My posting today is coming from the little place of heaven on earth called Isle of Palms, South Carolina. I had an opportunity to come down and hang out with some new friends that I met recently. I took the train down from Alexandria after work on Wednesday night for some much needed rest and relaxation. So far, I have visited downtown Charleston, seen Ft. Sumter from a distance at the Battery, had a New Orleans style shrimp po-boy at a place called Joseph's and visited United Church of Christ cemetery with graves older it seems than time itself. I sat in with a writer's group and shared some of my writing and received some nice critique of my work. I went to a SC oyster roast at a place on the marsh and watched the gorgeous full moon rise over the Atlantic Ocean.
Of course, yesterday was the requisite day of college football, and I was 1 and 1 in that LSU won and MSU lost to Arkansas. Some long delayed tasks are moving off of the table and I am focusing on my health more than ever. I hooked up with a naturopathic physician and got some supplements and a detox diet to get my insulin in control. For the first time in a while, I feel that I am going to get a handle on this issue in my life.
Sometimes we need to get away from the madness of life to really see the way things really are; to clear away the cobwebs so that we can see clearly our direction or path. I am sure that I have crossed over a bridge on that path this weekend.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Veteran's Day 2010
Yesterday I spent my day off walking around DC and visiting the various memorials to our fallen soldiers. I have posted some photos of the day on my Facebook page but I wanted to share a story here of an event that spoke volumes to me of how time changes things.
My last stop of the day was to be the Viet Nam Wall to take some snapshots of names of men from Coahoma County/Clarksdale, MS natives who gave their all in Viet Nam. As I approached the wall, I began to see me approaching the twilight of their lives; some walking with canes, some in wheelchairs and on oxygen, some standing ramrod straight and tall, but all looking worn and tired. The closer I got to the Wall, the more my emotions began to get the better of me as I was overhearing remembrances of men, now old, recalling a time when they were soldiers once, and young. I made my way to the book of names of the 58,000 plus who gave their all and began to look for three men in partucular; Henry Cauthen, Grady Muse and Pat Ross. The tears were already rolling down my cheeks as I found the panels and lines where their names would soon stare out at me from the black granite upon which they had been carved.
I took the photos and began to make my way back to the shade when I saw something that would forever be seared into my heart and mind. As background, a friend of mine from Baton Rouge served in the Marines in the late 60's and early 70's and I had posted a note on his Facebook page thanking him for his service. He responded to me that the reception that the troops received back in the 70's was somewhat less than gracious. That thought was in my mind as I observed the following event. A young man and his two boys were making their way quietly among the throng of veterans there at the Wall. The man looked to be in his late 30's and maybe was in his early 40's and his boys looked to be about 10 and 12 years old. Each of those boys went up to veterans and said the following words; "thank you for your service to our country". They looked the vets in the eyes and reached out and shook hands with these men. The reaction was varied; some patted the boys on the back and said "thank you", some quietly nodded their heads probably overcome with the same emotion as I, and some shed tears. I was a wreck and had to go off by myself for a time of composure.
This morning as I write this, I am thinking of the father of those two boys and I wonder was his dad a Viet Nam soldier who didn't come home, or was he one of those who did come home and forever carried the remembrance of the days when he came home to the derisive words hurled the way of may of our men and women who served in Southeast Asia. Whatever his motivation, the action of this father and his sons gesture made Veterans' Day 2010 a date which I will not soon forget.
My last stop of the day was to be the Viet Nam Wall to take some snapshots of names of men from Coahoma County/Clarksdale, MS natives who gave their all in Viet Nam. As I approached the wall, I began to see me approaching the twilight of their lives; some walking with canes, some in wheelchairs and on oxygen, some standing ramrod straight and tall, but all looking worn and tired. The closer I got to the Wall, the more my emotions began to get the better of me as I was overhearing remembrances of men, now old, recalling a time when they were soldiers once, and young. I made my way to the book of names of the 58,000 plus who gave their all and began to look for three men in partucular; Henry Cauthen, Grady Muse and Pat Ross. The tears were already rolling down my cheeks as I found the panels and lines where their names would soon stare out at me from the black granite upon which they had been carved.
I took the photos and began to make my way back to the shade when I saw something that would forever be seared into my heart and mind. As background, a friend of mine from Baton Rouge served in the Marines in the late 60's and early 70's and I had posted a note on his Facebook page thanking him for his service. He responded to me that the reception that the troops received back in the 70's was somewhat less than gracious. That thought was in my mind as I observed the following event. A young man and his two boys were making their way quietly among the throng of veterans there at the Wall. The man looked to be in his late 30's and maybe was in his early 40's and his boys looked to be about 10 and 12 years old. Each of those boys went up to veterans and said the following words; "thank you for your service to our country". They looked the vets in the eyes and reached out and shook hands with these men. The reaction was varied; some patted the boys on the back and said "thank you", some quietly nodded their heads probably overcome with the same emotion as I, and some shed tears. I was a wreck and had to go off by myself for a time of composure.
This morning as I write this, I am thinking of the father of those two boys and I wonder was his dad a Viet Nam soldier who didn't come home, or was he one of those who did come home and forever carried the remembrance of the days when he came home to the derisive words hurled the way of may of our men and women who served in Southeast Asia. Whatever his motivation, the action of this father and his sons gesture made Veterans' Day 2010 a date which I will not soon forget.
Happy Birthday, PaPaw
Today, my grandfather, Benjamin Allen Crawford, Sr. would have been 116 years old. He was born in the little burb of Burgess, MS just outside of Oxford, Ms on November 12, 1894. He was the middle of three sons born to Frank Buford Crawford and Ida Sanders. He had a half sister named Zelph or Zilph, but every one called her Annie. In the census of 1900, there were 16 folks living in the Crawford household. My great-grandfather and great grandmother, great aunt, two great uncles, my grandfather, his aunt and four cousins whose surname was Briscoe and five boarders. Back then, high school went only to the 11th grade and my grandfather was finished with high school by the age of 17 around 1911. He and his older brother, Ivy were in the same class, if I remember the story correctly. Ivy went on to Ole Miss, and my grandfather went to work to help support the family as a brick mason. The war broke out in Europe in 1914, the year Papaw turned 20 and he was drafted, trained and shipped to France sometime in the fall of 1917 where he served in the Meuse Argon campaign. He was discharged sometime in 1919 and returned to the states to practice his trade as a brick mason.
By the time he got back to the states, his father was in failing health and had moved to Marianna, Arkansas where Annie, his half sister had moved and married a man by the name of Ike McCain. Ike and my Uncle Doc would become involved in the farming business in Marianna after Uncle Doc finished med school at Tulane University and moved to Marianna to set up his practice. Papaw met Ludie Mae Miller who was my great grandfather's nurse and they eventually married in about 1923. In April of 1925 my Aunt Nora was born and in November 1926, my dad came along.
Papaw was, by my remembrance, a hard working man. He loved good barbeque, beer and unfiltered Camel smokes and while he wasn't vocal about his faith, he was serious about the Bible. He was his own version of the Gideons; buying Bibles and distributing them to folks whenever and wherever he saw the need. I think about him almost daily and especially when I run across something that reminds me of his time here on earth.
By the time he got back to the states, his father was in failing health and had moved to Marianna, Arkansas where Annie, his half sister had moved and married a man by the name of Ike McCain. Ike and my Uncle Doc would become involved in the farming business in Marianna after Uncle Doc finished med school at Tulane University and moved to Marianna to set up his practice. Papaw met Ludie Mae Miller who was my great grandfather's nurse and they eventually married in about 1923. In April of 1925 my Aunt Nora was born and in November 1926, my dad came along.
Papaw was, by my remembrance, a hard working man. He loved good barbeque, beer and unfiltered Camel smokes and while he wasn't vocal about his faith, he was serious about the Bible. He was his own version of the Gideons; buying Bibles and distributing them to folks whenever and wherever he saw the need. I think about him almost daily and especially when I run across something that reminds me of his time here on earth.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
In a Small Town
John Cougar Mellencamp wrote and performed a song called "Small Town" in which he sings the praises of being "small town".
I moved to the big city years ago. Jackson, Ms was the first, then New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Nashville, Baton Rouge again, and New Orleans and finally Metro DC. I can say with all honesty and clarity, I prefer the small town. Small town people seem to be more genuine and heartfelt. They can be cliquish and petty, sometimes gossipy and narrow-minded, but deep inside they believe in the things that work...hard work, spending less than they make, working for the betterment of community.
So, today as we go to the polls and elect governors and representatives on the state level and Congress on the Federal level, let us elect the person who best represents what is best for our community and ultimately for our larger community, the United States of America.
I moved to the big city years ago. Jackson, Ms was the first, then New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Nashville, Baton Rouge again, and New Orleans and finally Metro DC. I can say with all honesty and clarity, I prefer the small town. Small town people seem to be more genuine and heartfelt. They can be cliquish and petty, sometimes gossipy and narrow-minded, but deep inside they believe in the things that work...hard work, spending less than they make, working for the betterment of community.
So, today as we go to the polls and elect governors and representatives on the state level and Congress on the Federal level, let us elect the person who best represents what is best for our community and ultimately for our larger community, the United States of America.
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