April 24 '04
Volume 412


Spring Break Felicia In The Carribean

Spring break, Montego Bay Jamaicawhen I was a college student, was not a widely celebrated event. To be sure, a few guys and gals made the trek to Fort Walton, Florida or Biloxi, MS to overindulge themselves in sand, sun, surf, booze, and sometimes sex, but for most the trip fell short of the snares of sexual sins. I imagine there's more sinful activity among college students on spring break now than ever before, but I've not researched the thought. Yet, having watched the upheaval created by the sexual revolution of the seventies and the insatiable appetite of the media regarding all things sexual during the nineties, I think the assumption that college students are more promiscuous these days is a valid one.

About a month ago, Ole Miss released its students for spring break. My niece, Felicia Brown was one of thousands who left the campus for a period of relaxation and recuperation from the daily grind of obtaining an education. Okay, I know the real education comes later, but I'm using the vernacular that makes mom's and dad's proud of their offspring's efforts and makes it sound as though their money is being used for a worthy pursuit, as in "an education."

As a graduate of Ole Miss thirty-nine years ago, I know what I'm talking about with respect to "an education." Surely, upon graduation, I had more knowledge than when I enrolled there, and I was surely exposed to a lot more knowledge than I actually acquired, but I wouldn't go so far as to say I was educated when I graduated. Yes, I thought I was, and that may well have been the first time I was wrong about anything. However, I did receive a degree and a nice diploma, but my education was not complete then and almost forty years later it's still not finished.

Felicia has another year at Ole Miss before her real education begins, but her mama is looking forward to seeing her graduated so she can retire from one of her two jobs that is required to make ends meet and pay for her daughter's schooling. As a freshman, Felicia got to experience dorm life at Ole Miss; something that I am told is a lot worse than when I lived on campus. Since freshmen are the only students of Ole Miss who are required to live on campus, Felicia found a great place to live off-campus starting her sophomore year. It was a brand new townhouse a few blocks from the campus, and the rent was reasonable, since the owner's daughter was one of the tenants, and, Felicia, being a good friend of the owner's daughter, may have qualified for a discount.

Through the years, Felicia has been blessed with friends who can afford some of the nicer things in life and have often invited her to share a vacation or excursion with them, expenses paid, of course. Brad and Julie Henry who have used Felicia as a babysitter have been kind to invite her along on family vacations. Similarly, her former employer, Billy Montgomery of Montgomery Drugs in Pontotoc, and his family invited Felicia to attend the Cotton Bowl this past football season.

More recently Felicia was invited by her roommate and her roommate's mom to travel with them on a cruise to Mexico, the Cayman Islands, and Jamaica. I don't know what the price of the cruise was, but Felicia tells me she spent about seventy-five dollars of her own money.

"Our cruise ship had several floors or levels, much like a hotel," Felicia explained. "Some rooms had a porthole window, but some didn't. It's like the lower the level the cheaper the room, with the most expensive rooms being on the upper levels and many of those had a balcony. Mary Gardner and I had a balcony and a room all to ourselves. Miss Pamela had her own room with a balcony."

"Now it's one thing to take a cruise, but it's another thing to have a room with a balcony," I thought.

I was still recovering from my recent surgery as Felicia talked excitedly about her experiences. I remember asking her to write it all down in order that I could share her story with readers of this newsletter. I got a half-hearted commitment, which has yet to be fulfilled. Felicia has been far too busy with school, work, and preparation for the upcoming Miss Mississippi pageant in Vicksburg in late June, for her to consider the promise she made to her uncle.

It was in Mexico that Felicia had an unpleasant encounter with a native.

"We were walking along when somebody grabbed me," she recalled, motioning to her backside. "It made me so mad! I whirled around and was about to give him a stiff arm to his chest when I noticed he was wearing a mesh shirt. I didn't want to touch a sweaty chest, so I didn't follow through. I just glared at him, angrily."

However, she came away from Mexico with more than a bad experience. Miss Pamela, who had just spent a few grand on some personal jewelry, insisted Felicia pick out something for herself.

"Mary Gardner told her I liked rubies because my birthstone is a ruby, so Miss Pamela found this ring with rubies and diamonds, and she bought it for me," Felicia stated, while proudly showing me her new ring.

At one point during the trip Felicia recalled going to what sounded like a petting zoo for stingrays.

"They were all around me and the guy said we could feed them, if we put the food on top of our fist," she elaborated, while she demonstrated the technique to me. "But, I didn't feed any of them. About the time we were asked to return to the small boat that brought us out to the place with all the stingrays, I asked the guy on the boat to toss me a life preserver. We were told not to swim by kicking our feet because if we accidentally kicked a stingray, it would sting us. He didn't want to toss me the life preserver because it was labeled "for life saving only," but I told him I wasn't swimming back to the boat. Finally, he threw it to me and pulled me to the boat."

"The cruise ship had all sorts of musical entertainment, but my favorite was an old guy singing country music," Felicia remembered. "We got to be good buddies, by the end of the cruise. I'd request a country favorite then take-on over his performance. He loved it. I got to thinking that's something Uncle Fred should do. He didn't have a band, just a guitar and a box he'd punch in different settings for accompaniment. Uncle Fred could do that."

I heard Felicia recount her spring break trip more than once, and what is shared here is entirely from my memory. If Felicia gave an honest accounting, and I have no reason to think otherwise, then there was no shipboard romance. Instead, hers was a week of fun, a gift to enjoy from a kind benefactor, her roommate's mom.


Jason’s Jaunt To Denver & Omaha

I try to encourage readers of this newsletter to pack a copy of RRN whenever they take a vacation, and if they have the opportunity, to send us a snapshot with a note telling us where RRN's been. My family members don't seem to do much better than the average reader does in responding to my requests. My niece, Felicia Brown, went on a trip and failed to pack a Ridge Rider newsletter, but then so did my son, Jason.

Jason flew to Denver on the Wednesday before Easter, to visit his new girlfriend, Lizz Cohoon. Readers may recall that Lizz came to Pontotoc the day of my prostate surgery and spent the remainder of the week with us. Lizz and Jason became acquainted via the Internet, but had not met face-to-face until Lizz’s arrival in February. Apparently, they were impressed enough with one another to schedule a second meeting, with Jason making the journey to Denver.

Jason had never flown before, except in his dreams and the time he made up a story for his sister about Elvis kissing him in an airport in Florida. His flight into Denver had some of the passengers concerned that the pilots had banked too sharply and they were in danger of crashing. His return flight wasn’t much better, as there was considerable air turbulence. There’s no danger that he’s about to take up flying professionally or as a hobby.

Jason must have guessed that I would be asking him to write an article concerning his trip to Denver, so instead of taking notes he took pictures. If a picture is worth a thousand words, it’s fairly accurate to say that his article consists of forty-six thousand words.

"Denver’s not up in the mountains," he shared, while flipping from one picture to the next on my computer’s monitor.

"Well they call it the mile high city," I responded.

It’s kind of flat, not mountainous in the city itself, but you can see mountains in the distance." He explained.

"How’d you like the altitude?"

"It didn’t bother me, except the inside of my nose got dry and wanted to crack and bleed a little."

"But, you weren’t nauseous like I was in Santa Fe?"

"No, I didn’t have that problem."

"Elk are everywhere; you can almost walk up and touch them," Jason commented as he pointed to elk outside one of the cabins in the photo.

The pictures were mostly of landscapes, but several photos showed Lizz and Jason posed in winter clothes against a breathtaking backdrop of snowcapped mountains, rocks, or other natural wonder.

"Ever hear of Cabela’s?" he questioned.

"Yeah, they compete with folks like L.L Bean and Bass Pro Shops."

"Well, here we are in front of one of their retail stores."

It never occurred to me as I was viewing the pictures that the Cabela’s he had photographed was in Kearney, Nebraska instead of Denver. But, when I couldn’t find a listing for a Cabela’s in Denver, I figured he must have made the picture either driving to Omaha or on the return to Denver. Jason and Lizz drove from Denver to spend Easter with Lizz’s parents, Al and Holly Cohoon, in Omaha. Jason remembers that it rained on them all the way to Omaha except for about the last thirty or so miles. Since the photo has mostly blue sky, I’m guessing they were on their way back to Denver.

Jason enjoyed the opportunity to meet Lizz’s parents and thinks he made a favorable impression on her family. Jason’s somewhat picky with respect to what he’ll eat, so it did my heart good to hear that he had been exposed to foods not considered altogether traditional for Easter in the South. Pork tenderloin is a good choice for a family meal, but it's not one I associate with Easter.

Jason was intrigued with the small gas grill Lizz's dad had on the patio, but then Jason is more accustomed to those I have.

"We don't grill very often," Mr. Al Cohoon explained to Jason. "And, it's too cold to in the winter."

"I told Lizz if she spent much time around me, she'd discover grilled foods are the norm," Jason stated.

"Where did y'all go to church on Sunday?" I asked.

"I don't remember the name, maybe Brookside, but it was an evangelical church. They had a praise team with a band and the 'big screens' where the words to the songs were shown as well as some video. The church met in the gymnasium because they had outgrown their sanctuary. They plan to build a new sanctuary when they outgrow the gym."

Jason and I disagree over how long it will be until the churches here in Pontotoc try to get in the groove with the rest of the country's "feel good Christianity" and toss out the organ, the choir, bring in praise teams, install big screens, and incorporate drama and interpretative dance into worship services. He says it'll be ten years or longer happening here. I'm betting it will be sooner, but I'm hoping I'm wrong.

Jason and Lizz got back to Denver before the snow got bad enough to delay their return. They continued to sightsee, making their way to Buffalo Bill's museum in nearby Golden, CO. I wouldn't say Jason was ready to get back to Mississippi, especially if he could have spent more time with Lizz, but I know he was ready for some of his dad's burgers.


Bodock Beau Gonna Be A Bear

I don't believe in reincarnation or have much patience with those who do, but that doesn't prevent me from enjoying the humor below.

Gonna Be A Bear

In this life I'm a woman. In my next life I'd like to come back as a bear. When you're a bear you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for 6 months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that too.

If you're a girl bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you are sleeping and wake to partially grown, cute, cuddly cubs. I could definitely deal with that.

If you're a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs.
If your cubs get out of hand you swat them too. I could deal with that.

If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.

Yup, Gonna Be A Bear!

Submitted by Vickie Murphree

The Torch

Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions?

Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?

When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and
said nothing.

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children,
but there was a new wrinkle - there was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.

My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"

Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is
it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?

One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried." I smiled a warm smile.

The torch has been passed.

Submitted by Ken Gaillard

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