"Grand" Summer Memories

Facebook is a wondrous thing. Sometime it's a really frustrating and habit-forming thing, but it's wondrous nonetheless.

On Monday I experienced one of those wondrous moments.

A friend posted a private message with a link to an article in The Nashville Leader (Nashville, Arkansas, not that other place in Tennessee), asking if my grandfather wasn't a barber in Nashville.

The article is one of a series building up to the 2015 football season. This entry traces the history between the owner of the White Way Barber Shop on Main Street, Mr. Reeder McCullough, and Nashville High's football team, the Scrappers. Mr. McCullough recalls how he came to be the Main Street barber:

The year was 1963 and Reeder was working in Bossier City, La. when he and his wife Emma, were at home for a weekend. Visiting friends in the White Way Building on Main Street, he mentioned ambitions to own a barbershop when the owner offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. Now, 52 years later, Reeder still talks Scrapper football as he cuts and styles hair for hundreds of Nashville folks.

That "owner" was my grandfather, "Daddy Gus" Foshee!! (His clients called him "Mr. Gus," but he was my Daddy Gus!)

Talk about a flood of memories. Searching some of those closed drawers in my head, I remembered that Daddy Gus sold the barber shop when I was about 8 or 9 years old, and that would've been in 1963. He planned to "retire" so he could stay off his feet but wound up taking a night watchman's part-time job at the Case-Nashville knife plant. He even took me with him a couple of times when I would go for a long summer visit and we would play dominoes until the wee hours of the morning, but I digress.

It's the barber shop memories that brought a pleasant smile to my face. 

The White Way had a real barber pole -- the kind that spun and spun like a huge candy cane. I could watch it forever, certain that the end of that red stripe would turn up eventually. There was a bench outside beneath the picture window where you could sit on hot days to catch a breeze or to enjoy the sunshine on a cool afternoon. No one worried about bolting it down, because nothing was ever stolen from the sidewalk on Main Street -- that would have been unthinkable!! Shoot -- no one ever locked the doors to their houses in those days.

The barber shop smelled so . . . clean. Which, of course, is probably because it was clean. Immaculate. Scrubbed from top to bottom so frequently that you could eat off of the floors. And, I probably did eat off of them from time to time as young children are prone to dropping snacks on a regular basis and are not shy about picking them up and popping them into their mouths. I have recently re-discovered this characteristic of all children as I babysit with one toddler or another. Here I go, digressing again.

My grandparents had their big meal of the day, "dinner," at lunchtime ("supper" was the small evening meal, usually leftovers, or cornbread crumbled into a glass of buttermilk with salt and pepper, and maybe a slice of yellow-meat melon.) I remember him smelling like the barber shop -- and that antiseptic stuff in which he soaked the clean combs --  as he waked through the front door. 

I can see his blue eyes twinkling, maybe giving me a wink, as he dug into the fresh vegetables from his garden, and maybe fried catfish or crappie caught by my grandparents, thawed that morning from the freezer, and lovingly prepared by my grandmother, Bee Mama. She always wore one of those full, frilly flowered cotton aprons in the kitchen with her hair pulled back into a chignon positioned just above the nape of her neck. 

(My grandparents would often bring us fish or vegetables, "put up" in wax-coated freezer cartons. Mama couldn't bring herself to cook a certain carton of crappie because it reminded her so of her sweet, innocent mother who had no idea that the masking tape label she had placed on the carton could have any connotation other than the fish it purported to identify. It read "big crap." Heh.)  

Daddy Gus would "rest his eyes for a spell" on the couch in the living room before returning to the barber shop for the afternoon, taking care not to muss his thick mane of hair. He often snored while he was resting his eyes. But, then again, don't we all? ;-)

I'm grateful to Facebook and my observant friend for giving me the gift of these summer memories. I wish I could find my photo albums in the storage unit so I could scan a photo of Daddy Gus with Elder Daughter. (And if wishes were horses, we all would ride.) Oh well, the memories are vivid in my head today and that's a good thing.

Stolen from Yelp.com

A Family Kind of Weekend

The weekend was a lake-focused one.

On Saturday, Pepper took Bouie and Mysti (much to Yappy's chagrin) with him and SiL#2 to fetch the boat from the repair shop on Lake Ouachita where it had been since shortly before the Fourth. The dogs had a lot of fun swimming and spending time with their dad and friend. Pepper enjoyed swimming with the dogs; he did not enjoy spending mega-bucks on the boat.

Then dawned Sunday and we headed out for the lake again (and to pick up the boat from the repair shop. Again. But that's another story.), eager for a day with family and summer Arkansas sunshine.

We got the sunshine, in spades. Dang!! It was hot!!

"We" was constituted of Pepper and Moogie, The Son and his three kids (Grandkids ##1, 2,& 3), Younger Daughter and SiL#2 with #5 (yep, SiL#2 had a Pepper-centric weekend.), and three Yellow Sisters from last year's litter. 

Yep, three 11 month-old Labs. On a lake.  And on an isolated island with lots of sticks. And old campfires to rummage through.  And Pepper casting fishing lines to chase.  And people sitting on funny styrofoam things in the water to try to capsize.  Successfully.

We were privileged to be spectators at a private performance of the Labrador Olympics of 2015!

It was a fun day of family time, even if I did get a little fricasseed in the sun. There are sections of Moogie's skin that haven't seen direct sunlight in ages. We were all pretty worn out by the end of the day. At least #5 got in a little nap. That would've been a good idea.

Here are some pics. My phone storage was acting up so I didn't get a shot of Younger Daughter and #5, or of #3. Or, I guess, of The Son. Oops. Elder Daughter and family were in Dallas, visiting SiL#1's folks.

Here's #2 riding the knee board.

#1 on the Boogie Board.

Pepper, #1, and some dogs scaring some fish.

Three Yellow Sisters, enjoying the water.

A little male bonding time.

Two sisters -- the largest (Persi) and the middle-sized one (Yap).  Petite little Chelsea was farther out.

Poor #2 was the target of Chelsea on more than one occasion --  she wanted a cuddle from her boy (or, to try to drown him).

Yep, they're sisters, all right. Playing and tussling all the time, even in the water.

Yappy was one tuckered out puppy (which is not totally a bad thing!). She's still kind of subdued, even today!

What a fun time!  Now, if I can just shake off my too-much-sunshine-exposure hangover.

What Did June Wreak? And What Does the Future Hold, if Anything.

There is so much unpleasantry going on in these United States this summer. The Son's 18-year marriage dissipated into thin air yesterday with the stroke of a Judge's pen on a Divorce Decree. The Supreme Court has become decidedly and unashamedly activist. (I particularly like one post that I stole and shared on Facebook: "My feed looks like the Confederacy has declared war on a Skittles factory.")

Reparations for Antebellum slavery are going on nationwide, although they're not being identified as such. Donald Trump and Chris Christie have announced campaigns for the presidency. TV Land has canceled re-runs of The Dukes of Hazzard, for crying out loud, and NASCAR is backing off displays of the Confederate Battle Flag!  NASCAR!!!!

And on June 30, there was a convergence of Jupiter and Venus that made them the brightest objects in the night sky.

One blog notes that the last time this happened was a little over 2,000 years ago while three Kings were en route to Bethlehem to welcome our Saviour.

It kinda makes a body wonder. And to get one's affairs in order.

Sage Advice

Dog Days heat has snuck up on us. Mid-90s with heat indices in the 105 range. That makes my brain go into sleep mode.

I can't think about the wave of  "migrants" poised at the border. I can't think about Lois Lerner skulking around DC, dodging a Contempt of Congress arrest warrant. I can't think about that guy who occupies 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I can't think about the impending robo-call onslaught that's getting ready to crank up for the mid-term elections. I can't think about the colossal number of days we have left before football season. I'm glad I don't have to think about World Cup soccer anymore for four years (seriously, have you ever seen a wienier trophy?). I can't think about Mysti maybe being expecting. I can't think about having to squeeze into a swimsuit next week.

So, I guess I'll just post something amusing that I stole from Facebook:

Heh.

Independence Day 2014

Let us enjoy and celebrate our freedoms while we still can. Happy Independence Day to us all!

Idyllic

I must give my brain a rest before I overload too many neurons, So I think I'll focus on something pleasant.  Hmmm.  What's pleasant these days?

This is what early summer 2012 looks like around Moogie's Mansion:

A little light lunch of leftover goodness with a sweet buddy on the front porch.

And no politicians.

Ahhhh.

A Tuesday in The South

Seen in August's Southern Living article about the horrid spring storm season:

As Southerners, we know that a man with a chain saw is worth 10 with a clipboard, that there is no hurt in this world, even in the storm of the century, that cannot be comforted with a casserole, and that faith, in the hereafter or in neighbors who help you through the here and now, cannot be knocked down.

                                                                                          -- Rick Bragg

I kinda like that.

This is the most recent of the various stinging caterpillars with whom I've crossed paths in the front yard.  I don't know what variety he is, but he was very colorful, and chubbier than the Ios and Buckmoths and Tussocks I've seen.

The Louisiana Agricultural Center offers these words of wisdom about stinging caterpillars:

Stinging caterpillars are a nuisance to adults, but can be serious hazards to small children, because the youngsters are attracted to the pests’ bright, unusual colorations. Sprays are not normally applied except for the buck moth, since it occurs in large numbers. Control of the other species is seldom needed except for knocking an occasional specimen to the ground and mashing it.

Not being one to ignore sage advice, and having been on the receiving end of those spines, I can report that this particular caterpillar is no longer among the living.

I spent much of the afternoon spraying mold and trying to avoid the spores that jumped out at me after being doused with bleach.  Living in a hundred year old house located in humidity-central has taught me a whole new, and unexpected, skill set.  It has also instilled in me a deep and abiding appreciation for duct tape.

And thus it goes on a mid-August Tuesday in the south.  Life at Moogie's Mansion, trying to stay one step ahead of the lizards.

Home: Improvement and Invasion

As revealed here in an earlier post, we did indeed celebrate Bastille Day at Moogie's Mansion by accepting delivery of a new, fancy mattress.  We were way overdue -- both of our backs had been talking to us for quite awhile.  As Pepper observed, our old mattress held up really well for 10 years -- too bad it was 11 years old.

So, I was very excited to get the new one set up (the delivery guys left the house just as the rain began to fall), with its high-falutin' bedbug-proof, allergen-free, waterproof cover.  Bouie was neither excited nor happy because he had to be locked in the tv room while the delivery guys were here -- he was acting just a little too "interested" (read: he had entered a not hump-free zone) and "helpful" (read: he needed to see every little thing and inspect every little movement).  Being all caught up in Bouie and getting the zippered cover fitted correctly, I failed to notice how much higher the surface of the mattress was than our old one's.

The dang bed is now taller than more than half of me!

No way are my feet going to reach the floor when I try to get out of bed.  I felt kinda like a 5 year-old sitting on a chair designed for the "big and tall," swinging my legs.

There's not enough room on my side of the bed for me to be able to use one of those pet steps designed to enable older, short critters to get up onto the furniture.

So, I went upstairs and grabbed Elder Daughter's step-stool from college.

So, now, instead of feeling like that 5 year-old, I feel more like a toddler bellying up to the bathroom sink to brush her teeth.  Or a sorority girl.  On second thought, I don't think I have nearly enough energy to be a toddler.  And I certainly don't have enough energy to be a sorority girl; I barely did the first time around.  So, I suppose I'll just feel short.

*Sigh*  At least the new mattress is really comfy.  Once I manage to get up on it.  And I hardly need to bend over at all to change the linens! 

One strange thing, though, leads me to believe that the fancy cover wasn't made here in the good ol' U.S. of A. -- this advisory label that lets you know which end goes where:

There's the same label on both ends.  I'm not quite sure what to make of that.

And, speaking of lizards -- I went into the kitchen earlier today to put some thing in the sink and this is what I found!

It was a tiny little thing and it didn't seem to be very frightened of me.

It seemed to prefer red wine to coffee, however.

Pepper invited it to go back outdoors.  We really don't need any new pets around here right now.  I'm too busy adjusting to a new mattress.

A Magic Show in the Sky

Is this a cool picture, or what -- lightning passing through a rainbow!  From Wednesday's Times-Picayune:

And It's Not Officially Even Summer Yet . . .

So, I called the HVAC people this afternoon to schedule annual maintenance on the AC. 

No dice.

It's been so hot, and they're so busy doing repair calls, that they aren't even scheduling regular maintenance!  They put me on the waiting list -- to be scheduled.  I said I hope to hear from them before September.  The nice HVAC lady didn't laugh.

That darn nutria!

The Day the Rodents Found Themselves at Loggerheads

It's Groundhog Day and that little scaredy cat Punxhutawney Phil didn't have to hide from his own shadow, portending an early Spring for folks north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

On the other hand, in Lafayette, Louisiana, Pierre C. Shadeaux, the Cajun Nutria, did see his shadow, thus dooming us to an early, long, hot, humid summer.

On yet another hand (or toes or something), it sleeted and flurried in New Orleans today, and we are now under a Winter Weather Advisory until sometime Friday!

I think there are some confused rodents out there.

A Boy, His Dog, and A Creek

This, my friends, is a photograph of the very essence of summer!

Grandson #2 and Trevor, the lucky puppy who recently adopted him.  #2 was in the process of finding rocks to carry around; Trevor was just happy to be with #2.

Cultures of Criminality: By New Orleans Standards, Chicagoans are Flash-in-the-Pan Amateurs

Sunday in the Big Easy. In the dog days of August.

Last night as we left the movie theater around 8:00-ish, my stalwart Toyota told me that it was still 97 degrees outside. Today, we're forecast to tiptoe around the century mark with about 437% humidity, and I worked up a sweat this morning just setting out the oscillating sprinkler to green-up the parched patch of grass in front of Moogie's Mansion, so I'm understandably feeling a tad peckish.

And New Orleans is frankly getting on my last nerve.

Just in the last few days, multiple examples of the culture of criminality that runs this town have been reported in the local newspaper, The Times-Picayune. Those examples don't even include the Jefferson clan with all their creative high jinks, some of which are still pending trial, or other former Councilmembers.

In Friday's Metro section alone -- (1) former Nagin-administration "Technology Chief" Greg Meffert and his vendor-accomplice, Mark St. Pierre, along with Meffert's wife, were granted another postponement of their trial on kickback and bribery charges. One reason offered by the defense in support of its Motion to Postpone was the need for additional time to prepare to defend a "superseding indictment" handed up by a grand jury in early July that refined and clarified its earlier indictment to include "deprivation of 'honest services' by public officials." We're talking more than 63 felony counts, here, for defrauding the public of a million dollars. Sadly, everyone also had conflicting schedules, so the trial was postponed again, and we taxpayers must cool our heels -- again -- until late January, 2011.

(Don't you love how so many New Orleans public officials engage in "family-time crime?" The family that conspires together . . . .)

Plus, -- (2) last week, a federal judge sentenced three guys to varying prison terms after conviction "for their roles in a kickback scheme that bilked almost $300,000 from the project to widen Interstate 10 in Metairie." At least that one had gotten to the sentencing part. I don't know when that crime occurred, but they've been working on widening Interstate 10 since about the Louisiana Purchase, so there's no telling.

Then today. Today's article sent me over the edge.

It has to do with gravedigging in the seven city-owned cemeteries. About the gravedigging thing: it seems that there is none, and that there has been none since Katrina. Except, of course, for the gravedigging services creatively supplied -- for cash only -- by a city employee.

You really do need to read this article to get the whole flavor, but for those who don't have the time, here's a brief synopsis:

You apparently must go to the Division of Cemeteries (a unit of the Department of Property Management) to make arrangements to bury a loved one, and a Mrs. Wilson did just that in regard to her late mother-in-law. Mrs. Wilson met with the Interim Supervisor of Cemeteries ("interim" since Katrina, 5 years ago) who handed Mrs. Wilson a seven-page application, without requesting proof of relationship, and demanded a fee, explaining that the fee:

"was for $450: $100 to open the grave, $350 for the gravediggers -- and don't
bring anything but cash because the gravediggers get really upset about having
to deal with anything but cash."

You see where this is heading, don't you?

The $350 gravediggers didn't show up as scheduled, so Mrs. Wilson went to complain to the Cemetery Supervisor's supervisor, the Real Estate Administrator for the Department of Property Management. The Supervisor's supervisor was aghast, and explained that the city doesn't supply gravediggers -- that 's the bereaved's responsibility -- but it does collect a $100 fee to cover a "supervisor to ensure that the grave is being dug correctly."

As it stands today, after that very first complaint e-ver about a gravedigging scam, (A) a new city policy requires the payment of the gravedigging-supervisor fee to be paid by check or money order only, and (B) the Interim Supervisor of Cemeteries is still listed as a city employee.

I'm not sure what happened to poor Mrs. Wilson's deceased mother-in-law, but if I were Mrs. Wilson, I'd watch my back after ratting out the gravedigging scam.

City government seems to pay a whole lot of folks to duplicate one another's efforts and to supervise one another. I wonder how I can get me one of those $100-per-grave supervisor jobs? I'd be willing to stand out in the merciless sun to do it, cooling myself with a funeral-home fan; and I know a hole when I see one. I'd be perfect for the job!

And so it goes in the City That Care Forgot.

Chicago's public thieves can't be nearly as colorful.

Random Friday Thoughts

It's hot. I mean, it's hot and humid and I feel the crankiness factor ratcheting up.

I've got to find a long-term project that I can work on indoors in the pleasant splendor of un-green, southern, air-conditioned, de-humidified comfort. And my activity can't involve oil spills or fouled waterfowl.

I read about a race for some minor state-wide office in Arkansas in which an old head is being faced down by a young upstart. The youngster, in trying to paint the old incumbent as past-his-prime, described him as being on the "trailing edge of technology." While I usually stand up for the geezer, that's a pretty good slam.

It's Hurricane Season 2010 + 4 days. So far, so good.

I fear the "good hair days" are past us for this summer.