hormones." Hmmmm.

Experts

It has always been a mystery about who becomes and expert and how they achieve that rank. There are genuine experts especially those who have worked in a particular field and have a record of success. And there are those who are self-proclaimed experts. We got this woman in town who claims to be an expert in art. Particularly modern art. She claims she can see things in pictures that escape the vision of the rest of us. Her walls are covered with copies of Dali, Picasso, and a bunch of other artists. Most of her paintings are things she did herself. Wallace Duby, a guy around here who is an expert in being a handyman, was called in to hang one of her works about a year ago. I reckon it was out of meanness, but he hung the picture upside down. She came in and told him it wasn't right. She wanted it two inches higher up on the wall. So he moved it two inches higher and there it hangs today. I was there last week and she asked me what I saw in the picture. I told her I saw a picture that was hanging upside down. She laughed real hard and said, "You people in this town will never get it. It's my impression of The City of New Orleans (a passenger train) coming into the Harper station." "Oh," I said. My imagination is good enough to recognize that if it was the City of New Orleans the passengers were bouncing around on the ceiling of the train, sparks were flying as the metal roof slid down the tracks, and people waiting at the station were running to escape the impending disaster. I even thought I saw a man dialing 911.

Smart People Doing Stupid Things

You don't have to go no farther than to your TV set to see smart people doing stupid things. It's an every day occurrence. I can accept this because I do stupid things myself sometimes and mostly because of Aunt Bessie Foggblunt. Bessie was my daddy's oldest sister and she went as far as two years in college before economic times brought her home to work in the family grocery store. She was a whiz in arithmetic and was up on all the latest news. At one time a group tried to get her to run for the town council and back in that day that was something for a woman to be asked to do. Aunt Bessie was one of the most stable and confident people I ever knew. Except.... Except she had this modesty thing that tended to overrule all her other smarts. She wore her dresses to cover her wrists and ankles, never wore sandals or went barefoot, and always wore gray or black clothes. This wasn't for any particular religious reason. This was strictly because she was shy about her body. From what I could tell by her shape and curves she had nothing to be ashamed of. But that's the way she was. Things got a little out of control when she started wearing sunglasses everywhere, even around the house, even on dark rainy days, even at night. It seems she heard somebody on the radio telling people if they went out in the yard that night they could see the planet Saturn with the naked eye. She later confided to one of her sisters that she had never thought about her eye being naked. So you see this real smart lady had a big hangup and it overwhelmed any and all of her reason. After a few years she gave up the sunglasses. We never figured out why. I made it my mission to complement her on the beauty of her eyes every time I got the chance. Maybe to boost her morale. Or maybe because I was just plain mean back in those days.

For the Love of Mud

Every now and then I think of someone from my past, someone that I remember because of their effect on my life back then. One of these people is Maysue Ripples, a pretty young woman, who went to the church I was brought up in. Maysue was known in all the night spots in the counties that surrounded Harper. She made the rounds. Men would see her on the street and whistle or hoot out her name. She would drop her head and keep walking on. The strange thing is every Sunday she would be at church and at the end of the service when they gave the invitation for sinners to come down and proclaim their allegiance to the true faith, Maysue would be the first one down. She would stand before the group and bawl out her submission to their ways. But the next Saturday night, from all accounts I heard, she would be back in the honky-tonks, back to her old ways. I heard one old man say, "You can wash up a sow, but you can't keep her from going back in the mud." Finally, the church gave up on Maysue and asked her not to return. Then she disappeared from Harper. I never heard news of her after that point. Of course, their were rumors: She ran off with a tent preacher (like my third wife did), she was in New Orleans working as a stripper, she jumped in the Bogue Chitto River and drowned and her body was lying on the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain. Someone even claimed they saw her in a "B" movie from Hollywood. To this day, I wonder about Maysue. Did she decide which path she would trod and leave the other path behind? Or is she still out there bouncing back and forth between the shower and the mud?

Music in the Air

Yesterday, I was talking about Uncle Silas (he's really not my uncle, we just call him that) and his unique ability to hear a song once and then play it on his upright piano. I mean not just the basic tune but all the frills that go with it. After he finished playing that Tchaikovsky piece, I asked him what about the parts that the orchestra plays while the guy is banging on the piano. Uncle Harvey says he can hear the orchestra while he plays and said, "You can't hear that while I'm playing?" When I said no he told me he hears music all day long. Everywhere he goes there is music. He calls it music in the air. "Can't you hear that?" "No," said I. Uncle Harvey looked me up and down then sighed, "It must be hell going through life without a soundtrack."