September 10 '05 |
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Volume 484 |
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Bodock 2005
The Last Saturday In August
Wouldnt
you know it; we have possibly the coolest Saturday temperatures in the history
of the Bodock Festival and Sarah had to work? Not that she would have gone
of her own free will, otherwise, but I like to think I might have been able
to persuade her. I dont know why Sarah dislikes festivals, but she
claims they are among her least favorite events.
As a general rule, Im not all that fond of festivals either, though
I have been known to attend an occasional craft show in Tupelo and even bought
a hand-painted, personalized mailbox, once. Yet, if other folks didnt
spend anymore at a festival than I do, then there probably wouldnt
be a profit motive for having a festival.
For several years, Gail Sappington and her brother, Don Howell, both of whom
now live in Hattiesburg, MS, have exhibited their crafts and artwork at
Pontotocs annual Bodock Festival. This year, they did not. At first,
I thought I had merely overlooked their booth, which has been near the center
of the Court Square Park in recent years, but Miss Callie Young informed
me Saturday morning that she had received a note from Gail stating she and
Don would not be at this years event.
I was disappointed upon hearing neither would be here, as Ive come
to look forward to visiting Gail and Don each August, catching up on Howell
Family news, and usually finding something to purchase at their booth.
Dons woodcarvings and Gails inspirational artwork are unique
collectables, but more than that for me, their crafts contain enough of their
respective "blood, sweat, and tears" to elicit a memory each time I reach
for one of Dons wooden spoons or pick up one of Gails inspirational
cards.
In retrospect, I might not have had enough time to visit with Gail and Don
as I would have liked, for Miss Virginia Dillard "enlisted" my help in greeting
visitors at the Downtown Post Office and Museum, operated by the Pontotoc
County Historical Society.
"We need someone at the front door for a couple of hours to greet visitors,"
she said, "and to open the door for the musicians."
She had already told me the Historical Society was sponsoring a series of
programs focused on Pontotoc Countys musical heritage.
"I can handle that," I spoke, all too quickly and confidently.
"You need to be there by eleven oclock," Miss Virginia stated.
"Thats when the dulcimer demonstration starts."
I arrived at the museum around ten-thirty to find it a beehive of activity.
Members of the Historical Society were setting up chairs and tables in the
lobby. Seeing Mae Rutherford behind the service window of the Post Office,
I spoke to her.
"Well Mae, it looks like you would have fixed yourself up for today," I teased.
"I put on this starched shirt," she responded, "but I suppose youre
talking about my hair."
Mae generally takes my teasing good-naturedly.
"Oh, you know Im kidding you!" I replied.
She smiled, knowingly.
In the next moments, I was beset by first one Historical Society member pulling
me off one task and on to another task, until I felt like a rubber band nearing
its breaking point. It wasnt that I didnt want to help as needed;
it was that I couldnt do everything I was being asked to do,
simultaneously. I decided the best thing for me was to station myself at
the front door and concentrate on the job I had first agreed to do for Miss
Virginia. That didnt insulate me entirely from others, but they had
more trouble finding me.
Around one oclock, I slipped away from the museum long enough to grab
a sandwich at home.
I returned to the museum to find a Singing School demonstration in effect.
Stanley Wise Jr. was leading listeners through a quick-paced course of the
basics of reading musical staffs using shaped notes. Singing schools are
less popular than they were fifty to seventy-five years ago, but they are
still around so too are song books with shaped notes, but theyre
somewhat rare.
Singing schools have long provided a valuable service for aspiring choir
members as well as helping those who simply want to carry a better tune in
the congregation. However, as Baptists rush headlong into the boring pit
of unison singing brought on by "words only" worship choruses displayed on
jumbo screens, I dont see much of a future for singing schools among
Baptist congregations.
I volunteered to take Miss Callie home in the mid-afternoon, and by the time
I returned to the museum, various groups of singers were performing church
hymns, sometimes encouraging their audience to participate. Though I enjoyed
the music, I decided to spend some of the afternoon with my cousin, Shannon
Carter, who was in the basement of the museum inspecting items he had donated
to the museum to populate the General Store or be displayed as the Historical
Society deemed appropriate.
Shannon was accompanied by his younger daughter and her daughter. I noted
that Shannons mental faculties have deteriorated significantly in recent
years and observed it is now difficult to carry on a normal conversation
with him. Still, I was grateful for the opportunity to discuss various
collectables with him, knowing that this might well be my last chance to
do so.
I also spent several minutes at the Habitat For Humanity booth adjacent to
the museum. Jason and I had set up one of my cookout canopies Thursday night
to provide shelter for Barbara and others manning the Habitat booth. Rayanne
and her Belmont family were on hand to hear Anna sing at four oclock
on the Courthouse steps where live entertainment had begun before I arrived
that morning. Barbara and I joined them in the park to cheer for Anna.
Returning to the museum for my final trip, I was surprised to hear singing
inside. A small group of listeners were seated in metal folding chairs. They
were listening to four singers, also seated, who had squared off facing each
other. The only member of the group that I recognized was Chuck Howell, director
of the local power association.
The group was singing Sacred Harp music, which makes use of shaped-note hymnals.
According to Dr. Warren Steel of the University of Mississippi, "Sacred Harp
singers use all (seven) notes of the musical scale, but call them by only
four names. The major scale goes Fa sol la fa sol la mi fa, instead of Do
re mi fa sol la ti do. "Mi" is the seventh note of the major scale."
Sacred Harp singing has a unique beauty that not everyone can appreciate,
but its a beauty that is appreciated by many. I continued to listen
to the singers until they called it a day and left.
Afterwards, I stayed at the Habitat booth until Barbara was ready to leave,
which was shortly after five oclock. It had been a long day, and while
I was tired, I was also energized by the music, songs, programs, demonstrations,
and visits with family and friends throughout the day. For some folks, the
Bodock Festival is all about crafts, athletic events, parades, and food.
For me, its more a social event in which theres a chance to visit
with friends and enjoy the program offerings by the Pontotoc County Historical
Society.
The Culture Of
Blame By Rich Galen
On assigning blame for Hurricane Katrina: "Let me make this clear: Everything
which has happened as the result of Hurricane Katrina is my fault. Mine.
Alone. No one else's. Stop wasting energy pointing fingers and put your hands
to work helping out. It was me. Got it?
I was a United States Senator from Louisiana in 2001 when the levee at Lake
Pontchartrain was declared unsafe and I didn't have enough clout with my
Senatorial brethren to get sufficient money appropriated to fix it. It was
my fault.
Oh. I almost forgot. I was the Commander-in-Chief of all United States Armed
Forces in the 1960s which includes the Corps of Engineers. The cost-benefit
analysis? My fault.
It is my fault that, as the Governor of Louisiana, I didn't foresee the need
to have enough Louisiana National Guard troopsthe vast majority of
whom are NOT currently in Iraq, or Afghanistan or, for that matter,
Indianapre-positioned and ready to preserve order. I, frankly, forgot
that there is a portion of the population which will steal anything from
anyone given any opportunity and then will blame it on me because I
didn'tin spite of ample warnings by sociologists from large Eastern
Universitiesforesee the need to have 27" flat-screen television sets
available to every family in the New Orleans city limits as soon as the
electricity went out. That one WAS my bad.
It is my fault that, as Mayor of New Orleans, I was boogying down Bourbon
Street the night before the hurricane hit rather than being where I should
have beenon the roof of the Superdome pounding in extra nails to hold
the roof on.
As the architect of the Superdome, it was my fault for claiming that the
Dome could survive 200 mile-per-hour winds. It couldn't even handle a relatively
gentle 160 mile-per-hour zephyr. Strap me to my drafting table and set me
adrift.
Global warming? My fault. Despite the fact that nearly every serious
climatologist in America has stated over and over again that there is no
clear evidence tying human-generated greenhouse gasses to global warming,
and even if there were, there is no evidence tying global warming to hurricanes
in the Atlantic basin, I was opposed to the Kyoto treaty and so it is my
fault.
It is also my fault that during the administration of Bill Clinton the U.S.
Senate rejected the terms of the Kyoto protocols by a vote of 95-0. That
would be zero, zilch, nada, nil, bupkis.
As the Grand Poohbah in Charge of all TV Coverage, it is my fault that there
is constant video of looters and almost none of humanitarian activities.
I am the person who issued the statement: 'No more rescue footage UNLESS
the person rescued complains about how long they had to wait or, if he shoots
at the rescuers.'
And, finally, as Chairman of the National Association of Gasoline Producers
it is my fault that I had the bad judgment to put so much of my drilling,
refining and transportation assets in a hurricane-prone area like the Caribbean
basin. What...was...I...thinking? If I could re-do that whole thing, I would
have put all that equipment in Lake Erie and Lake Michigan. There may not
be any oil there, but hurricanes are very rare. So. There you have it. Everything
that has happened is my fault. Now. Shut up and help."
Patriot No. 05-36: 5 September 2005
Source - http://federalistpatriot.us
Bodock Beau
Martha Vs. Maxine
The following was submitted by Ken Gaillard. It compares helpful hints from
Martha Stewart followed by a retort from caustic "Maxine."
To keep potatoes from budding, place an apple in the bag with the
potatoes.
Buy Hungry Jack mashed potato mix, keep
it in the pantry for up to a
year.
When a cake recipe calls for flouring the baking pan, use a bit of
the dry cake mix instead and there won't be any white mess on the outside
of the cake.
Go to the bakery! They'll even decorate it for
you.
Wrap celery in aluminum foil when putting in the refrigerator and it will
keep for weeks.
Celery? Never heard of it!
To be continued
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