February 16 '02
Volume 298
Lighthouse
Why A Lighthouse
Without exception, each
of my family members struggled to comprehend the purpose of the
lighthouse on the business card pictured here.
Sarah's response was something like, "I don't get it."
Rayanne commented, "Why a lighthouse?"
Jason asked, "What's the symbolism with the lighthouse?" or something close,
but no matter what I remember him saying, he'll disavow having said it or
declare that I misquoted him.
Barbara, my wife, wasn't sure what to make of it either, though that doesn't
surprise me as we've been married almost thirty-five years and she still
hasn't figured me out.
What none of my family members knew was that the cards came as a result of
my inquiry to an email in one of my "throw away" email addresses. I keep
two or three email addresses that I seldom check. They are the free types
offered by many sites, such as go.com, excite.com, hotmail.com, yahoo.com,
to name a few.
The teaser subject line read "Rrnews, Get
250 full-color business cards for free."
Both curious and skeptical, I decided to read the message rather than delete
it without opening it. I soon learned that for the price of shipping, I could
order the business cards, based upon a couple of dozen different formats
and selections.
I only saw one design that appealed to my aesthetic tastes, and while I wasn't
crazy about the lighthouse, I definitely liked the red and black text on
the blue background. For the title of this newsletter and my website, I use
a bright red, while the text of the articles is black. Blue is used on the
website for the text "Not Your Average Newsletter," and in this newsletter
blue is found in the grapes on either side of the title.
So far, no one, and I do mean no one, has asked why I use the red and blue.
That should be obvious to anyone born and raised in Pontotoc County, but
just in case one's never thought about it, I'll explain. Pontotoc is a reasonable
spelling for the Chickasaw words, "Land of hanging grapes." Our grapes are
muscadines and have a burgundy hue, but there are grapes that are dark blue.
For my purposes, blue represents the grapes of Pontotoc. Red, on the other
hand, is the color of much of the dirt found in Pontotoc and Pontotoc County.
Thus, for me at least, red and blue symbolize the land of my birth and the
fruit it once produced in such abundance that the Indians saw fit to name
the area appropriately, and either of which is good enough reason to incorporate
either color into this newsletter, it's website, or business card.
Persons reading a copy of this newsletter produced on my laser printer don't
see the colors, so I am including a couple of business cards in each envelope.
Other readers, who would like a "collectible" from
RRN, may
receive one or more by supplying this writer with a current address.
As previously stated, I didn't particularly care for the lighthouse, as initially
one does not associate a lighthouse with a landlocked community that's nowhere
near a reef strewn seacoast. In thinking of how to respond to the skepticism
of family members regarding my choice of a business card, it occurred to
me that in some respects this newsletter represents a lighthouse.
For generations to come, my descendants and relatives of my descendants will
have a written account of the everyday happenings in the life and times of
this writer and will hopefully view this newsletter as a beacon of light
upon a bygone era. Shedding light is but one purpose of a lighthouse, it
also serves in helping others navigate to a safe harbor or away from impending
peril. How this newsletter might serve such a purpose defies my perceptive
abilities, but perhaps it will one day serve such a noble purpose.
For those who are perplexed by the use of the lighthouse and for those who
scoff, there is hope. I've since revisited the website where I obtained the
free business cards and am currently working toward designing a new card
without the lighthouse, using instead a graphic created by Brett Brown that
I have on my website and on the envelope of newsletters sent via U.S. Mail.
It'll cost extra for the design-your-own card, but perhaps folks won't have
so much trouble relating to the new theme. I'll send out samples, if I order
some of the new cards. Meanwhile, it's okay if you wish to think of
Ridge Rider
News as a beacon of light in a dark world.
Alzheimer Sue
My Phone Number Is
In the event my sister's presumption is shown to be correct, you may tell
others you first learned of her condition, here. We've attempted to comfort
her by stating that it's too early to tell, but being the worrier that she
is, it's hard to convince her otherwise.
"It's only happened twice, Sarah," we admonish, "and two separate instances
of mental fatigue is insufficient for a clinical diagnosis of Alzheimer's
disease."
Yet, strange lapses of memory do give one cause to consider the possibilities.
The first (or the first that she has told us of) occurred back in December
when she was shopping at The Factory Connection. She had written a
personal check for the amount purchased, and the clerk asked for her phone
number. When Sarah gave the number and stated it was her work number, the
clerk asked for her home number.
"My home phone number is 489-4500," she stated as matter-of-factly as one
might trill one's own name off the tip of his or her respective tongue, but
the trouble with 4500 is that it was our parent's phone number.
Sure it was Sarah's phone number for all the years she lived "at home" with
Mom and Dad on Woodland Street, but Mom died in '89 and so did the old phone
number of my sister's youth. That mental slip, was the first noticeable crack
in the ice, and it related to numbers. The confusion of numbers, we are told,
are among the first telltale signs of Alzheimer's disease.
For the past year or so, Sarah has been trying to convince me that the sixties'
phone number of Carter and Austin's Grocery was 489-7959, but I'm
convinced the last digit was a six. Touch-tone dialing had not arrived, and
as bad as I hated to dial the upper numbers of a rotary phone, I think I'd
remember if the last number was a nine. Perhaps, that mistake on her part
was the first real clue to her failing numerical memory, but it was not
recognized as such at the time.
The most recent occurrence happened as Sarah pulled a late night shift at
her secondary job last weekend. She is typically asked to work second shift
through the week and sometimes the first shift on weekends, but one of the
admissions' clerks of the Emergency Room could not work the "graveyard" shift,
so Sarah was called. Around three a.m. with things relatively quiet, Sarah
made plans to leave work early.
"Let me give you my phone number," she assured, "and if you need me to come
back to put someone in the computer, just call me."
The putting of "someone in the computer" refers to entering information about
the patient into a computer and should not be taken literally, though I can
understand how some obnoxious and less-than-a-real-emergency individual might
need to be so put.
"My number is 489-7658," she continued, and then quickly realized she had
given her ex-husband's brother's number (7658 is an example only).
"No, no that's not right!" Sarah corrected, "it's…"
Yet, she could not remember. My sister, who recently laughed at my inability
to render factual information concerning my mother-in-law's heart
catheterizations at three a.m., could not remember her own phone number.
"Just a minute," Sarah apologized, "I'll think of it."
But, as the minutes passed she didn't "think of it."
Finally, desperate to get home and get some sleep but unable to remember
her phone number, Sarah suffered the embarrassment of having to look up her
number in the phone book.
"Do you know how it's listed?" her relief humorously quizzed.
Fortunately for Sarah, it's still a numbers thing, not a word thing, and
she was able to locate her name and number in the phone book.
Personally, I'm certain when it comes to early Alzheimer's, Sarah has nothing
to worry about, but now I figure I'll have plenty of occasions to needle
her when she claims to have a more perfect memory than I have.
Josephine A
Day To Celebrate
She's the last surviving member of my mother's family. Her oldest sister
had three given names, Martha Christine Rebecca; the other sister, my mother,
had two given names, Frances Jewel; when she arrived, as a tiny bundle of
joy, all that was left to name her was Josephine. For all my life, she's
been Aunt Jo.
Aunt Jo married Julius Lee "Pearlie" Collins, a paraplegic, in 1948. Uncle
Pearlie died in '73. No offspring resulted from their union, so in celebrating
the eightieth birthday of Aunt Jo, her nieces and nephews are planning a
birthday party. An announcement will have appeared in the local newspaper
by the time most folks are reading this article. In the event you miss the
announcement in the Pontotoc Progress, it reads:
"An 80th birthday celebration for Josephine (Mrs. Pearlie) Collins
will be held on February 23, 2002 from 2:00 p.m. until 4:00 p.m. at the home
of Mr. & Mrs. Wayne L. Carter, 218 Dogwood Circle, Pontotoc.
The event will be hosted by her nieces and nephews. All family and friends
are invited to attend. No gifts please."
Aunt Jo's birthday is actually February 25th, but I don't think
the 23rd is too early to celebrate it. Come wish "Aunt Joe" a
happy birthday.
Fear Factor
Moving Beyond 911
I continue to hear folks refer to the events of September 11, 2001 as cataclysmic
in changing America. Like the trial of O.J. Simpson, it's beginning to wear
me out. I recognize that I'm not average, but I have to believe there are
millions more who, like me, have scarcely altered their plans and routines
and adopted a cautiousness about themselves that was not present prior to
the terrorists' attack.
Sure, I've seen guardsmen at the Greenville airport and have heard airline
passengers speak of more stringent security practices, but these events seem
to follow the rules of common sense more than serve as a detriment to an
individual's freedom.
An ultralight aircraft flew over Dogwood Circle on a recent Sunday afternoon,
as I walked partly for exercise and partly for the sheer pleasure of being
out-of-doors enjoying the fresh air and warm January weather. Yet, I gave
no thought to the possibility the aircraft might be preparing to release
deadly bacteria upon my fair community. The aerial "crop-dusters" of the
Mississippi Delta will soon be aloft misting the croplands with various
herbicides and pesticides, but I don't worry that one of them might be piloted
by a Middle Eastern radical.
There's a good possibility that I'll accompany my wife to Santa Fe, NM, this
fall, and if so, there's a strong chance we'll be flying on September
11th. I may give some thought to the possibility that terrorists
will be sharing airspace with us, but I don't plan on allowing any fears
of such to prevent us doing that which we choose to do.
Within days of the September 11th attacks, President Bush advised
Americans, to go about their routines living again a normal lifestyle. It
was good advice then, and it's still good advice. I don't live each day as
if it might be my last, but while there's life left in me, I'm don't plan
to live in fear.
Bodock Beau
Rooney's Take On Older Women
I saved the following article then deleted the email that contained it. I'm
not certain who sent it, but I'll credit Ed Dandridge.
Take heart, older women, some men find ample reason to appreciate you.
Andy Rooney says, "As I grow in age, I value older women most of all.
Here are just a few reasons why:
An older woman will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What
are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
An older woman knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what
she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 50 give a
damn what you might think about her.
An older single woman usually has had her fill of "meaningful relationships"
and "commitment." The last thing she needs in her life is another dopey,
clingy, whiny, dependent lover!
Older women are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at
the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if
you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get
away with it.
Most older women cook well. They care about cleanliness and are generous
with praise, often undeserved.
An older woman has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends.
A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because
she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Older women couldn't care less.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to an
older woman. They always know.
An older woman looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of
younger women or drag queens.
Once you get past a wrinkle or two, an older woman is far sexier than her
younger counterpart. Her libido's stronger, her fear of pregnancy gone. Her
experience of lovemaking is honed and reciprocal and she's lived long enough
to know how to please a man in ways her daughter could never dream of. (Young
men, you have something to look forward to.)
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off you are
a jerk, if you are acting like one.
Yes, we praise older women for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's
not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coifed babe of 70 there is
a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some
22 year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize for all of us. That men are genetically inferior is no
secret. Count your blessings that we die off at a far younger age, leaving
you the best part of your lives to appreciate the exquisite
woman you've become, without the distraction of some demanding old man clinging
and whining his way into your serenity."
Silent Treatment
A man and his wife were having some problems at home and were giving each
other the silent treatment.
The next week, the man realized that he would need his wife to wake him at
5:00 AM for an early morning business flight to Chicago.
Not wanting to be the first to break the silence, he wrote on a piece of
paper, "Please wake me at 5:00 AM."
The next morning the man woke up, only to discover it was 9:00 AM and that
he had missed his flight.
Furious, he was about to go and see why his wife hadn't woken him, when he
noticed a piece of paper by the bed.
The paper said, "It's 5:00 AM. Wake up."
Contributed by Lisa B. Rolik
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