July 16 '05

                     Jason Carter's 32nd                                 

Volume 476

                   - Happy Birthday, Son -


Gotcha Glenda A Tale Ongoing

In a former life, perhaps, Joe Steen and Glenda Corley were brother and sister. How else is one left to understand the good-natured bantering with one another in which each seems to delight? I’m only aware of their activities as far back as my wife’s association with the local affiliate of Habitat for Humanity, but I hear their episodes predate 2001.

Gag gifts, pranks, surprise birthday parties are just some of the things these two friends take delight in bestowing upon each other. Brother Joe Steen is the construction supervisor for Habitat for Humanity and, as such, works closely with Barbara Carter, the affiliate’s Executive Director. Glenda Corley and her husband Rev. Kenneth Corley are devoted Habitat for Humanity volunteers.

I should sometime ask Glenda and Joe if they can mark the beginning of their friendship, and perhaps I shall someday, but I image theirs is a shared bonding that includes a commitment to serving God and their fellowman. Beyond a shared servant-syndrome, I have noted they each have a keen sense of humor, and both of them laugh a lot.

Glenda Corley is a fabulous cook and has more than a respectable talent when it comes to cake decorating. Joe Steen is lacking on both counts. So, when it comes to birthdays and holidays, Glenda has the edge on Joe. But, Joe, when planning a caper or developing a scheme, often contracts with other schemers like my wife. Thus, when Brother Joe hit upon the idea of surprising Glenda with a birthday party recently, he solicited Barbara’s help. Similarly, whenever Glenda wants to surprise Brother Joe, she typically involves Barbara, too. My role is rather mundane and is often relegated to that of "driver."

This year, Brother Joe and Barbara planned a modestly belated surprise for Glenda last Friday evening. They chose to keep arrangements simple and decided four guests would be sufficient. Barbara enlisted Sarah’s help, asking her to supply the birthday cake. I must have received a promotion, in that I was asked to make a freezer of ice cream.

Sarah made a layer cake and iced it with lime green icing and a freeform mock lace yellow trim, or so I was told. It looked like something out of the sixties to me. There was no Happy Birthday message, just a simple "Gotcha Glenda" that boasted of the schemers’ confidence in pulling off the surprise.

I made banana split ice cream, using a recipe someone gave me more than twenty years ago. And, since I used red cream soda, the whole concoction was strawberry pink. I didn’t have any maraschino cherries to dice up, so I mashed up a couple of spoonfuls of Smucker’s cherry preserves. It turned out fine and most folks wanted second helpings, plus the color of it and the cake blended well with the party napkins Barbara picked out.

The Corleys have recently bought a fifteen-acre spread on Black Zion road that has a tiny house near the road, into which they have enough basics for housekeeping to do them until they move into a huge house now under construction that is situated a couple of hundred yards further back from the road. So, the schemers decided to contact the Corleys to let them know that Barbara and Wayne wanted to drive out after dinner and see how the work on the new house was progressing. It was an innocent enough reason to divert suspicion from the true motive. So, Barbara and I loaded the cake, ice cream, and party supplies in the trunk of the car, picked up Brother Joe and his roommate, Father Pete Peterson and headed toward the Corley’s place.

Glenda met us at the door of the small house, and from what I observed, she was completely surprised when we began unloading the food and party supplies. Kenneth was still working on the new house, and when he hadn’t shown up twenty minutes later, we decide to drive down and tour the new house. The Corley’s have a son in the construction business who is helping them with their new house. Work was proceeding slowly, but we noted significant changes since our first visit more than two months ago.

After spending what my stomach considered as too much time at the new house, we loaded into two vehicles and headed back to the small house. Five of us sat in the cramped confines of a small room that served as a combo living room and dining room, visiting with each other while we waited on Kenneth to wash off some of the day’s work and change his clothes.

Finally, an hour and a half after our arrival, the cake was cut with little fanfare and served with a bowl of ice cream. Glenda thanked her guests for the gifts she received, and a good time was enjoyed by all.

It won’t be long until Joe and Glenda will be back to trying to pull something on one another, and I imagine my wife will be involved as well. I’ll probably be back to being just a driver, but that’s okay, because whatever transpires, food is always abundant.


Saturday In NYC By Barbara Carter

Saturday morning, our first full day in New York City, started at about 9:00 a.m. Actually, I got out of bed earlier, dressed and went downstairs to get a cup of coffee for Sarah Sue and me. After we had our coffee and Sarah Sue finished getting dressed, we headed for Le Pain Quotidien, after meeting Lamar in the lobby. This was to become our breakfast ritual each morning. They serve this wonderful basket of bread with a choice of three spreads: a praline brunette spread, a triple berry spread, and a third spread largely unremembered. They could have just saved their effort and brought us a gallon of the praline spread, because that’s all we wanted with our bread.

Occasionally Sarah Sue would order the Belgian waffle, which did look quite tasty, but the bread suited me just fine. They served the coffee in something similar to a soup bowl, but it was very good. Their prices were reasonable as well, and the restaurant was situated between the hotel and Lamar’s apartment. So on Saturday we established our breakfast pattern.

After leisurely finishing breakfast, we decided to stroll over to One Washington Square and go up to Lamar’s apartment to map out the day.

For years, I have read about the Mississippi Picnic in the Park (Central Park), and I have always thought this was so neat. Those residents of New York who have roots in Mississippi get together for an old fashioned Southern Picnic and show the rest of the folks up there how to really have fun. Well, I was excited when I found out that the Picnic was going to be on the Saturday we were in NYC. (I’m sure they made plans to have the Picnic when they found out Sarah Sue and I would be in town.)

Laura Guthrie, the wife of one of Lamar’s, Wayne’s, and Sarah Sue’s cousins, had told Lamar they would be at the picnic and to look them up. She called while we were at the apartment and said they would be under the "big tree."

After we enjoyed the view from Lamar’s terrace, saw the empty sky where the Twin Towers had loomed, and saw the pictures Lamar made from his terrace on 9/11 as the planes made the impact that changed our lives in America, we decided to catch the subway to Central Park and look for "the big tree." We soon found several "big trees", under which Southern-looking folks were walking around, eating, talking and listening to Blues music being performed on the bandstand. We moved through the areas, saw tents representing our various universities, but we never saw anyone we recognized. We moved up to the top of an incline, found a park bench that was in a shade and sat down to rest awhile. We did enjoy the music and people watching, but we only stayed about 45 minutes. That was enough for all of us, so we moved on down 5th Ave. to the Guggenheim Museum.

We spent about an hour in the Guggenheim and I mentioned that I was getting a little hungry. Lamar said he had not even thought about eating, but that it was past lunchtime. He suggested that we take the subway back to his neighborhood and go to a little Italian restaurant around the corner from our hotel to get something to eat.

The subway ride was maybe twenty or thirty minutes and when we came up the stairs to the street level it was pouring rain. Sarah Sue and I both had packed umbrellas for the trip, but they were at the hotel. I darted up the stairs and around a corner to get under an awning. Lamar and Sarah Sue joined me there, and we surveyed the situations. Across the street was a vendor selling, would you believe, umbrellas. We dashed across the street and bought his last two.

Lamar and I shared one umbrella and lead the way down the street. Sarah Sue lagged behind a bit, but she said she would keep up as long as she had us in her sight. We were pretty well soaked by the time we arrived at the Italian restaurant. Apparently others were trying to get in out of the rain as well, because all their seats were taken except one table right in the front doorway. We declined and went back up the street to another Italian place that was not quite so busy and ordered something light to eat. This seemed to be a true New York venture: subway rides, Central Park, museums, getting caught in the rain, and eating. What I didn’t realize was that the best was yet to come.

Refreshed and somewhat dried out, we decided to head back to the hotel to get ready for our evening at the Carlyle Hotel and the Eartha Kitt performance. From a couple of drowned rats, I guess Sarah Sue and I must have made some kind of transformation, because Lamar commented on our way to the Carlyle, "You ladies look lovely this evening." For a couple of country girls, Sarah Sue and I did feel that we fit in quite well with the crowd at the Café Carlyle

The Carlyle Hotel has been a Manhattan institution for 75 years and is situated on 76th St. and Madison Ave. This landmark features spectacular views of Central Park and has been home to princes, presidents and New Yorkers as well.

Café Carlyle has featured entertainment. From May 31 – July 2, Eartha Kitt performed in this intimate setting to crowds of somewhere between 50 – 75, nightly Tuesday through Friday nights and twice on Saturday nights. Saturday night, June 11, the Carter trio were among the audience guests. I don’t think there is a bad seat in the house, but ours was divine. We were at the corner, diagonally across from the grand piano on stage. I felt as if I could almost reach out and touch the piano. We were seated by the maitre d' and given a menu to peruse. We opted to go for dessert while we waited for the show to begin.

Eartha Kitt is 78 years old and is very petite. Of course her face was smooth and she had a big smile. I remember the first number she did was "I’m Still Here", and since I don’t know all of the lyrics, she may have improvised some to make the song fit her situation. It was powerful! But, then I don’t remember any of the numbers she sang that wasn’t powerful. She has so much power, in such a tiny body. For close to two hours she belted out songs, some of which were familiar, some that I had never heard, but all that were good. She would pause and interact with the audience and joke. She had one exchange with a gentleman in French. I don’t know what they said, but I was impressed. After she finished her last song and she received due appreciation from the audience, she worked her way among the dining tables, stopping to speak to individuals, shake hands with some, hug some, and she even patted Sarah Sue on the shoulder.

We truly felt a part of New York City that night. The lights, the glamour, the food, and the royal treatment was truly grand. Oh, what a night.

Contributed by Barbara Carter


Reader Statistics Another Update

Several weeks ago, due in part to a growing readership, an appeal for financial help was issued to all readers of Ridge Rider News. For most of the life of this newsletter, it has been our desire to offer it as a free publication. Yet, with monthly costs for the past year averaging nearly two hundred dollars per month, we decided to ask our readers for help, knowing not everyone would respond but confident that many would.

Ridge Rider News remains available in three different formats. Some persons receive a printed copy which is U.S. mailed to their mailing address, while a few folks receive a hand-delivered copy. Others have Internet access and prefer to read our web version, Ridge Rider News Online, which can be found at http://rrnews.org. Presently, the largest block of readers is those who receive an email copy of this newsletter.

Three months ago, we were printing sixty-six copies and mailing all but a handful of them to readers. Additionally, we emailed approximately forty-five copies and were aware that another five to ten folks read our newsletter directly from our website.

After asking readers for help, the distribution statistics have greatly changed. Of the sixty-six households formerly receiving printed copies, only thirty-two still do. Of the thirty-two printed copies, only twenty-three are mailed, the rest are hand delivered. We are proud of the fourteen families who voluntarily switched from printed copies to either email or Internet.

Additionally, we are pleased to announce that a total of fifteen families are now official, paid subscribers, who receive a mailed copy of this weekly newsletter. Their response indicates a level of satisfaction with our newsletter sufficient for them to pay the yearly subscription fee of $25.00.

We are grateful for the support and encouragement showered upon us in recent weeks which has been reflected in notes received from paid subscribers and in the willingness of many to convert from printed copies to email or Internet access. We consider it an honor that our newsletter is held in high regard by so many.

If we gave gold stars in order to recognize individual readers who have demonstrated the greatest degree of magnanimity, we would do so for the seven individuals who made financial contributions to this newsletter without receiving any direct benefit. We received a total of $215.00 from these, even though they had long ago elected to receive RRN via email or the Internet. Their generosity makes it possible for us to grant a one year’s subscription exemption to several readers for printed copies of this newsletter.

We regret the loss of fifteen families from our list of subscribers who chose neither to let us know of an alternate preference nor pay for a subscription. After this loss, our readership stands at 102 with a breakdown as follows:
Media Households
eMail 57
Print 32
Internet 13
Total 102

Ridge Rider News is proud of its readership, and barring unforeseen circumstances or providential hindrance, resolves to complete a tenth year of weekly publications.


Bodock Beau Take The Bait

A recent email inspired me to look on the Internet for fishing jokes. Here’s one I liked.

It was a cold winter day, when an old man walked out onto a frozen lake, cut a hole in the ice, dropped in his fishing line and began waiting for a fish to bite.He was there for almost an hour without even a nibble when a young boy walked out onto the ice, cut a hole in the ice not too far from the old man and dropped in his fishing line. It only took about a minute and WHAM! a Largemouth Bass hit his hook and the boy pulled in the fish.

The old man couldn't believe it but figured it was just luck. But, the boy dropped in his line and again within just a few minutes pulled in another one.This went on and on until finally the old man couldn't take it any more since he hadn't caught a thing all this time.

He went to the boy and said, "Son, I've been here for over an hour without even a nibble. You have been here only a few minutes and have caught about half a dozen fish! How do you do it?"

The boy responded, "Roo raf roo reep ra rums rrarm."

"What was that?" the old man asked.

Again the boy responded, "Roo raf roo reep ra rums rarrm."

"Look," said the old man, "I can't understand a word you are saying."

So, the boy spit into his hand and said, "You have to keep the worms warm!"


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