RRN Online Volume 283

November 03 '01

Volume 283

Long Shadows Interesting Accents

On the lunar surface, shadows are NASA Photo largely black. They are not some shade of darkness less than black, because the moon has no atmosphere. I'd not thought about the importance our atmosphere plays in softening the harshness of shadows, prior to reading an article on light in the October issue of National Geographic. But without the various atoms that make up our atmosphere, sunlight would not be softly dispersed and shadows would be as starkly foreboding as those on the moon.

This time of year, I truly enjoy driving in the late afternoon, especially with the sun to my back. I don't even complain if the sun is to my left or right. Just as long as I don't have to drive directly into its blinding glare, I'm content. So intensely do I dislike driving into the evening sun, that I've been known to wait until sundown to drive toward the western sky. The fact that the leaves of trees are changing to beautiful shades of yellow, red, and brown add to my driving enjoyment, as do the long shadows of late afternoon.

The long shadows of evening hold the promise of nightfall, and make interesting accents on the landscape. The colors of autumn appear bolder and more vivid as fading sunlight strikes the foliage at ever lowering angles with the horizontal, and the leaves seem to bow themselves in adoration of the light that illuminates them.

Frances Crausby Carter, mother of this writer and his three siblings, was among the last of a dying breed of American mothers who "stayed home" to rear their children while the fathers worked. My generation and generations since have liberated moms, but in doing so have relegated motherhood to that of secondary importance immediately behind "income producer."

My children, like millions of others, never knew how it felt to come home from school and find a mother waiting to greet them and to fix an after school snack to stay them until suppertime. I remember more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches than any other single snack, but Mama often reminded me that I ate more than my share of biscuits left over from breakfast.

Mama would split open the biscuit, butter each half, heap a generous portion of sugar on each half, pop the pieces under the broiler of the oven, and allow the heat to magically transform the butter and sugar into a sweet delight. Washed down with a cold glass of whole milk, a lad could gain enough sustenance to romp and play with other neighborhood kids right up until supper was served. School-assigned homework, and always there seemed to be some, waited until after the evening meal.

No, my children never knew the luxury. It wasn't their mom's fault or their dad's fault that they never enjoyed a stay-at-home mom. The poor little things were victims of the times, times that sadly have since changed little in regard to re-enthroning motherhood to her rightful place in society.

Mama cast a long shadow over her children, serving as doctor and nurse when we were sickly, and as the cleaning lady and "mechanical arm" that picked up all that we tossed on the floor. She was our maid, remaking the beds we tumbled from daily, our cook, and our seamstress. In general, Mama did all the things that children, then as now, take for granted. Well, almost all things…she didn't drive, but being part of a one-car family that lived "in town," it didn't really matter.

It's been twelve years since Mama breathed her last breath and slipped behind a dark curtain and over to the other side, to a place that knows no darkness, to a place prepared for her from the foundations of the earth. It must please her to no end, that some of her predictions of the future have been realized. One of her favorite expressions of exasperation was, "Y'all are gonna miss me when I'm gone." Trust me, we do.

We miss Mama's birthday dinner that she made into a tradition long before she left us. These days, one can find a pan of chicken and dressing as a weekly staple on the steam table of many a restaurant, but in my youth and younger adulthood, chicken and dressing was reserved for special occasions, at least they were at our house. Those occasions were mostly, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter (some years) and Mama's birthday dinner. As far as Mama was concerned, chicken and dressing was cold weather food, and as such was reserved for cooler weather. After all, she was the cook, and she fixed the feasts when she decided, not when her children commanded.

Mama's birthday was October 27^th, so every year, for as long as any of her children can remember, on the Sunday nearest her birthday, we feasted on her chicken and dressing with all the trimmings. Picture a Southern Thanksgiving meal minus the turkey and you'll have an idea of what we enjoyed roughly four times a year.

My wife, for all her faults, is nonetheless an excellent keeper of traditions, so the year Mama died, Barbara took up the baton and continued the run Mama had begun. This year marks the twelfth consecutive year we've observed Mama's birthday dinner at our house, and again this year, Sarah and Felicia along with Lillie Belle joined my immediate family in the celebration. My brothers and their families can't seem to make it, and this year Aunt Jo was not feeling well enough to attend. Fortunately, the tradition is not about numbers.

The long shadow that Mama cast over her children is revived yearly through the loving act of a daughter-in-law who recognizes the contribution Frances Crausby Carter made in the lives of her four children and thus seeks to honor a strong family tradition. These days, it seems that I am witnessing more long shadows in the making, shadows that hold the promise of nightfall, and make interesting accents on the landscape of our lives.

Confrontational Author Unknown - Issue

How do you respond to persons who are pushy or confrontational? Do you feel threatened when someone questions your actions or lack of actions? Do you ever wish folks didn’t have to be so darn obnoxious? Psychologists spend a goodly effort in categorizing various personalities and creating generalizations regarding personality types, and sure enough there's one for pushy people.

Do you know someone who's truly caught up with himself or herself, perhaps with an authority syndrome that commands him or her be practically worshipped? Well, that is a little strong, but I think we all know individuals who are perhaps a little too wrapped up in "self." I can't be certain, but I think I've recently met someone who fits all of the above.

We met on the Internet. No, not in one of those chat rooms you've heard about. I don't indulge in chatting on the Internet. No, instead, the woman that I met introduced herself to me through an email. It seems she had written a poem, and I failed to credit her as the author when I published it in RRN Online.

Long time readers of this newsletter will note that most often the work of another writer is noted when that work is used as a source in this newsletter. I receive a considerable amount of email from friends who often share something they too received as an email. Bodock Beau wouldn't have much to say in his column were it not for the large amount of email that he receives from my friends.

Two years ago, almost to the day, I published a poem that was sent to me by a friend. It was a poem about both the brevity and the importance of human life. I liked it and inserted it in an article in which I described hearing a visiting speaker at FBC, Pontotoc read the same poem. I published it exactly as I received it, with credit given to "Author Unknown." I shall refrain from naming the poem or the author in this article.

Apparently, the author of the poem is alive and well. She even has a computer, operates her own website, and want's the whole world to know she wrote the poem in question. Now that may be an unfair statement, but based on her reaction to my using her work, albeit unknowingly, I've come to this conclusion.

In her email of a few weeks ago, she informed me that I was illegally using her copyrighted material and that I was expected to contact her regarding the "poem's unauthorized use." It wasn't so much what she wrote, as it was the tone and terseness of her words. There was no threat of legal action, save in the underlying tone of her words. Perhaps she'd dealt with enough copyright violators that she had developed a hardness or callousness that belied the gentleness or her expression in the poem I had published.

In my reply to her "request," I acknowledged that I was not aware that the author of the poem was known and that my website was strictly non-profit. I assured her of my willingness to correct my mistake in the manner of her choosing.

In her response to my reply, she chastised me for not searching the Internet to locate the author, and further pointed out that it made little difference whether the poem was not credited or if I used "Author Unknown," the effect was the same. I was told that I had two choices. I could remove the poem from my website or I could credit her as the author and provide a link to her website.

I chose to credit her as the author and create a link to her website. After doing so, I informed her of my actions and have not heard any more from her. However, in the days following the "copyright incident" I have had time to reconsider her actions and my reaction. I don't feel I did anything wrong and that in spite of dealing with an obviously confrontational, pushy, perhaps bitchy individual, I kept my cool, expressing myself politely and professionally.

I made a decision while writing this article, and before it goes to press, I shall remove the poem, the author's name, and the link to the author's website from the article in question. Now, if I could only remove from my thoughts the bad taste of the whole experience. I'm sure my actions won't contribute much toward her happiness, but I'll feel better.

Reader Response Newsletter Appreciated

Occasionally, I receive a bit of written correspondence from a reader. Sometimes the reader is writing to express his or her appreciation of something expressed in this newsletter. One of my former PHS classmates recently (10/20) shared a few of her sentiments that I found especially gratifying.

"Wayne,

What can I say...except please forgive me for being such an ungrateful receiver of RRN.

I have a stack of issues on my desk that I found especially meaningful and that I was DEFINITELY going to respond to (I recently read that it is OK to end a sentence with a preposition). For example, I'm looking at the June 2 issue - Celebrating Five. Congratulations (belated)!

I wanted to let you know that I am a "selective saver" and a "sharer." I often send copies of the entire issue to my sister in New Albany and frequently send copies of selected pieces to my children.

Please know that I look forward to each issue and
appreciate so much the time and effort you give so generously to publishing each one. I also had July 28, on my calendar and was going to try to arrange a trip home during that time but just couldn't make it
work. Maybe Martin and I both can be there next year.

The next title I see is Vacation Memories which is on page four of an issue. Martin and I did not get to take a trip this summer but have a trip planned for April , 02. I would love to write about it - if conditions are safe for travel (out of the country) at that time.

Next I see August 25 - Bracing for the Big Six-O... THE MOUNTAIN. You summed up my philosophy on the subject in one sentence - "They say you're only old if you think you are old." I'll be 59 in January and then will be facing THE MOUNTAIN. Somehow, at least for now, I think it's going to be OK.

Jane McCoy and I had lunch this past Wednesday. She comes to Gulfport for professional meetings monthly and we usually can arrange to have lunch.
She brought a recent issue of the Progress [Pontotoc's weekly newspaper] with pictures of the '59 football team and coaches. It gave me an opportunity to see pictures of some of our classmates who weren't able to attend our reunion.

I trust Barbara is enjoying her new job and that you both are enjoying living in Pontotoc fulltime. I will call and come by for a visit when I'm home again. Your neighborhood must be beautiful right now. I miss seeing fall leaves. I think they are one of life's finest pleasures."

Signed LR [Linda Ball Reeves]

Bodock Beau A Redneck Church

It's sometimes hard to remember what I've shared in the way of humor. It's also hard to remember who all has sent me the same joke or humor. I'm certain I've received multiple copies of the redneck humor below, but I only recall the most recent contributor. If you've read it before, I think you'll enjoy reading it again. Most likely, there's more truth than fiction in the observations.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE AT A REDNECK CHURCH IF

The doors are never locked.
The Call to Worship is, "Y'all come on in!"
People grumble about Noah letting coyotes on the Ark.
The Preacher says, "I'd like to ask Bubba to help take up the offering" -- and five guys stand up.
The restroom is outside.
Opening day of deer hunting season is recognized as an official church holiday.
A member requests to be buried in his four-wheel drive truck because, "I ain't never been in a hole it couldn't get me out of."
In the annual stewardship drive there is at least one pledge of "two calves."
Never in its entire 100-year history has one of its
pastors had to buy any meat or vegetables.
When it rains, everybody's smiling.
Prayers regarding the weather are a standard part of every worship service.
A singing group is known as "The O.K. Chorale."
The church directory doesn't have last names.
The pastor wears boots.
Four generations of one family sit together in worship every Sunday.
The only time people lock their cars in the parking lot is during the summer and then only so their neighbors can't leave them a bag of squash.
There is no such thing as a "secret" sin.
Baptism is referred to as "branding."
There is a special fund-raiser for a new septic tank.
Finding and returning lost sheep is not just a
parable.
You miss worship one Sunday morning and by 2 o'clock that afternoon you have had a dozen phone calls inquiring about your health.
High notes on the organ set dogs in the parking lot to howling.
People wonder when Jesus fed the 5,000 whether the two fish were bass or catfish.
It's not heaven, but you can see heaven from there.
The final words, of the benediction are, "Y'all come on back now, ya' hear!"

Contributed by Larry Young

Collected Humor/ Wisdom

I married my wife for her looks...but not the ones she's been giving me lately!
"No one ever says "It's only a game," when their team is winning."
I gave my son a hint. On his room door I put a sign "CHECKOUT TIME IS 18".
How come we choose from just two people for president and 50 for Miss America?
On my first day of school, my parents dropped me off at the wrong nursery. There I was...surrounded by trees and bushes.
Marriage changes passion...suddenly you're in bed with a relative.
Why is it that most nudists are people you don't want to see naked?
I mixed Rogaine with Viagra...now I've got hair like Don King.
The next time you feel like complaining, remember your garbage disposal probably eats better than thirty percent of the people in this world.
I just got back from a pleasure trip -I drove my wife to the airport!
Snowmen fall from Heaven unassembled.
My wife and I were happy for twenty years …then we met.
Home is where you can say anything you like 'cause nobody listens to you anyway.
"I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with 'Guess' on it. I said, 'Thyroid problem?'"

Contributed by Dena Kimbrell