It was the summer of 1977 when I discovered the worn and faded Album jacket that housed a slightly warped vinyl album with Lightnin' Hopkins singing his blues. I am not sure why my father had bought it, he did have a guitar that he would occasionally pull out and play one or two blues riffs before he put it back down five minutes later. This, however, was enough to spark my interest. The guitar I acquired at that time was the one that my sister did not play too often. As most teenage girls of her age, I am sure she wanted to be Karen Carpenter or Joan Baez or someone similar with her over-sized guitar. There was no real direction to my guitar attempts before Bluegrass met me during my Senior year in high school. After that moment, everything opened up.
The banjo is an odd and delightful instrument, mostly odd and loud. Annoying has been used before. My room mate in boarding school, James, brought a banjo into our room. I immediately confiscated it and "learned" a tune or two. I promptly purchased my own banjo and was murdering several songs on a regular basis. My friend David soon inquired about this new banjo deal and was curious on how to play. David is a musician, this I was not prepared for. He knew how to play the guitar and had timing and an excellent ear. Soon there after, I was plunking on the guitar while David passed me quickly on the banjo. We had a lot of fun, wasted a lot of time, listened to a lot of records. Lightin' was right there hangin' out.
I will, however, take credit for the all-time world record for spinning in circles, on two wheels, in a wheelchair.
I hope you enjoy this from Mr. Hopkins.
gf
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Poison
Complements of Merriam-Webster:
Main Entry: 1poi·son
Pronunciation: \ˈpȯi-zən\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French poisun drink, potion, poison, from Latin potion-, potio drink — more at potion
Date: 13th century
1 a
: a substance that through its chemical action usually kills, injures, or impairs an organism b (1)
: something destructive or harmful (2)
: an object of aversion or abhorrence
2
: a substance that inhibits the activity of another substance or the course of a reaction or process <a catalyst poison>
I have been trying here of late to eliminate poison from my diet. Save, of course, certain poisons that originate from Kentucky or Ireland. What poisons do we digest regularly? Great question. I have become very skeptical of those snake oil peddlers who claim that their food products are good for you, or help you lose weight, or are low in cholesterol. I found out years ago that there is a good portion of poison in "fat free" foods. When you cook fat free cookies you will see that they are plastic poison. Fat free anything has an ingredient list a mile long. No, you cannot pronounce most of the ingredients either. Nasty anti-food is what fat free food is.
I was buying dinner yesterday. Trout was on sale. Check. Cucumber tomato salad sounded like a good salad that would go well. Check. Rice, yes rice would finish this off nicely I thought. Right. Have you checked out the rice isle lately? Holy cow. Five million rice products were on this isle. I went about trying to decide which one that would go with the dinner. First off the fancy packaging got my eye. When I looked at the ingredient list on each one I had chosen, I reluctantly put it back. I thought I was purchasing rice. No, more man-made food is what most of it was. Salt, sugar, hydrogenated whatever, and "other ingredients" were listed. I do not what "other ingredients" in my rice. I settled on brown rice that had one ingredient; brown rice.
How could rice be so complicated? How can most food on the shelves be so complicated? I perused through the store on the way out and I noticed that most of the food we purchase has been modified in one fashion or another. Most packaging states that it has better taste, or it is better for you, or that it is a great recipe. I started to focus on sugar. Is sugar really good for you? I doubt it seriously. A close friend has been battling weight here of late, and has sworn off sugar. I guess this is why I have been looking at what exactly has sugar in it that I eat. Yikes! A lot of stuff has sugar in it; well most everything has sugar in it.
Looking at the definition of poison I have to rethink food in general. Does sugar or margarine kill, injure or impair my organism? Is it destructive or harmful? Does it inhibit an activity of another substance or is it a catalyst? I am not sure if they actually are poisons yet, but I am more leery of them now than I have been. Do individuals who eat a lot of sugar appear more healthy than those who eat more apples? Are those who gobble up margarine and man-made foods healthier that those who eat naturally made food? I doubt it seriously.
gf
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Deep South part - 1.3 Mobile Homes
Well it was that time again. Time to pay taxes on the trailer that no one occupies, that cannot be rented, that is on the land that is not mine. That story can be told at a later date, but it will require much alcohol.
I was headed to the county seat of Haralson County, Buchanan Georgia. Headed west on I-20 (This highway runs smack dab though the Deep South), I turned off at Villa Rica Georgia for some breakfast at Ruby’s Diner, as I was about to gnaw my left arm off due to hunger. When you go to visit Ruby’s (and I know you will now) drive slowly on Hwy 78 as you drive west out of Villa Rica or you will miss it, as I did this morning. The lack of buildings will signal you to turn around. You can look for the smallish Coke sign with Ruby’s Diner at the top, or you could just look for the ‘50’s style trailer park right next to the truck garage. There you will find it squashed right between the two. This seemed to be the appropriate place to dine this morning as mobile homes were at the epicenter of my day.
The trailers had been parked behind and around the diner in an odd fashion. It was if they had been parked there because they had gotten stuck into the mud or had had a flat tire. I can hear the driver shouting out “This’l have to do right c’here, she’s bogged down, and I ain’t got my winch wi’h me!”. The trailers had been painted in dull colors several times over, and had odd shaped porches attached. They were over-adorned with many wind chimes and hanging plants and such. Meant to travel, these living units seemed still ready to do so, even though their rear tail lights had been painted over years ago. Ruby’s Diner fit right in, having been modified with a tin roof since the last time I had visited. It is a rectangular architectural mess. I am sure like the mobile homes it was once shiny and bright, the talk of the town. However, time has now morphed it into a mishmash of added on rooms, somehow still stuck together in an oddly orderly fashion.
I ordered some eggs and turkey sausage with grits and biscuits with white gravy. What? Look, it was my day off, and everyone has turkey sausage these days. Everything was hot and good as I scraped the last crumbs off of my plastic plates with my kid sized fork. I listened to the couple next to me talk about cooking tilapia with random methods. I found out that the 9 oz portions cook better on the grill than the 5 oz portions, and that if you soak talapia in Bourbon it will taste better. My attention left their conversation as they argued about where the fish came from. "China, everything comes from China!"; "Well I ain't eatin' it if it come from anywhere's other than Georgia." Geeze. I finished my first cup of coffee and was about to leave when another regular walked in. He spoke of his trip to Louisiana and his Harley trike breaking down. A discussion ensued on how to fix said trike. Talk of spindles, gears, and Mustang 2 rear ends entertained me for a second cup of mud. Then it was back to the drive to Buchanan.
I went the quick way this time. I drove up Hwy 27, past the "new" Super WalMart, past Bremen, which seems to be having and economic revival of sorts. Hotels and more fast food joints have graced this exit, which for so long only sported a gas station and a McDonalds. I turned west again to Buchanan and looked for the giant black steer off to the left, which happens to be my favorite landmark. This is where everything starts to look like 1953. Old everything. The Queen Anne style courthouse loomed ahead on the right. I turned and drove one block to the tax assessor’s office. I walked up to the door and there it was, Buchanan's sign "Cash or Check Only". Really? Wow. Seriously? Fine. Back into the truck, and off to find an ATM. Unbelievable. I returned, paid the tax , got my sticker and my receipt then drove onward down towards Tallapoossa Georgia.
Driving from Buchanan to Tallapoosa Georgia can give you an education in mobile homes if you are looking for one. First off, obviously, the mobile home community in West Georgia deals in cash, checks, or chickens. No internet surfing, plastic card using, pin number remembering city boys are allowed in this group anymore. Here are the groups of mobile homes as I see them.
New mobile homes, the pride of the community. Scrape the land extra level, and purchase some shrubs to go in front of the hitch.
New Double Wide homes. You might have well purchased a Southern Mansion. This is the new Tara.
Used single wide. I fall into this category. Hoping for a good electrical storm.
Old Double Wide. Do not be deceived. These are not houses. They have bricked the mobile home underneath. The roof pitch is a 2/12.
Modified mobile homes. Porches turn into rooms, then every porch has a porch. No squares, levels, or plumb bobs used during construction.
Driving along 120 towards Tallapoosa you can find these examples. I drove to the trailer, stuck my sticker, and said a prayer for fire. I think trailers seem like a good idea at some point in time, but I caution all who would venture into this realm now days. Take the time, build a house, and spend the money. Trailers are like old used cars rusting away. They never age gracefully. You never drive down the road and say "Hey, look at that cute old trailer." It just does not happen.
It started to rain, then really pour down hard, washing the caked on pollen from my truck. “So much for geocaching today”, I thought to myself, as I drove off the land. Driving past the old and odd trucks, cars, and a good portion of junk that littered the entrance to my old homestead, I found this a very ironic place for a city boy to be in the Deep South. Buckling up as instructed, I drove home down I-20 listening to my new Bluegrass CD. I had to replay "99 years and one dark day" over about ten times to settle my soul.
gf
I was headed to the county seat of Haralson County, Buchanan Georgia. Headed west on I-20 (This highway runs smack dab though the Deep South), I turned off at Villa Rica Georgia for some breakfast at Ruby’s Diner, as I was about to gnaw my left arm off due to hunger. When you go to visit Ruby’s (and I know you will now) drive slowly on Hwy 78 as you drive west out of Villa Rica or you will miss it, as I did this morning. The lack of buildings will signal you to turn around. You can look for the smallish Coke sign with Ruby’s Diner at the top, or you could just look for the ‘50’s style trailer park right next to the truck garage. There you will find it squashed right between the two. This seemed to be the appropriate place to dine this morning as mobile homes were at the epicenter of my day.
The trailers had been parked behind and around the diner in an odd fashion. It was if they had been parked there because they had gotten stuck into the mud or had had a flat tire. I can hear the driver shouting out “This’l have to do right c’here, she’s bogged down, and I ain’t got my winch wi’h me!”. The trailers had been painted in dull colors several times over, and had odd shaped porches attached. They were over-adorned with many wind chimes and hanging plants and such. Meant to travel, these living units seemed still ready to do so, even though their rear tail lights had been painted over years ago. Ruby’s Diner fit right in, having been modified with a tin roof since the last time I had visited. It is a rectangular architectural mess. I am sure like the mobile homes it was once shiny and bright, the talk of the town. However, time has now morphed it into a mishmash of added on rooms, somehow still stuck together in an oddly orderly fashion.
I ordered some eggs and turkey sausage with grits and biscuits with white gravy. What? Look, it was my day off, and everyone has turkey sausage these days. Everything was hot and good as I scraped the last crumbs off of my plastic plates with my kid sized fork. I listened to the couple next to me talk about cooking tilapia with random methods. I found out that the 9 oz portions cook better on the grill than the 5 oz portions, and that if you soak talapia in Bourbon it will taste better. My attention left their conversation as they argued about where the fish came from. "China, everything comes from China!"; "Well I ain't eatin' it if it come from anywhere's other than Georgia." Geeze. I finished my first cup of coffee and was about to leave when another regular walked in. He spoke of his trip to Louisiana and his Harley trike breaking down. A discussion ensued on how to fix said trike. Talk of spindles, gears, and Mustang 2 rear ends entertained me for a second cup of mud. Then it was back to the drive to Buchanan.
I went the quick way this time. I drove up Hwy 27, past the "new" Super WalMart, past Bremen, which seems to be having and economic revival of sorts. Hotels and more fast food joints have graced this exit, which for so long only sported a gas station and a McDonalds. I turned west again to Buchanan and looked for the giant black steer off to the left, which happens to be my favorite landmark. This is where everything starts to look like 1953. Old everything. The Queen Anne style courthouse loomed ahead on the right. I turned and drove one block to the tax assessor’s office. I walked up to the door and there it was, Buchanan's sign "Cash or Check Only". Really? Wow. Seriously? Fine. Back into the truck, and off to find an ATM. Unbelievable. I returned, paid the tax , got my sticker and my receipt then drove onward down towards Tallapoossa Georgia.
Driving from Buchanan to Tallapoosa Georgia can give you an education in mobile homes if you are looking for one. First off, obviously, the mobile home community in West Georgia deals in cash, checks, or chickens. No internet surfing, plastic card using, pin number remembering city boys are allowed in this group anymore. Here are the groups of mobile homes as I see them.
New mobile homes, the pride of the community. Scrape the land extra level, and purchase some shrubs to go in front of the hitch.
New Double Wide homes. You might have well purchased a Southern Mansion. This is the new Tara.
Used single wide. I fall into this category. Hoping for a good electrical storm.
Old Double Wide. Do not be deceived. These are not houses. They have bricked the mobile home underneath. The roof pitch is a 2/12.
Modified mobile homes. Porches turn into rooms, then every porch has a porch. No squares, levels, or plumb bobs used during construction.
Driving along 120 towards Tallapoosa you can find these examples. I drove to the trailer, stuck my sticker, and said a prayer for fire. I think trailers seem like a good idea at some point in time, but I caution all who would venture into this realm now days. Take the time, build a house, and spend the money. Trailers are like old used cars rusting away. They never age gracefully. You never drive down the road and say "Hey, look at that cute old trailer." It just does not happen.
It started to rain, then really pour down hard, washing the caked on pollen from my truck. “So much for geocaching today”, I thought to myself, as I drove off the land. Driving past the old and odd trucks, cars, and a good portion of junk that littered the entrance to my old homestead, I found this a very ironic place for a city boy to be in the Deep South. Buckling up as instructed, I drove home down I-20 listening to my new Bluegrass CD. I had to replay "99 years and one dark day" over about ten times to settle my soul.
gf
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