Big Rocks

Today between calls, I flipped open my DayPlanner and made a to-do list. Even with all the electronic gadgets beeping and buzzing in my pocket, I still write down a to-do list in the planner. Sometimes when my calendar is full, I will miss a buzz and let an appointment slip by unnoticed. But the planner is always open and I glance at it throughout the day.

Jilda has preached the use of writing things down for years, but I held tight to the electronic dream until I realized she was right (don't tell her I said that.)

So, when I was putting things on my list, I realized my compass was outdated. For those who have

never taken Stephen Covey's What Matter's Most class you're probably unfamiliar with the term compass used in this context. It's not really a to-do list, but a list that slips into the page marker that helps you keep important things in mind.  It's a list of things that may not be urgent, but they are important. It's things you need to program into your day that matters most in your life. To help keep you in balance.

• Write a letter to a friend
• Complete the edits on the new book and submit to printer
• Meditate at least four times this week
• Go Fishing

I know the last one might seem like it doesn't belong on a list of what matters most, but fly fishing is an activity that gives me peace of mind. Once I've waded waist deep in the icy water of the Warrior River, stress melts away like butter in a hot skillet. 

I haven't been fishing this year. I've been so wrapped up in the job, and other projects that I kept moving forward on my calendar. 

It's on my compass now and I'll look at it every day. We're taking  some vacation next week so there is a very good chance I'll spend some time on the water.

Memorial Day Presentation

My blog buddy Jack commented that he would like to see the presentation I gave at the Memorial Day service today so that's what follows.

We are gathered here today not to celebrate Veterans Day, which honors those who served, or Armed

Forces Day, which honors active duty soldiers, but Memorial Day, which is to honor those who have died in service to our country.

In the beginning, it was called Decoration Day. I read where people who lived near Civil War battlefields would scatter flowers across the land where both Union and Confederate troops had died. The number of deaths in that conflict was staggering.

The bloodiest battle of that war was at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania where 50,000 men died are were gravely wounded. That’s close to the population of Walker County.

Communities across the North and South lost sons, fathers, and brothers and with them. Their hopes and dreams were forever lost.

As you know, the bloodshed didn’t end with the Civil War. Our country has been engaged in conflict many times over the course of history. WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan all of which came with a hefty price tag paid with the blood of men and women who signed up to serve our country.

Decoration Day evolved into Memorial Day and in the 20th century grew to honor all men and women who died in service to our nation. We observe the federal holiday on the last Monday of May.

It’s hard to find a family that has not been touched by war. If you walk through most any cemetery in any community, you will find military markers with dates that match wars and conflicts.

When my mom was still living, there were pictures in her family album of her baby brother Marvin Lee Ferguson. He was a carefree kid seeing the world from the deck of the USS California, which was a Navy battleship.

He was in the Pacific in 1941 about to celebrate Christmas in Hawaii, but on December 7 of that year, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. In less than two hours, 2500 people had died, one of which was Uncle Marvin Lee, who died before WWII officially began.

He was the first person from Walker County killed. The local VFW hall is named his honor.

I have his picture on the wall of my office I often wonder what kind of man he would have become had he not died on that sunny Sunday in Hawaii.

These days, Memorial Day is recognized as the first holiday of summer and people spend the day eating Bar-B-Que, drinking sweet tea, and preparing for upcoming summer vacations.

On this Memorial Day, I am thankful for the opportunity to live in this country. Where we have the freedom to travel anywhere we want and the freedom to celebrate with our family and friends.  But we should NEVER forget those who picked up the tab.

Memorial Day eve

It's been a good weekend and the school is closed tomorrow. A friend asked if I'd speak tomorrow at one of the local Memorial Day observances. I worked up the outline of what I'll say and hopefully I can get through it without too many Ummm and ahh ahhs.

Spring has definitely cleared out. Today it was in the low 90s with a humidity thick enough to spread on toast. We walked early this morning and finally got our steps in when evening shadows grew longer.

I mixed up some compost juice and fed the tomatoes and peppers and this evening as I leaned on the back fence to survey my handiwork, it looked as if the plants had grown a few inches. The concoction smells worse than a boiled egg poot, but the plants love it.

As I headed inside, I saw a lantana blossom peeping from beneath the back deck so I snapped a quick picture.

I hope you all have a remarkable Memorial Day.

Easy Saturday

Today was a lazy day. We slept in this morning. I didn't get up until 7 a.m. We were whupped last night so left the sound equipment in the car and I unloaded it this morning while the coffee brewed.

We did our routine Saturday chores and afterwards went to the grocery store to buy a few things.

After lunch, we took about a two-hour nap which is rare for me, but it felt great.

When the garden grew shady we headed out to get our steps in. The humidity felt as thick as peanut butter, but we walked and sweated. 

Jilda's got an organic chicken in the oven and we're about to dine. It's been a good day.

A stalk of wild ginger that my sister gave us.

Seeds Coffee

Jilda and I got a head start on the Memorial Day weekend. We played tonight at Seeds Coffee in
Homewood.  It was good seeing our friends and family.

It's been a while since we've played an hour and a half straight so my fingers are weary, but it's a good kind of weary.

I hope you all have a remarkable weekend.

Late post

I'm a little late posting tonight because Jilda and I attended the local Chamber of Commerce Annual Banquet. We didn't eat until just before eight which is not far from our bedtime:)

We did get to howdy up with a bunch of our old friends and neighbors and that's always good.

The picture tonight was taken by my lovely spouse. It's a lily that Jilda's mom planted 30 years ago. We saw the first bloom several days ago as we were walking and Jilda borrowed my phone to snap the photo. I didn't have a better one so she's letting me use it here.

Happy Friday.

Substitute

Jilda had a run-in last night with an old nemesis. She suffered from aseptic meningitis the three years she took the IVIG treatments, and it came a'calling last night and this morning.

Her voice echoed from inside the basket, "Will you go and teach my 7 A.M. yoga class this morning?"

Looking at the clock I saw that it was already twenty after six. I left a perfectly good steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table jumped into my yoga breeches and hit the road and hit the road.

This is a class for counselors that work at the facility who come to work an hour early for the class and Jilda didn't want to disappoint them, so I substituted.

She is a certified yoga instructor who can teach other trainers, so I'm a certified yoga instructor. I'm betting most of you didn't realize that.

I was a little concerned going in, but the class went off seamlessly. About an hour later I was headed home.

The sun had peeped over the eastern horizon and highlighted a kingdom of Queen Ann's Lace by the side of the road, so I pulled over and snapped a picture of a couple that was near the shady edge.

The day didn't start as I'd anticipated, but anytime you can begin a day with yoga and meditation, it's a good thing.

 

Digging them out with noodle

When I clicked on Blogger tonight to write a post, I happened to look down at the launch page and it said I have posted 4012 entries. Clicking on STATS I saw that I've had almost 20,000 comments. 

That sounds like a lot but I've been blogging since December of 2005. That's the nature of time. Someone once asked a prolific author how he'd managed to write so many books. He said, "One word at a time." 

There are days I can't write the words fast enough and other days it feels as if I'm digging them out with noodle. 

A good year for cars ~ my column from Sunday's paper

Each time I hear someone mention the year 1966, an image of a Chevrolet Chevelle develops in my
mind like a Polaroid picture. Chevy started building the Chevelle Super Sport in 1964. The first two years they were beautiful cars, but designers got it right in 1966.

Doctored photo from Pinterest

The first one I saw was the color of fresh churned butter with Raider Mag wheels. When the owner revved the engine, needles on earthquake detectors danced as far away as Atlanta.

I was 15 years old in 1966 and a few years shy of a steady job, so all I could do was lust after the Chevelle.

What I had was a 1946 Plymouth Coupe that my mom repossessed from my older brother when he defaulted on a loan. She’d given him money to paint the old car maroon with tiny flecks of gold that glimmered in the sunlight. He also bought moon hubcaps and a steering wheel knob. When he decided to move to California after high school, she kept the car and for my 15th birthday, she gave it to me.

Police weren’t as persnickety about things like driver’s licenses and auto insurance then, so I drove the car to school every day that year. It would have been a head-turner in the happy days of the ‘50s, but in 1966 sitting beside the shiny new Chevelle SS, the old coupe looked like a bruised turtle.

The ‘60s was a great decade for designers in Detroit. The Ford Mustang, Chevy Impala SS, Plymouth Roadrunner and Barracuda, Dodge Charger and Pontiac GTO were all incredible cars.

From history website

There was no better place to see all these cars than Sherer’s Drive-In in Jasper on Saturday night. Rumbling through Sherer’s in a dirty car would have been just wrong. So for the price of a chocolate shake you could watch a parade of polished steel in a prism of colors. The best cars were two-door hardtops with all four windows rolled down. From inside the 8-track players blared Brown Eyed Girl, White Rabbit, and other songs that are still popular on Oldie Goldie radio stations.

I graduated from high school in ‘68 and worked nights while attending college during the day. After a few paychecks, I talked my dad into co-signing a loan with me to buy a 1965 Impala SS. It wasn’t a Chevelle, but it was red as a sunset and once I got those big wheels turning, it was curiously fast.

If you talk to most any man that came of age during that time, they can name half a dozen deserted stretches of needle-straight roads that became drag-racing venues on weekends. At the drop of the flagman’s arm, you could smell burning rubber, hear screaming engines and watch headlights streak like shooting stars for the quarter mile drag race.

But that was a different time. The 1973 oil embargo sent gas prices skyrocketing and started a flood of imported cars from Japan and Germany. The desire for gas-sipping transportation made Detroit’s muscle cars a thing of the past except for collectors. But even those of us who weren’t fortunate enough to hold on to one of those beauties, we still have the Polaroid photographs in our minds.

Out of contact

Our landline is out of service along with our internet. I have 1 bar of service standing on the bannister of our back deck on one leg holding one hand aloft while my head is wrapped with aluminum foil. I heard our mail carrier is sick too so if you need to contact us, please use carrier pigeons.

Small festival

We played a small festival up on the lake about an hour's drive north. Earlier in the week the

weatherman said it would be "a stromin' " today, but I couldn't have drawn up a more beautiful day. 

We played under the gazebo. People walking through the park would stop and listen for a while before wandering on through the booths of handmade arts & crafts. 

A young couple that had just gotten engaged sat down and listened to our entire set. Before they left, they asked if we'd consider playing at their wedding in August.  

We gave them a card before we left and we'll see if they firm things up before the wedding.

When you play as long as we've been playing you play a lot of venues. We've played house parties, beach parties, chilli cook-offs, a llama convention, birthdays, weddings, and funerals.

Picking berries

Our great nephew Jordan stayed with us a few hours this morning. His family had to work so he came over rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles.

A while later, Jilda whipped up some bacon, eggs, and toast. The smell of bacon brought him out of his sleepiness and before the linen napkins were on the table, he was sitting in his chair looking toward the kitchen with expectation.

After we ate, we headed out to the garden to check the plant progress and pick blueberries.

He loves picking blueberries because he's still fairly short which gives him a point of view that Jilda and I don't have. He finds berries that we overlook.

Only three of the plants are bearing right now, but the others will follow in a few days. 
I plan to plant another 20 bushes in the fall. Did I mention that we love blueberries?

Pretty Petunia

I've been extremely busy the last several days and my pool of ideas is a bit shallow. Flipping back through recent photographs, I came across one I shot this past Sunday.

My sister-in-law Pat has a secret pal at her church. When she went Sunday, her secret pal had left her a hanging basket of petunias. She hung the basket from a hook on her front porch and it looks like a crimson cloud.

So tonight, a picture will have to carry the load.

Dreaming of the beach

I dreamed of the beach last night. It was one of those delicious dreams when I was just out of high school and cares were few.

Jilda and her family were staying in a concrete bungalow, at Laguna Beach, Florida. It was July.
We were both stem thin and slathered in Coppertone. We were laying in the surf at sunset with the warm waves licking our toes. Seagulls squaked and fussed because we hampered their supper.

I would have slept for days had the dream lasted, but it faded as morning light seeped in around the the shades.

Blue

The blueberries began turning this weekend and on Sunday we picked almost a gallon. We have several different varieties and all start bearing at different times which makes the growing season longer.

Over the coming months we'll have blueberry protein shakes in the morning, and on weekends maybe blueberry pancakes.

The property we bought last year has a monster fig bush on it and I've been spending time nursing it back to health after years of neglect.

It's gone through a growth spurt but I'm not sure if it will bear fruit this year.

Today was kind of a wash at work. I had a workshop scheduled but nobody came. I was a little down, but it's hard helping people who can't be bothered to do what it takes to get a job. Oh well.  I will do my best to help those who want help.

Planting Seeds ~ my column from Sunday's paper

Planting seeds. That’s something I have done for most of my life. Before starting to school, Grandma Watson (my great grandmother) lived next door, and I visited almost every day. My mom would stand on the front porch sipping coffee while I meandered the few hundred feet to Grandma Watson’s house.

During the last days of winter, Granny studied the almanac almost as much as her Bible. And when the signs were right, and the danger of frost had passed, she began planting her garden in the side yard. She planted corn, butterbeans, peas, beets, onions and potatoes.

On every surface of her east-facing front porch, she had herbs, lettuce, and flowers that sent the hummingbirds into a feeding frenzy.

By fall, every shelf in her kitchen and pantry was loaded with mason jars filled with fruit, berries, and vegetables that she’d canned. When light from the autumn sun came through her windows, it turned her kitchen wall into a kaleidoscope of color.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but in a sense, she is one of the ones responsible for my love of planting seeds.

Jilda’s childhood was much like mine and her grandmother Mamie was good at planting seeds too. We have flowers in our yard today that Mamie planted over 50 years ago.

During the lean years when we first married, we grew a lot of the food we ate in summer: tomatoes, onions, peppers, and potatoes. We ate like royalty even when the money was thin. We often had enough to share with our neighbors in the “trailorhood” where we spent the first 10 years of our marital bliss.

These days, we get an early start planting seeds in small containers on the floor by our south-facing garden door. Even when it’s too cold to sow outside, we plant our seeds inside.

I’m convinced there is no better reward for the backbreaking work it takes planting a garden than bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches with mayo on toasted bread.

I thought of this topic this past week when we told a friend about the scholarship we do each year for a Dora High School senior. We explained that we ask the candidates who plan to attend college to answer several questions about what they want to do when they grow up. We make our selection based on their answers.

The friend looked thoughtful for a long while before saying, in a sense, you are planting seeds. It took a moment to make the connection, but I realized what she was saying.

An investment in the education of a young person is investing in the future. Unlike a garden, education sometimes takes years to take root. Sometimes it doesn’t but often it does.

Some of the early recipients of our scholarship did well in college and landed meaningful jobs. Some are still in school.

But long after we’re gone, I’d like to think the seeds we’ve planted were a kaleidoscope of talent that helped make this world a better place.

Fun ain't cheap

We vowed at bedtime last night that we would sleep in this morning, but at 5:45 a.m., daylight slashing through the blinds awakened me. I thought I would slip out of bed and let Jilda sleep, but she said she'd been awake since 5:30 and was ready for coffee.

We did take a long nap just after lunch which felt great. This evening we finished up a little work in the flowerbed and then got in our steps for the day.

I posted a video and it lit up my timeline on Facebook. Our phone rang off the hook today with people calling to say how much fun they had.

These fish fries are a lot of work but they're worth it. As the old saying goes, "Fun ain't cheap."

I hope your week is kind to you.

Thanks to my nephew James for this picture

Fun Fish Fry Feast

The laughter has subsided, and the all that's left is the swooshing of the dishwasher.  Both Jilda and I look like street people tonight. Neither of us counted the number of people who came to the fish fry today, but it's safe to say there was a yard full of folks.

A dozen kids played games, chased dogs, gathered eggs, and explored the farm.

At the end of the day, this is what I know for sure: Doing gatherings of this size takes a lot of work, precise planning, exceptional networking, and a whole lot of fish.

If there were a theme today, it was joy. It will take a while to recover, but as I've said before, Fun Ain't Cheap.

Work Day

My knees are screaming – YOU SHOULD HIRE YOUNG PEOPLE TO DO THIS KIND OF WORK!!!  But I don't listen to whiny knees. But then my back chimed in...and then my elbows.

I'm hard headed, but I must say the yard looks marvellous for tomorrow's fish fry.

We have enough fish to feed a multitude. I'm actually not who all is coming because as I said yesterday the guest list is expanding exponentially.

One of my jobs is to document the occasion. I feel like I'm up to the task if my whiny knees will cooperate

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Stormy weather

A line of thunderstorms are slamming through and the lights are flickering. I don't think it's that severe but as a safety precaution I'm going to post a picture tonight and shut this baby down.

Y'all have a great Friday.

Planting seeds

Tonight's post will be a short one. We're selecting a winner of the scholarship we give each year to a senior at our alma mater who has college plans. 

This year is the ninth year we've awarded the scholarship. Our first recipient went on get not only his bachelor's degree but his masters. He graduated from film school last year and is working in the field of music.

Yesterday when I mentioned the scholarship to a friend she said, "Giving scholarships to students is like planting seeds." That thought resonated with me so the column I wrote today for 

Sunday's paper is a piece about planting seeds. I'll run it next Monday.

I hope you all have had a great hump day.

Loungers

The teakwood loungers and the Adirondack chairs winter in the barn, but when the angle of light changes and the days get warm we put them out to better enjoy summer evenings.

I had to knock off a liquor store to get some serious folding money when we bought them a few years ago, but the chance of a first offender doing hard time for getting enough money for two nice loungers was a risk I was willing to take.

These loungers are not only comfortable, but they dress up our yard. The only issue is that when company comes "a visiting" it's hard to run them off when it's bed time. They want to sleep in our loungers and admire the stars.

After work this afternoon, I put pine-bark mulch around the blueberries, finished cutting the grass, and put the chickens up just as the sun started dipping low. I stepped into the kitchen and drank a glass of cold water standing at the sink and then drew another glass before going back outside to enjoy the lounger.

I stopped short when I saw the light in the back yard.  Pulling the phone from my pocket, I snapped a few photos. I'd downloaded a few new filters for my computer so I toyed with the image. This filter made it look like a watercolor.  It suited my mood this evening, so I went with it.

Food junkie ~ My column from Sunday's paper

Hello. My name is Rick Watson, and I’m a food junkie. 
I grew up in a family that loved to cook and eat, so they got me hooked early with cathead

biscuits, red-eye gravy, and ham for breakfast. Then for supper, my mama who was one of the food kingpins would dish out plates of fried chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. By starting out that young, there was no choice but become a food addict.

Mrs. Postson’s cheeseburgers from Randy’s Cream Cone in Dora didn’t help. At first, I only went there on Saturday night for a “social cheeseburger fix” but it soon went downhill, and I was slipping by after school, and at nights.  

I started mainlining on Thanksgiving Day at Jilda’s house when were first started dating. The turkey with dressing, coleslaw, and sweet potato pie sent me down that slippery culinary slope. Even today I start twitching at the thought of those deviled eggs. I was doomed from the first.

These days my life revolves around food. Jilda and I can be heading out after coffee for appointments in town, and I’ll ask, “Where are we eating lunch?” It’s become a running gag between us, but neither of us would argue that we "really" love food.

When I think back on the places I’ve traveled in my life, the sights, sounds, and smells come to mind, but the memory of the food is etched in my soul like a cheap tattoo. 

The first time we traveled to New York City, we sat on a bench in Central Park and ate hot dogs we bought from a street vendor. The next day we found ourselves in Chinatown. When we stopped a pedestrian and asked them for directions to a good place to eat, he looked at us as if we were aliens. Well, in a sense we were aliens, but he swept his hand around and said, “Pick one, they are all good.” 

We asked one other person, and she stepped to the corner and pointed to a stairway going to a second-floor Chinese restaurant. None of the staff spoke English, and the menus were in Mandarin, so we pointed to pictures of dishes that looked good. We sat by a window and watched people on the street below. The aroma of shallots, ginger and garlic was a harbinger of the meal they prepared for us in the tiny kitchen. It was the best Asian food we’ve ever eaten.

Back in the mid-1980s, we spent a lot of time with our friends Tom and Judy. He’d gotten word about a place in the sticks that served excellent food.
One Saturday evening after a hard day’s play on the river, we set out on a journey to Fayette County for Berry Chicken. 

We drove narrow back roads for miles before coming to a house. Tom hit the blinker and turned. “Do they know we’re coming for supper?” I asked. As it turns out, Berry Chicken was a cinderblock building behind the brick house, and there were no tables inside. We went up to the window, gave them our order, and a little while later they handed out a quarter (or half) chicken on a paper plate with a napkin on top and wrapped in pages of the Tuscaloosa News.

Someone in the backseat asked about the nearest place to buy beer. The lady told us they had beer in the back. Apparently the front of the building was in Fayette County, which was dry at the time, but the rear part of the building was in Tuscaloosa, which was wet, and they sold beer so cold it would crack your teeth. We were in heaven.

Our buddy George Deavours told us that Arnold and Blanch Swindle, who owned Berry Chicken, had both passed away, and the place went out of business in the 90s. I was saddened to hear this.

I’d like to say that I’ve conquered the food addiction, but the truth is I’d walk to Fayette County for a plate of Berry Chicken right now.

Rick Watson is a columnist and author. His latest book Life Changes is available on Amazon.com. You can contact him via email at rick@homefolkmedia.com.

Getting ready for the fish fry

We're having a family/friends fish fry this coming Saturday. We've had it planned for months. This is the third annual Rick & Jilda Fish Fry for friends and family and the guestlist is growing exponentially.

 We'll have to seine the Warrior River to  have enough fish. The Good Lord had a way of feeding the multitudes with a few fish, but I'm afraid things will get nasty around here if we don't have enough fish to go around :)

These events are so much fun, but it requires a great deal of work. I spent the last few days mowing the property because some people will want a tour. While working one of the flower beds, I came across the beauty in the photo to the right.

Jilda has been working non-stop polishing furnature, dusting shelves, and other chores we do when we're having guests.  I'll wash the front windows tomorrow, clean out the fire pit, and clean the deck.

Last year, intermittent rain drove the crowd inside. The grownups didn't mind, but the kids missed the yard-time with involves horse shoes, bad mitton, croquet, and of course the trout toss (no trout were harmed in playing this game.)

This year, the weatherman says the temps will be in the low 90s with a gentle breeze out of the west. I'm hoping he doesn't change his mind.

Do what you love

Tonight we are weary, but we had fun today. I tried to give away the bass boat, but I think my reputation preceded me as the hometown crowd wasn't having any part of the giveaway.

I hope you all have an opportunity to do things in your life that you love.

Self promotion

Jilda and I are playing the Horse Creek Jubilee festival tomorrow afternoon. We drew the last slot at three p.m. Normally, the last group that performs is the finale. In a sense we are, but experience has taught us that by three p.m. at festivals, most people are tired of chasing children cranked up on funnel cake, cotton candy, and snow cones and are ready to head home where they will swill a 12-pack of beer and ice down their feet. 


So in order to drum up some support, we had to do a little self-promotion. I decided to advertise on Facebook that those who stay for our show have a chance of winning a bass boat with a 500 horsepower inboard Evinrude motor along with $7 thousand dollars worth of fishing gear. And, to pull the craft to the river, we're giving away a new Ford Explorer. 

As a disclaimer, I noted that these prizes were contingent upon us hitting the lottery. If in fact, we do win the lottery, we will also throw in a puppy. But, if we don't win the lottery, all those who stay will get a hug. 

I'm not sure how this will fly on Facebook, but we thought it was worth a shot. But we're open to suggestions.

Anniversary

Forty-two years ago this afternoon, Jilda and I got married on the front porch of the preacher's house in Brewton, Alabama.

Like most everybody who sticks it out, there were some hard times.  During those first few years, I'm not sure our parents on either side thought we would stay together. But on the road of life, we managed to keep it between the RC signs.

Looking back, it's not worth wasting energy trying to remember the bad times. All I can say at this juncture, is that I'm glad we found a way.