‘only time for a lunch-break quickie, but take it where you can get it, I always say… well, not always, but you get my drift…
The workshops are going very well. We have been a hit. We have been complimented and congratulated, and other than being dead-shagged-out at the end of each day, we have also had a good time(and some damned good food) AND learned a lot*. (I’ve also sold close to 250 raffle tickets! Woohoo!!!)
I am just bleeping in to share a tall tale with you. I’ve entered a little contest wherein you are s’posed to submit one of your family’s best tall tales (and hooboy do we have ‘em) and I thought I’d share my entry with y’all. Wish me luck – the first prize is pretty awesome, but even more than that is the whole tradition of stories like this that my Papaw EB instilled in me. This little tale is one that I first told to Papaw and his friends when I was a teenager, and it was my first one to ever tell to them, so it was like a rite of passage. I passed. Papaw was delighted. I could see it in his grin, and his buddies were fit to be tied…
This story is a conglomeration. Papaw actually told me this tale about King, I just added the story of Tippy myself to flesh out the contest entry, and the story of old Red is the one I told to Papaw and his friends that day, once upon a time…
“My grandfather, E.B., was a woodsman and a river rat, and he always had good stories. He always had good dogs, too. One dog, King, was so smart that when ‘Papaw’ drove out West to work for a summer, King hopped trains to follow him out there. Another dog, Tippy, would take the mail to the Post Office, and Papaw said that Tippy knew the local mail slot from the ‘Out of Town’… But it was old Red that was the smartest. Red was so smart, in fact, that Papaw could put a stretching board – a board with one rounded end used for stretching an animal, usually a raccoon hide to use for fur – out on the porch, and Red would go out and find a raccoon to fit the board. Sad to say, Papaw’s heart was nearly broken when he lost that dog. You see, one day Mamaw propped up her ironing board out on the porch while she was mopping the kitchen, and we’ve never seen that dog since. For all we know, old Red is STILL out in the Mississippi swamp, looking for a raccoon to fit that board.”
: )
love,
-Sambolina Lou River Rat Lovelace
* I can make a web page now!
Friday, November 07, 2003
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
I know that many of you have seen this photo gallery on my webpage (and in my home) and heard the stories of my cousin Robbie, and of our family’s terrible loss. I don’t want to be one of those people who seemingly harps on something grim, or who seems to never recover, but until you’ve been there, you simply can’t understand how important it is to never forget the person, or the terrible way they were taken.
A friend recently sent an e-mail warning women not to go outside without light, protection, etc. if they hear a baby crying outside their home in the dark. Apparently this is a way for bad people to draw women out of their homes. The e-mail said that these criminals will play recorded baby’s cries and then attack the women when they come to investigate.
Yes, this all sounds like a bunch of hooey. Urban legend material if you ever heard it. But the fact of the matter is that there are sick, brutal, clever people out there who just might try or do something like this. This particular story may be bunkum*, but the fact of the matter is that these things happen, every day unfortunately. Very unfortunately. And also very unfortunately, the reality of this doesn’t hit home – it’s all “Hannibal Lecter” and cool scary books – until it happens to someone that you know and love.
Not harping, folks, just remembering. On All Soul’s Day (Nov. 1) I – along with a lot of other folks, pagans and papists alike – I spent the day thinking about Robbie and Dad, and other loved ones that have gone on. They all hurt a little, I miss them all, but the circumstances of Robbie’s murder is a big scar on my heart and mind, one that will never go away, one that will never even soften with time.
You can’t hide under the bed for the rest of your life, or live in a glass box, for fear of these sorts of things. But yet you have to be aware of the possibilities. Awake, aware, and living life wisely AND to the fullest. Whether this baby-cry story is a hoax or not, it’s a reminder that we cannot afford to be careless. It is possible to live a live of joy as well as vigilance. In fact, that is what all true survivors – and all their following successful generations do.
Sleeping well, but always keeping my sword and shield close by,
-Miss Sam
*sorry, librarian geek word-nerd fact, the word ‘bunkum’ came from ‘Buncombe County’
(Asheville NC is in Buncombe county). I find this EXTREMELY amusing, especially as I use the derivative “bunk!” a lot… here’s a nice link explaining the tale… and by the way, this is NOT bunkum, many dictionaries reference this as the origin of the word.
A friend recently sent an e-mail warning women not to go outside without light, protection, etc. if they hear a baby crying outside their home in the dark. Apparently this is a way for bad people to draw women out of their homes. The e-mail said that these criminals will play recorded baby’s cries and then attack the women when they come to investigate.
Yes, this all sounds like a bunch of hooey. Urban legend material if you ever heard it. But the fact of the matter is that there are sick, brutal, clever people out there who just might try or do something like this. This particular story may be bunkum*, but the fact of the matter is that these things happen, every day unfortunately. Very unfortunately. And also very unfortunately, the reality of this doesn’t hit home – it’s all “Hannibal Lecter” and cool scary books – until it happens to someone that you know and love.
Not harping, folks, just remembering. On All Soul’s Day (Nov. 1) I – along with a lot of other folks, pagans and papists alike – I spent the day thinking about Robbie and Dad, and other loved ones that have gone on. They all hurt a little, I miss them all, but the circumstances of Robbie’s murder is a big scar on my heart and mind, one that will never go away, one that will never even soften with time.
You can’t hide under the bed for the rest of your life, or live in a glass box, for fear of these sorts of things. But yet you have to be aware of the possibilities. Awake, aware, and living life wisely AND to the fullest. Whether this baby-cry story is a hoax or not, it’s a reminder that we cannot afford to be careless. It is possible to live a live of joy as well as vigilance. In fact, that is what all true survivors – and all their following successful generations do.
Sleeping well, but always keeping my sword and shield close by,
-Miss Sam
*sorry, librarian geek word-nerd fact, the word ‘bunkum’ came from ‘Buncombe County’
(Asheville NC is in Buncombe county). I find this EXTREMELY amusing, especially as I use the derivative “bunk!” a lot… here’s a nice link explaining the tale… and by the way, this is NOT bunkum, many dictionaries reference this as the origin of the word.
