Treasure Vs. Clutter: A Battle & A Balancing Act

The other day, I watched a cute clip of Anderson Cooper teasing his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, about the storage unit she rents. He obviously thinks the rental is a waste of money and full of useless junk. I know a little something about that. Last weekend, I stopped by my own rental storage unit. I’m determined to empty it, but it’s a struggle.

I don’t think I’m a packrat (or God-forbid, a hoarder) as much as I am a frugal, overly sentimental “curator.” LOL. I mean really, who keeps old Sears Roebuck catalogs? Well, I have a couple, including the Holiday Wish Book from 1998. I also have a collection of Rolling Stone, Spin and other such mags with my boy Prince on the cover. Hey, I had it bad for Prince, back in the day. When the hubby suggested we trash the old microwave we’d packed away 5 years ago, my first thought was, well, maybe we could use it upstairs for popcorn and to heat water for coffee. In the end, I conceded it was probably time to let it go.

My books, I simply can’t trash, even though I know I’ll never read some of them ever again. Truly, it breaks my heart to see a book (even one I found less than enjoyable) in the garbage. I either have to find a place for them in the house or give them away.

What’s really been difficult is letting go of my son’s old toys, baby clothes, school projects, etc, but I’m starting to make a bit of progress in that area. Some items, specifically, anything torn, broken, stained, full of glitter, feathers, etc. or that makes me say, “What the heck is this?” I’ve actually thrown away. Also, after years of talking about it, I’ve finally completed one scrapbook and hope to start and finish a few more. But scrapbooking is a hobby I have to pursue with caution because it can easily become another source of clutter that requires, yikes, additional storage!

As much as my husband doesn’t want to hear this, there are a few things I doubt I’ll ever part with willingly. My grandmother’s old porch glider, for instance. No, it doesn’t glide any more. Yes, it’s rusted in some areas and no, we don’t even own a front porch big enough for it. But I’m keeping it. I’ll happily scrape the rust, slap on a coat of paint and find a nice spot for it some place in the backyard.

That glider was one of the first things I’d see when we’d pull up to my grandparents' house. I’d dare say, most of my aunts and uncles and all of my first cousins on my dad’s side of the family have, at some point, sat in that glider. The times that I sat there, laughing and joking with relatives, chatting with my M'Deah or just rocking and day-dreaming all by myself are too numerous to count. Call it hokey, or overly sentimental, if you want, but the truth is, whenever I look at the glider, I can’t help but smile and think happy thoughts. The last time I checked, happiness didn’t have a price or an expiration date. So, as long as my tendency to “curate” doesn’t earn me a visit from the health department or an invitation to star on a reality series, I think I’m good . . .

Thursday Thirteen #42 . . . 13 Michael Jackson and J5 Memories . . .

1) Getting 3 J5 albums for Christmas

2) Stacking my J5 albums on a turntable and listening to them one after the other

3) Somebody screaming "The Jackson Five are on TV!" and everybody running inside so as not to miss another spin, turn or lyric

4) Arguing with my best friend over which one of us was gonna marry Michael Jackson

5) Watching the J5 cartoon on Saturday morning

6) Buying any books or teen magazines I see on the newstands which have a story or pictures of MJ and/or the Jackson Five

7) Adorning my walls with posters of Michael and the J5

8) Making scrapbooks with pictures of Michael and the J5

9) Michael Jackson's appearance on the Dating Game

10) Michael Jackson doing the Robot to "Dancing Machine"

11) Michael Jackson doing the Moon Walk to "Billie Jean"

12) Missing the "old" Michael long before his death

13) Listening to my son play "I'll Be There" on this alto sax approximately an hour before the news of Michael Jackson's death hit the airwaves

Do you have any memories of Michael Jackson and/or the Jackson Five you'd like to share?

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Easters Come and Gone . . . In Pictures . . .

"Yeah, that's me . . . "

From

Lori's Picture Collection

"Not So Sure Baby Boy Is Feeling Mr. Easter Bunny" From Lori's Picture Collection Baby Boy's Easter Jig From Lori's Picture Collection My Fellas One Easter From Lori's Picture Collection Nana & Baby Boy In Their Finest Easter Outfits From Lori's Picture Collection

Easter Stylin' & Profilin'

From Lori's Picture Collection

Theo & Charmaine . . . Did What?!

Do you all remember "Theo" (Malcolm-Jamal Warner) from the Cosby Show and "Charmaine" (Karen Malina-White) who starred in both the Cosby Show and A Different World? Well, I just learned they got married! Yup, I ran across the item while hanging out at A Diary of A Content Black Woman's blog last night. (Click HERE to view the Content Black Woman's post and to see a picture of the happy couple).

I'm not so sure why the thought of the two of them jumping the broom makes me smile, but it does. Maybe because I have such fond memories of both of those shows (Cosby & A Different World). Or perhaps because the news is a welcome and much needed sign that not all is lost and gone to rot when it comes to young love, particularly in the aftermath of the whole Chris Brown & Rihanna debacle.

Of course, had I learn that "Theo" and "Rudy" had gotten themselves hitched, it might have taken me more than a minute to adjust, if only because those two played siblings on the Cosby Show (LOL). Yeah, I know, it was all make-believe, but in my head somewhere, that whole world still very much exists (smile).

Anyway, I wish them all the very best.

Snow Days . . . Yay or Nay?

Baby Boy's First Snow

Memphis, TN 199?

From Lori's Picture Collection

Over the weekend, it snowed, here in Charlotte and in my hometown of Memphis, TN. As the picture above clearly indicates, my young'n loves the snow. The snow we get in Charlotte is not unlike the snow we used to get in Memphis--rare, typically nothing more than one or two inches or a light dusting and generally gone in a day's time. And I must say, that suits me just fine.

The Hubby Giving Baby Boy

A Lesson In Snow Removal

Memphis, TN 199?

From Lori's Picture Collection

Most good Southerners know that as soon as the warning goes out (The weather man said it's gonna snow!), the first thing that happens is a run on the grocery stores. Yes, some of us do shop like we're gonna be trapped indoors for weeks. But the truth is, a lot of time when it snows in these parts, things will shut down. Not necessarily because of the snow, but due to the ice. You see, a lot of times, when the snow melts, it tends to refreeze over night. The resulting ice downs power lines, knocks out electricity and makes driving something you don't want to do unless you're a thrill seeker, have a death wish or you absolutely must.

My Brother & His Buddy

Enjoying a North Dakota Snow Day

Grand Forks, North Dakota 197?

From Lori's Picture Collection

I'm no stranger to the snow as the picture above will attest. I snapped this picture of my little brother, standing outside of our home, when we lived on the Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota. You see how high the snow is relative to the door? Yeah, we had to dig our way out of that bad boy. As a child, I also had the experience of living in Mountain Home, Idaho and Rome, New York, two other places where the snow is plentiful in the winter time.

The Beachwood Bunnies

Nana & Baby Boy

Beachwood, OH 2005

From Lori's Picture Collection

Of course, I've written a number of posts about my days as an adult in the Cleveland area. The picture above is a snapshot of my mom and my son rolling and frolicking, like nuts (smile), in the snowing covering the front yard of our Cleveland area (Beachwood) home.

But have you noticed the one thing missing from the pictures I've post? Yeah, me. That's 'cause, unless I'm taking pictures, or running (slipping, sliding, trudging) to the car or the house, I typically Don't Do Snow.

Yeah, when I lived in the Cleveland area, that first snow was pretty and all. But after that, it was OLD. As far as I'm concerned, snow from mid-November thru late April and early May, just ain't normal. Little girls are not supposed to be dressed up in their cute little Easter dresses, looking for Easter eggs in the doggone snow! No, that mess is SO NOT normal. (LOL).

So when it comes to snow, my vote is a resounding NAY! Really, I prefer to enjoy mine from a distance. Yup, memory, pictures, greeting cards and TV footage of snow (preferably falling elsewhere) is fine by me. What about you?

Thursday Thirteen #32 . . . 13 Christmas / Holiday Traditions (Past & Present)

Baby Boy's 2nd Christmas

from Lori's Picture Collection

1) Shortly after Thanksgiving, I start listening to Christmas music and I don't typically stop until sometime in January. Yeah, not everybody in the fam is down with that, but what can I say? Some of my favorite Christmas cds include--Grover Washington's Breath of Heaven, Boney James' Funky Christmas, the Jackson 5 Christmas Album, Handel's Messiah: A Soulful Celebration (by various artists) and The Best of Vanessa Williams: The Christmas Collection.

2) Putting something in the bell ringers' kettles. I feel guilty when I don't.

3) Participating in Advent ceremonies, festivities and observations.

4) Enlisting my son's help in putting up the Christmas tree.

5) Pulling out and plugging up the Black Santa who dances to Jingle Bell Rock.

6) Mailing Christmas cards.

7) Watching Christmas movies. Charlie Brown Christmas, "Polar Express" and Chevy Chase's "Christmas Vacation" are some of my favorites.

8) Listening to Grover Washington's "Breath of Heaven" at night, by candlelight. One year, while living in Cleveland, the hubby and I lit the candles, opened the curtains and watched it snow while listening to the music.

9) Before our son was born, the hubby and I spent Christmas Eve delivering gifts.

10) After our son was born and while we were living in Memphis, I'd cook a huge pot of chili on Christmas Eve and invite our relatives over for the exhange of gifts.

11) When I lived in Memphis, I'd make a couple of lemon meringue pies for my family's big Christmas dinner. Since my move from Memphis, I've managed to weasel out of this task (smile).

12) Driving around the city after nightfall on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day and taking in all of the beautiful (and/or tacky) Christmas displays and lights.

13) Getting my grub on at my cousin Gertrude's house on Christmas Day.

Well, do we have any traditions in common? Feel free to mention a couple of your own Christmas / Holiday traditions.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here! The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others' comments. It’s easy, and fun! Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted! View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Thursday Thirteen #29 . . . 13 Interesting Facts & Juicy Tidbits from THE LEGS ARE THE LAST TO GO (by Diahann Carroll) . . .

Just about everyone knows Diahann Carroll, right? The African American actress who played Corey Baker's mom in the groundbreaking '60's television series Julia? Since that time Ms. Carroll has played quite a few other memorable tv "mom roles," among them Whitley's mom in A Different World and Preston Burke's mom in Grey's Anatomy. One of my favorite Diahann Carroll "mom roles" took place on the big screen when she played opposite James Earl Jones, in the '70s movie classic, Claudine. Surprising enough, the beautiful and talented Ms. Carroll also managed to pull off playing a b!tch, as Dominique Deveraux in the '80s tv series Dynasty.

I'm more than mid-way through Diahann Carroll's new memoir, The Legs Are The Last To Go: Aging, Acting, Marrying and Other Things I Learned The Hard Way, and I thought it might be both fun and somewhat englighting to share some of what I've discovered about her from my reading.

1) She's 73 years old.

2) She was born Carol Diann Johnson.

3) She considered giving the following title to her latest book--Too Old To Give A Damn: Things I Never Could Have Said While Working In Hollywood.

4) She was 19 when she starred in her first movie, Carmen Jones (she played one of Carmen's sidekicks).

5) Her first marriage was to Monte Kay, a man 17 years her senior and whose dark coloring and curly hair initially led Ms. Carroll to assume that he was African American, rather than Jewish.

6) Hal Kanter, the creator of Julia, wasn't sure Ms. Carroll was right for the role. He thought her a bit too worldly and glamorous.

7) She had a tumultuous 9 year affair with Sidney Poitier, which helped wreck her marriage to Monte Kay.

8) She admits to having had plastic surgery.

9) She admits to having undergone "medically guided" LSD therapy."

10) She lip-syched "Summertime" in the movie version of Porgy and Bess and while she loved the music in the movie, she despised its portrayal of African Americans.

11) She was once engaged to David Frost.

12) She was married to Vic Damone for 10 years.

13) In this book, Ms. Carroll comes off as very much "the diva" and a bit of a drama queen, but one with a truly wonderful sense of humor and grace about herself and her less than perfect past.

While I'm not yet finished with The Legs are The Last To Go, I'm already eager to go back and read the book Diahann Carroll penned in the '80s about her life, if ony to see what I missed (smile). Did you discover anything about Ms. Carroll that you didn't already know. Do you know anything about Ms. Carroll that you'd like to share?

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here! The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others' comments. It’s easy, and fun! Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted! View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Slavery & The Civil War . . . A Personal Connection . . .

This past Saturday afternoon, instead of turning on The Best of Soul Train and spending an hour reliving the '70s, I tuned into a segment of CSPAN'S BOOKTV and allowed myself to be taken even further back in history. How far? Well, the US Civil War period, to be exact.

The program I made a point of watching this past Saturday on CSPAN's BookTV featured a segment on Andrew Ward and the material in his new book. Mr. Ward is an author & scholar who has researched the US Civil War recollections of former slaves and compiled some of his findings in a book entitled The Slaves' War: The Civil War in the Words of Former Slaves (Houghton Mifflin).

Mr. Ward's research is right down my alley. I love read, studying and listening to oral histories and only wish I had more time in which to immerse myself in such pursuits. One of the best things I ever did (years ago, before I got so darned busy and my story-telling grandmother got seriously ill) was sit down with my M'Deah and record her recollections of our family's history in an area of South Memphis (Whitehaven) known as Johnson Subdivision (Johnson Sub, for short). Without those cassette tape recordings, which I later transcribed, I may have never known about my own family's involvement in the Civil War.

As luck or fate would have it, my grandmother had lived in close proximity to her grandparents, interacted with them on a regular basis and knew a number of details about Margaret and Charlie Cannon, whom she affectionally referred to as "Grandma and Grandpa."

Charles Cannon (or Charlie Cannon as my grandmother called him), was a name I'd stumbled aross years later, long after my grandmother had passed and while I was in the public library one day, trying to find information on another one of my ancestors, the man and former slave said to have founded Johnson Sub, Prince Johnson. One of my great aunts had told me that Prince, who was her grandfather (and my great-great grandfather) had served in the Civil War. So, I'd been researching pension records trying to document Prince's service in the Union Army when I came across the pension record of a one Charles Cannon.

All of the details in the Colored Man's Application for Pension, which had been filed on April 11, 1927 (approximately sixty-two years after the Civil War) made me think he just might be the "Grandpa" or "Charlie Cannon" of whom my M'Deah had spoken so fondly, but I KNEW he was "my" Charlie when I saw his wife's name "Margaret."

But most shocking to me was that the five page document--witnessed, notarized and signed with his "X" contains extensive details of Charlie's service alongside his owner James (Jim) Cannon in the 154th Tennessee Infantry Regiment Company B of the Confederate Army.

Yes, y'all, my great-great grandfather, a former slave by the name of Charles Cannon served in the Confederate Army and two years before his death in 1929, drew a pension for his service. Truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction sometimes, ain't it?! (LOL).

What do I make of Charlie Cannon's service in the Confederate Army? Well, he was a SLAVE owned by a one James Cannon. To be honest, I don't really think poor Charlie had a choice in the matter, one way or the other. In any case, I do know his application for a pension in 1927 was based on absolute need. The application records his and Margaret's combined yearly gross income as one hundred dollars and their two room box house, which was situtated on a half acre of land had an assessed value of two hundred dollars.

So, are there any other weekend genealogist out there? If so, how far back can you trace your ancestors? Have you collected any oral histories? If not, what are you waiting for? (smile)

THE HISTORY LESSON . . . (More On Name-Calling) . . .

Back in high school, I had a favorite teacher, who, with his big grin, jerky movements and small, wiry frame, reminded me of a cricket--Jiminy Cricket to be precise. He was a older fellow whose wisdom and intellect I'd accepted without question until the day he opened his mouth and spat out the words, "Those dirty Japs!"

The first time I heard him say it, I was stunned. I thought to myself, Surely, I must had misheard him. I didn't want to believe that my favorite teacher, a man whom I'd admired for his quick wit and keen sense of humor, not to mention his command of American history, had actually made such an offense comment.

But it was true. Again and again, while covering the U.S. involvement in WWII, one of my high school teachers used the terms "Japs" and "dirty Japs" in reference to the Japanese. And each time he uttered the words, I squirmed in my seat, made uncomfortable not only by his use of the ethnic slur, but by my own hesitancy when it came to voicing my objections.

Some memories stay with one always.

No, I'm not Japanese. I'm not even Asian. (Well, as far as I know *smile* According to the hubby, I do sorta kinda look Asian when I'm asleep). By self-definition, I am an African American of the female persuasion. But if it matters, and in this instance it did, there was a young woman of obvious Asian ancestry in that particular high school history class. I don't recall her name. She and I weren't friends or even acquaintances. The possibility exists that she was no more Japanese that was I, as does the possibility that she took no offense to our teacher's comments. But the fact remains that we were both young women of color, bound together in one sense by our vulnerable status as the only two visible minorities in a classroom full of young, White students, and bound together in another sense by our silence.

I can't help but think we should have said something, if only to one another. Why didn't we? Was it youth? Shyness? Fear? Ambivalence? Embarrasment? Or was it simply too far an emotional distance for either of us to cross. Twenty-plus years later, I still don't know.

Looking back on the incident, I now find it both unnerving and somewhat ironic that the teacher in questin reminded me of a cricket. The truth is, I have a fear of crickets, a fear that involves my not knowing where the little critters are bound to jump next.

And indeed, it is a small jump from Jap to nigger/from faggot to coon/ from spic to jigaboo/

If I, as an African American, wait until the slur turns from slanty-eye bastard to big-lipped baboon, then have I not, in fact, waited too late? Of course, I have. I think even way back then, I somehow sensed it was so.

"In Germany they came first for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't Communists. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics and I didn't speak up because I was Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time no one was left to speak up for me."

(Rev. Martin Niemoller, 1892-1984)

"If they take you in the morning, they will be coming for us that night."

(James Baldwin, 1924-1987)

And for those who still don't get it, the "History Lesson" here is--just as there is no safety in silence, there is no safety in drawing the lines of intervention around our own ethnic, racial, sexual or religious identities.

(Written while listening to Erykah Badu's "Honey," "The Healer" and "Master Teacher" from the CD entitled New Amerykah: Part One (4th World War). Check the refrain from "Master Teacher":

"What if there was no niggas only master teachers?

I stay woke . . ."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY . . . GRANDDADDY!!!

Edgar, Mae & Aunt Snooks

From Lori's Picture Collection

The handsome dude you see in the picture above is my grandfather, Edgar Hawkins. If you look closely, you'll notice not only is he standing in-between two nice-looking ladies (my grandmother & and my great aunt), but Ole Boy is holding a bottle of liquor in one hand and several bills in the other. This picture gives me a bit of insight into why another one of my grandmother's sisters tagged my Granddaddy with the nick-name "The Pimp." (LOL)

Today is my Granddaddy's 91st birthday! And I'll have you know, he's still

sound of mind, serves as an usher in his church, drives his own car, goes fishing and hunting, enjoys watching baseball and CNN and is still every bit of the character you see in the black and white picture above.

My grandfather was born in 1917 in Water Valley, Mississippi. He was the third of eight children produced by Alberta and Vernon Hawkins. He dropped out of school somewhere between the fourth and fifth grades and went to work in the saw mills. He served overseas in WWII and I'm mad at myself because I can't find his army picture (I'd fully intended to post it in this piece).

He played baseball in his youth and was decent enough to be scouted by a pro-team, but by the time the Jackie Robinson finally broke the color barrier, my grandfather was deemed too old to play.

After leaving the service, he eventually landed a postion, making crates at the Defense Depot in Memphis, a position he held until he retired in the '80s. Two of the highlights of his career while working at the Depot include, single-handedly filing a civil rights law suit against them in 1968, which he won (I do have the paper-work to prove it) and breaking the jaw of the White co-worker who made the mistake one day of calling Ed Hawkins out of his name (LOL). And for those of you who buy into all of those tv & hollywood sterotypes about murderous Southern White folks and scared Negroes, no my grandfather didn't get fired or run out of town or threatened with lynching for breaking his White co-worker's jaw. What he got when he returned to work the next day was standing ovation from his Black co-workers. Yeah, those are the stories from the Delta, ya'll don't hear . . .

Ed & My Son

From Lori's Picture Collection

Anyway, I think it's safe to say, I inherited a bit of my Granddaddy's hot temper (smile) and don't mess with me disposition. It takes a longer for mine to boil, but once I get there, oh, it's on, like pop-corn (LOL). I lived with my grandparents, off and one while I was a child and again, while intending college in Memphis. I am who I am, the good and the bad, because of them and I wouldn't have it any other way.

When the hubby and I finally settled down and bought a home in Memphis, we lived less than a 7 minute drive from my Granddaddy. As you can see from the picture above and the one below, the old dude proved a very capable baby-sitter. Of course based on the bill I see in my little boy's hand, I think he just might have picked up a little more from his great-grand than I thought or ever intended for him too (smile).

Ed and his great-grandson

From Lori's Picture Collection

So, I just wanted to send out a "Happy Birthday" shout-out to the Old Boy and congratulate him on reaching the grand old age of 91. . . not only because I love him and I want to honor him but because as one of Toni Cade Bambara's character's states in the short story, "My Man Bovanne"--

. . . "you gots to take care of the older folks . . . 'Cause old folks is the nation."

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!

Nana & Baby Boy

from Lori's

Picture Collection

Give somebody's mama a big hug, why dontcha?!

THE SHOT THAT KILLED MLK . . . CAME FROM . . .

The shot that killed Martin Luther King came from

this building.

(from Lori's picture collection)

King: A Few reflections about his death & A few facts about his life

Just about everyone has seen the photo of the distraught folks standing on the balcony of the Lorriane Motel in the minutes after King's assassination. The building above is where they're pointing. A portion of the building, including the room where James Earl Ray allegedly stayed is open to folks who pay the price of admission to the National Civil Rights Museum (Memphis, TN).

Last year, I wrote a piece on King and my experience of his death in Memphis. It's one of my more serious pieces and I'm actually rather proud of it. See here, if you 'd like to read it: "Memphis & Martin & The Inheritance of A Dream"

Also, checkout PJazzy's "Thursday Thirteen" facts about Martin Luther King.

EASTER BLESSINGS. . . (Easter Images Of Old)

Easter Back In the Day

from Lori's Picture Collection

Baby Boy's 1st Easter

from Lori's Pic Collection

Nana & Baby Boy's 4th Easter

from Lori's Pic Collection

COLOR BLIND . . . or . . . COLOR STRUCK? (True Story) . . .

Back when I was a bright-eyed, twenty-some-year-old, college student and living in Memphis, I found myself frequenting a hair salon with a predominately-White clientele. The salon was one of those chains you typically find in a mall. Matter of fact, this one was located in what, at the time, was my favorite mall--the now demolished, though forever infamous (smile) Mall of Memphis.

Anyway, I was sporting a perm back then and I'd somehow lucked up on a fella at this particular salon who could give me that hot, poofed-out look all the PYT's were sporting in the '80s. So one day, I'm there sitting under the dryer (possibly getting a conditioner, I can't recall) when the older White lady seated next to me strikes up a conversation.

No biggie right? Happens all the time in salons across America, I'm sure. But hold on, this one was a little bit different. This lady, bless her lil ole heart, starts in on how she loves my color.

"Oh my, I just absolutely love your color! I'd give anything to be able to tan like that."

With the salon music blaring (Duran, Duran, no doubt) in the background and the dryer humming on full blast, it takes me a few seconds to process the information and to realize, okay, wait, she thinks I'm . . .

I've barely finished the thought when she smiles ever so sweetly and asks, "So are you Greek? Jewish? Italian?"

Okay, granted, I'm a card-carrying member of the light-skinned tribe. I have a tendency to wash out in pictures and grow pale in the winter-time. And, sure, my perm-straightened head was tucked inside of a dryer. But I'm sorry, the nose is a dead-give away. Till this day, how anyone could ever mistake me for anything other than a person of African descent, truly boggles my mind.

In any case, I smile ever so sweetly back at her and say, "No ma'am, actually, I'm African American."

The sweet little old lady's smile disappears and for the remainder of our stints beneath our respective dryers, she doesn't utter so much as another word in my direction. Go figure (LOL).

(Written while listening to Aretha Franklin's "Rock Steady," "I Say A Little Prayer," and "Think.")

IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW . . . IT'S FALL Y'ALL ! ! !

My boy, at age 4, holding what I'd dare say is the finest punkin in the patch! For whatever reason, when I stare at this picture too long, I start to hear music from the "Peanuts" cartoon series.

**To all you puriest out there, yes, I do know pumpkin is spelled with an "m." But in certain sectors of the Deep South, it has long been lovingly pronounced with an "n."