(Need I even say anything.)
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
I was reading The Daily (an electronic newspaper published on the iPad) last night and came upon an article, The Worst Candidates of 2012. As I started reading through the list, I realized the piece was about 21 sleazy, conniving, low life, two faced, (sometimes) law breaking scum bags who the American people have put into office. And, in most cases are more than likely getting ready to reelect these bozos again next Tuesday.
Knowing the track record and reputation of our fair state, I feared how many places on the list were filled by our representatives. Heck, we could make our own list. Remember, John Jenrette who had sex with his young wife on the capitol steps during a break in a late night session of congress and then was tried and convicted of taking $50,000 in an FBI bribery sting. He went to prison. His young wife went on to pose for Playboy and write a book about her exploits (on the steps) with the congressman.
Then there was our Secretary of Agriculture who was indicted several years ago for taking a $10,000 bribe from a cockfighting organization and to influence the Aiken County sheriff to "look the other way" so the prosperous "sporting" venture could continue. Sharpe was convicted and sentenced to prison. (His wife did not write a book.)
These are but minor stains on the dingy linen of our electoral history. But, I digress.
As, I looked down the list, we were not on the first several pages. Perhaps there were electorates more gullible than us.
No. 1 Mark Clayton Tennessee (D) candidate for US Senate
According to The Daily he "believes [in]: a sinister federal plot to build a NAFTA superhighway from Mexico to Toronto, an Arnold Schwarzenegger plan “to amend the Constitution so that he can become president and fulfill Hitler’s superman scenario.”
No.2 Todd Akin (R) Candidate for US Senate Missouri
(Need I even say anything.)
(Need I even say anything.)
No. 3 Jesse Jackson, Jr. (D) U.S. House, 2nd District Illinois
(Exhaustion, a bi-polar condition, extra-marital issues, or maybe the investigation into misappropriation of campaign funds? Come on, just choose one, this isn't multiple choice.)
No. 4 Rep. Scott DesJarlais (R) U.S. House, 4th District, Tennessee
According to The Daily "The fervently pro-life, family-values Republican from Tennessee had an extramarital affair — then pressured his mistress to have an abortion." And, then "In divorce papers, the tea partier also admitted to having at least four affairs during his marriage and allegedly once threatened his wife with a gun." Perhaps the Tea Party should look more closely at their guest list.
No.5 Harry Lyon Alabama chief justice
The Daily writes "He was once shot in the neck by a neighbor after being caught pouring chocolate syrup on the man’s car, and he’s been convicted of menacing for standing in the window of his home and pointing a shotgun at two local children. Lyon ran for mayor in 2004 on the platform that city employees meet weight guidelines or face termination: 'Let’s face it, the fact is that fat people are ugly and disgusting to look at as much as is traffic congestion.' While the Alabama Democratic Party recently decided to disqualify Lyon from the ticket on the grounds of 'bizarre behavior,' die-hard fans can vote for him as a write-in candidate."
Skip on down the list
No.8. Colleen Lachowicz (D) Maine Senate
According to The Daily Sen. Lachowicz is playing at level 85 in the World of Warcraft, the highest level one can achieve. Given the average gamer (at the age of 28) spends 22.7 hours per week playing, "The pastime might raise concerns of credibility, but if Lachowicz’s legislative demeanor is anything like her fierce-looking neon avatar, Santiaga, Maine’s GOP lawmakers just might have picked on the wrong geek."
9. Rep. Joe Walsh (R) U.S. House, 8th District, Illinois
He follows the school of Todd Akin although a little more despicable. Trying to impugn the character of his opponent (according to The Daily) he said " 'I have so much respect for what she did in the fact that she sacrificed her body for this country,” Walsh told an interviewer, pausing for effect before adding adding: “Ehhh. Now let’s move on. What else has she done? Female, wounded veteran ... ehhh ... She is nothing more than a handpicked Washington bureaucrat.'” The awkward words were directed at former pilot Tammy Duckworth, who lost both legs in Iraq when insurgents hit her helicopter with an RPG. But Walsh didn’t stop there. At a recent town hall event, he tried to diminish Duckworth’s sacrifice even further: (Once again from The Daily) “ 'Now I’m running against a woman who, my God, that’s all she talks about,' he said. 'Our true heroes, it’s the last thing in the world they talk about.' Of course, when it came time to defend himself against allegations that he was a “deadbeat dad” owing more than $100,000 in child support, Walsh demanded that Duckworth pull her attack ads on ethical grounds. 'I know politics is rough, and I know I’m fair game, but this is absolutely dirty,' Walsh said. 'Have some class, Tammy.' "
And, then I came to it. I knew it was there some where. How could I have forgotten this upstanding representative of our people and bearer of the mantle of family values (mom and apple pie).
10. State Rep. Ted Vick (R) South Carolina House
I quote directly from The Daily, “As a trained minister of the Gospel, Ted is a strong believer in traditional Southern family values,” announced Vick’s website earlier this year when he was running for a seat in the House of Representatives. Then he was arrested for drunken driving — in the company of a 21-year-old female college student he’d just picked up at a bar. Still, that really was a pistol in his pocket, and he neglected to mention to the cops that he was packing heat. So the indefatigable Vick is back to spreading his peculiar brand of family values on the local level, as he fights to keep his state Senate seat. Fresh allegations of illegal campaign contributions suggest that he has his work cut out for him."
16. Cynthia Clinkingbeard U.S. House, 1st District, Idaho
The Daily referred to Former Congresswoman Clinkingbeard as "a Three Mile Island unto herself." And, rightly so. They went on to explain, "In March, she walked into a Staples office supply store, reportedly made strange, threatening remarks, to three employees, then pulled a handgun on them. She was charged with three counts of felony aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and eventually dropped out of the race. This isn’t the first time Clinkingbeard’s sanity has been questioned. In 2005, her medical license was revoked because of mental illness."
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Yesterday we went to see Argo and, unlike Master, it lived up to its billing by the New York Times. I can remember exactly where I was standing in the cafeteria at college when I first heard the news that our embassy in Iran had been stormed and hostages taken. Then, like the rest of the nation, I listened every evening for news of their release only to hear Walter Cronkite end his report with, "And that's the way it is, January 16, the 50th day of the Iran hostage crisis." And it went on for 444 days, until Ronald Regan was sworn in as President and that day, the hostages were released. And, what does all this have to do with Argo?
Argo is the movie that tells the story of 6 Americans who escaped the embassy as it was being stormed and how the CIA got them out of Iran - alive, in public, in plain sight before the Iranians could round them up. Ben Afleck directs and stars in the movie. Great pains were taken to make the film look like it was filmed in the late '70s. The movie scenes and authentic newsreels blend together, such that at times you question which you are seeing, but is doesn't matter because they are telling the same story. No exaggeration is needed. Truth is more nail biting than fiction here. Even though you know the outcome of the story, Afleck's movie has you sitting on the edge of your seat, with your heart racing.
Oh, there are odd characters (who were really part of the story) that just add to the color of the movie. The story starts with the storming of the embassy, but when the plan proposed to extract the 6 Americans involves the Academy Award winning make-up artist of the Planet of the Apes (John Goodman), a grumpy award winning Hollywood producer (Alan Akin), an ace CIA field operative, and the Canadian Ambassador, perhaps there was a reason the State Department questioned the plan as the CIA's "best bad idea?"
I don't know where the 2 hours we were in our seats went. Certainly it took more than that amount of time to get that much story told. But the story is told and told well. And, if the mission had not been declassified during the Clinton administration we would never had known of this tale of heroism, of fear, and of international cooperation. (Personally, I am all in favor of us not knowing everything that goes on. There are certain things a government needs to be able to do without the press looking over its shoulder and personally, I hope there are lot more people like Tony Mendez and missions like Argo that go on.)
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
A relic of days gone by when the snow birds going south needed a cup of Joe on Highway 301 on their way to Florida. This old coffee shop has been closed for probably 50 years, but I hope they never tear down the building.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Clean fresh living, a garden tub under a peach tree. Plumbing is not included.
I was literally riding along the highway, saw this tub and turned around. But not to be outdone, a few miles down the road after finding the tub, I kid you not, I found this jewel. And neither of these were in the yard where construction was going on.
I was literally riding along the highway, saw this tub and turned around. But not to be outdone, a few miles down the road after finding the tub, I kid you not, I found this jewel. And neither of these were in the yard where construction was going on.
This is random, but on your Flickr account one can check the stats of how many people look at your photos each day, which ones they view, and how many times each has ever been viewed. Now, if you follow my Blog you know that I generally do landscape photography. Occasionally, I'll throw in some colorful 'local' scenery to share life in our part of the world with everyone else. In the 1000's of photos I have on the my photo stream on Flickr, obviously there are a plethora of those many of you have never seen, probably will never see, or would ever care to see.
Yesterday, I had an email from some stranger online requesting that I join their photography group of "Rusty Cars" and post one or two of my pictures of decayed vehicles. So I went online to my account to join his group, oblige him, and make his day. It was the least I could do. If my photo of a 50 year old rusty truck made him happy - so be it.
While I was on the website, I decided I would look at my stats. I always find it fascinating to see what others are interested in. What I found was that either I have misread my audience, I need to reevaluate my subject matter, or most people on that web site are, as my Mama would say, "Not our kind of people". Out of the 2,685 photos I have in my photo stream and the 31,002 views I have had (as of today), the most viewed photograph of mine is this one:
And, their second choice was this one:
Followed in third place, with this one:
You have to get to number 20 on the list to get to anything, I would have guessed anyone would have been interested in:
All I can say is go figure. I'm clueless here. Snakeskin? Really?
Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
I was feeling sorry for myself yesterday. You know having a personal pity party. Here it was October and I was already getting depressed because I knew, the next ten weeks would be a blur and before I could say Jiminy Cricket Christmas would be over. And, I would be cleaning up shredded paper, returning sweaters that did not fit, and putting away glass balls for the 31st time. Yes, we have Christmas here. We celebrate the holidays with family and friends, but it is the Christmas season. Not that I am necessarily a religious person, but I am one of tradition, or maybe more one of nostalgia. After all southerners don't take well to change. But, I digress.
It is about time to escape to the islands for some "me" time of doing nothing. But, alas, that has been delayed until May. Bah Humbug. The group of us who go together just could not get a time when everyone could get away until then. Unfortunately, two of "us" have retired and "our" calendars are suddenly filled with horse back riding, cruises, and other things ladies of leisure do. (I wouldn't know - but I hear tell.) That being the case, the rest of us poor working souls are left to grind away pining for some break in the monotony of our days, a retirement date not anywhere on our upcoming calenders.
Then my friends called me from, where else, a bar - in the afternoon. Alas, life of retirement had its stresses also. (I did not feel their pain.) "Let's go Grand Cayman next month?" Oh, what music to my ears. I could hear the calypso band in the warm breeze. "Come on. We can just fly down there for a 4 or 5 day weekend." For a moment I was caught up in their revelry. It was meant to be.
We started discussing the details. Unlike them who were at the bar, I was at my computer, so I quickly checked air fares. End of that fantasy. Air fares started a $600. We were all severely disappointed. The phone call ended with everyone promising to find a way to get there. Sure. With my luck, my next phone call from them would be from Breezes, a watering hole we frequent in Georgetown (in Grand Cayman).
So I was back to reality, October, and the depressing thought I could be going to the Islands if I were wealthy enough to afford the airfare. Of course, if I were wealthy enough to afford such an airfare on a whim, I would not be working would I?
Perhaps a Diet Coke (with lime) would help. On my way to the kitchen, I heard a USAirways' commercial on TV suggesting that it was time to escape to the islands. Oh, a conspiracy was afoot. May seemed light years away.
My Mama used to always sing Doris Day's song, Que Sera Sera to me. I found it patronizing then and I despise it now. Why can I not just accept she was right, "What will be, will be."
Rarely do you view three types of foliage at once. Here one can see fall leaves, greenery, and icy trees. And, no this photo is not "doctored". We happened to be at an elevation on the Cherohala Skyway in the fall that was high enough to already have ice and snow.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
I was standing in the front yard of my mother's house talking to her neighbor who graciously gets Mama's mail everyday for us. This lady, who I know but is not a close family friend walked up and interrupted us. "When y'all start dividing up your Mama's things, I want that table that used sit in your Grandmama's kitchen. You know the one she kept her spices on." I was clueless. Instead of saying, "Have you lost your ever love'n mind?", I politely asked her, "I'm not sure I know the one you are talking about. I don't remember one like that in my Grandmama's kitchen."
"Oh, yes you do." And, she proceeded to describe the piece in detail and tell me where it sat in my Grandmothers fairly large kitchen. I was still reeling from her audacity to, first, interrupt my conversation with Mama's neighbor, without as much as an 'excuse me', and secondly, demand a family piece of furniture. "Well, Gail (I did know her first name) I really do not remember the piece you are talking about and it is not here. And, even if is was, why would you want to buy it?" "Oh, I'm not going to buy it. You're going to give it to me."
"I don't understand. I don't think we are kin. And, Mama never said a thing to me about giving you anything. And, if you think she left it to you in her Will, well you're out of luck there, because as best we can tell, she did not have one." "Oh it's nothing like that. I have an order from a judge for it." With that she pulled out, what looked like an official 8 1/2 by 11 inch envelope with a local judge's name (whom I recognized) written on the front in a very ornate old fashion way in fountain ink. "Here it is. He signed it. The piece is mine. Now where is it?"
Pulling out the contents of the envelope, I told her, "I don't have it and I really don't even know what you are talking about." Sure enough, the letter inside stated that she had the rights to this piece of furniture and that we were to turn it over to her immediately. But, it did not explain the provenance of her ownership or any relationship to either my mother or my grandmother.
I wasn't about to invite her into the house, for fear she would lay false claim to some other random piece of furniture. Once again, "Gail, I can read what the judge said, however, if we don't have it, we don't have it. I'm sorry. If you want me to go before the judge and discuss it with him, I'll be glad to do so." She just stood there and glared at me.
Before, I could say anything else, I heard, "You better get up, it's after seven." It was a dream - no, it was a nightmare. Thank God, I was beginning to think my name was Alice and I had been at a Mad Tea Party with the March Hare and the Hatter.
Later in the day, I had an email from my office in Richmond, "Gail called, would you please return her call at 803- . . ." Maybe, maybe not.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Mama's church does things a little differently now than when I grew up in it. But seeings how I fall into the heathen category and claim my membership (on the roll at least) at the Episcopal Church, I realize I don't have the right to make a comment. But I digress.
Instead of the the family coming down the aisle and sitting in the front pews, the minister leads the family in from the front of the church and sits them on the front pews. When in Rome! So for Mama's funeral when the family arrived at the church, we were brought into a parlor, which I assume they use for such occasions among others. We did not have all the "cousins" with us, just the immediate family. We feared, if we started asking, we may omit someone and God forbid be talked about for years.
So we are standing around chatting. By this time, we have had more "family time" than we have had in years. Conversation was down to gossip and chit chat. The door opens and instead of the minister, as we all expected, in walks one of Mama's first cousins. She immediately comes over to me, hugs me, and pours out words of grief. Now this is the cousin who drove Mama absolutely nuts. If the family had a drama queen, she wore the crown and the sash.
This is also the cousin who several years ago, accused me of losing my mother, something my mother and the other cousins found humorous and actually laughed about.
As soon as I could, I moved her along to my brother, so she could share her grief with him. He looked over her shoulder with a smile of "Gee thanks." My smirk in reply was, "What are sisters for?" She made her way around the room and then came back to me. I expected her to excuse herself, seeing that there were no other cousins in the room. But in typical style she was either oblivious, or felt she was special. She held her handkerchief blotting her eyes, as she spoke words like "Your mama was so special to all of us." and "I just cannot believe this has happened."
The minister walked in. Surely she would take the hint and excuse herself now. He walked around and spoke to each of us. I introduced her, as one of Mama's cousins who had come in to pay her respects. (Mama would have been proud of me.) One more hint, but, no she just stood. The minister said a prayer and instructed us as to the order we would proceed into the sanctuary, pausing to add "and the cousin will follow."
After the funeral, at the reception, I dreaded having to deal with the other cousins, who I feared had their feelings hurt when they saw her sit with the family. However, one commented, "I was not surprised when we saw her up there. She is impossible." Another said, (sarcastically), "I am sure that is just what your Mama would have wanted." I just added, "No, but she would have expected no less."
Friday, October 12, 2012
And, that's just what I did - go back to my car and slink back home. The judges encouraged me to submit entries next August. If they did not care for my work in 2012, why are they going to like it in 2013. I am sure I will have a better attitude in time. But, why should I put myself through that again. Oh, sure you're told only 20 artists were selected for the final judging and you should be proud you were one of those. (Close only counts in horse shoes and atomic bombs.)
At this point, I'm ready to put my camera down and walk away for a while. Actually, I think the problem is I haven't picked the camera up in three months. The few moments I had the time, I wasn't in the right place. If I was in the right place, the light was atrocious. I just need to get away from it all and go shoot something - with the Nikon that is. That will comfort my soul. Of course only if the light is right, I find a great place to go, and something decent comes from the effort.
The odds don't look too good here.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Last year someone suggested I look at getting some of my work into the SC Artisans Center. As always, I lolly gagged around. Finally, I called them in September (of last year) only to learn they have a "Call for Entries" once a year, which is in August. But, the friendly lady said she would add my name to the list and they would send me a post card next summer reminding me of the date.
A post card? Who sends post cards? No email? No, she explained, we use post cards. September became April and sure enough in the first of the summer I got my "Post Card" informing me of where I could go on their website for further details of how to submit my work. The final date was August 24, which at that time was a long way off. I pulled up the rules and regulations.
Over the next few weeks, I selected a group of photos that I thought best reflected my work, but more importantly, would best impress the judges. They had a two step process. You submitted 5 pieces in August and they were judged (or juried) by 3 out of state judges. Then on September 20, those who had been selected (or juried in) by the out of state panel were notified that they were invited to present their work to an in state panel at the Artisans Center in October for the final round of judging. ie One just didn't show up in Walterboro with a box of photos and get to hang them up, you had to be selected.
I winnowed my selections down to 7 or 8 and figured I would make up my mind in August. All the while going back and forth over which photos to select. I enlisted my family to help. And, my choices changed daily.
Then the summer took a life of its own. One thing led to another. Mama went into the hospital. Then her condition became critical. I never even thought about photography. On August 22, I happened to be at my desk checking my email, when I saw the postcard from the center laying there. Oh dear God, had I missed the deadline? Long story, short I had not. I hurriedly made my selections (no time to ponder anything then) and submitted them electronically. As it was, Mama died on the 23rd, so it was just luck I made the deadline.
The rules plainly stated everyone who was juried in would be notified by mail on September 20. Well September 20 came and went - no letter. Then on the 25th, a letter arrived saying that I had been juried in and that I needed to bring my work, as well as some inventory to the center on October 11th for the final judging. The judging would be during the middle of the day. The winners would be announced at 3pm, then the paperwork to have your work put in the center would be done followed by a reception for the artists, their friends and family, as well as patrons of the center.
The 11th was on a Thursday. Who can spend a Thursday waiting to see if you have been selected or not. And, does that mean if you are not selected, you just pick up your work, crawl back to your car and slink back home, while the winners carry forth in merriment? Hopefully, if you are not selected they have the courtesy to have a back door from which you can exit quietly.
Well, today is the day of reckoning. My photography goes before the second panel. I get to spend the better part of the morning wondering what three critics think of my work. One thing is for sure. By this evening, I will either be an artist accepted at the SC Artisans Center or back home with my tail between my legs pretending it never happened.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
The old folks down here believed that painting your windows and doorways blue would keep the haints (the evil spirits) out of your house. Indigo was a big cash crop in South Carolina, so Indigo Blue was a popular color. You can still find a few of these homes still standing, but they are few and far between.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
My Mama always aspired to live in Charleston. Thank God, she wasn't one of those women with airs who tried to claim roots from Charleston that did not exist. Now one would think being so southern she would claim Tara, but she didn't have to do that. She had been there and done that (in her mind). She grew up on a large tobacco farm in Marlboro County, SC (she pronounced it Mawlbōrō). And to hear her describe it, one would have thought it was a plantation. I think not. But, I digress.
When Mama and Daddy graduated from Wake Forest in the '50s Daddy was accepted into the pharmacy program the Medical College in Charleston to begin, what my Mama for most of her life would refer to as his career "in the medical profession". All I could figure is she wanted him to be a doctor and since a pharmacist was all he aspired to she would work the semantics to meet her needs. Daddy never had airs about him and if he had wanted to be a doctor he would have gone to medical school and been one.
So, they graduated on May 30th, got married on May 31st, and after a week long honeymoon moved to Charleston. Mama started work as a social worker at the Welfare Department (these days in political correctness called the department of Social Services). Daddy was going to find a summer job, since classes did not start until the fall. When he went to register he was told, for some reason, the Medical College would not accept one of his Biology class credits from Wake Forest. He was going to have to take that biology class again that summer before he could matriculate that fall.
Mama was a little peeved. What would their friends think? After all, only the slow students had to take summer school classes. He had come out of an excellent school with excellent grades, this was unacceptable to her. Dad was nonplussed about it. The course was a class and a lab so it took up a good portion of the day. Fortunately, Mama's salary was enough for them to live on, since he was going to be in school for several years any way. The next day she went to work and he reported to class.
So went their life for a week or so. One afternoon when Mama got home, she found Dad cleaning fish. She asked why he wasn't in class. "I'm going to fish this summer." Panicked, my mother said, "Bill, you can't do that. You know if you don't take that course you can't start school in the fall." And, without that her dreams of being married to someone "in the medical profession" would be down the drain.
"But, that is my assignment." As it turned out, the professor learned that Daddy had already taken the course, made an "A", and had meticulous notes. Since he had never taught the class before, the professor offered my father an "A" and excused him from class for the rest of the summer in exchange for his notes. When Daddy joked and said, "I'm not sure what to tell my wife." The professor said, "Tell her I told you to go fishing."
Knowing her dream was still on track, she was living in Charleston, and her husband was on his way to a career "in the medical profession" Mama was happy. And, she knew how to spin a story. If anyone inquired as to Daddy's summer occupation, she was quick to tell them that "Bill did so well, that the professor wanted his notes for the class." Daddy didn't care. He got to spend the summer fishing.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The world is going to end and I am going to live to see it. I heard all about in line at Walmart Sunday afternoon. Two older women, obviously church going women because they had on their best suits. And, not just dresses, but their hats, matching pocket books, and shoes. And, these were well-to-do-country-church going ladies because one of their hats looked like something designed by an alien as a prototype for his ride home and the other resembled a nest some animal had painted burnt orange, rearranged, then abandoned. But, I digress.
I could tell they were discussing something of the utmost importance because they were mumbling "Uh huh" and nodding to each other. Since it only dawned on the lady in front of them that she was going to have pay for her groceries after they were scanned and bagged, we were going to be there for a while. Therefore they had time to talk and I had nothing more to do than listen. Not that I had choice, it wasn't like they were whispering. This was a passionate conversation.
"It ain't right, it ain't right. I'm just telling you." "You don't have to tell me, I pray about it every night. All those souls that will be lost, mmm, it's just sad. Satan is on his way." "And, you heard Reverend Johnson this morning say that the deed is done and now it is up to us." "Cast out the demons and send them on their way. That's what he said." "Hallelujah, sister I heard him too."
I watched them as they stood there contemplating, what sounded to me, as certain Armageddon, with their legs bound in support stockings and their swollen feet spilling out of their shoes. End of the world or not, they needed to get off their feet, they were no spring chickens. I looked to see what they were buying. What would be their final purchase? One had in her buggy Roach killer traps and wax paper? I had to think about that one, may be I should have been paying more attention to Ms. Runuger in Sunday school, then I would be more prepared for "the Day of Reckoning".
"And, you know it's gonna get the menfolk first." "Uh huh, sho 'nuff. And, some of those flirt'n women, too." Lord, it's the plague, I thought. "The bible says liquor is the devils work." "Amen sister." Now the evil had revealed itself. Selling wine and beer had just been approved in our area much to the condemnation of the local churches (with the exception of the Episcopals of course and the Catholics - who most folks don't count down here any way.) One of the ladies continued, "He better hope she takes him home because he ain't coming back to my house."
The other one stopped and looked at her. "Mary, you ain't got no man." Mary just stood there. "Girl, you hold'n out on me? And, it better not be Tom." "Well you left him faster than my mama could say amen, what was he supposed to do?" "He wasn't supposed to go running to my two timing friend, that's what." Suddenly, my concern went from the coming of the apocalypse to "Cat Fight at Register 3".
Thursday, October 4, 2012
A good friend is someone you know will always be there for you when you need them. Someone who texts you frequently while you are dealing with your mother's death. She is the one who doesn't have to call when she hears the bad news because she already knows how bad it is. She is already with you either on the phone or at your side. She is the friend who understands when she doesn't hear from you for a while and suddenly you call out of the blue in desperate need of support. And, she knows you'd be there for her if the roles were reversed.
The two of you can go for months and not communicate, but at the first sight or with the next call, you pick up where you were as if you'd never been apart. Minor tiffs are just those - minor. Major disagreements are made up with heart felt apologies because you both value your friendship above most things in life.
A true friend is the one who will suggest that glass of wine when you both know that the swimsuit just will not do. She (or he) is the one you can count on to tell you that your hair cut is atrocious and it really is time to find a new stylist (or a stylist at all). Or, the one who insists that you really need that new skirt that you saw while the two of you were shopping and you just couldn't justify it.
A real friend is the one who keeps that secret that you can confess to no one else. She was the only one you felt would understand. But, there are the times her knowledge of your secret it not from your confession, but because she was there when it happened, sometimes as a co-conspirator. She (or he) is the one who can look at you as you stand with a group in a social situation, roll her eyes, and not only do you know exactly what she in thinking, you agree with her.
If your husband is smart, she is the one he will call, if he wants to know what you have been hinting about for Christmas and he doesn't have a clue. And, she is the one you made promise she would clean out your refrigerator before the lady's from the church arrive after you meet your untimely demise.
The bottom line is that a true friend is not trite but something we all should cherish.