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In our language, the meaning of 'hag' has been distorted. Among the Kells (my mother was Irish), it is the final stage in the life of a woman. There are three: The Maiden/Virgin, untaken, untamed, wild and free. She's full of fire, dreams, visions and kinetic energy. She is the Waxing Moon. The Matron, in the full maturity of her child-bearing years. She is the great earth mother, the lover, the comforter, the healer. She is the Full Moon. The Hag. Seasoned and wise in the ways of the world, she holds her blood and sometimes her tongue. She enjoys honor and respect among those who hold her favor, and fear/caution among those who have earned her ire. She is the Waning Moon. I take The Hag for Hag Struan, a character in James Clavell's novel Tai-Pan, my favorite of his works. The Hag was born a Brock, which made her marriage into the Struan clan a Hatfield-McCoy heresy. The Brocks and Struans were rival shipping magnates in Scotland during the early days of China trade. The Hag was widowed young and stepped to the helm of Struan shipping, to keep them on top of her birth family. She was a tough, clear-minded, straight from the shoulder kind of lady. I admired her strength, her dignity and her dedication to her family against all odds. I'd have a very long way to go, indeed, before I could be in her league, but the name inspires me and I aim to do her proud. *************** For God sent NOT his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. [JOHN 3:17] Peace to All. The Hag ......................................  .......................................... |
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Settle Down
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Jul 28, 2007 9:05 pm
1903 Views
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...............Dinner's finished, Paul has brewed a fresh potta, Buddy's stretched out beside my recliner, waiting, his tail beating a desultory thump-thump-thump on the floor. I'm gonna pour myself a big cuppa, go stand in the shower with my head down, like a horse left out in the rain, for about 15 min; don that old jersey dress that hits me at the shoulders, then falls straight to my ankles; 'do' my Sunday School lesson for the morning and put me to bed. (Did somebody feel that 'treamor'?)
Y'all have a great Sunday, now. WE HAVE EARNED IT AROUND HERE THIS WEEK!
Giggles 'n' Grins!
Hagitha
The Christian's Good Night
Sleep sweetly in this quiet room
Oh thou, whoe’er thou art,
And let no mournful yesterdays
Disturb your peaceful heart.
Nor let tomorrow pierce thy rest
With dreams of coming ill:
Thy Maker is thy changeless friend,
His love surrounds thee still.
Forget thyself and all the world;
Put out each glaring light.
The stars are watching overhead.
Sleep sweetly, then. Goodnight.
..........–Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
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M'DADDY Doan 'Llow...
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Jul 27, 2007 10:05 am
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..........My father was born in 1907. To say that he disliked Elvis Presley is tantamount to saying that the Hatfields and the McCoys had a mild disagreement. When Daddy was at home, we didn't watch EP on television and we didn't listen to EP's music. Yes, we were aware of the several 'gospel' albums EP recorded early in his career. Daddy said, "If he sang that way all of the time, and if he always behaved on stage as if he believed those songs, then it would be a different matter. But he doesn't. You kids can find something better to watch/listen to than that." When challenged on the issue, Daddy would simply unplug the offending piece of equipment ~ television, radio or record player ~ carry it into his bedroom and close the door. "If you want to put that stuff into your mind when I don't have to hear it, that's up to you, but I don't hold with it and I won't have it playing while I'm home."
Few unknown details exist in small towns (see TH4's excellent blog ***GOING DOWN TO WATCH THE BLINKING LIGHT*** ) and during that endless weekend before his funeral service on Monday, I must have had fifteen people call or come to see me with various renditions of Peace In The Valley ~ Jim Reeves, Eddy Arnold, Red Sovine, 'Gov.' Jimmie Davis, several gospel quartets, but to name a few.
I remember this dear little lady from the mortuary (who looked as if she'd been excavated from a tomb in Egypt) standing with me on the front porch, EP's record in hand, "But, honey!" she implored, "this is a popular recording and it's the same song. Are you sure this won't be OK? What if we can't find the one you want?"
There I stood, eyes squinched shut, lips tightly pursed, shaking my head like a two-year old having a tantrum (I"ll hold my breath until I turn blue !). When I could speak, I said, "You don't understand. Our family never missed The Ozark Jubilee* . I would sit in the floor by Daddy's chair and we all watched it together. There has to be a Red Foley record somewhere in this town, and before noon on Monday, I am going to find it."
At the visitation on Sunday evening, some kid on their staff (surely another distant cousin) found me and said they had Foley's record and it would be ready in time for tomorrow's service. They hoped it would be all right.
Scratched and banged up, worn out, used up, but obviously often played and deeply loved, that 'music' was just what I needed. Red Foley, gone Home himself nearly two decades before, came through for us one final time and that the most important.
"Precious Memories."
Hagitha
oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo...oOo
§ Footnotes: RED FOLEY ~ "Peace in the Valley", backed up by The Sunshine Boys, in 1951 became the first gospel record to sell a million copies.
§ For his contribution to the music industry, Red Foley also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6225 Hollywood Blvd.
§ The Ozark Jubilee was the first national country music show on television. It is responsible for popularizing the term "Country Music" which was originally called hillbilly music. It was broadcast live originally on the ABC Television Network and was produced by country music pioneer Si Siman. The show originated in Springfield, Missouri, but the first shows were staged in Columbia, Missouri because there was a line capable of carrying the show to the network that had been installed for the university football games. The show was hosted by country music Hall of Fame member Red Foley. The show drew weekly audiences in excess of 20,000,000, and was credited with launching or expanding many careers. The show was renamed Country Music Jubilee in 1957 and changed its name again in 1958, this time to Jubilee USA. The show's ABC run ended in 1960.
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Goin' Home Party!
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Jul 26, 2007 9:16 pm
1712 Views
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for Ola and Family
..........Daddy died at 7:28pm CDT, on July 3, 1986. It had taken a week but still, it came suddenly. His funeral services were not scheduled until Monday following the long Fourth of July weekend. That was the longest weekend of my life.
The song I chose for his service was Peace in the Valley . J.P. (his name, not his occupation) a distant cousin who owns the mortuary from whence the M. family has been buried for 150 years, told me then that it was a good thing they had some time to look up my selection as performed by Red Foley ~ as no one now on staff had ever heard or heard of this piece of music. Finally, they found an old 45 rpm record. This they took to someone who still had a record player in working order. There they recorded it onto an ordinary tape cassette.
What we got at the service, over an aging PA system, amplified every scratch and 'bump' on the record. As predicted, few there had ever heard the song, still fewer recognized it. I didn't care.
This was my Daddy, this was the God he served and the life he knew. I didn't want syrupy, 'generic', 'my, my, my, wasn't that a 'nice' service' (!!!) music to be the only selections. I wanted something of the man himself. I wanted to honor the soul that had gone Home.
We are blessed to have been born to, related to and to have known as friends these wonderful men (I here include Papa Bell Curmudgeon and Ola's Uncle Dean HE'S LEFT FOR BEULAH LAND ) who gave so much of themselves so unselfishly, without thought of recognition or reward in the here and now. We honor them always with our memories and our love.
The hymns Beulah Land and The Old Ship of Zion shake me to the very core, just on hearing the opening bars.
"There is a Future! O, thank God!
Of life this is so small a part!
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod;
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart."
~ Rev. Joseph Phillbrick Webster
...oOo......oOo......oOo......oOo......oOo......oOo......oOo......oOo...
Peace In The Valley
For Uncle Dean, Ola and Family
Well Iím tired and so weary
But I must go along
ëTil the Lord comes and calls me away, oh yes
Well the morning is bright
And the Lamb, the Lamb is the light
And the night, night is as fair as the day, oh yes
Chorus:
And there will be peace in the valley for me someday
Oh, there will be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray
Well, thereíll be no sadness, no sorrow, no trouble Iíll see
There will be peace in the valley for me (for me)
Well the flowers will be blooming
And the grass, oh it will be green
And the skies will be clear and serene, oh yes
Well the sun ever beams in this valley of dreams
And no clouds there will ever be seen, oh yes
(Repeat Chorus)
~ Old Negro Spirituals Hymn Collection
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Precarious Perspective
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Jul 26, 2007 2:04 am
1813 Views
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..........Both Darlene and I changed schools before graduation but kept in touch by phone, the exchange of birthday and Christmas cards, etc.. After college she returned to her hometown and began her career as a special ed teacher, working with the most severely disabled children. She said they were her mission in life. With them, she's at peace.
Darlene has never married. I lost count of the broken engagements. There were a few attempts at live-in relationships; I believe her record there was around 18 months before it ended. We lost contact with each other shortly after my husband and I relocated to Cincinnati over 20 years ago.
There are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of adults in this country (to say nothing of the children), who are suffering and who have suffered unspeakable losses and abuse. The rage that expresses itself in everything from the flip of a bird, to snide remarks, to shouted profanity, to literally going postal, exists in the main because of suppressed, denied, unrecognized emotions. These people are not 'in a bad mood', they are not 'having a bad day', they are mentally/emotnally ill. When you are in their physical proximity, you're in danger. They need help that they may never get.
§ SFF is a poor substitute for professional psychological therapy, individual or group.
§ SFF is a poor choice of place to try to work out the issues in real-world relationships, be they past, present or future.
§ SFF is a poor substitute for a balanced and rewarding life.
Nothing that can be 'said' to these troubled, tortured souls, via comments anywhere on SFF, is going to calm them down, shut them up or get them to go away. The one-dimensional pictures on this site and the words that accompany them are legal targets for a rage most cannot fathom. No matter how one may pretend otherwise, the Internet is an extremely dangerous place. There are and always will be predators among us.
In a weak moment, anyone can fall prey to the temptation to become the  's advocate, if for no other reason, to gain a respite for themselves. Decidedly, it is not easy to: {Quote Bijou }
§ Log into a group and read that someone has purposely humiliated and insulted you regarding some opinion or comment you have made somewhere in the group. {End quote.}
BUT, can it be understood that any negative feelings ~ whether they be mild annoyance, to flaming anger, to breaking down in tears ~ are the exact goal that the was striving for, hoping for, longing for and dreaming of? Can it be appreciated that any response made is, emotionally, the elixir of the gods for these s and they are cackling with glee, eagerly plotting the next step in their campaign to escalate the attack against you?
Calling out a bully on the playground is good strategy. There, we have one or two malignantly aggressive s with a few followers to call attention to, challenge, report to the authorities and subdue. This is not the playground. The here is invisible and takes more forms faster than the Hydra's children. There simply are not enough voices to shout them down. The more people who point and shout, the better these s like it, the more successful they have been, the nearer they have come to reaching their goal ~ which is to disrupt, confuse, and destroy. There's no 'authority' to keep them out as long as they have money to pay.
A very wise soul once said, "We are all children looking for love." If we stay around here long enough, yes! we're going to be taken in a few times. We're all only human and we crave human contact. It happens. Just employ damage control and repair as soon as you realize that it has, then get on with your healing.
Sooner or later we're all going to take the bait; sooner or later when we've allowed our session to run too long, when we're tired, or especially when we came here already wounded, seeking escape, surcease and possibly comfort (that's dangerous!), we're going to get flicked on the raw. We're going to see our name in the 's mouth; we're going to see him twist our honest words, malign our sincere intent and we will become the brunt of his ugliest derision. In that state of mind, a response will be leveled, even when we know full well the futility of what we do. Again, we are only human.
When that happens, forgive yourself for the weak moment. Take a deep breath. Fortify your resolve and get back in the game. Keep the perspective: This is a one-dimensional medium. You are bigger. You are better. And so is your life.
Here endeth the lesson. (And God bless Sean Connery!)
"Better trust all and be deceived,
And weep that trust and that deceiving,
Than doubt one heart that, if believed,
Had blessed one's life with true believing.
O, in this mocking world too fast,
The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth,
Better be cheated to the last
Than lose the blessed hope of truth."
~ Frances Anne Kemble, On Faith
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Damaged Goods
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Jul 24, 2007 1:22 am
1984 Views
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..........The first friend I made in college was a bright, vivacious, outgoing and charming young woman with soft-curling taffy-colored hair, dancing hazel eyes and a 'Pepsodent' smile. She looked very much like 'Darlene' of the original Mouseketeers, so that's what I'll call her. Darlene favored the 'British' A Go-Go fashions of the time, wore 'ice pink' lipstick and 'practiced her pout' in the mirror every night before going to bed. Beyond that, she was a rambunctious, scrappy tomboy, always at odds with authority ~ anybody from the sanitation workers, who indicated where the trash cans should be positioned for weekly pickup, right up to the Oval Office.
As we shared stories over class notes and late night pizzas, I learned that every afternoon when their father came home, Darlene and her brother were disciplined. No hug, no 'hello', no 'daddy's home'. They were immediately punished and told that it was because of what they had done that day ~ even if their mother had no complaints against them, he knew they had been into mischief and this was to show them that they couldn't 'get by' with anything. Not in his house. Darlene's brother, two years her junior, joined the military as soon as he graduated high school. Darlene's intellect gave her the motivation to survive as a positive, productive human being, but it was a brutally painful struggle.
More than anything, it seemed, Darlene wanted a place to rest. She wanted to be able to enjoy her relationships, casual, professional and personal. The problem was, she had to fight. Endlessly. She fought with the Resident Advisor, who wanted her to keep the music down and/or keep the dorm room door closed; she fought with her professors over everything from their perspective of their subject to due dates for assignments; she fought with her therapist, period; she fought with dorm mates over control of the TV in the commons room, politics, religion and hairstyles; she 'fought' with me because I wouldn't fight with her ~ I'd leave the dorm to study at the library or all-night coffee shop. Returning only when she'd gone or was asleep. Her PE courses were racquet ball and fencing.
Darlene had opponents, not boyfriends. Most of the time she was attracted to aggressive, tough-guy males whom she met head-on, eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe. I went to the ER with her, or met her there on several occasions. The worse she suffered was a broken nose that she laughed about. "He'll have a headache for a week from where I hit him with that wine bottle." The few gentle men who wanted to date her were driven away in short order by her rabid aggression.
Darlene couldn't keep an undamaged car on the road for a month. There were several minor to moderately serious accidents, either from her fighting with someone who was in the car with her, or from her own road rage while driving alone. She'd get one mangled fender, broken taillight, crunched passenger door repaired, only to have the other end of the car in worse shape three days later. Often I tried to convince her to take up driving at a demolition derby to work off some of her vitriol in an acceptable setting.
Her grade average hovered around 2.7-3.0, but if she hadn't had so many disciplinary problems, so much strife with the professors and tardiness/missed classes due to run-ins with fellow students, she'd easily have kept a 4.0. She was brilliant. Talking to Darlene in her calm moments ~ and she could sometimes maintain for almost a week ~ was a joy. At those times, anything and everything she thought, said or did was fun for her and for anyone around her. But those times were always short lived.
"Anger only addicts the body to adrenalin and the soul to bitterness." - M.A.N.T.I.S.
 Conclusion Precarious Perspective
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Brouhaha
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Jul 23, 2007 4:15 am
1811 Views
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SFF is an open community. In this community, as in all others, the only thing we can bring to the table is what's inside of us as a person before we come here. We are responsible for ourselves, our behavior and our individual postings, no one else's.
There are groups that have been posting for some time who have an internal history, a shorthand that has developed among them. They post back and forth to each other, basically for their own enjoyment, but with the willingness for others to participate when they are intrigued. However, newcomers who join in their games must be prepared to play by their rules. Here, as nowhere else on SFF, 'if you can't stand the heat (Please!) stay out of the kitchen', or get out of it as quickly as you realize that these 'games' are not for you! Sub-groups of this sort form in all communities the world over. This is universal reality.
As are all SFF members, I am in absolute sovereign control of where I go in SFF, what I read and to what I respond. I can't control, correct, fix or change any other person anywhere in this world, including cyberspace ~ maybe especially not in cyberspace. "God grant me the serenity ...." You know the rest.
There are a great many dissatisfied, disgruntled, unfulfilled, lost, lonely, frustrated and angry people in this world. There are people who have suffered terrible misfortunes, setbacks, disasters, injustices, grief and loss. Throughout history, many of these people have become the greatest humanitarians our societies have seen.
Many others have been wounded physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, to such an extent and in such a way that they see no release from their pain except by projecting it and/or the blame for it onto other people. They are emotional Molotov cocktails set to explode at any perceived slight or provocation. They can't care who they take with them or what innocent bystanders get hurt in the blast.
When two or more of these individuals become fixated upon each other and a feud ensues, trying to resolve their issues from the outside is like wading into a pack of fighting dogs: those attempting to mediate, ameliorate or bring peace to the disparate factions will be injured themselves. Third and fourth parties who try to settle these matters only exacerbate the conflict, add to the confusion and give free advertisement to those who enjoy the frenzy. It feeds the fire rather than cooling it.
I am as human, as fallible, as gullible and as often wrong as all others. I grow weary of these harangues and the multiple blogs, comments, Advice Line 'Questions', ad nauseam, that they engender, but above all I pity the people who are self-condemned to live their adult lives at this level of terrible vulnerability. It grieves as much as it astounds me. But I know that the only way to maintain my sanity and peace of mind is to keep them and their negative toxicity out of my life and mind. § "A quick-tempered man acts foolishly, And a man of wicked intentions is hated. (Proverbs 14 : 17) ; § Make no friendship with an angry man, And with a furious man do not go, Lest you learn his ways and set a snare for your soul. (Proverbs 22 : 24-25) ; § An angry man stirs up strife, And a furious man abounds in transgression. (Proverbs 29 : 22, NKJV throughout)
'Everybody's got to have somebody to look down on, Whom they can feel better than anytime they please, Someone doin' somethin' dirty that decent folks can frown on, If you ain't got nobody else, Lawd! Help yourself to me!" ~ Kris Kristofferson (emphasis mine)
Per Mammy Yoakum, "I has spoken!"
Hagitha
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Soft Morn
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Jul 22, 2007 8:05 am
889 Views
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it's good daylight now
through my windowpane
a muffler-grey sky
whispers a promise of rain
the birds are quiet
the leaves hang still
a spider's web
decorates the windowsill
a thousand thoughts
swirl through my head
not a one makes sense
i'm going to bed
The Hag 07/22/07
Have a blessed Sunday my friends!
Hagitha
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Postcards From La-La-Land
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Jul 20, 2007 9:37 pm
627 Views
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Wednesday night/Thursday morning, I was busy with IM to my friend in Canada (east coast), when the email icon began to jump up and down in the dock. I moved the IM board over and minimized the email window to check the message. It was a frantic-sounding, three-sentence note from Knoxville: Elsie, I barely know which planet I'm on!! I have spent the last few minutes just trying to find my IM and buddy list. Anyway, I'm attempting to find you! I zapped my email and IM addys back to her and returned to my IM board to resume that conversation.
The email icon starts doing another jig and a new IM board appears on screen. " Hi! Are you busy or can you chat now? " I clicked the mouse over to that message board and typed in, "No, it's OK, I can chat now. How're you tonight?" {Click 'Send'}
Back to my IM conversation keeping one eye moving between the email page and the other IM board between our messages. Nary a peep for the rest of the time my long conversation continued. Intermittently, I tried reaching each of the others by turns. Both my friends were just swallowed by the night leaving me to wonder whether all was well with them, and a vague, gnawing feeling that it definitely was not. My second query to Knoxville was: "What are you doing up at nearly four-thirty in the morning?" No response. 
My conversation with Canada ended because we needed a 10-100, coffee and breakfast. Here in Portland, O, Buddy was ready for his morning 'constitutional', although our twice-daily outings hardly qualify for that distinction.
Once again, I sent quick missles to the two friends 'lost in space' hoping I'd hear from them again before day's end. Then, I signed off.
I've reconnected with my frequent IM pal that's close to me, but haven't heard from Knoxville again. That means I have to set the alarm clock so that I can make a phone call  in the morning ~ my morning, her noon! Such are the joys of the cyberlife! 
Have a wonderful day and a fine weekend, my friends! Stop in for coffee when you have a minute!
Joy in Jesus!
Hagitha
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The Shank 'O' The Evenin' ...
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Jul 18, 2007 1:37 am
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My friend, Anita, and I had dinner at her house tonight. We ate on the deck where she served a fabulous home-made gazpacho in bowls with ice-ring liners. There were blue corn tortilla chips and guacamole dip or salsa, 'cocktail' style sandwiches of lox, thin-shaved cucumber and cream cheese spread on black pumpernickel rounds. We drank pink lemonade and she'd made a fresh fruit trifle for dessert. The centerpiece was a tall, white taper surrounded by blue hydrangea blossoms dense as cabbage heads arranged in a low goldfish bowl. (Whoa! Guys, she's married!)
As we were sitting out there with our coffee, amid the remains of the feast, we began talking about our childhoods. The conversation worked its way around to favorite games and toys. Suddenly, some Johari Window that had been stuck shut with dust and grime for decades flew open and, like watching an old home movie, I relived my eighth birthday party.
There were the usual ~ for that time period ~ outdoor party games: dropping clothespins into a milk bottle; eat a soda cracker and whistle; form two teams and pass a raw egg down the line using serving spoons (the team that passes the egg from one end to the other without breaking it wins) and, of course, pin the tail on the donkey.
Then I was opening my gifts: There were many gaily papered packages from all my little friends. I was tearing my way through them in no particular order, when Miz Bobbie handed me an incredibly wrapped box, about a foot square and eight inches deep. "You want to be careful when you open this one, Elsie," she said. "It's from Tim." Miz Bobbie was Tim's mom and Tim was my boyfriend.
Tim was ten years old but he was three grades ahead of me in school because he had 'started' in second grade. He had wonderful, crisp-curling hair the color of burnished copper wire, glowing brown eyes and absolutely adorable 'Beaver Cleaver' freckles and smile. Tim was so cool that, sometimes, he would forego roughhousing with his friends in order to be 'the daddy' with us girls playing 'house'.
Gingerly, I took the package Miz Bobbie was holding and carefully slid aside the lacy blue ribbon with which it had been tied. Then I pulled loose the taped folds of heavy cream-colored paper, first from one end, then the other. She helped me turn the package over to open the bottom and slide the box free of its wrappings.
Through a clear cellophane window, I looked into the face of the most beautiful doll I've ever seen or owned. She was 11" tall, made of molded plastic and she was a Queen. Her gown was long, regal, emerald-colored satin; her deep purple velvet cape was trimmed with rabbit fur dyed to emulate ermine, and she had a scarlet stand-up collar trimmed in gold braid. Her tinsel crown was made from thick gold foil with tiny rhinestone jewels. But wonder of all wonders: She had black hair ~ long, soft, thick black hair falling in gentle waves to the middle of her back ~ the hair I so coveted and loved. Never before had I seen a doll with black hair. Her eyes were as green as my own. I'm sure there was some name on the box, but I instantly called her 'Snow White'.
I felt the tear-sting as I lifted shining eyes to Tim, who was so cool that he didn't even look away or blush when I jumped up, threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, saying, "Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you so much!"
Where Tim's mom found that treasure she never told anyone ~ not Tim, not even the adults in her family. All I know is that there was a friend so attuned to me, to my dreams and sensibilities, that she took the time to find a gift for her son to give me that was so perfect it would never be forgotten. Nor would he.
Snow White was among the items that burned in the storage unit fire three years ago, but she stands perfect in my memories, along with the vision of my first boyfriend and his amazing Mom, Miz Bobbie
In the cool, cool, cool of the evening,
.....tell 'em I'll be there,
In the cool, cool, cool of the evening, better save a chair.
Oh, when the party's a-getting a glow on, and singing fills the air,
In the shank of the night when the doing's all right,
You can tell 'em I'll be there."
~ In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evenin', Lyrics by Johnny Mercer, Music by Hoagy Carmichael
We're savin' a chair for you!
Hagitha
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All I Want To Do...
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Jul 16, 2007 6:11 am
733 Views
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LISA WENT BACK TO THE ER TONIGHT For details, please go to JULY PRAYER CIRCLE . Thank you, dear friends.
Marie's blog: cheyennewolf1939
................................... ...................................
We were down into that edgy, not quite cold ~ not quite warm part of April and a soft, misty rain fell as I made my somnambulant way to work, a ten minute walk from my front door. As I neared the office, my boss came striding energetically across the university commons to intercept me, I thought to share the protection of my umbrella.
"You're coming with me," said Dean Thornton in his ceaselessly cheerful, gently commandeering fashion, taking my arm.
"Coming where, Howard? I'm not awake and I need coffee," wagging the now empty travel mug against his coat sleeve.
"We'll get you some coffee, but we're going to the gym."
"But what...why?"
"You'll see."
Relieving me of the soaked umbrella, he snapped it closed with a flourish and stashed it among the others just outside the door. We went through a 'players' entrance' into an echoing hall lined with old grey lockers. Several faculty and staff members were gathered there. My friend, Sherrie, who worked in the College of Fine Arts was locked in an urgently sober discussion with the head of CFA, "Oh, Dean Miller," her soft, insistent voice implored, "I just want to meet him and say, 'Hello, I'm Sherrie Gordon. Welcome to Memphis, Sir ~ I wouldn't do or say anything stupid, Dean Miller, I promise!"
At this point, Tom Selleck moved silently in behind Sherrie and lightly tapped her on the shoulder. As their eyes met he did the Groucho Marx maneuver with the eyebrows. Mouth open, Sherrie paled under her makeup, bent double at the waist, clapped her hands over her ears and screamed; she ran across the room to the corner, where she stood jumping up and down, arms stiff, hands flapping ~ she looked like 'Flipper' dancing on top of the water ~ and screamed.
Then, catching her breath, she squared her shoulders, smoothed her hair, straightened her jacket and marched back across the room to stand in front of her icon. Beaming up at him, she put out her hand and said, calmly, "Hello, Mr. Selleck. I'm Sherrie Gordon. Welcome to Memphis."
Howard put my newly filled coffee cup back into my hand, as we joined our friends moving toward the basketball court. There we spent the morning watching our students play an exhibition game of volleyball with Tom Selleck and his team from Hawaii. They were on tour promoting recognition and inclusion of volleyball in college/university physical education curricula.
Sherrie had a courtside-center seat and, surely, 50 rolls of film. Attempting to capture every move he made during the game, that woman took more pictures of Tom Selleck than most people do of their first grandchild. Breathless with excitement, glowing like she'd just won the national lottery, my friend's absolute glee brought a smile to all who saw her.
The next week, when she was stalking the campus with those dozen or so photo albums, we were working out signal codes to avoid being trapped and forced to 'admire' them ~ yet again!
Glad you stopped by! Hope your day/week is the very best my friend!
Hagitha
§§§..........§§§..........§§§..........§§§..........§§§..........§§§
MY CELEBRITY
George C. Scott
October 18, 1927 ~ September 22, 1999
This body of work, to which you gave your life,
Is both strong instruction and priceless delight,
It has shown me the world, as the world truly is;
Has given me courage to fight for ideals,
It's helped me find strength when I stood alone,
And helped me admit it, when I knew I was wrong.
Among all that I've cherished that's flowed from the pens
Of the centuries' most learned' of women and men,
The comfort that's dearest, when I have the choice,
Speaks to me most clearly in the sound of your voice.
The mind is 'the temple', the portal ~ the gate
Of all human wisdom ~ and in your work I felt safe.
I could throw open the windows and dare to explore
Concepts and precepts I'd not considered before;
I could sit there and listen, perhaps see through your eyes
That which merits the effort to preserve or decry.
And, yes! I have used the joy in your work
To shut out the world when I was too hurt
To go on with the business of life as before,
But whatever I've come with, I've left knowing more.
I'm sincerely grateful for all that went on
In this body of work, so uniquely your own,
And I've needed to offer, from the film's other view,
From this life that you touched ~ a simple thank you.
The Hag (c) 1986
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