tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58796225357582476342024-03-13T23:12:04.884-05:00Tennessee RamblesDCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.comBlogger660125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-51021992922892146352021-07-30T15:15:00.002-05:002021-07-30T15:15:50.680-05:00<br /><i><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"> "Some people come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never ever the same." ~ Flavia Weedn </span></i><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">I thought that I was all out of tears but learning of Ernie's passing brought them forth again. His death is the third in six months among friends whom I've known for forever. The circle is getting too damn small.<br /><br />Ernie and Inez, what a great couple to know. They bought a unit on the ground floor of the condominium and I purchased a unit on the top floor, in the early 80s. "Miz Gwennie" to Inez; "Buttah" to Ernie. Inez dubbed me "Miss Take Charge" because I was also the president of the association. We tried to organize the condo community, well, Ernie and I did. Inez was our support. The condo had a community room so he and I planned movie nights, game nights, football game get-togethers, parties and barbecues on the patio; Christmas Carols in the lobby. It was a failed endeavor; however. We eventually left that condo, taking different paths, but remaining friends. <br /><br />Everett, Ernie's brother, also had a condo there. The two brothers were die-hard Redskins fans and Everett had a joke for everything. On the night of the Buster Douglas fight (which he lost), Everett proclaimed "Buster got busted." Jimmy and I would laugh about that many times over. <br /><br />Inez was the first to go. Pancreatic cancer took her away. Such a sweet soul. Everett passed a few years ago. Then Jimmy and, now, Ernie. That entire branch of friendship is gone. <br /><br />In February of this year, Shirley and Albert, died within a week of each other. I met Shirley Fletcher, Albert Eggleston, his wife, Joyce, and the entire Thornton/Fletcher/ Eggleston family in 1973. I don't know how Joyce is holding up having lost her only sister and her husband. I guess that her faith is sustaining her. Me? I just can't stop crying.<br /><br />So many memories. So many footprints. <br /><br />All the best.</span><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: "PT Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 20px;"><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-77199689803993882392021-05-07T18:26:00.001-05:002021-05-07T18:26:26.800-05:00One Decade Plus Four<p> Who would have thought? 14 years. May 1, 2007, I crossed into Tennessee, on my way to Memphis , where I intended to put down my roots. Didn't happen. My roots are, to the chagrin of the populace, sunk into Ripley soil.</p><p>Flashback memories: Being enthralled with Serendipity when I first saw her. Awnings and fretwork, magnolias, high ceilings, hardwood floors. Later I would learn that I also had a tulip tree and a pecan tree. There is a hackberry tree (so I am told) and one which I tend to forget. Two columns at the head of the steps which, I am told, were hitching posts from the Town Square, bought and installed by the previous owner. They had glass globes attached which you could turn on at night from the house. Wonderful. Of course they didn't work and no electrician wanted to tackle the job. Humongous coach lanterns which, I am told, came off of a funeral wagon. "I am told" because there doesn't appear to be a written history of the property. I discovered and uncovered, through hard work, a brick patio at the rear of the house and a brick pathway which winds from the front to the back. </p><p>There is an article about the earliest owner on record, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presley_T._Glass" target="_blank">Presley T. Glass</a>, a major in the Civil War and who also served in the U. S. Congress. Thank goodness that he was a Democrat. Some people refer to it as the Glass House, or by the name of the previous owner, the Savage House. I, however, refer to it as Serendipity or the Blackman House. Jimmy used to say that no matter how long I lived here that it would always be known as Mrs. Savage's house.</p><p>My, my, it is a shame that everyone who knows the history of the house is deceased. However, Kate Johnston Peters, chair of the Lauderdale Library Broad of Trustees, compiled and edited <i>Lauderdale County from Earliest Times</i>, in 1957. In her mention of Serendipity, she writes:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Col. P. T. Glass, Mr. and Mrs. Ed Palmer and Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy and others lived at times in the home now owned by Mr. and Mrs. W. T, Savage This home is over 100 years old. </p><p></p></blockquote><p>If you've been with me on this journey, you know that the majority of these years have been spent in rehabbing the property, <i>trying </i>to learn the ways of my neighbors (not too successful in that arena), and making a new life. I was not prepared for small-town life. That everybody is related or knows someone who is related or knows your business before you do. My goodness, I'm not from around here. How was I supposed to know that the person who ticked me off royally was the aunt, cousin, sister, mother, niece of the person to whom I was talking? And just why would I bring my big-city ideas to Ripley and think anyone would be interested?</p><p>But while my social life is virtually non-existent (Covid-19 certainly didn't help there), I became active in the community. Some will say that I became a pain in the patookus but sometimes things just need to be said. Gained my certification as a Master Gardener (no, I have not mastered the art of gardening), obtained my notary license (haven't notarized a thing), opened and closed a business, and entered into the retired life. </p><p>What happens next? Perhaps I will get the drive to finish the many projects waiting for completion. There's a hallway that needs to be painted, bushes to be trimmed, bookcases to be organized, pictures to be sorted, and...and, you get the drift. My heart will never heal but I've got miles and miles to go before I sleep.</p><p>All the best. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-79167917282374286672021-05-02T09:44:00.001-05:002021-05-02T09:44:18.288-05:00September--A Deadly Month<div class="separator"><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I us</span></b></i><i style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">ed to love September, but now it just rhymes with remember. </span></b></i></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Dominic Riccitello</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I had the general framework planned for this blog and then life intervened. My mother used to say: "Make no plans; don't be disappointed." How true. What was to be a tribute to one person who passed on September 18, has turned into a tribute to many; hence, the morbid title.</div><br />2020 has been unkind to families all over the world because of the corona virus, COVID-19, which has taken the lives of many. 200,000 lives in the United States alone, as of today, Sept. 19, 2020. 200,000 lives lost due to incompetent bungling by the leader of the free world but that's a subject for another day. <br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOA9DqyXwMU/X2Yl5_yKpQI/AAAAAAAAdE8/OIDo9FCg9oIv8LZRdf7PaAlakdJvzjmQACLcBGAsYHQ/s847/Ruth%2BBader%2BGinsburg.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="704" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOA9DqyXwMU/X2Yl5_yKpQI/AAAAAAAAdE8/OIDo9FCg9oIv8LZRdf7PaAlakdJvzjmQACLcBGAsYHQ/w166-h200/Ruth%2BBader%2BGinsburg.jpg" width="166" /></a>Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the "notorious RBG", passed on the 18th and plunged many into untold grief. Why? Most didn't know her personally, rather, we knew of her. We knew that she was the second woman appointed to the Supreme Court and that she was a Bill Clinton appointee. A fierce advocate of equality rights, she was the role model for little girls and women . We knew that she was a warrior, having battled inequality in the workplace and a battle with cancer numerous times. Tributes are pouring in but I share with you President Barack Obama's statement: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#">Obama's Statement Ruth Bader Ginsburg</a>. You may also enjoy Vanity Fair's article: <a href="https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2020/09/ruth-bader-ginsburg-obituary?utm_source=nl&utm_brand=vf&utm_mailing=VF_CH_091920&utm_medium=email&bxid=5be9fced2ddf9c72dc899732&cndid=49829798&hasha=ae4c8abf187e1111cdfccb575cee30da&hashb=52f2267b3f104fa6dd6987ef206646f14726efde&hashc=935a4e760f5c2eb1462919ea8c325275b992b408f17be4c3294aaeb80d5d3a80&esrc=AUTO_OTHER&mbid=CRMVYF092120&utm_campaign=VF_CH_091920&utm_term=VYF_Cocktail_Hour" target="_blank">Ruth Bader Ginsburg</a></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And then there was the the transition of a friend, Alonzo Beard, who</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="g" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZaY4nzqYHAA/X2pJ6oxGzJI/AAAAAAAAdGc/8UlLTsqCrYAzbe_41hm_JVR9YmXS-ME1wCLcBGAsYHQ/w171-h200/beard-alonzo.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>passed on September 9th. Not a national figure but beloved in the community. He and his wife, Diane, often joined Jimmy and I for small get-togethers. Alderman, husband, father, brother and uncle in a humongous family, Sigma, Purple Heart recipient, whist player extraordinaire, TSU graduate, oh, my, and the list goes on. He loved to garden and the flowers surrounding his house were amazing. And, Lord, did he love to eat. His laugh was infectious and will be missed. R I P, my friend.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, this month, icons from my youth transitioned, as well. Helen Reddy, of "I Am Woman" fame. Martin Milner, Route 66 and Adam-54, fame. Lou Brock, Gale Sayers, Mac Davis, Ronald Bell, Diana Rigg, Bob Gibson, Tom Seaver, thank you for providing so many hours of entertainment. And, though he passed at the end of August, I cannot overlook the transition of a beloved D.C., icon--Coach John Thompson. If you don't know him, I can't tell you. RIP.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkAj4WK7Z3M/X3nB5SiU78I/AAAAAAAAdMQ/9m5bnmlxTSYJ3VwlATS75OCzHkHcwAlJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/gwen_jimmy.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="149" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkAj4WK7Z3M/X3nB5SiU78I/AAAAAAAAdMQ/9m5bnmlxTSYJ3VwlATS75OCzHkHcwAlJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/gwen_jimmy.JPG" /></a> </div></div>Finally, September will always be the most deadly month to me because a year ago, on the 18th, my best friend, my lodestar, my strength, gained his wings. He often said that I was one of the strongest women that he knew. He was so wrong. It has been a terrible, emotionally-racking year. Memories come fast and furious. Small things; big things. I miss the smell of his cologne, his unconditional support, the phone calls, his smile, sense of humor and infuriating practical jokes. His presence. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>They say that it gets better. I'm not sure. </div><div><br /></div><div>All the best.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-1389016578966268412021-03-10T14:10:00.000-06:002021-03-10T14:10:02.206-06:00Letter to the Queen<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span color="var(--primary-text)" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; transition-property: none;"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_2p" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; padding: 4px 16px 16px; transition-property: none;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="animation-name: none; display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px; transition-property: none;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px; transition-property: none;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql rrkovp55 a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; word-break: break-word;"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">Dear QEII: </div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">
How will you deal with the MEGxit issue within the FAMILY when the FAMILY is the root cause? Acknowledge that Archie is entitled to the same privileges as the other Royals? He is so far down the line of ascension until that particular matter is moot. There are no worries there. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">Will you give the offenders a royal dressing down? Did you tell that hideous Royal hanger-on to stop wearing those damn black-face pins? Will you make sensitivity training or anti-discrimination training a requirement for family members as well as staff?</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">Perhaps if your family studied their lineage, the question of skin color may no longer be relevant. After all, you are a direct descendant of Queen Charlotte. I haven't noticed any tan babies in your line or were they institutionalized as your cousins, related to Good Queen Bess, were?</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">Queenie, I am not surprised (although I wish I were) that Meghan received ill treatment because of her race but to ostracize a baby? So while you claim that they are beloved members of the FAMILY, do you really think the couple will feel comfortable visiting any member of the FAMILY ever in life? I can only speak for me: It would NEVER happen.</div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;">Sincerely,</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><div class="l9j0dhe7" id="jsc_c_2q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; position: relative; transition-property: none;"><div class="l9j0dhe7" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; position: relative; transition-property: none;"><div style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;"><div class="l9j0dhe7" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; position: relative; transition-property: none;"><div class="bp9cbjyn cwj9ozl2 j83agx80 cbu4d94t ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs l9j0dhe7 k4urcfbm" style="align-items: center; animation-name: none; background-color: var(--card-background); display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; position: relative; transition-property: none; width: 500px;"><div style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; max-width: 100%; min-width: 500px; transition-property: none; width: calc((100vh + -325px) * 1.78495);"><div class="do00u71z ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs l9j0dhe7" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding-top: 280.114px; position: relative; transition-property: none;"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-37723965734344410592020-06-28T14:56:00.000-05:002020-06-28T14:56:09.193-05:00The Number 13<br />
Thought that I'd forgotten how long I've been in Tennessee, right? 13 years. Count them. 13 years since I left my hometown, Washington, D.C. And, because this is an emotional time for me, bear with me while I compose myself.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMxBdxrG7po/Xvjq9MWWGHI/AAAAAAAAcbM/t9ZPV_Ob4zIkOmf5QD7GIwIC5QbhK1fYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Bristol%2BWelcome%2BCenter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMxBdxrG7po/Xvjq9MWWGHI/AAAAAAAAcbM/t9ZPV_Ob4zIkOmf5QD7GIwIC5QbhK1fYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/Bristol%2BWelcome%2BCenter.jpg" width="200" /></a>Thirteen years ago, Monday, April 30, my best friend packed my car for my trip south, as only he could do. I had so much to bring: houseplants, luggage, computer, television, and more. And he made it fit, filling the front seat, the backseat, and the trunk. Lord, that man could organize, arrange, and pack. So down the road to Rte. 66, bound for Memphis, I went. I arrived in Cordova, TN, late that Tuesday night and got my first experience with folks being unable to give directions. Found the apartment and was grateful for a bed to lay my head.<br />
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The next morning, I booted up the computer and fired up the coffee pot. Whoa! I was to have met a realtor in Ripley at 9:30 a.m. Frantic phone calls and off I go, up Rte. 40, to heavens only knows where. No GPS (didn't need one in D.C. and the metropolitan area)--just a paper map hastily printed from the computer. No one to call if I get lost. Flying blind and trusting in the Lord. Passed corn, goats, cows, and, finally, a sign saying Ripley--X number of miles. And, again, people at the gas station can't give directions.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FhLMaZVdzsU/Xvjq5JaOTmI/AAAAAAAAcbI/1Qjcl-UJk9ksIqPfoUeQQ8xyu8bfLZIggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/sen%2Bfront%2Bstreet1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FhLMaZVdzsU/Xvjq5JaOTmI/AAAAAAAAcbI/1Qjcl-UJk9ksIqPfoUeQQ8xyu8bfLZIggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/sen%2Bfront%2Bstreet1a.jpg" width="320" /></a>I finally made it to the realtor's office where I had the pleasure of meeting Maurine Childress. She told me that we would not go to several of the listings that I'd flagged because "they're in the country." I had to bite my tongue because I had just come through miles of country to get to her office. But, she had lined up several showings that would be of interest. They weren't. After a scenic tour of downtown Ripley, she pulled up in front of the house that I would eventually buy and asked did I want to go inside. Did I <i>eve</i>r?<br />
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Back to Cordova. I wasn't feeling Ripley. But no calls from the other realtors and the realization that researching crime from afar doesn't give an accurate picture led me back to Ripley. Jimmy flew in to give his opinion. He wasn't feeling the house for sure. <i>"Tear it down and start over."</i> The town reminded him of his hometown of Palmyra, MO and he had shucked that dirt from his heels when he left years ago.<br />
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I recently ran across paperwork showing my settlement date as the 24th of May or somewhere in that week. I proudly drove up my driveway to see that the columns and decorative items stored in the barn/shed/garage had disappeared. And while I talked to a friend back home, I realized that this hideous, furry, animal was sunbathing in the area between me and my car. OMG! doesn't begin to summarize how afraid I was. My first encounter with the neighborhood groundhog.<br />
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My brother and Jimmy both came to help me settle in. I didn't share how scared I had been when something bumped the joists under my bedroom and shook the room or how someone continued to remove the coverings to the crawl spaces. Even now, 13 years later, it still happens. I didn't share how I cried as I watched the rainwater roll down the bedroom wall that first week.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKKJ61R5JDM/XvjxO3BNfVI/AAAAAAAAcbc/rB1LG-ah8psNkSOks4iD7ZPwLiV_Ga1dACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Serendipity%2B2017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="377" height="244" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKKJ61R5JDM/XvjxO3BNfVI/AAAAAAAAcbc/rB1LG-ah8psNkSOks4iD7ZPwLiV_Ga1dACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Serendipity%2B2017.JPG" width="320" /></a>So, here we are, July 2020. My best friend is taking his well-deserved rest. He lived long enough to see the improvements and repairs. His last time here, he said that he couldn't see it when I first brought him home. A lot of hard work and money which, at times, felt like it was good money going after bad. So many memories. The break-ins which petrified me; the lack of friends for the first three years; my taking the handgun class and, finally, acquiring one. "You bought a gun?" Lawn parties and tents on the lawn. And, of course, the arrival of Patches who immediately became Jimmy's dog.<br />
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I'm glad that he was able to see it. I couldn't have done it without him. My rock, my best friend, the wind beneath my wings. Rest easy, sweetie.<br />
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All the best. Be Safe. Be Blessed.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-87535515970261914782020-03-15T13:58:00.001-05:002020-03-15T15:52:35.222-05:00Atlanta Music Project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
For some reason, I couldn't upload the videos of group performing as a part of the Selma March events. I think that you'll agree that they are extremely good. </div>
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/open?id=1YSm9ZfbysB9PvsSFr52vDoB4j5UbFlZL" target="_blank">Precious Lord</a></div>
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Enjoy. Thank you, Fitzgerald Mann, for the videos.</div>
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All the Best.</div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-25900195649751341212020-03-14T13:44:00.001-05:002020-03-14T13:44:41.463-05:00Bloody Sunday Continued<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U2SvRt92MMw/XmyJ7fv8BMI/AAAAAAAAbxk/biuVU-7y1ok17lXW1bw28pZM8SSfwY8VQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Edmond%2BPettus%2BBridge%2BSelma%2BAL.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U2SvRt92MMw/XmyJ7fv8BMI/AAAAAAAAbxk/biuVU-7y1ok17lXW1bw28pZM8SSfwY8VQCEwYBhgL/s320/Edmond%2BPettus%2BBridge%2BSelma%2BAL.HEIC" width="240" /></a>And, now, to the <i>Bridge</i>. My good friend, Fitzgerald Mann, took fantastic pictures of the entire event but this <br />
angle of the bridge provided a different perspective. All side streets were cordoned off to allow an orderly procession across the bridge behind the delegation of elected officials, celebrities, etc. When we came to the fencing, my group went to the left; I went to the right. Oops. Separated.<br />
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By going to the right, I was ahead of my group and on the bridge. I was in a position to see the politicians, celebrities, noted figures who came to participate in the march. <i> What I didn't have was my phone. </i>I'd unknowingly dropped it in the bag destined for the car. How can I take pictures? Or let folks know where I am? No problem. We're all going to cross the bridge. I'll just wait for them on the other side. <br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfOEKC6VdZk/XmyUunBPDnI/AAAAAAAAbxw/sMLMF95NUXYep7cngi3j10kfz_RRWmCFACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/16SSEUDSGSPRTSTXXACC%2B%25281%2529.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1032" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfOEKC6VdZk/XmyUunBPDnI/AAAAAAAAbxw/sMLMF95NUXYep7cngi3j10kfz_RRWmCFACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/16SSEUDSGSPRTSTXXACC%2B%25281%2529.webp" width="128" /></a><br />
Once the politicians, et al, passed by, the group with whom I was standing fell in behind them. When the crowd stopped, I moved to the side and kept walking. Prayed my way across that bridge. Bad back, obese, bad knee, Lord, just help me get to where I could sit down...on my trusty walking cane with seat. Yes, Yes. They laughed at my little green contraption but it saved the day. Because it was a <i>long</i> wait before someone I knew came across that bridge. <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TjxNLbwAifM/XmyYK2RzB2I/AAAAAAAAbx8/6_k3ANd9hVsns57gv1F0cgqnuN-n-Y25wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_20200301_094203917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TjxNLbwAifM/XmyYK2RzB2I/AAAAAAAAbx8/6_k3ANd9hVsns57gv1F0cgqnuN-n-Y25wCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/IMG_20200301_094203917.jpg" width="200" /></a>The first person across whom I recognized was Andrea Bond Johnson, my favorite Delta. She told me of the consternation I'd caused among the group. They had no idea where I was, couldn't contact me, in other words: scared that something had happened to the old woman. Did she get mugged? Faint? Have a medical event? Nope, I was chillaxing at the base of the bridge on the other side. That is...until the hordes of people came across like a tidal wave. I quickly took my little seat and got the hell out the way. Sitting on the side of the road was not the place to be at that moment. The following crowds were more sedate. I trailed her back to the bus (another long walk) and they made contact with Regina, Candice, and Fitz. We agreed on a pick-up place on the highway and they would be back with the car.<br />
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It was a long time before the bridge opened to traffic. I was a fixture on the side of the road for so long waiting for my ride until the State Trooper asked if I needed help. I have to admit that by that time I was getting a little antsy myself. No phone; the bus was long gone; and I didn't know anybody's phone numbers. The highway was becoming deserted when they finally rolled up. Seems they had been given directions on how to circumvent the Pettus Bridge and get across to where I was waiting. Except they kept going in circles and never discovered the way. No problem. We were on our way back to TN.<br />
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Thank you, ladies of the Jackson, TN, chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc., for letting me share the wonderful journey. Thank you Robin Gadsen Dupree for bringing the movie, <i>Selma,</i> to view on the ride down. It refreshed my memory and was the perfect reminder for why we were going. Most importantly: Thank you to those who marched, bled, and died so that all people would have the opportunity to vote. We stand on your shoulders.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RmgW5yt0QtU/Xm0h35a8V3I/AAAAAAAAbyw/Rh82qxPxJU0EejS_z5Gtn1SD4cNa9Zf7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Edmund%2BPettus%2BBridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="471" data-original-width="517" height="291" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RmgW5yt0QtU/Xm0h35a8V3I/AAAAAAAAbyw/Rh82qxPxJU0EejS_z5Gtn1SD4cNa9Zf7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Edmund%2BPettus%2BBridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-48950621686785733232020-03-14T13:16:00.001-05:002020-03-15T12:21:46.650-05:00Bloody Sunday<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zDQaWrZX1UE/Xmu5Jh1q5xI/AAAAAAAAbvc/pC_uEyTkOvYAA7OoIAdYq9TLhiFxZyfeACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/selma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="403" height="237" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zDQaWrZX1UE/Xmu5Jh1q5xI/AAAAAAAAbvc/pC_uEyTkOvYAA7OoIAdYq9TLhiFxZyfeACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/selma.jpg" width="320" /></a>March 7, 1965, the Edmund Pettus Bridge, Selma, AL, where Negroes, Colored Folks, Nigras, or Niggers, as they were referred to, were brutally beaten as they attempted to march to Montgomery, AL, to register to vote. This horrific act of violence literally pushed Pres. Lyndon B. Johnson into passing the<a href="https://www.history.com/topics/black-history/voting-rights-act" target="_blank"> Voting Rights Act of 1965.</a> 55 years later, I had the privilege to join thousands of others in peacefully crossing that bridge and paying respect to the men and women who sacrificed so much. <br />
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I was in high school when this happened. The beating and murder of many of the Selma marchers, Rev. Reeb, Jimmy Lee, John Lewis and others, as with the bombing of the church in Birmingham, sit-ins, the hatred and violence, were too surreal. Just horrible images on the television screen. Because it happened so far away, it couldn't possibly have any effect on me. Could it?<br />
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Voting rights, segregation, politics, social issues were not topics of discussion in my household. My parents, both from the South, were too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads, raise a small family, and survive. No correlation was made between the Blacks being beaten and killed in the South and the brutality of police in our backyards of D.C., Virginia, Maryland. No thought of the fact that we were not allowed to shop in the "better" stores, live in other areas of town. It was a given that you "held it" until you could get home because the restrooms were not for us. We didn't have to get off the sidewalks when white people passed unlike in my mom's hometown of Cheraw, S.C., one of the few memories that I have from a summer visit in the Fifties. But <a href="https://www.culturaltourismdc.org/portal/a-brief-history-of-african-americans-in-washington-dc" target="_blank">segregation </a>was alive and well in Washington, D.C. I just didn't know it.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vL10GpgxsMQ/XmyHW86G19I/AAAAAAAAbxU/5drBP5TqSyQEl7nNYOjMl8YwBIvMvm43ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vL10GpgxsMQ/XmyHW86G19I/AAAAAAAAbxU/5drBP5TqSyQEl7nNYOjMl8YwBIvMvm43ACLcBGAsYHQ/s200/4202.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VzD15aVJhfM/XmvCL7kcMBI/AAAAAAAAbv8/xtuV3YaUXTcTycaZalJ6akXBGww4-U23QCKgBGAsYHg/s1600/4200.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VzD15aVJhfM/XmvCL7kcMBI/AAAAAAAAbv8/xtuV3YaUXTcTycaZalJ6akXBGww4-U23QCKgBGAsYHg/s200/4200.jpeg" width="150" /></a>So, how did you manage to make that trip, Missy? As with most things, I just happened to hear at the last minute that some of my good Delta Sigma Theta, Inc., friends had chartered a bus to make the pilgrimage. I was lucky enough to get the last available seat. As you can see, it was a sea of red and white but they did allow three lovely AKAs to ride along with them.<br />
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The agenda called for us to leave Jackson, TN, on February 29th and spend the night in Montgomery, AL. Nothing was planned for the group once we arrived but it just so happens that the <a href="https://museumandmemorial.eji.org/memorial" target="_blank">National Memorial for Peace and Justice,</a> and <a href="https://museumandmemorial.eji.org/memorial" target="_blank">the Legacy Museum</a> are located in Montgomery. A must see. They immediately went on my list of things to do. And who could pass up the opportunity to visit a casino or two? As luck would have it, by the time we checked in, the museum was all out of admission tickets so we didn't get to see it. But Montgomery is only 6 hours away, so a return trip is possible.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LA8lxSQAwfo/XmyfbNAodHI/AAAAAAAAbyI/EhJTozn-H1kJscpZAMD7QOsXCu8v-j-BQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/89027406_10219107317646624_5810257523537608704_n%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LA8lxSQAwfo/XmyfbNAodHI/AAAAAAAAbyI/EhJTozn-H1kJscpZAMD7QOsXCu8v-j-BQCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/89027406_10219107317646624_5810257523537608704_n%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>We revised our plans, got a recommendation for a seafood restaurant and off we went. It was awful. My companions had the seafood boil and were happy. I wasn't feeling anything on that menu; not what I expected at all. I couldn't believe that I had traveled that distance to have catfish and fries, no bread, no salad. Off to the casino. Regina Nash felt her bed calling but Candice Williams Marshall Hunter and I forged on. She won $300 on her first spin; I recouped the $40 I'd spent and was more than ready to go. We stopped at B.B. King's to redeem the food ticket and realized that we should have eaten there: <i>good food and live music. </i><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eh2Sw4PswmE/XmyhmRwdKCI/AAAAAAAAbyU/OrOWCaw0W-YULAValI0SHLm8PbcNrplywCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/4204.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1233" data-original-width="1600" height="153" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eh2Sw4PswmE/XmyhmRwdKCI/AAAAAAAAbyU/OrOWCaw0W-YULAValI0SHLm8PbcNrplywCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/4204.jpeg" width="200" /></a>The next morning we were ready to pull out--Selma bound. Oops, change<br />
of plans, we wouldn't ride the bus with the Deltas, after all, but ride with Mr. Fitzgerald Mann, who had made the trip down alone. Could he really resist the opportunity to have three women accompany him to Selma and back to TN? He probably could have but was too much of a gentleman to deny us.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pauaBVEJhF0/XmvULJCuWQI/AAAAAAAAbwQ/Dmyg-FISPBIqCNZgoBkLq0lSNJGLE2O4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/89917231_10222036946215392_8804471438250606592_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pauaBVEJhF0/XmvULJCuWQI/AAAAAAAAbwQ/Dmyg-FISPBIqCNZgoBkLq0lSNJGLE2O4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/89917231_10222036946215392_8804471438250606592_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>Did they walk Sistah Girl? Yes, they did. Of course we had to visit the vendors. Then we tried to find the location of the rally. Went around in circles getting directions from different, well-meaning, people. Where I thought we were going isn't where we ended up. I thought we were going to a rally outside of the church; instead we went to the stage where the Divine Nine would have their gathering. In addition to their presence, the president of FAMU spoke, the mayor of Montgomery, AL, as did the president of the NAACP, and Tom and Kat Steyer. Ms. Steyer has few moves under her belt and sings quite well. Perhaps she should have been the one to run for president.The M.C. called Tom Steyer, Tom Sawyer, and never corrected it. I assume that she was a dee jay from the radio station. Sistah Girl was not impressed. You cannot be "cute" and make those mistakes.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lzQItoKjl1o/XmuvIhmgu4I/AAAAAAAAbuo/N1kFPgqN8g8EeXwyOzBYuVfZjDXLDLHqACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_5396.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lzQItoKjl1o/XmuvIhmgu4I/AAAAAAAAbuo/N1kFPgqN8g8EeXwyOzBYuVfZjDXLDLHqACEwYBhgL/s200/IMG_5396.HEIC" width="200" /></a> A lot of fun watching the young'uns show their colors and their dance steps. Very good entertainment. The band was great with talented vocalists and musicians. The most moving performance for me was by a young group, Atlanta Music Project. Gifted vocalists. Some of them will go far.<br />
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To be continued....<br />
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All the Best.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-83736921033547111592020-01-05T21:02:00.000-06:002020-01-05T21:02:26.499-06:00The Holidays Are Over<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BtPDs31htng/XhKajrHVcmI/AAAAAAAAbVg/DntuoixBRwEtIu9FuGmH4ctUqDR0PS0cACKgBGAsYHg/s1600/IMG_20191226_072509468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BtPDs31htng/XhKajrHVcmI/AAAAAAAAbVg/DntuoixBRwEtIu9FuGmH4ctUqDR0PS0cACKgBGAsYHg/s320/IMG_20191226_072509468.jpg" width="320" /></a>Yes, I made it through. The house was decorated by the time the family arrived but totes and boxes were still strewn throughout. I just managed to have the gifts wrapped. What was the holdup, Missy? Bad back, bad knee, too much time spent on trying to have a beautiful tree and decorations just right because, after all, the little one needed to see them, right? "Did you decorate just for me, GiGi?"<br />
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So they flew into Nashville and drove to the Big Rip. Dinner and then someone was ripping wrapping papers and delving into stockings. No surprise that the big hit was the remote controlled VW bug. It ran through those batteries ASAP and I had no replacements. Not to worry, I can't remember what kept her occupied but off to bed she went.<br />
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The next day, we picked up her bff and off we went to The Incredible Pizza. They ate from the time we went through the doors until we left. And, of course, played games. Great place to take the kids. Very thankful that Regina 2 was visiting at the same time. Then, she had her very first sleepover. Imagine that. Regina 2 conned everyone into letting Katarina spend the night. She was in pig's heaven.<br />
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Saturday was the "dinner party" with the most expensive dessert this side of heaven. Sheez. Just like my painting the Christmas ornaments years ago, her mother and I wound up doing most of the work for these Christmas ornaments. Cute idea but, Missy, was it necessary? Making memories.<br />
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They don't show well in the photos. Next time we'll add food color to the candy shell. But she was pleased with the final product and we were just damn glad to get it over and done with.<br />
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And, as usual, I was running for the shower at the very last minute. A big shout-out to Natasha for all the help she gave me. And an even bigger shout-out to the guests for coming late.<br />
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Too much food. I can hear Jimmy now but it didn't go to waste. I gave away food and am still eating leftovers. I'm tired of it now but refuse to throw anything away.<br />
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Off the fam went at 3:00 a.m., driving back to Nashville for the 8:00 a.m., flight. They made it with no problems.<br />
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So, I made it through the holidays without a major meltdown. Didn't say that I didn't cry; just that there was no major meltdown.<br />
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And now I have to take down all those decorations that were put up especially for Katarina's visit. Boy, the things you do for children. Perhaps I will just leave them up for next Christmas.<br />
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The hostess with the mostess and her best friend in Tennessee.<br />
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I understand they plan to return this summer. I will leave them the key.<br />
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Happy New Year to all.<br />
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All the Best!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-79053754119934005012019-12-23T08:46:00.000-06:002019-12-23T08:46:13.804-06:00Christmas TraditionsI have to admit that I have very few. What about you?<br />
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I do love a live tree at Christmas; however, I haven't had one since I moved to Tennessee. Don't they have trees for sale there, Missy? They do but I don't have what is a necessity in these parts--a truck. So I have an assortment of trees:<br />
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<li>a 6 foot, scrawny, tree which really needs to be trashed</li>
<li>a 7.5 flocked tree (which I promise will be decorated by Christmas Day)</li>
<li>and a set of trees in urns for the porch</li>
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I have lost two other trees since being here but with one closet devoted primarily to Christmas trimmings, it is not a big loss.<br /><div>
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Speaking of trimmings, I have some of the ornaments from the first tree Kevin and I had when we moved from my parents. Pitiful-looking but of sentimental value. I had no spare money to buy a lot of ornaments but I saw a kit of unpainted ornaments that we could paint. I painted but the project didn't hold my son's attention. Looking at them now, they could use a little touch-up. Also of sentimental value are the ornaments I have received over the past 46 years. Lucy Murphy's (nee Toland) star (she was from Dallas, TX) comes to mind immediately. All carefully packed away each year and moved from household to household to be put on display the following year. As I hang them on the tree, I remember the person who gave them to me. Friendships of long ago have become cherished memories. And how could I forget the gorgeous ornament given to me by Carol Weeks for my birthday, last year. </div>
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Then there is the collection of Christmas objects which I was amazed to see has grown. Angels, Santas, ornate sleighs, and a few stockings thrown in for good measure. </div>
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I haven't decorated for the past few years. The last time that I did, it took me months to get them all organized and put away. Hadn't planned to decorate this year. However, the granddaughter is coming so there are totes full of wreaths, ribbons, ornaments, lights, you name it, strewn from the back to the front. Money being spent like it grows on one of those Christmas trees. Presents to be bought, food to be cooked, activities to be planned. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LF-6eH2XPZ4/XgDLRXkCoRI/AAAAAAAAbPY/wAEV3GB4Aj8wtwD_OBDfczZVeQwS_ofmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/christmas-ornament-cake-intro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="579" height="198" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LF-6eH2XPZ4/XgDLRXkCoRI/AAAAAAAAbPY/wAEV3GB4Aj8wtwD_OBDfczZVeQwS_ofmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/christmas-ornament-cake-intro.jpg" width="200" /></a>So what's on the docket, Missy? A trip to <a href="https://youtu.be/vn8jeTTg_Bs" target="_blank">Incredible Pizza</a> with her friend, Regina, who is also visiting over the holidays. Then, we're going to have a dinner party. Not a party but dinner with guests. An opportunity to set a pretty table. I'm psyched. </div>
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I saw a recipe for these cakes that I think she and her mom will enjoy making. Aren't they the cutest things? The menu? A normal holiday dinner with ham and chicken, greens and asparagus, candied yams, Claudia Joplin's world famous potato salad, Gwen's rolls, those cute little cakes, sweet potato pie, ice cream, coffee, tea, and sodas. </div>
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I sure hope she has a happy memory of visiting GiGi at Christmas. Perhaps it will be the start of a Christmas tradition.</div>
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All the Best.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-54664879290581752402019-12-17T13:39:00.001-06:002019-12-17T13:39:57.778-06:00HVAC At Last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lord knows that is how I felt during my first fall and winter in Serendipity. <br /><br />Remember that the house had been vacant for 14 years. I asked for the home inspection but the gas company refused to turn on the gas. The pipes were pitted; the gas units did not have turn off valves. I've tried to document the rehab of the property but failed to get pictures of the bedroom floor furnaces and those obsolete monstrosities located in the kitchen, living room, and dining room. <br /><br />When I moved in, May of 2007, the temperatures were horrendous. This information from <a href="https://www.wbbjtv.com/2016/09/01/7th-hottest-summer-record-jackson/">WBBJtv.com:</a><br /><br /><i>"...the 6th hottest Summer on record was in 2007 when the average temperature was 80.6°F. If you were in West Tennessee during August 2007, you might be able to recall how hot it was then! We reached 100°F 17 times that month and recorded what remains the 2nd hottest temperature ever recorded in Jackson – 106°F on August 16, 2007."</i><br /><br />I had to deal with a leaking roof, scraping wallpaper, painting, finding a job, plumbing, yada yada, so winter and heating were the farthest things from my mind. Well, let me tell you, boys and girls, the temperature dropped and heat was sorely needed. <br /><br />We, Jimmy and I, were scrambling during those first weeks. It was miserably cold in this house which has no insulation and very high ceilings. We bought room heaters which didn't begin to do the job. We huddled under covers absorbing each other's body heat. Layered up--for the inside. Finally it was suggested that I have electric wall heaters installed in the main areas. Pulling 240 volts a unit, they definitely did the trick. The electric bills were exorbitant to say the least and I'll speak to the utility company's rates later.<br /><br />Why didn't you have an HVAC system installed? Here's the answer: Shortly after I moved in, I called a local company and, plainly put, they didn't want to do the job. More excuses as to why it couldn't be done than Carter had liver pills. The cost would have been almost what I paid for the house. Then I tried to get the company which installed my system in D.C., but I guess Ripley is too far from Olive Branch, MS, for them to be bothered. A company from Memphis came and discussed the installation of radiators (which I really wanted--best heat in the world) but he left and never called back. Home Depot came and measured and I never got a quote. And somewhere along the way, another company came and said the same as everyone else: too many roof lines; not enough crawl space; yada yada. Some set up appointments and never showed.<br /><br />Twelve years and an estimate approximately every 2.5 years later, I tried again. This time I talked to Bridgers HVAC, in Milan, TN. He didn't want to make the trip (about 45 miles away) but he did. "Oh, yeah, we can do this." Missy's not for having the house torn up so how will you do it, kind sir? "Put a unit on both sides of the house and run the ducts under the house." So how will I get heat? "Cut vents in the floor." <i>Say WHAT?</i> All these years of paying $900 light bills, decreasing in amount until June, and I could have had heat? Are you kidding me? Those light bills would have paid for both units many times over. <br /><br />I wasn't able to do business with Mr. Bridgers, unfortunately, but Andy Windle, out of Dyersburg, got the job done. A gas unit (trying to cut Ripley Power and Light off at the knees) was installed at the front of the house: kitchen, dining room, living room, front bath, and TV room. That knocks out 4 of those 220 heaters. I did a little jig when they finished this past Saturday and cried when I signed off on his paperwork. Why the tears, Missy? Because my rock, James A. Williams, was not here to share the joy. He rejoiced in each renovation project and this would have pleased him to no end. <br /><br />Enjoying the even temperatures in the front of the house and the quietness of the system. Looking forward to a reasonable light bill although one of those 220 heaters will still be in use. I might even start sleeping at that end of the house and turn that heater off entirely. <br /><br />Perhaps the Lord will bless me to have the second unit put in next year. Ya' never know.<br /><br />All the best.<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-44797103937170007992019-11-28T11:27:00.001-06:002019-11-28T11:27:39.456-06:00My First HolidayMy two best friends are enjoying eternal rest, peace, and tranquility, leaving me to endure my first holiday without either of them to talk to or be with. The phone won't ring. No one will ask if they can help or remark "Girl, it's smelling good up here." It is so hard.<br />
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Friends have invited me to join them so the choice to be alone is mine. Yes, it is probably past time to be out and about but the lip still quivers and the tears fall like rain. Without notice. At any time.<br />
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Death is no longer a notion; it is all too real. It is a permanent void, ache, that cannot be filled or eased. Pray for me and all those who have lost loved ones.<br />
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All the Best.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-38987329664763369742019-11-18T18:43:00.003-06:002019-11-18T18:45:31.483-06:00Mayor PeteDear Media:
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Please let the Black community make up its own mind on Mayor Pete. We are an intelligent people capable of making choices but we don't vote as a block nor do we think with one mind. There's a word for that; I'll find it.
According to you, Mayor Pete won't make it in South Carolina because Blacks are against the gay lifestyle and won't vote for him. With that rationale, he won't win in any state with a large Black vote.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-yeVF08NBI/XdM2AVBSidI/AAAAAAAAa-w/zCKZsH8p2lMAc8veEgI0b1cziwm_GyWzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/God%2Bdoesn%2527t%2Bhate.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-yeVF08NBI/XdM2AVBSidI/AAAAAAAAa-w/zCKZsH8p2lMAc8veEgI0b1cziwm_GyWzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/God%2Bdoesn%2527t%2Bhate.png" width="320" /></a>Following your reasoning, we need to ban our musical directors from the choir stand, stop them from <span style="background-color: transparent;">playing the organ (Lord, can they at least be allowed to play the Hammond B-52 organ?). We need to repudiate our teachers, doctors, lawyers, etc. Turn on our family members (you know--the ones who aren't quite flaming but everyone knows they're sweet). </span>I don't think there is one family (immediate or extended) who doesn't have a gay family member.<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent;">And, of course, RuPaul and those gorgeous drag queens or our friends with that unerring sense of style who taught us how to fix that wig, put on that make-up, told us to accessorize, sweetie, accessorize. Lord have mercy, what are we going to do with the WBNA?</span>
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See, the Idiot-in-Chief was shoved down our throats. Couldn't talk, think, or read but, by damn, we need a white MAN in office. I mean, a three-time-divorcee who bankrupted his company at least six times; is accused of rape; a known sexual predator, etc., but he would save the country. You bought every lie he told you and, now, look what it got us. Perhaps you should have warned us continuously about his lifestyle as much as you're warning us about Pete's.<br />
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Well, I happen to think that we'd prefer to have a sane, articulate, logical person in the White House, regardless of the sexual preference. We can, as a people, Black or white, I assure you, make up our own mind. Don't need you to tell us.
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All the Best.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-57390117802112628632019-11-11T01:05:00.000-06:002019-11-11T01:05:10.279-06:00Pistol Packing Mama Deuxième PartieI know that it is eight years later but I thought you might want a follow up on the Pistol Packing Mama post. If you'll remember, I decided to take the handgun class being offered in town. And I passed with flying colors. I might want to change my name to "Dead Eye Dick" 'cause I tore that target up.<br />
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So I proudly took my results to the DMV and received my carry permit. Hot damn. And that was what I had...a permit...no gun. Jimmy said that he would give me one of his revolvers. We even researched how he could get it here from there.<br />
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Things were going smoothly until someone tried to force the front door in the middle of the night. Have I told you that story? Anyway, to say that I was terrified would be an understatement. I also found out that I am a better watchdog than the pooch who is occupying space in my house. Well, maybe he's just waiting for the right test. Now, I need a gun.<br />
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The first step was to talk to Jimmy. Of course. "We'll take care of it when I come down." So, we went gun shopping. I want something that is going to drop them in their tracks. Major firepower. Automatic. My law enforcement expert, certified sharpshooter, says revolver. Whelp, I didn't have enough strength to handle the weapon of choice. "I'll send you my revolver."<br />
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Anyone who knows me knows that I don't have a lot of patience. I am uneasy in the house. Folks are rifling through the items in the barn/shed/garage. Time's up. Put in a call to my instructor, Barry King, who doesn't sell guns but will gladly go with me to buy one.<br />
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Off we go to this shop in Dyersburg. The store has cut its hours (without telling anyone) and is closed that day. That wouldn't have been a major bummer if...I hadn't had to drive over 30 miles with a window that wouldn't go up--in the rain--and then drive back with a window that wouldn't go up--in the rain. We made plans to meet at the gun show in Memphis that weekend.<br />
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Have you ever been to a gun show? OMG! The testosterone hits you when you enter the parking lot. Plenty of women in attendance. Buyers, sellers, looky lou's. And what would a gun show be without someone selling handbags for the guns? But back to the topic. Guns, guns, and more guns. All kinds of guns. Scary-looking guns, the type of guns the maniacs use in those mass shootings. Lordy, let me get my gun and get the hell out of dodge.<br />
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Mr. King is on the lookout for me. He directs me to a vendor he has "faith" in. She lays out several items that she thinks I might like. Oh, look! This one has a pink handle. You know that I like pink. Too many choices. Some are too heavy and all I want, at this point, is to point and shoot. Made my purchase, complete with bullets, a handbag, and came home.<br />
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Several weeks later, I received a call. "You bought a gun?" Yep, Mr. Smith and Wesson now reside at Serendipity.<br />
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All the Best.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-2567122035568124622019-11-10T16:33:00.002-06:002019-11-10T16:42:48.996-06:00OverwhelmedGrief is a brutal pain from which there is no immediate relief. Only short respites and it begins again. Tears come in waves, without warning, and when least expected. In the middle of a conversation, in the car, anywhere. Have I been here before? Yes and no. I have lost relatives, my parents, friends and acquaintances. None have affected me as much as the passing of my friend of 42 years.<br />
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Resentment? Yes. For wasted time, for anger, for being left behind. Questions? Yes. Why him? Why are others still here? Knowing that I can't change a damn thing. I know the platitudes: Time will ease all pain. Joy comes in the morning. God had other plans. You have such wonderful memories. Yes but the pain is overwhelming; the tears unending.<br />
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Experts say that the length of mourning and the depth depends upon the individual. That it may last a few weeks or a lifetime. Others say talk it out. I can't say his name, conjure up his image, remember a trip or experience without dissolving into tears. The grief is overwhelming.<br />
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He spoiled me and I took it for granted. That 8:30 p.m. call which usually came without fail until the final days. The arrival every 4 to 6 weeks. Being available whenever I had somewhere to go. The advice which, whenever I didn't take it, was always true. Last year, Nov. 9th, we celebrated my 70th birthday. This year, the tears flow and the pain is overwhelming.<br />
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In one of our last conversations, he told me that he knew how much I loved him. How I wish that I had told him more often. Touched him more often. I started sending him music videos toward the end as a reminder of our time together. Jean Carne, Phyllis Hyman, Patti LaBelle, and others. Artists whom we'd seen and or enjoyed their music. On his last trip here, I told him that he had to beat the cancer because we had so many more memories to make.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-86550408165753618682019-10-15T15:49:00.002-05:002019-10-15T15:49:35.959-05:00He Was A Hard ManNot the man that I knew. <i>Exacting</i>? Yes. <i>Focused</i>? Yes. <i>Disciplined</i>? Yes. <i>Hard</i>? A resounding No.<br />
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A hard man would not drive two hours to assist in searching for the child of a woman whom he'd just met. A hard man would not come to the new apartment of a woman whom he'd only known for a few months, look around, and return hours later with badly needed furniture and other items. A hard man would not have come down to put Christmas toys together, share holidays, and make the drive back home.<br />
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A hard man would not drive down in a heavy snowstorm to check on the health of a woman who'd undergone in and out surgery. Or drive from Boston because her home had been damaged in a fire.<br />
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A hard man would have insisted that the child be left behind when taking vacations. The child's first airplane ride was courtesy of that hard man as was the trip to Jamaica to celebrate his birthday. The hard man showed the child how to measure his pants for a correct fit and bought his suit for graduation.<br />
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The hard man was at this family's side with few exceptions. He was on hand for funerals, weddings, and births.The move to Tennessee saw him fly in for the housing inspection, a return trip after settlement and monthly trips thereafter. He became an accepted part of a small social set. Everyone knew Mr. Jimmy.<br />
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The hard man saw needs and took care of them. He was a provider. The hard man was a loyal friend to many; conscientious to a fault (if you're going to do something, do it right), and taught those willing to learn.<br />
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So young man, as you looked at the man in the coffin and made that remark, I ask that you remember how many times he was there for you, rescuing you, your sister, and, yes, loving you in his way.<br />
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He is greatly missed.<br />
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All the Best. <div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-2057831909290905792019-10-06T12:47:00.001-05:002019-10-06T12:47:19.400-05:00In Desperate NeedMy outfit, right down to the jewelry and hosiery, was laid out and ready to be packed. I knew that the jacket fit; I had tried that on when the outfit arrived months ago. It was purchased for a more joyous occasion; not for the death of a loved one.<br />
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I had resisted my friend's suggestion that I try on the suit a few days before. But now that little voice said: "try on the pants." OMG, they didn't fit anywhere. Too big in the waist; too big in the hips; too big in the legs; too long. WTH? This is a brand name outfit. Did they confuse the orders, sending a pair of pants which belonged to a larger size? Doesn't matter. It is 10:30 at night. I have to leave at 4:30 in the morning for the drive to Nashville. My plane leaves from there. <br />
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Thank God that I know a little about sewing. I can take in the waistline and hem the pants. Pulled out the black thread and needle. But there's this thing called difficulty in threading a needle. Takes a lot of time. Alrighty then, let's start with the waistband. Sheez, that tuck didn't help at all.<br />
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Okay, here's the deal. I cannot make these pants fit, get sleep, and be alert for the drive in the dark. I've already told you that I have a problem with driving in the dark in Tennessee. I'm not taking any chances. Fortunately, I will have two days to work on them; the funeral is Saturday. Placed the outfit and the needle and thread in the suitcase.<br />
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However, I need to find someone who does alterations in Harrisburg and will be able to turn this disaster around in two days time in case I can't. Google to the rescue. Using Thumbtack.com, I located several prospects in the Harrisburg area and sent off my emails. Surely someone would answer my call of distress.<br />
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Of the four emails requesting information on their availability, only one person responded. They would be able to see me on Friday evening. Well, that's not going to work...unless they can fix the pants while I wait. The funeral is in Jersey, a two-hour drive away, on Saturday. After a flurry of emails, they asked if I could bring them over that evening. <i>Could I?</i> You betcha.<br />
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Hear me, now. Jose and his wife, Helen, literally saved my life. My alternative would have been to purchase a new outfit. Jose remade those pants. Three inches of fabric had to be removed from each leg. He said that the manufacturer had put more fabric in the front than in the back. I left their home on Friday evening with a perfectly pressed pair of slacks that had been hemmed to the right length and which fit this matronly body. My eternal gratitude to this couple. I only wish that I lived in the Harrisburg area because I would become a regular customer.<br />
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For those living in the Harrisburg area, make note of their information. Your Tailor, LLC. <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f3033; font-family: Mark, Avenir, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">(717) 695-3118. </span> I would not steer you wrong<br />
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<a href="https://www.thumbtack.com/pa/harrisburg/tailors-and-seamstresses/your-tailor-llc/service/271040614206670064">https://www.thumbtack.com/pa/harrisburg/tailors-and-seamstresses/your-tailor-llc/service/271040614206670064</a><br />
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And what lessons did you learn from this, Missy? When you order something online, try it on immediately. The whole outfit.<br />
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And, yes, my birthday suit needs serious alterations. Working on it. </div>
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Be Safe. Be Blessed.</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-13141765003820875702019-10-06T11:22:00.001-05:002019-10-06T11:22:59.724-05:00Well, DarnYesterday was one of those days. You've had them. Days when everything seems to go wrong.<br />
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In between tears, I decided to use the blueberries before they went bad. Had a recipe for a lemon blueberry bundt cake and all of the ingredients were on hand. Piece of cake, right? Things going smoothly until it was time to make the glaze. Such a simple thing to make: confectioner's sugar; milk; butter; vanilla; lemon juice. Put the butter in the measuring cup and stuck it in the microwave as I always do. Must have been one time too many because I opened the door to find melted butter all over the glass plate and a hole in the bottom of the measuring cup. Yep, it was plastic. Like I said, one time too many. So, there was no glaze for the cake.<br />
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Off to the computer class on how to design a web site. If you know anything about me, I'm always willing to learn about computers, programs, etc. Back in the day, I tried to teach myself HTML. Books are still on the shelf. Time to get cracking.<br />
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Leaving there, I decided to go to one of the few grocery stores in this town (there are only three, including Walmart) for a piece of chicken to go with my leftovers. Why this particular store? It usually has a salad bar and steam table. Until yesterday. I walked in at 5:20 to see that the steam table and salad bar had been dismantled for the day. I wasn't interested in the steam table or salad bar. However, they also have fried chicken available. Nada. Zip. I was totally gobsmacked. Off to KFC.<br />
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So why didn't I go to Walmart? The Ripley Walmart is the smallest "supercenter" in this particular market. It does not have tire and lube service or a deli which carries things such as roasted or fried chicken. If you're looking for that, then you need to ride 25 to 30 miles to the next county.<br />
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What about the cake, Missy? Good but would have been better with the glaze. Very light. Chock full of blueberries and a hint of lemon. My friend would have loved it.<br />
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Be Safe. Be Blessed.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-78637702356589409302019-09-19T12:27:00.000-05:002019-10-06T19:38:04.547-05:00A Time To Weep....In the late 70's, I attended a dance given by NOBLE (National Organization of Blacks in Law Enforcement) where I met a man with a beautiful smile, a swagalicious walk, a sense of style, and a gracious manner. "<a href="https://youtu.be/xJmcwb2oRl4" target="_blank">Zing Went the Strings of My Heart</a>" is so appropriate. I fell head-over-heels when I saw him walk through the door of the ballroom. He was from Philly, employed by DEA, and in town for NOBLE's convention. It was the start of a long-distance relationship.<br />
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In the very beginning, my son and I would cry when he left. Over the years, trips to the airports, watching his car pull away, would prompt tears. A fatalistic feeling of not being able to see him again. Recently, he told me that he cried when he left after his last visit. I responded that I cried often when he left. The image of him walking away from me, as I locked the door, brings me to my knees. It is burned into my brain. </div>
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He shared that his cancer had returned but kept the severity of his condition hidden. He was adamant that I shouldn't visit until he was stronger and able to walk. "You know that I have no problem pushing you in a wheelchair," was my response. When I learned that he was bedridden, a friend and I flew up to see him. Yesterday, September 18, 2019, I received the dreaded news that my best friend, my rock, my soulmate, had received his wings.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">We heard a song at the last dance we attended which became a joke for us: </span><a href="https://youtu.be/jcAq72j0AUM" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Mr, Sexy Man</a><span style="text-align: justify;">, because it reminded us of how we met. So, Mr. Sexy Man, until we meet again....</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Sunrise: August 9, 1935</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Sunset: September 18, 2019</span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-4986988862471310592019-05-29T04:51:00.000-05:002019-05-29T04:51:36.642-05:00Then and Now<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRl0K8dAJk4/XOwKiHFhLcI/AAAAAAAAZPg/R2CVAA-2NakljFD8e9DNKKy9IGqrWGUEACLcBGAs/s1600/sen%2Bfront%2Bstreet1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRl0K8dAJk4/XOwKiHFhLcI/AAAAAAAAZPg/R2CVAA-2NakljFD8e9DNKKy9IGqrWGUEACLcBGAs/s320/sen%2Bfront%2Bstreet1a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2007</td></tr>
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I moved into Serendipity twelve years ago on Memorial Day weekend. I remember packing up the car at the apartment rental and seeing folks taking off with boats in tow. It was a hot one, just like the past few days have been, but I was filled with excitement.<br />
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Furniture was on its way from storage. New toilets (an absolute must) and a/c units were on their way from Home Depot. While waiting for that delivery, I discovered that there was a brick patio under the grass in the rear. Later, I would discover the brick walkways going around the house.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LW8R3xboj74/XO5OYa_x5RI/AAAAAAAAZQM/ZEy76uiUxA8sRUIEvs4rOPKWSYGKr27FACLcBGAs/s1600/kit1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="926" data-original-width="831" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LW8R3xboj74/XO5OYa_x5RI/AAAAAAAAZQM/ZEy76uiUxA8sRUIEvs4rOPKWSYGKr27FACLcBGAs/s200/kit1a.jpg" width="179" /></a>So here we are, twelve years later, and finally (hopefully) reaching the end of what <i>was</i> to be a five-year renovation. Twelve years of remodeling, repairing, and making do.What a ride it has been! Sometimes, I felt like a pioneer woman who forged ahead to a new homestead, leaving behind comfort, family, and friends. I encountered critters whom I'd only seen on tv and in the zoo. I also acquired dogs who, I learned, also had their own way of doing things. The latest and last to occupy the property is Patches, a stubborn little termagant, who believes that he rules the roost. And let's not forget trying to adapt to changes in culture, politics, language. "You're not from around here, are you?" A new way of living but then that's why I left D.C., right?<br />
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I think that I've grown as a person but still do not suffer fools lightly. Working on bridling that tongue. No hope for the face, however. Aging not so gracefully. Keeping active doing things that I enjoy--my books, my computer--and a <i>very</i> modest social life. Still haven't found a church; I believe the pastor of my home church spoiled me awfully. Have heard two ministers that I would like to hear again but, as with all things in this neck of the woods, it would require some serious driving.<br />
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Serendipity has changed considerably. What a difference twelve years makes.<br />
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Be safe. Be Blessed.</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-14287929902216932532019-03-03T12:30:00.000-06:002019-03-03T12:30:59.472-06:00Fear of DrivingAfter dark. In Tennessee. What?<br />
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I love to drive. From my first driving lesson, in high school, until today, I absolutely love to drive. I like being on the highway flying to a destination; I like driving along scenic routes. I can ride alone or I can have a partner. I love to drive. Except after dark...in Tennessee.<br />
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Why's that, Missy? No shoulders, no lights, bad signage and, worst of all, drivers who blind you with their high beams. I was taught to cut the high beams when encountering oncoming traffic. What about you?<br />
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I generally avoid going anywhere after dark, even in the town where I live, because of the first three factors so my participation in events is limited. I decided to conquer my dislike this past week and venture forth.<br />
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What happened, Missy? It rained. Both nights. So add poor visibility to my litany of complaints.<br />
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The first foray was to Memphis, 60 odd miles away, for a program beginning at 7 p.m. Here's the game plan: 1) leave early enough to drive during daylight hours. Simple, right? Cloudy; however, no rain until I hit the highway. Which means...go slow. Why Lord?<br />
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Of course, by the time I hit Memphis proper, it was dark and still raining. Signage is about the size of a legal envelope. (I decided to see what the regs are for signage. The height of the letters can range from 4 inches to 12 inches depending on placement. The width of the sign ranges from 18 to 48 inches. A nice little piece of trivia for you.) Thank God for GPS. Even then I missed the turn because there were no lights to illuminate the street, much less the sign. Drove to what I thought was the correct building, parked, and then had second thoughts. Pulled out. Circled the block again, came back to what had to be the correct building and...someone had taken "my spot." On the upside: the program was interesting; I now have a general idea where Nordstrom Rack is located.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-54b03pkZ528/XHwU2cNv-gI/AAAAAAAAYTc/qdZUMh7rxhUkU6Im3lT1RLN_DWvlO7oXgCLcBGAs/s1600/when-flooded-turn-around-dont-drown.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="115" data-original-width="115" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-54b03pkZ528/XHwU2cNv-gI/AAAAAAAAYTc/qdZUMh7rxhUkU6Im3lT1RLN_DWvlO7oXgCLcBGAs/s320/when-flooded-turn-around-dont-drown.gif" width="320" /></a>The second adventure was to drive to Alamo, a small town about 28 miles from me, for a 6 p.m. meeting. Again, the game plan is to leave early enough to see where I am going. An easy drive, fairly straight but two lanes all the way. What's this? High water? OMG. We have had so much rain over the last 6 weeks until anything containing water has overflowed. This includes the South Fork of the Forked Deer River which, this morning, is 2 ft above flood level. As far as I can see there is nothing but water. Water to the left of me; water to the right; water sitting on the nonexistent shoulders but no water on the roadway. Lord, you brought me this far....<br />
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Made it safely to the courthouse in Alamo. Yes, Ripley, your town square is very picturesque compared to theirs but...they have retail. Hmm.<br />
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How were the return trips, Missy? Dark. What is up with not having lights on major thoroughfares? Unless you are getting close to a city? Even some neighborhoods in Memphis are dark...which explains why I didn't know where I was. Rainy. Hampers visibility during daylight but at night? And let me explain about the lack of shoulders. I have no idea why they are nonexistent but if your tires stray one iota off the macadam, you are off the road and in a ditch or gully. No kidding. My brother claims that I hug the middle lane. True. That's the reason why.<br />
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Anyway, I made it home safely. Tom, my GPS, sent me home from Memphis along a two-lane road although he could have directed me to route 51, a divided highway. Doesn't matter. It doesn't have lights or shoulders, either. Plus, in some places, the gullys are very deep.<br />
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I'm sure that I'll never get over my dislike of driving at night...in Tennessee. I'll check my bucket list carefully and choose which programs I really want to see before I venture out again.<br />
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Be safe. Be Blessed.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-52383155850240880912018-07-04T12:27:00.002-05:002018-07-04T12:39:21.027-05:00White Squirrels, Grapes, and Roses<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FGfVx2vQNsk/Wz0AUuhMBrI/AAAAAAAAVb8/4-mICOOZTpsOIsGs8FE7G_XlmpmKH2h-ACKgBGAs/s1600/20180517_114723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FGfVx2vQNsk/Wz0AUuhMBrI/AAAAAAAAVb8/4-mICOOZTpsOIsGs8FE7G_XlmpmKH2h-ACKgBGAs/s320/20180517_114723.jpg" width="180" /></a>Kenton is a little town in northwest Tennessee about an hour's drive from Ripley. It is the "Home of the White Squirrel." Now, I'm not going to go into the genetic makeup and the rest of that stuff. It just isn't the focus of this post. Here's a tidbit, however, to get you started: <a href="https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/29067" target="_blank">White Squirrel Wars</a>.<br />
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Did I really travel to Kenton to see a white squirrel? Um, Nope. They tell me that there are a few in Halls, here in Lauderdale County, so I can drive 20 minutes if I really want to see one. But I did travel there to visit the <a href="https://www.whitesquirrelwinery.com/about/" target="_blank">White Squirrel Winery</a>.<br />
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The winery was formerly a Tennessee Walking Horse farm and the land has been in the family for eons. (If you've never seen the TN Walking Horse, you must.) The current owner, state senator, Bill Sanderson, has quite an enterprise going for him. His wife does the graphics for the business. She also makes candles and teaches. They have a huge building with gift shop and a cute efficiency bed and bath set-up for when you imbibed too much of their product. Just kidding, good for weddings, etc.<br />
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See, <i>Miss Get Involved</i> decided to join the Master Gardener Program (more on that later) sponsored by the state extension program. So how does a trip to a vineyard factor into the class? Learning about grapes, silly.<br />
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Do you know why roses are planted at the ends of rows? Did you know that some vines grow upright while others have to be clipped and trained? Were you aware that a grape begins fermenting as soon as it is picked? Are grapes still picked by hand or by machine?<br />
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Don't know why Sanderson decided to turn to grapes but he went all out. Went to Napa Valley and studied a bit. Brought some folks from the Valley to look at his operation and got their seal of approval. With the help of a grant, he was off to the races. They turned the family-owned building in the downtown area into a wine-making and storage facility. They sell the grapes they can't use to folks like Kix Brooks (of Brooks and Dunn fame), who has a winery in the Nashville area, as well as peaches and strawberries they won't use.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_TIj9Wtn0Uc/Wzz_G7_QjoI/AAAAAAAAVbw/pE99uJFWT5MZybcRnJPy66Jw_sIUIa58wCKgBGAs/s1600/20180517_102108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_TIj9Wtn0Uc/Wzz_G7_QjoI/AAAAAAAAVbw/pE99uJFWT5MZybcRnJPy66Jw_sIUIa58wCKgBGAs/s200/20180517_102108.jpg" width="112" /></a>We tasted the fruit of the vines before we went out into the vineyard. They make a white wine using the Niagara grapes found in the New York wine region which was good. The red muscadine was awesome; didn't care as much for the white Muscadine. Personal opinion The peach and the strawberry wines I would serve at a party. Good but not what I want to<br />
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Came home with an assortment to savor. Why so many? TN does not allow wineries to place their goods directly into stores. Must use a broker. Therefore, White Squirrel may or may not be in a store near me. And. Sistah Girl is not driving that distance for a bottle of wine. Of course, you can take my assessment and order through their online store. Or, you can take a trip to northwest TN and buy it yourself.<br />
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Great place to visit. Might make their Fall celebration. We'll see. Oh, roses are planted at the end of the rows because they attract the same diseases as grapes. Rather than inspect each vine, the growers can check the rose bush see what needs to be done to the vines in that row. Fascinating.<br />
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One squash and six peppers. However, there are tomatoes coming on the plants; the eggplant is flowering and the herbs are doing well. We'll see what happens with the watermelon plant. And there's a blueberry plant and a strawberry plant. Oh, I forgot the carrots. <br />
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This Master Gardener Intern doesn't have what it takes.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-25206309415719310382018-02-10T11:06:00.000-06:002018-02-10T11:06:04.850-06:00Eleven YearsYes, it has been a couple of years since I checked in but this is a special occasion and needs to be noted. Yes, you've probably lost interest but I am going to post this just the same.<br />
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Eleven YEARS! Can you believe it? I left my hometown, my place of birth, on April 30, 2007. I arrived in Memphis, TN, on May 1, 2007. I moved into Serendipity at the end of May 2007. What a tale I have to tell.</div>
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Some days I feel as if I am pioneer woman or exile moving to a strange land. I've seen wildlife that I've only seen in the zoo. A hawk with a wing span the width of my outstretched arms made an aborted landing in the backyard, leaving his prey behind. Nope, I didn't try to see what the poor thing was. I made my way to the backdoor lickety split. He didn't return but a turkey buzzard did and proceeded to devour whatever it was.</div>
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I've had fox cubs, spent a fortune on having the groundhog family removed, possums, snakes, the largest spiders you ever saw, an invasion of lady bugs, the smallest ants in the world, you name it and they have come through Serendipity at least once.<br />
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Repairs are still underway but you wouldn't recognize the place. And just as I thought I was done, I found that the back porch, mudroom, whatever, must be replaced. Damn.<br />
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Still raising hell as needed. Taking the Master Gardener's class. We'll see if I learn when to harvest a zucchini.<br />
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That's it for the moment. You pray for me; I'll pray for you.<br />
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Take care.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5879622535758247634.post-48490082610496620982015-02-11T14:03:00.002-06:002015-02-11T14:05:05.941-06:00Shouldn't Be This HardHmm, that applies to a lot of things. This, however, refers to my experience working as a call center operator. <br />
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The opportunity to make a little cash on the side was inviting. Who doesn't need a little extra "sumpin'-sumpin'"? So the option was a good one. After all, I am not in the market for a full-time position; I really like being able to do what I want, when I want. And, answering the phone can't be all that hard, right?<br />
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Now, a positive to this venture is that you're also able to work from
home. Requisites are: No crying babies; barking dogs; excessive noise, etc., I have a dog; therefore working out of the center in Ripley was necessary. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1MnedtAvhTk/VNuzTeG_l4I/AAAAAAAABys/JwgkhtqX_6U/s1600/call%2Bcenter%2Boperator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1MnedtAvhTk/VNuzTeG_l4I/AAAAAAAABys/JwgkhtqX_6U/s1600/call%2Bcenter%2Boperator.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>I won't name the company but they have a million ways to ensure that
you FAIL to achieve their goals and yours. Scripts are way too long;
there are too many upsells (additional offers for the uninformed);
dropped calls; no calls. Did I mention that you only get paid for the
number of minutes that
you are on the phone? So you may have been available for three hours but
only received one call which may, or may not, allow you to get paid. Shall I continue?
This venture is solely for the purpose of buying the "wants," flowers, cigs,
etc., so, the miserly check for two weeks' effort dampened my enthusiasm
for showing on a regular basis. I had other things to occupy my time
rather than carve out time, dress and travel to the center, and sit waiting for a phone to ring. I went
AWOL from July until December.<br />
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As usual, the bulb went off belatedly (as in late December). Patches is asleep during the
midnight hour. Why not install an extra line and take calls while he's
safely locked away? I can roll out of the bed, take calls in the
comfort of my home, and still have my day to do with as I wish. Line
installed. Hmm, only $2.00 extra? Surely, I can cover that expense.
Naturally, a specific phone set and headphones were needed but, hey,
I'll make that back, right? Sounds like a plan. <br />
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Mid-January, and
I'm back to work. The first few days saw limited calls. Is this worth it? Then I
noticed, in my jammed inbox, a notice to all agents that they needed to
be recertified to take calls. 35 minutes later, I'm certified, and
waiting. The calls are rolling in and I'm happy, happy, happy.<br />
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But I should have known that Murphy's Law would strike sooner than later and more than once.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYcXBF_HOyk/VNuzQ_-EyzI/AAAAAAAAByg/D0aE7Jwi2BM/s1600/call%2Bcenter%2Bscript.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYcXBF_HOyk/VNuzQ_-EyzI/AAAAAAAAByg/D0aE7Jwi2BM/s1600/call%2Bcenter%2Bscript.jpg" height="226" width="320" /></a><b>First strike: </b> Received a compliance event for talking too long. Before you jump to conclusions (because you know that I like to talk), the elderly caller became totally confused and I had to keep repeating the terms and conditions. She definitely needed the product that she originally called in for. <b><i>What to do? </i></b> Hang up? Try for the sale but make sure that she understands? Well, girls and boys, I tried for the sale which she ultimately turned down. And, I talked too long. Sheesh. I was in deep depression for the entire day.<br />
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<b>Strike two</b>: Patches appeared by my side during a call. <i>What the what?</i> I'd let him out to relieve himself and in my fog (we are talking 4 a.m.), I forgot to secure the latch on his cage <i>AND</i> close the adjoining doors. You can imagine the prayers being sent up that he wouldn't bark. You can also envision my hustling him back to his quarters at the end of the call. <br />
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I noticed that the computer moved slowly so have started shutting it down the night before. Checked it around midnight the night before and realized that there was NO service: internet; cable; phone. Oh, Lord, help me Jesus. Service returned just before I was to log in at 4 a.m. Thank you, thank you, thank you.<br />
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But that was only the prelude to what was to come. This morning, up and ready, coffee, cigs at hand. Booted up the computer, internet is working fine. Logged in. Service is fine and then, POOF. The internet is DOWN! Are you kidding me? Run for the mobile jet-pack and it is not working. Oh, yeah, need money and time added. Verizon asks: "When is the last time that you used it?" "You'll need a new sim card, as well." Lawd, have mercy. The minutes are ticking and I am missing my commit time. <b>STRIKE THREE! </b><br />
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One hour and 50 minutes later, service is restored. I have missed one hour and 50 minutes of an opportunity to make money. AND, I am going to be penalized for not keeping my schedule. <i>Did I mention that I hate Time Warner Cable? </i> <i>Not my fault, you say?</i> The call center company's viewpoint is that it wasn't their equipment that had a problem. Point. Can't be argued. <br />
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Lawd, I'm only trying to pick up a little cash on the side. <i>Shouldn't be this hard.</i><br />
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Be Safe. Be Blessed. <br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You are receiving a quick summary of my newest post feed. To read the entire post, please click on the post title. Thanks so much for reading!</div>DCnTNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13129235556959288061noreply@blogger.com0