Young Friends, Wise Sayings

There is a chance that I may fully mature before I die. I don’t count on it, but it is conceivable and perhaps logical that I can hope for it.

Oh, ye of little faith, stop reading now.

As I mature slowly, I am impressed with how much joy I receive by the thoughts and conversations I share with younger people. The young people of this earth are the sparkle of life for us maturing ones and I am so very thankful for their presence.

At our home, we have a patio which sees its share of warm informal gatherings. One particular evening in the late spring this year, we enjoyed such a gathering of friends and neighbors. We enjoyed a cookout of something or other, not memorable enough to recall here, but was an occasion which I shall never forget and shall smile every time I remember it.

My wife dotes upon two teacup poodles which are both neutered females about ten years old. They can mingle with guests as long as they behave and are welcome sometimes outside. Sometimes these poodles will hump each other as the mood strikes them and the Jasmine is showing its perfume.

We have friends who are parents of two wonderful young boys around ten and twelve years old. I shall call these boys Tom and Huck to keep their privacy.

We had finished our meal and were cooling down and enjoying the quiet before the Cicadas tuned up. The two poodles had been released to wander and found themselves mingling among the group. I was sitting sideways on the hammock with Tom and Huck. As we rocked back and forth and listened to the first Cicada, the poodles, as they are accustomed to do, began a humping session. No one spoke. Everyone was polite and a little embarrassed. The cicadas kept tuning up and the dogs kept humping.

Wife and Master came onto the patio, not noticing, clapped her hands and said, “cmon….lets go in”. The dogs quickly obeyed and left. No one spoke. The Cicadas continued.

After some seconds, Huck said, “Well, there goes the entertainment”.

Many thanks to Huck for giving me this moment to savor and this smile I wear now as I write.

Memory like a Billygoat

Hey cousin,

I saw your piece on the rain and ain't it the truth, we needed it something terrible. We are still getting it up here, but I ain't hankerin to go walking in it b'gosh.

You know, evertime I think about the summer rains, I think about that time when Earl went up to put the critters in the barn before a lectrical storm. Earl has got into goats since we talked last. He had goats all over the place. Babe nor Louie didn' like 'em one bit. Goats'll eat enything they can reach or smell. (I stay outa their way). Ennyhow, Earl had these goats and amung 'em was these two of the Billy specie. One of them was real mean, he was older. The younger one was trying to learn to be mean and evertime Earl would go into their pasture, they both would rare up on their hind legs and come at him like freight trains and try to knock him over. Well, Earl tried carrying a big stick with him, but it didn't make no matter, they knocked him down ennyway. Earl told me he was gonna git rid of 'em both. But I di-gross, Earl went out to put everbody in the barns. Louie and Babe was already in their'n so he went on up to the goats' pasture and went in. Young Billy saw him and went for him just as Old Billy was standing up from a nap. Earl didn't have no stick, so he just held out his hands and yelled, "Stop" at young Billy. Just then, lightning struck that Billygoat and splattered him all over that part of the pasture. Earl was blinded and deafened both and he staggered back to the house and clom up the steps to the porch. His feet was burning and numbing and I reckon he had had a close call. Old Billy went into his barn on his own I guess.

Ever since that day, Old Billy had a new respeck for Earl. Whenever Earl would go into the pasture, Old Billy would back up and hang his head. If Earl was to raise his hands within eyeshot of that goat, Old Billy would fall down and sull like a possum. You know, sullin for a possum is a defensive mechanism (liberry word) that they use when attacked by a fox or dog or a man. A possum will go unconcious and won't stir, no matter what happens to him until the danger is passed, then he will git up and go about his business. We called it sullin a possum, cause that's what we had to do when we caught one in a rabbit gum and had to git him home. We would just poke him with a stick a couple times, and he would sull right down. You've heard the saying, "She got her feelins hurt at the corn shuckin and jist sulled up".

Well, Old Billy will sull evertime Earl shows him his Almighty Hands and treatens another crash and thunder. I perceive it is some indication (liberry) that Billygoats have got a kinda good memory. I have a saying for enybody which has good recall that they's got a memory like a Billygoat.

I haf to stop now and go gather the eggs. Louie will stand guard at the chickenhouse until I have gathered ever last one of them. I missed one last week one day, and that chicken barked at me like he was so disgusted with me until I found the egg and my ears was jist a-ringin. He will go for a patrol after I git them eggs.

I like this here bloggin, I will write something whenever ennything happens roun here.

Sweet Summer Rain--God's own Mercy

It is indeed raining in this small southern town. Such a welcome tentative relief from the drought we have suffered here for two years. This rain reminds me by its layers of aroma, sounds, and (almost) taste of the sweet thick humid breeze within it, that we find pleasure wherever we are quiet enough to receive.

I realize with today's rain that I sense a uniqueness in our southern rain that I have not noticed anywhere else beyond my south. While a child and then as an awkward gangling teen-ager I always enjoyed walking in and being soaked by these summer rains. My faithful dog would walk with me, questioningly, stopping often to watch me continue and with his look ask me, "What the Hell's wrong with you today?"

Now that I am somewhat more aged and less gangling (but still awkward), I am thankful for the stored memories of earlier times and southern rains with early Spring's rose scented, Mid-summer's Jasmine and Lugustrum, and now today's curing alfalfa nose.

I think I shall stop now and go for a walk.

Happy Hour Jump Start

Upon feeling remorse for some mis-deed or oversight, I borrow from Mark Twain in saying, "I realize where I have made this mistake, and beg your forgiveness. I must also beg you to not mention it where my parents may hear of it because they are both old and feeble and such a wanton breach of the hallowed conventionalities of our Christian civilization might all too rudely sunder the frail bridge which hangs darkling between the pale and evanescent present and the solemn great deeps of the eternities. Now, will you pour me a scotch?".

The response comes, "Your sentiments do you honor, but if you will allow me to say it, metaphor is not your best hold. Please don't break this glass, it was hand blown in Mexico".

Generally speaking, weather permitting, the soft afterglow of the day hangs around with its comforting sigh that there is still hope, promising another tomorrow and another chance.

Hours like these are the happiest of all.

Vergie's Opening Line

Hey Cousin,


I plan to post to this blog as soon as I can think of something good to write about.

A preface perhaps, while I ponder something to blog-on about:


as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain...
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Billy Collins




So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know

William Shakespeare



Old man pushing seventy, In truth he acts like a little boy,
Whooping with delight when he spies some mountain fruits,
Laughing with joy, tagging after village mummers;
With the others having fun stacking tiles to make a pagoda,
Standing alone staring at his image in the jardinière pool.
Tucked under his arm, a battered book to read,
Just like the time he first set out to school.

Lord Alfred Tennyson

First Entry

This is a blog created on Thursday, August 21,2008.

I am not sure what the exact content will be, but I sure hope it's something interesting because I will want to read it too.

Russell