December 12 '98             

Volume 132


November Fishing Sansing Invitational
Now In Season

My last major fishing expedition of the year began on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I had planned to leave Pontotoc around 8:00 a.m. and drive to Forest, MS, where I would join Jim Hess and Gordon Sansing. Jim was to drive over from Vicksburg, where he continues to serve as Minister of Music. However, it did not seem possible for me to get all of my last minute errands done and get away by the appointed time. I was about twenty minutes later leaving than I had intended. I took the shortest and quickest route I knew. The route took me south along Hwy. 15 to Dancy, where I connected with the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway, then to Kosciusko where I left the Trace and traveled along Hwy. 35 until I reached Forest.

You may recall that the last fishing trip I took, I forgot to pack a fish stringer. This trip was no different. I would prefer to blame the oversight on the fact that I chose fishing tackle from three tackle boxes and was apparently more concerned with choosing the correct spinner baits to catch bass, rather than something to secure them after the catch. While traveling the Trace, something in my subconscious told me I did not have a fish stringer for the outing. When I arrived in Carthage, MS, I took a quick detour to the local Wal Mart and purchased two stringers. One was a chain and snap type; the other a less complex one, consisting of a nylon cord with a metal ring on one end and metal spike on the other. I explained to the cashier my need for two stringers.

"I'm going fishing, and I am optimistic about catching fish," I stated, then we both laughed.

As I pulled to a stop in the driveway of Gordon Sansing's home, I checked the clock on the instrument panel of my Lumina; it read 11:00. I remembered telling both Gordon and Jim that I would be able to get to Forest by eleven. Still somewhat surprised I had made the 155-mile journey in such good time, I opened the door to get out and saw Jim Hess pulling into the driveway.

"Unbelievable," I thought, "what are the odds of two persons living 200 miles apart, arriving at a common destination each within 10 seconds of the other?"

A few minutes later we were visiting Elese and awaiting Gordon, who had gone into the Church office for a couple of hours. As is often the case, those who live furthest away arrive early, while those who live nearest arrive late.

Elese had prepared a hardy vegetable beef soup for us ahead of time and soon had some great grilled cheese sandwiches to serve along with the soup. We lunched and conversed until after noon when we loaded our gear into Gordon's pickup and boat and headed off to a nearby lake.

Overall, the afternoon's fishing was rather poor, though everyone but me managed to catch a fish. Gordon drug in a few bream as well as bass, and Jim faired almost as well as Gordon. I believe it was Jim who said something regarding the Charlie Johnson award. I explained to Jim that the award was no longer being used, since our mutual friend, Kenneth Prewett, retired the award. I also mentioned that I had a good story, soon to be written, about the origin of the award and the stigma associated with it. That story will appear in a future issue of RRN.

I prefer to think my lack of success was related to not taking along any light fishing tackle. I did not pack an ultra-light spinning rig, and that may have contributed to my not catching any fish. The lake we fished is one I would like to return to in the spring when the water is higher and the algae and scum are less of a hindrance. I am certain we would have had much better success if the water conditions were more conducive to use of spinner baits and crank baits.

We returned to Gordon's home a few minutes before six o'clock, where Gordon quickly filleted all the fish. Gordon lit his natural gas grill and left me in charge of grilling our supper, while he and Jim made a dash to Wal Mart to purchase additional artificial lures for use the next day. Elese had marinated some nice sections of boneless pork loin, which I took to the grill as soon as the grill was hot enough for use. It makes me a little nervous to cook on someone else's grill, especially if I have never used it before. When it comes to cooking a steak or burger, my confidence rating is rather high, but when it comes to pork or chicken products, I tend to err on the side of caution. It doesn't hurt anyone to eat a steak if it is cooked rare, medium rare, or medium, and a burger is not difficult to judge whether or not it is done enough, but pork and chicken need to be cooked thoroughly, though not to a point of dryness. Under cooked pork can give you a case of trichinosis, and under cooked chicken may result in salmonella poisoning. Under cooked burgers can infect you with the deadly e-coli bacteria, but an under cooked beefsteak is simply juicy and delicious, unless you are a vegetarian or animal rights activist. Whatever fears I had concerning over cooking or under cooking the meat dissipated when I removed a meat portion from the grill and cut into it for inspection. It was pretty, nearly perfect. I quickly returned to the grill to remove the rest of the portions.

Jim and Gordon returned from their shopping about the same time that I took the meat off the grill. We were soon seated around the kitchen table preparing to delve into a delicious supper of grilled pork loin, English peas, rice w/mushrooms, along with Mrs. Schubert's homemade style dinner rolls. Following the giving of thanks, we heartily delved to a shade shy of indulgence. Earlier, I had watched Elese preparing a banana pudding, so I knew to save room for dessert. I have never seen in print anywhere what the difference is between banana puddin' and banana pudding, but I tend to believe it has to do with whether or not the cook puts meringue on top of the dessert. Oh, I suppose, it might depend on the sophistication of the preparer or whether or not it is prepared in the city or the country. Having interjected all of that, you probably have lost sight of the fact we had eaten to a point of near indulgence. Yet by the time we finished the meal, replete with dessert, we had definitely indulged ourselves.

The remainder of the evening was spent in the den, where we sat with a TV tuned to low volume, and chatted about our interests and news in general. I remember Gordon freshened the monofilament fishing lines on his several reels. Jim and Elese got into an engaging conversation concerning something about "baseline salaries" for persons in the ministry, especially pastors. I asked a few questions for clarification, but mostly listened. Occasionally, I would attempt to answer a question from Gordon or Elese regarding how someone, whom they remembered from Pontotoc, was doing. Around eleven o'clock, we retired for the evening.

…to be continued.


Christmas Meltdown Written By Ms. Sarah C. Brown


Tiny Tears was the most popular doll on the market for Christmas, 1957. She was a wonder to behold with genuine synthetic hair, a plaintive little voice that cried, "Ma-Ma," and upon being fed a bottle of water, eyes that cried real tears. As I recall Tiny Tears was the only item on my Christmas list.

Christmas morning I was delighted not only to find a Tiny Tears doll, complete with a wardrobe for her, but also a plastic doll buggy. It was one of the few Christmases I actually got what I asked for. Alas, the joy was not to last.

Uncle Earl and Aunt Billie had motored over from Senatobia (they were the only folks I knew who motored over) to spend Christmas at our house since Granddaddy and Grandmother Carter lived with us. Then too, they did not have any children, and they lived their Kodak Christmas moments watching us open our presents. It was a perfect Christmas, resplendent with food and fun. The day passed gloriously, even at naptime, because Tiny Tears could be put down for a nap in her buggy while I slept nearby in my bed.

Sometime after dark, Mama smelled something burning, and a frantic search led to the source. Tiny Tears, in her little buggy, had rolled into a space heater and suffered a meltdown. There was a gaping hole in the end of the buggy, but worse there was a gaping hole in the left frontal portion of Tiny Tear's head. No one knew how it could have happened, but Mama's investigative streak led her to believe that when Wayne came in from visiting his friends, he kicked the doll buggy, and because the floors in the house were so unlevel the buggy must have rolled too close to the heater. Wayne steadfastly maintained his innocence, but Mama always said he did it because he was mad about being told he had to stay around the house because it was Christmas.

Aunt Billie thought it was a shame about the doll, but then added that I should have been more careful. Daddy was just glad the house didn't burn down. Uncle Earl told me that if that was the worse thing that happened to me in life, I'd be lucky. Granddaddy and Grandmother Carter weren't too sympathetic, either. Generally speaking, it may have been one of the greatest tragedies of my life, but nobody else thought it was such a tragic event.

That night, I cried myself to sleep and chalked up that Christmas as my least favorite. My own children have always been amazed and horrified that Mama and Daddy did not go the next day and buy me a new Tiny Tears and doll buggy. The truth is that they didn't have the money to buy replacements. So, Mama made Tiny Tears a bonnet to cover the hole in her head and positioned a doll pillow to fill up the hole in the buggy so that the doll did not slide out as I strolled her around the house.

Mama used the mishap as a learning experience for me. Often, when I was playing with the doll she would tell me that Tiny Tears was like a real person and that you couldn't throw her away or stop loving her just because she was damaged and had been a disappointment. I can still hear Mama say that the people we love change with time and that maybe Tiny Tears would help me remember that we are never to stop loving people just because they do not live up to our expectations. Oddly, of all the dolls, I had in childhood, Tiny Tears was my personal favorite because she needed more love than all the others did. And, she needed me to keep her bonnet positioned just right so that no one could see the hole in her head.


Christmas Skates Written By Mrs. Wayne L. Carter

When I was five years old, my brother and I slipped from our beds sometime between midnight and 3:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. We were wide-eyed with anticipation as we crept into the living room and peeked underneath the tree to see if Santa had made a stop yet. As I started visually sorting through the array of toys, fruit, candy and fireworks, my eyes fell on something metal. I could hardly believe what I saw, a pair of sidewalk roller skates. I sat down and tried to adjust the skates, but Gene, my brother, had to help me tighten the wing nut that held tight the length of the skate, and use the skate key to clamp them on my shoes.

Mother and Daddy were in bed sleeping when I slid through the doorway to show them what Santa had brought.

Holding up a foot to show them, I called out excitedly, "Look, what Santa left!"

I think the "kerplunk" as my bottom hit the floor jarred them from bed.

Those were my first skates. I skated everywhere on those skates—to town to pick up a couple of items at the grocery store—to and from school—on the chained off streets used for play area at the Ripley Elementary School, at recess—to and from friends' houses. I felt as though I had wheels on my feet constantly.

When I was thirteen a roller skating rink open in Ripley. All the teens went to the rink on Friday and Saturday nights. You could hardly find a parking space, and many times we would have to wait for rental "shoe skates". Round and round the rink we would skate, weaving in and out of the crowd on the rink floor. I loved skating.

The next year I got a pair of white leather shoe skates for Christmas. I was so excited I slept with the skates on my bed that night.

That pair of skates is in our attic now. They are pretty well worn and probably in need of repair, but a reminder of many memorable hours skating, working out routines with dance partners, and dreaming of entering competitions on the rink floors. By the time I had entered the rink world, I was past most of the bumps and bruises from falls, but those shoe skates left many, many blisters on my toes.

I don't remember the last time I wore those shoe skates; maybe it was a few years ago at Anna's birthday party. I didn't fall then, either.

Those skates have been retired, because, if you remember, last year I wanted a pair of "in-line" skates for Christmas. Wayne came through with a nice pair, so Anna and I can go roller blading when she visits.

I've been skating for more years than I care to reveal, but I just wonder what the next skate variation will be and just how old will I be then.


Christmas Eve '98 Rayanne Decorates

Rayanne has something of a knack for decorating. During the aftermath of the Thanksgiving Holiday, she, along with help from her indentured slave (husband), and with the conscripted help of her first cousin, Felicia Brown, set about making her parents' home, suitable for the the Christmas season. Pieces of furniture in both the den and the living room were soon relocated. Much of the furnishings that are for seating in the den were hauled to the living room and vice versa. The result was a more aesthetically pleasing coordination of colors and fabrics more commonly associated with Christmas.

A new Christmas tree was purchased and smartly decorated. In fact, Felicia bemoaned that our tree actually looked better than the one she and Sarah had recently erected in their home. The new tree is identical to the one Felicia picked out at Wal Mart last year, but the difference must be in the artistic flair of Rayanne. Sorry, Felicia, maybe you can talk Rayanne into helping you next year.

Inside the house, Rayanne used branches from our old Christmas tree to decorate the mantle in the den with greenery, and outside to line the ledge of our living room window. I noticed several other items, some new, some reconditioned, hanging on the living room walls to contribute to a holiday atmosphere. It seems Rayanne enjoys the best genes from both her parents. It is my thinking she inherited her artistry from dear old dad and her enthusiasm for housework from her mom.

Again, this year, all RRN readers and their families are invited to this writer's Christmas Eve Open House at 181 8th Street, Pontotoc, MS. The format will be such that anyone is welcome to drop by anytime after 5:00 p.m. and visit as long as desired, up until…say 11:30 p.m.

Barbara, Lillie Belle, Jason, and I encourage you to come and celebrate Christmas Eve at our place!


Bodock Beau Owed To A Spell Checker

Beau sort of liked the following poem. He said it might explain how this newsletter comes to have those occasionally misused words.

I have a spelling checker,

It came with my PC

It plane lee marks four my revue

Miss steaks eye can knot sea.



Eye ran this poem threw it.

Your sure reel glad two no

Its vary polished in it's weigh,

My checker tolled me sew.



A checker is a bless sing.

It freeze yew lodes of thyme.

It helps me right awl stiles two reeds,

And aides me when aye rime.



To rite with care is quite a feet

Of witch won should be proud.

And wee mussed dew the best wee can,

Sew flaws are knot aloud.



And now bee cause my spelling

Is checked with such grate flare,

Their are know faults with in my cite.

Of none eye am a wear.



Each frays comes posed up on my screen

Eye trussed to be a joule.

The checker poured oar every word

To cheque sum spelling rule.



That's why aye brake in two averse

By righting wants two pleas.

Sow now ewe sea why aye dew prays

Such soft wear for pea seas!



Poet of Poet Tree knot known-  

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