February 15 '03
Volume 350
Richard Rings
A Friendly Conversation
The two beef roasts
were semi-frozen, which is to say they were crunchy on the outside
and soft on the inside. My 10" scimitar steak knife effortlessly sliced the
two-inch thick slabs into manageable portions that fit easily into the meat
grinder. Unlike the meat slicer that I bought fifteen or more years ago,
the meat grinder is not a commercial model. Instead, it's a small attachment
for our Kitchen Aid mixer, but it serves my purposes and coupled with my
"butchering" skills, provides my household with freshly ground meat whenever
I need it. Like it's industrial and commercial counterparts the grinder has
both a course plate and a fine plate. I always push the chunks of beef through
the course grind first and the fine plate second.
I had just finished the course grinding process and was about to commence
the fine grinding when the phone rang. Barbara caught it in the living room
but not before I peeked at the caller ID in the kitchen and observed the
name "Marshall Vera" on the display. Actually, at the time, I was only able
to make out the Marshall portion of the name through the lower portion of
the progressive bifocal lens of my eyewear. Barbara stuck her head inside
the kitchen to let me know the call was for me.
"Do you still serve Heinz ketchup?" a male sounding caller asked.
"Do I what?" I responded, not quite certain I had heard correctly.
"Do you still serve Heinz ketchup at your house?" he wanted to know, before
questioning, "You don't know who you're talking to do you?"
He had scarcely repeated the initial question, when I knew exactly who the
caller was.
"I sure do," I replied, "It's my friend, Richard Pennington."
Richard and I once worked together in Indianola, MS, i.e., we worked together
in the sense we were in the same building and frequently passed each other
in the hallways and often went to lunch together. When Supervalu "regionalized"
several years ago, Richard ended up near Tuscaloosa, AL, where he and his
wife Jane bought an antebellum home in Greensboro, AL. I took a carload of
women in my family to visit the Penningtons a few years ago, and while all
of us were impressed with the antebellum home, Sarah took the honors for
"most envious."
"I just know I was meant to live in a home like that," she has pined on numerous
occasions.
Perhaps, that's true, though I don't think it's meant to be in her current
lifetime.
A few months ago, I ran into Danny McDonald, a representative of the private
label company for which both he and Richard were employed and asked how Richard
was doing since I had not seen or heard from Richard in a half-year or more.
In that conversation, Danny mentioned that he thought the Penningtons were
relocating to Tuscaloosa and selling their antebellum home in Greensboro.
Sarah had hoped we might all revisit the Penningtons last fall, but with
her working two jobs, we never found a good time to do so.
"I hope they don't sell that beautiful dining room table, or let it go with
the house," she moaned, when I shared the news with her, and in her best
impersonation of Scarlett O'Hara, "Oh, I'll never, get to see that beautiful
house again."
Like our dear departed mother, Sarah dwells more on the negative than the
positive, and I chided. "Now, Sarah, if you want to see that house again,
all you have to do is knock on the door and tell the folks you are a friend
of the former owner and would like to see what improvements they've made.
I'll bet you they'd invite you right in."
I really believe that, and they probably would, too. After all, my sister
can be authentically charming when she wants to be. Her biggest hurdle would
be getting to Alabama, not in getting to see the house again.
Richard and Jane have indeed moved to Tuscaloosa. They now live in the house
of Jane's mother, Vera Marshall, the person whose name was on my caller ID,
and I failed to recognize it. Danny, in our earlier conversation, had failed
to mention that Richard's job was eliminated in the last round of cuts when
the Southeast Region merged with the MidWest region.
Richard talked for the better part of thirty-five or forty minutes, as I
watched the semi-frozen ground meat soften and listened delightedly to the
compliments and praise Richard so generously passes out when describing the
Ridge Rider News newsletter. The meat could have spoiled, and I would not
have cared; I was enjoying the moment.
"And, that was the most beautiful Christmas Card, too!" Richard added. "Now,
that we're retired, we are going to travel. Are there any good camping spots
near Pontotoc? We've got a camper and Jane's just bought a Lincoln Navigator
to pull it. We are going to come see you, and we want you to come see us.
Tell Sarah, we don't have a swimming pool, but the Warrior River runs across
the back of our property. It's pretty and peaceful. Tell her she can drag
a lawn chair out in the middle of the river (a shallow area) and just sit
back and enjoy her mint julep."
I never got around to asking about the dining room table that Sarah loved
so. I could not even think of a single campground, but Pontotoc City Lake
and the nearby Natchez Trace State Park and Lake both have excellent camping
facilities.
Somehow, I did think to ask him about his favorite sandwich and got a surprise
answer.
"We were just talking about that the other day," he stated, and as he passed
the phone to his wife exclaimed, "Let Jane tell you about hers."
"My favorite sandwich is one I started making for my children when I couldn't
get them to eat cereal for breakfast, so like Bill Cosby, I figured, why
not chocolate cake? It's got flour, eggs, milk, butter, all the stuff they
won't eat for breakfast" she responded, remembering the humorous piece Cosby
did on his fixing breakfast for his children. "So, I thought up a sandwich
with lots of textures, taste, and nutrition. I mixed up butter, bananas,
peanut butter, crumbles of bacon, pecans, and raisins and spread it on wheat
bread; sometimes, I'd even grill it for them."
I had to admit, I had never thought of mixing up such a combination, but
I could see that it might be tasty.
When, Richard got back on line, he explained his favorite sandwich was garlic
bologna on white bread. For condiments, Richard likes mayonnaise and mustard
and Kosher dill slices. The dill slices, he was careful to point out, should
be cut lengthwise rather than crosswise.
Richard had already told me about his organic garden plot, and how we'd have
to come over and visit him when the vegetables started coming in this summer,
so I inquired, "Do you think that garlic bologna sandwich is better than
a ripe, fresh-out-of-the-garden, tomato sandwich?"
"No!" he laughed, after pondering the goodness of one of the finest and simplest
of all sandwich creations.
After bidding each other goodbye, I felt as though I had been hugged by a
good friend. Barbara made a batch of chili with half of the ground meat,
and it may well have been the good humor and jolliness of a friend's
conversation, but I swear the chili tasted better than normal.
War Clouds
Preemptive Strike Predicted
The threat of war hangs over us like a storm cloud about to unleash a downpour
or possibly worse. There's been plenty of debate over whether or not to attack
Iraq in order to persuade their leader to disarm, and there are polls indicating
a large majority of Americans favor a preemptive strike on Iraq.
I received an email this week from a guy who opposes the United States attacking
Iraq. I don't know the individual who penned the email, but I was on his
distribution list. Here is a portion of that email:
Iraq is not a threat to the US. This war has two causes: (1) the Bush
administration's desire to control Iraq's oil, and (2) the need for Bush
to take the American peoples' minds off the economy that is sinking toward
depression, the mushrooming federal budget deficit, our rapidly diminishing
civil liberties, and Bush's failure to capture Osama bin Laden…
I urge you to reflect on what it means for the US to invade Iraq without
a preponderance of evidence on our side. Is this the kind of country America
is? Is this the kind of world we want to create for our children?
I don't normally respond to emails where I am one of the many persons copied,
and am not the main addressee, but this one pulled my chain. My response
follows:
Personally, I don't want to see us involved in a war with Iraq. However,
I do not agree with you or with those who say this war is about oil or a
way to divert voter's attention from the economy or otherwise malevolent
motive.
I don't have a lot of respect for politicians, but I have to believe whatever
motivates our President, politically, is of a more altruistic nature than
the picture you paint.
I think it is important that voices opposing this or any war be raised, and
I think it incumbent that Americans understand why war is necessary. As to
having a preponderance of evidence on our side as a prelude to aggression,
I question, "How much is enough?"
In my opinion, America has sufficient justification to act upon existing
evidence that Iraq is engaged in developing chemical and biological weapons
and will eventually develop nuclear weapons, given the opportunity to do
so. Obviously, there are those who disagree and would prefer to see the actual
weapon before making a proactive decision.
Sadaam Hussein has not demonstrated a willingness to abide by the demands
of the International Community and cannot be trusted to do so in the
future.
There comes a time when we who would seek peace must decide that sanctions,
diplomacy and/or inspections are insufficient deterrents to conflict. But,
because we each have a different perspective, collectively determining when
that time has arrived is most difficult.
Do we wait for the "smoking gun" inspectors may find? Do we wait until one
of our allies is attacked? Do we wait until a nuclear warhead or bomb is
exploded in a major U.S. city? The latter is not something any of us want
to see happen.
Who among us knows the right thing to do?
I trust President Bush to make a well-informed decision. Will it be the right
decision? I don't know. Regardless the decision, he'll be danged if he does,
and he'll be danged if he doesn't.
If you were in his position and had all the evidence he has what would you
do?
I did not receive a response from the gentleman who had stirred me to respond,
but one of the folks I copied agreed with my position and was later criticized
by the other gentleman whom I would characterize as a "Bush hater."
Having watched our troop buildup in the Middle East for some time, now, I'm
prepared to go out on the limb of prediction and state that I think the United
States will attack Iraq before the end of February. My strongest hunch sets
the actual date as February 22nd, or possibly February
23rd. However, the reader should keep in mind here that I have
no political connections and am playing a hunch. Additionally, one should
consider that I predicted Bill Clinton would resign after lying to the American
people about his affair with Monica Lewinsky.
Bodock Beau
Redneck Love Poem
Valentines Day is upon us at the time of this issue. For eons (okay, a long
time), men have struggled with what to get their sweethearts on this day.
Jewelers suggest, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend."
Florists recommend roses, the flower that represents love. Restaurateurs
would have all lovers dining out to celebrate the occasion. Everyone with
a product to sell has a suggestion as well. Personally, I think there's something
to be said for considering the following poem, contributed by Patsy Patterson
of Pontotoc.
To My Valentines:
Kudzu is green, my dog's name is Blue,
And I'm so lucky to have a sweet thang like you.
Yore hair is like cornsilk a-flappin' in the breeze.
Softer than Blue's and without all them fleas.
You move like the bass, which excite me in May,
You ain't got no scales But I luv you anyway.
Your're as graceful as frog legs jist a-dancin' in the pan.
Yo're as fragrant as Sundrop right out of the can.
You have all yore teeth, for which I am proud;
I hold my head high when we're in a crowd.
On special occasions, when you shave yore armpits,
Well, I'm in hawg heaven, I'm plumb outta my wits.
And speakin' of wits, you've got plenty fer shore.
'Cuz you married me back in '74.
Still them fellers at work they all want to know
What I did to deserve such a purty, young doe.
Like a good roll of duct tape yo're there fer yore man,
To patch up life's troubles and stick 'em in the can.
Yo're as strong as a four-wheeler racin' through the mud,
Yet fragile as that sanger named Naomi Judd.
Yo're as cute as a junebug a-buzzin' overhead.
You ain't mean like no far ant upon which I oft' tread.
Cut from the best pattern like a flannel shirt of plaid,
You sparked up my life like a Rattletrap Shad.
When you hold me real tight like a padded gunrack,
My life is complete; Ain't nuttin' I lack.
Yore complexion, it's perfection, like the best vinyl sidin'
Despite all the years, yore age, it keeps hidin'.
And when you get old like a '57 Chevy,
Won't put you on blocks and let grass grow up heavy.
Me 'n' you's like a Moon Pie with a RC cold drink,
We go together like a skunk goes with stank.
Some men git roses on that special day
From the cooler at Kroger "that's impressive," I say.
Some men buy fine diamonds from a flea market booth.
"Diamonds are forever," they explain, suave and couth.
But for this man, honey, these will not do.
For you are too special, You sweet thang you.
I got you a gift, without taste nor odor,
Better than diamonds it's a new trollin' motor.
The following picture, titled, "Cajun Lottery Winner" might well have been
shot in the hills of Alabama.
Contributed by Rick Greene
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