Characters I Have Known: Reprise

My Grandfather, Decola Franklin, apparently enjoyed stories too. In the mid to late 1970s he published a series of stories in The Dawson Springs Progress. I am sure at the time he had the same vision for his stories as I do about this blog; and definitely had a larger readership. Nevertheless, aside from family photo albums, a view old reel to reel movies, and of course family stories; his own written tales are some of the only ways that I have come to know him. Decola died in 1978 before I was born. In so many ways over the years I have wanted to know more about this man, so these stories printed in the newspaper were jewels to me. From these stories I picked up that he and I had at least one thing in common; a sense of humor!

My Grandfather was born in December of 1920, the second child of Chesley and Orva Teague Franklin. His older brother died as an infant and he grew up with one sister Wetona. Decola went to school in Nortonville, a community very close to Dawson Springs, until his later high school years; when he attended Dawson Springs High School. He graduated in 1939. Decola received a teaching degree from Lindsey Wilson College in Colombia, Kentucky. When the United States entered World War II he enlisted to serve in the Navy, and spent his time in the service on a Mine Sweeper in the South Pacific and I am told saw quite a bit of action.

After the war he returned to Dawson Springs, he taught at Nortonville High School for a short time, until he joined his father in the family business of running the Chesley Franklin Coal Company and later the Decola Franklin Coal Company. This he did until the early 1970s.

My Grandfather's stories were titled: Characters I have Known. Today I would like to paraphrase one of those stories...I don't think he would mind.

Before Decola was deployed, the Navy sent him to New York City for a period of time. From what I understand; because he had attended college he was eligible to teach training classes, I think that this is where those classes took place. Regardless, the Navy had many sailors staying in the city.

At that time in Dawson Springs the mayor was Mr. Archie Purdy, a successful business man with a daughter, Cecil Mae. Cecil Mae was a few years older than Decola and was working for a modeling agency in New York City. As the story goes she had had pictures published in the likes of Vogue Magazine. Well, Mayor Purdy was going to visit his daughter in New York and he mentioned it to his good friend Chesley(Decola's father) in town. Chesley was delighted with the idea and told Mr. Purdy that he should try to get in touch with his son Decola while he was there. He knew Decola well and quickly agreed that this was a good idea and assured Chesley that he would contact Decola as soon as he got into New York City.

Upon arriving he rang him and invited he and some of his friends out for a nice dinner if they could break away. Excited to see a familiar face Decola accepted the offer. When he rejoined his friends he told them all that the Mayor of his hometown was going to be in New York visiting his daughter, a model, and he had offered to take them all to dinner. Now who could refuse an offer like this?

My Grandfather and his friends met Mayor Purdy and Cecil Mae at the decided time. Mayor Purdy looked very distinguished and Cecil Mae was gorgeous. The two escorted the gentlemen to dinner and they all had a wonderful time.

Eventually the night came to a close and they all bid farewell. As Decola and his buddies were walking away one of them commented that it was really something for the Mayor of his hometown to meet up with him and take him out of his vacation. And especially for his daughter, a model, who must have been very busy, the group was equally impressed that she would make time for him as well.

My Grandfather agreed with a proud smile but admitted later that he never told any of them the size of Dawson Springs.

The Waiting Place

Sometimes you just have to wait...

As life zooms by we find ourselves waiting and waiting and waiting. Long lines, being put on hold, waiting for an elevator or to get your hair cut. Waiting to turn sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty one. No matter what we do we are always going to have to wait.

Doctor Seuss describes it best in the book Oh the Places You'll Go, if you haven't read this ageless children's book buy a copy. Then memorize it. This book gives the reader such a neat way of looking at life's journey. Here is a excerpt of this piece of writing that discusses waiting:



You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.



We've all been there, the lobby of our life, the dead time. The time when we wait. We wait for answers, a break, we just wait. And sometimes after those periods we realize that what we were waiting for, might not have been as important as the waiting.

I experienced one of those periods that was all to horrifying at the time but also proved to be a period of time that shaped my life in more ways that one. A time when I was able to renew old relationships and settle old scores. A time that seemed to have been set aside just for me, to wait. So I waited, and while I waited I got to spend a year of my life with my Granny that turned out to be the last year of her life. I brushed up on my Canasta skills as we played game after game and learned a lot about her life and plenty more about my own. During this time I learned not to get in any hurry, to try to take my time and enjoy life moment by moment and not day by day. Waiting for me wasn't fun all the time, but it was valuable. Waiting helped.

If you break life down into sections, you might find some of your own waiting times. It might occur to you that you spent some time in that lobby of life too. Was it all that terrible? If you are ever there again make sure you enjoy the scenery...you never know, you might be waiting for a reason.

Home

I have lived in Austin, Texas for over a year after moving here from Nashville, Tennessee. Man, do I have some stories about these two cities. They are both great towns and the destination to many pickers and grinner's too. In my own time I nestled into my own niche in both of these music capitols and loved every minute of it. However, when asked where I am from I never hesitate to say Dawson Springs, Kentucky.

I grew up in the town of Dawson Springs, Kentucky. Nestled into the curves and turns of the Tradewater River this piece of land has been home to Indians, pioneers, farmers, entrepreneurs, and a Governor.

Upon entering Dawson Springs from any direction you are greeted by a sign that reads: "Dawson Springs, Ky "A very special place." No truer words have ever been spoken. On my way back home from Nashville(now from the airport)when I reach Hospital Hill and make my decent into town, I admit that my eyes get misty at the thought of being Home. Driving through town I can usually name the folks that live in each home along the way with a smile; and a big wave will extend if they happen to be in the yard.


Since I usually make it home around the holidays I know that I am not the only one who has come from far and wide to be in this little town for a few days. Around these times this town fills up with cars with out of state plates.

I think a lot of life's journey consist of going home. I am so familiar with the streets and faces of this town that I can't help but smile when I think of it. Dawson Springs to me represents a Modern day Mayberry. This is a place that people really care when they ask: How are you? These are the people that know your life story without you having to tell them. The folks that remember your grandparents even if they have been gone for years.

Kentucky's Governor is a favorite son of this town and a few short years ago the towns people rallied around one of their own to help elect him to the highest office in the Commonwealth.

This town has a riveting history that dates back to 1874 when it was officially established. It was named Dawson when the railroad came through and town leader and major land owner's name was given to adorn the first depot. As the railroad began to draw it's lines across the land railroad workers in Dawson claimed that the water from Washington Irving Hamby's well eased their aches and pains and thus began Mr. Hamby's wheels turning. These were the sparks that lead to the spa era and the addition of Springs to the town's name.



People came from far and wide to reap the benefits from the spring water and hotels with sprawling porches, orchestras and beautiful parks began to pop up through out the town. Hotels with names like: The Arcadia, The New Century, The Summit, and what a grand time it must have been as the town rode high.


In the 1930's the depression hit and put an abrupt end to the spa era and times were hard in the region I called home; just as they were all across the country. My Grandfather (Step) Buddy Cato, recalled the hard times vividly. He said no one bought suits for graduation, they borrowed them. Times were hard, but as always, they made it through.

When the United States entered World War II many Dawson Springs boys enlisted and where spread across the globe protecting our country and others. The war and the increased need for coal to move supplies created another boom and the town began to crawl out of the depression. My Great Grandfather, Chesley Franklin, was one of the few people in the area that owned coal mines. These times proved to be good ones, and when the veterans of World War II came home, they settled in, built homes and started families; and the rest is history.

I don't think President Obama will mention Dawson Springs in his address tonight. But he should. And other towns like it. These small towns represent everything that is still good and decent out there. These are the places where a family of four sits around a table to eat dinner every night. Dawson Springs is a place that's faith is strong, a group of true blue Americans...and I do mean blue. Do I even have to make reference to the Kentucky Wild Cats?

Dawson Springs...why hasn't anyone written an anthem for you? Dawson Springs...my beautiful home.

Gone to Carolina in My Mind

Have you ever really over thought something?

Something that makes you upset or mad...something that you can't change. I think our generation expects quick fixes and solutions. We want answers and we want them now! Regardless, as The Stones so eloquently put it: "You can't always get what you want...you get what you need."

Alzheimers Disease affects approximately five million people in the United States; a disease that none of us are a stranger to. Alzhiemers seems to come like a thief in the night to take away our memories and our bearings; and in many ways I feel that it is a disease that can be just as painful for family members as it can be for the victim.

My family as millions of other American families is experiencing Alzhiemers disease among one of our own. And as the disease becomes more of the elephant in the room; I have read more and more in an effort to learn as much as I can about Alzhiemers and it's effects. I am never pleased. I did however recieve beautiful insight from the novel by: Lisa Genova, Still Alice. The novel takes you on a journey through the mind of someone with Alzhiemers; this gave me an idea of what it might be like for the person that I have been so concerned about. Pick it up if you are dealing with the same type of situation in your own life.

Nevertheless, I turn to music for solace in so many personal situations. Music seems to be my generations poetry. Through lyric and note I can usually come to terms with whatever is breaking my heart. And that is just it. Alzheimers, just like so many other diseases, is a heart breaker.

The following are the lyrics to one of James Taylor's greatest songs: Gone to Carolina in my mind; I have highlighted the last verse since it seemed to be so relative to Alzhiemers. I know that Mr. Taylor did not write this song to illustrate the onset of a terrible disease, but I am sure he didn't rule out the possiblity that listeners and fans might interperet their own meanings to his verses. That we might love his song as much as he did and give it meanings that could only apply to how it touched us. Gone to Carolina in My Mind debuted in 1968 long before I was born, but it's message, however it may be interpreted still pleases the ear.

Gone to Carolina
By: James Taylor

In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mine
It hit me from behind
Yes I'm gone to Carolina in my mind

Karen she's a silver sun
You best walk her way and watch it shinin'
Watch her watch the mornin' come
A silver tear appearing now
I'm cryin' ain't I
Gone to Carolina in my mind

There ain't no doubt it no ones mind
That loves the finest thing around
Whisper something soft and kind
And hey babe the sky's on fire,
I'm dyin' ain't I
Gone to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mine
It hit me from behind
Yes I'm goin' to Carolina in my mind

Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I going, going
I'm gone to Carolina in my mind

With a holy host of others standing around me
Still I'm on the dark side of the moon
And it seems like it goes on like this forever
You must forgive me
If I'm up and gone to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mine
It hit me from behind
Yes I'm gone to Carolina in my mind
Gone to Carolina in my mind
Then I'm on to Carolina in my mind
Gone to Carolina in my mind
Gone - I'm gone - I'm gone
Say nice things about me
'Cause I'm gone south
Carry on without me
'Cause I'm gone

Facebook. Where can you beat it?

Has Facebook taken over our lives or has it enhanced them?

In my opinion it has made some aspects of my social life a little easier, but the jury is still out. Lend me your thoughts...

I became a Facebook member in 2008. Until then I was a member of Myspace.com. A good friend encouraged me to come on board with Facebook...and has it been a ride!

This network has it's own language, and tones. There are Facebook romances and Facebook fights. It seems to be an ever-changing and ever-improving social network and I will have to say that it has helped me to keep up with friends, relatives and classmates.

It is so much easier to write on someones wall than to pick up the phone and call when it has been too long. And on the receiving end it is great to get those messages from friends that you haven't talk to. This year will be my high school class's ten year reunion and in an effort to wrangle all twenty eight of us in, to start the contact and planning process I have been able to start a class page through Facebook that I can facilitate through my own account. That's a big help!

There is the option to post messages on someones wall or for more private content you can send a message to their inbox, which is essientiall a Facebook e-mail. For the frequent Facebookers you can post an update on what you are doing every five seconds for all your friends to see if you wish. These updates may include a range of content from, I am getting a haircut, to, I'm just about to be wheeled into surgery!

Did I mention pictures! Wow, where else can you have a photo album that only has good photos. Yes that's right, you get to pick and choose. What's even more fun is looking at other peoples photos, especially if you haven't seen them in a while. I have some friends that have a cute little boy and I am getting the chance to watch him grow through Facebook photos, whereas I am not able to see him in person as frequently. These photo albums allow users to see what their friends did this past weekend, and in a sense be more involved in their lives, virtually. I know it sounds scary, but many of us are guilty.

As for me...

Facebook has given me the forum to catch up with old friends, relatives,and classmates. It has also been a wonderful tool for me to network with new friends and collegues in Austin. I don't post things on my own wall frequently but I do comment on friends pages a great deal. Whether it be on their photos, or their post it makes me feel connected and in a sense we are able to have a conversation via the web.

I do keep updated photos, and dated albums to help show my Facebook friends who I am, and what I am about. And in turn I enjoy viewing other peoples photos. I even go so far as to think that Facebook is a good place to store digital photos.

There are all sorts of applications that are associated with Facebook that allow you to interact with your friends in a more gaming sense. I am only a member of Farmville, which much to my dismay was quite addictive. An although I don't devote a great deal of time to Farmville, it is a pretty cool game. There are others that compare such as: Cafe` World, Farm Town, and Mafia Wars, just to name a few.

Since it reaches so many people it is a prime place to advertise. There are a constant stream of advertisements that I view on Facebook daily. Some that apply to me and some that don't, but they are viewed just the same.

Regardless of what your use for Facebook is, you can so easily make it apart of your daily routine and it's only true down fall is that it sucks you in and can be time consuming. That said, in my opinion, the pros out weigh the cons on this one!

In closing...

Dear Facebook:

Thanks for everything!

All the best,

Jonathon Storms,
A Loyal Friend

Our Very Own Rosie

People coming of age during World War II were labeled members of the greatest generation. The war sent our military all over the world not only to protect our freedom and liberties but also to protect all humanity from discrimination and destruction. Most specifically my great grandparents had four members of their immediate family that served in the war and for the war effort. They had two sons that enlisted and served in the United States Army, Raymond and William Russell, and two daughters, Rudell and Brunette Russell who took up the cause in the factory and the shipyard to do their part. Brunette was my Nannie, young and beautiful she headed to Evansville, Indiana to Republic Aviation to work as a riveter. Her older sister Rudell had already been there for a while working as a welder in the shipyard. Nannie was trained to become a riveter, similar to Rosie the Riveter.
Republic Aviation was built in 1942 on Evansville's North side, the factory's goal was to build the P47 Thunderbolt; a nimble fighter aircraft. The factory produced around eight thousand jobs and built half of the P47 Thunderbolts that flew in the skies over Europe during World War II.
When I think back on good memories of Nannie and stories that she shared with us, I always remember her talking fondly about the years she spent in Evansville working. She and my Great Aunt Rudell (who later became Rudell Clay) stayed with their Uncle and Aunt, and in their off time helped out with the housework, and watching their young cousin. They also found time to hit up the stores, and shop for new dresses. One particular story that Nannie told a few times with a laugh I will share:

Nannie was from our home town of Dawson Springs, Kentucky, which is a very small place. When she left for Evansville her Dad gave her a roll of quarters to keep in her purse for protection. One day while she and her sister were getting off a bus they were approached by a friendly sailor. Shortly after some guys came up and began to get rough with them. Quickly she remembered the roll of quarters in her purse. She swung her purse around and hit one of the bullies and before she could make it to the next, they had quickly headed in a different direction. She saved the day.

Nannie saved the day in so many ways over the course of her life. After the war she returned to Dawson Springs and married my grandfather Decola Franklin, who had served in the U. S. Navy on a Mine Sweeper in the South Pacific.
They had two daughters, Patricia and DeNell ( my mom). Nannie was always finding ways to do nice things for others and contribute to some cause all her life, just as she did back in the early forties. That is one of the reasons I know first hand those people truly were a great generation, because she was so great. As a group the majority of those people stepped up to the task of supporting or serving their country at great sacrifices to their personal lives. She always spoke fondly of those years during the war, and I felt the need to share a little about her service as a tribute to her. Nannie passed away in 1995, her name was Brunette Russell Franklin Cato, and in 1942 she became one of many Rosie the Riveters.

The Message

I'm sorry but you've missed me. Leave a message at the beep.

{Beep.......}

Well it seems that I have missed you, and what timing.

I was really hoping that I could talk to you, but I guess this message will have to do.

You see, I was calling to let you know that I am going to be moving.

Today actually.

I hate to just spring this on you, but it was a spur of the moment decision. In fact, I just decided today.

So I guess this is the last time you will hear from me, unless you plan on making it to Guadalajara.

Yes, that's where I'll be. The plane actually leaves in an hour, and that's why I called. I am leaving the things that belonged to you here on the back porch. The house has been sold to a really nice crippled man that sells crackerjacks out of a vendor in the park. He gave me an offer that I couldn't refuse. He will be moving in on Monday. He said it would take him a while being crippled and all. So that should give you some time to come over and grab these things.

Oh, and by the way, I hope you don't mind but I kept that Sombrero you had. I thought that I could probably use it more that you ever will. I will never forget that night that you got it at Crazy Chi Chi's. What a blast!
So much fun and so many margaritas.

Regardless, I just needed a change of pace, and I found this flyer on my way to work...so I thought what the hay!

Sunny Guadalajara...yeah!

So good luck to you and maybe our paths will cross again.

{Beep........}

A Legacy of Notes Come Flowing

Most days I would go to the garden to wait for her, sometimes for an hour and sometimes just a few seconds. Nevertheless, I spent a great deal of time in the garden. Everyday I was waiting for a touch, a voice, an explanation; and nothing came. What does it matter, the garden was beautiful.

The brick wall that cages her garden was tall, and the bricks were old and rounded on the corners from the wind and the Ivy that climbed it. I enter the garden through the south gate; a tall and rusted wrought iron gate lets me in. To the left the wall is flanked with holly hocks, tall and colorful, but informal. Standing lower than these but just in front are the delphinium and fox glove. Beds of flox creep below these flowers and in the summer the left side of the garden is always teaming with butterflies and humming birds. I know that she constructed this portion when she was happy, and when I am happy I sit on the bench in the east section to the left of the gate.

When I am sad, I go the north end of her garden to wait for her. Coming through that gate I can tell where it will be that I sit. The north section is a very serious lot. It shows me her dark side. Tall junipers trimmed to perfection line the north wall. A swerving line of boxwoods border the junipers omitting their musky smell. And with in each curve of the boxwoods stands a burning bush. In the fall that is the only color the north garden shows. Her burning bushes bleed through the days and nights of autumn, waiting for her return, for her nurturing hand and for her hum, always waiting.

The west side however, is a cool and reflective place. Along the long wall is a mote or pool. Calm and steady it sits beside the wall and enjoys the tickles of the Ivy that drops its lanky leaves onto its surface. The bench on the west side faces the wall and its mote, and hanging in the center of the west wall is a concrete sculpted face of a woman crying, with her face peering downward toward the water.
The south end of the garden from which I enter is informal and unfinished. It reminds me of her folly, and spontaneous vibe. This is where she experimented; there are all kinds of flowers in this section near the gate. A dogwood shades one section and beneath its canopy are a plethora of lilies of the valley. Daisies and coneflowers can be found here next to southern azaleas full of prominence. Hibiscus and peonies stand side by side. She discriminated not, in this portion, and it is as beautiful as the others.

But where is she, I have been so diligent in my visits and not once has she validated my loyalty. And all at once it came to me, this is her garden, this is her song. She is always in the garden, even when I am not. And in the garden, this self--constructed masterpiece for once she reveals herself. She shows how dark she could be at times in the north side, and how playful she could be in the east. In the west she shows you her patience and her steadiness and in the south she is an activist. Why did I not see her sooner? Why did I not hear her whisper to me in the humming of the little birds? Why couldn't I see her tears on the brick wall in the sculpture and hear her laughter in the wind?

In the end I realized something. The garden was hers, and it spoke of her and in her absence it sang her song. A legacy of notes came flowing. She gave me the garden to help me heal. And it has sustained me, it kept her with me.

How long will I need the garden, how long will I pace its walks and crouch on its benches? Will I ever stop grooming her hedges or clipping her flower tops? I have found that the garden always let me in. It rose to whatever occasion I called for. There were days that the junipers smelt liquor on my breath as I passed, and the mote caught my tears on many days. There were days that I came with a book and ignored the garden, and there were days that I nodded off to sleep. But there were also days that I was in awe of the garden and I examined each frond, each petal. However I graced the garden it returned the favor. Whatever my mood was before I entered the garden, the garden seemed to reflect it. The garden gave me life when all I could see was death and happiness when all I could be was sad. In the garden I could feel safe even when I was afraid. That's what it gave her as well, only she was the gardener. This was here sculpture, her opus.

Sometime has passed and I still need the garden, I need the dogwood, I need the summer flowers and the ivy. I long for their presence because they too are alive. Their life was brought here by her, and painted onto this canvas in her own design. I will always need the garden, because I will always need her.

Thank you for showing me the garden BJ-- I love you.

Billie Jean Carter Storms
1932-2007

"Excuse me sir, do you have the time?"

Monday, January 18Th came and went and gave a nation the chance to remember a man and his movement. A man who would have been 81 on January 15, was remembered for the work he did to improve civil rights in the United States. Sharing the name of another great reformer Martin Luther who led the Protestant Reformation, the two men are known the world over for not going silently into the night.

Although I do not see myself as an activist there are causes that I support and fight for in my own way. It is important for me to know that the life I lead may help to improve life for the generations that follow. Wow, that was deep. Right?

Is it really that easy? Can one life change things for others? I think so!

Gandhi gracefully said: "We must be the change we want to see in the world."

What change is that? In what direction do we want the world and it's people to go? That said, what directions haven't we already gone? Could it be that there are still paths that we haven't traveled? I think so!

Dr. King was the leader of a movement that our country has been forever changed by. A concept of acceptance that seems so simple, but at the time was, in fact, a difficult mountain to climb. It is my opinion that we as a nation should continue to find those mountains, climbing each until those obstacles are all in our rear view mirrors.

Be that as it may, these obstacles will shake us, they will make us question ourselves, they will rock us to our very core. Be it economical, social, or any other issue; the obstacles will always bargain with us for our sanity! We must stay strong!

Let the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and his wife Coretta Scott King, the work of their family as a whole be a example of courage in a time when courage was needed. And let it not only be in the month of February that we recognize people who have helped to change things for the greater good. People who have helped shape our America into the type of country that it was invented to be.

As my wise Aunt Judy often contributes: "Sometimes all we have to give is our time."

Time works!

Can you spare some?

Coffee Shop Thoughts

The people who sit in coffee shops are different from those who sit in taverns...but not too much.

Why not have a beer or cup of coffee at home? It's much cheaper, possibly cleaner and definitely more comfortable.

It's social interaction that these roamers seek. The expressions on other people's faces, the random conversations...that's why we've come. It's the loneliness of four walls that drives us out into the outside world. When I am alone I think of everything there is that I need to do and on a productive day I will go ahead on those projects. However, when I am not in that productive mood, I need an escape. I need a long conversation, a new joke, a good laugh and extra faces.

Today I have watched a woman in a flowing black dress sway from one side of this room to the other, taking pictures in random fashion. There seems to be no wit to the plan of action, but a lot of pictures just the same.

One man has almost ran past me several times. I am not sure what he is doing. Does he work here? Or is he just here so often that he walks about as if he is at home. You know the type. They will be quick to show you around...where the restrooms are, what to and what not to do, who is strange and who is great. They don't like to go home. They leave work and come this way and only leave before the door is locked. I have been there and it is a fond sense of belonging. A person can meet and attain good friends this way so long as the institution that he is committed to stays afloat.

I look out of place here. I am dressed differently than most of the other patrons and I have seemingly went unnoticed. It's the same feeling that one finds in a casino, until you win the big prize and the buzzers sound and suddenly you are in the room and no longer just an anonymous face. I will be anonymous here too, until I trip and fall into the floor in front of the regulars, or mistake the men's room for the ladies, or drop my umbrella...you know the drill. An umbrella? They are thinking, it never rains in Texas.

I wish it would rain today. I wish that water would fall from the sky and drench the earth with it's tears. What does that mean? What am I thinking?

There is a young girl playing on a computer in the corner. She is plump and messy. She has had a good time since I have been here. She has skipped about in her flip flops, she has been read to, she has eaten, and now she is on that computer. I haven't heard her speak a word. She seems very sweet. She is chewing gum and teetering in her chair. I can tell that she is smart. Maybe she is the child of one of the employees here, or maybe one of her parents, ore even her babysitter is enjoying a cup of coffee or beer here. I wonder what she will do when she gets older? What will she be? I wonder if she will get married? Oh, there is her mother now, or so she seems. They are now leaving the building together. Her mother did work here.

A older gentleman stared at an attractive young woman sitting on a pink sofa with her laptop. He sized her up and she never noticed his gazes. These are all part of the days that linger by here.

A tall woman is leaving with her young son, she shaved neither her legs or underarms. I wonder why her son is not in school? But then again, the little girl was not either...is it a holiday today? The woman's face looks very kind. She was friendly with a short older man. They seemed to be romantic with one another. She was more enthralled with him than he with her. She wanted to control him it seemed. She wanted to pick out his clothes and schedule his barber appointments. The boy liked both of them...maybe they were divorced. How fickle...maybe they are still married.

Since being here I have wonder what the source of income may be for this establishment. Even though I really don't care. I would rather think about the people here. They are what is of interest to me.

An older man is sitting close to the window reading a book. He looks to be around sixty five years old. He has a cherry coke and is engulfed in his literature.

Along with food, spirits and coffee you may also purchase cigars, art, there is a stage and in the evening you may be entertained by various groups of musicians. This place is a cafeteria and a gallery, a dinner theater with a bar. There is a friendly area for children and a patio for the lovers of the sky. There is a bar and there are tables, ever couches. An ATM machine feeds cash to those who need it and you can buy the coffee beans that create the flavors you crave in quantities that would keep you from coming back tomorrow. But you won't. Why would you?

Silence.

A dozen microphone stands pose for a picture just below the stage. Like soldiers reporting for duty they are ready for a friendly hand to take them on stage.

I don't see a checker board. I wish there was one, and someone who wanted to play. Maybe I would strike up a conversation. Play a game of checkers...maybe even win.

The man with his book and cherry coke in toe is getting up. I think he is leaving. Where will he go? What is next on his list today? I will never know his name.

I'm blank. I like it here. The bar keep just turned on the music and now a subtle drift of tunes burst through speakers that have been waiting to be turned on.

I have noticed that there are stickers everywhere. Political activism is rampant here.

A man probably around fifty struts by breathing coffee and cigarettes on the girl that he stares at. Yes the same guy. I think she knows that she has been noticed but is smart enough not to return the gazes.

Well, I guess I have observed enough. My cup is empty...should I go? Yeah...I need to get home. I gather my things and start to leave the room that I have blown a Saturday morning in. I wonder what these cats thought of me?

One room! What?

Jesse Stuart, was an American writer from Kentucky. I've read several of his books, poetry and stories; usually given to me by my Papaw. Papaw loves Jesse Stuart's catalog because he wrote a great deal about rural living in Kentucky around the turn of the last century. His writing proves to be very reminiscent of growing up in Western, Kentucky during that time.

One particular autobiographical book written by Stuart is; The Thread that Runs So True. This book discusses Stuarts experience as a young teacher fresh out of college teaching in a one room school house in Appalachia.

It's no question that I would rather hear Papaw tell stories about his school days at Poole's School, but at the same time for a little insight into this educational practice from days gone by, pick up The Thread that Runs so True.

Papaw usually begins a story by saying: "Son in those days."

In those days the "school house" sometimes doubled as a church and general meeting place. It consisted of one room with a pot belly stove in the center that heated the place. Papaw mentioned that in the winter time nice men would usually go by and stoke up the stove so it would be warm when the boys and girls arrived. These school houses taught students through to the eighth grade at which point they would need to attend the nearest high school, if they so chose. Where I grew up that would have been Nortonville, Princeton or my hometown of Dawson Springs, Kentucky.

Usually teachers were remembered very fondly, much like today. Families were often larger than today's average family and often a teacher would get to know a whole family of youngsters. Lunch was not provided, so you brought your lunch along. I have often heard my Aunt Aminell reminisce about her mother sending a homemade country ham biscuit in her lunch box and a piece of fruit from the orchard if it was in season. Most of the time the "school house" was located in central locations surrounded by farms, so there was usually a story about the walks to and from school. I am sure you are aware of these two way up hill walks. Regardless, it was a different way but it seemed to work well.

Several members of my family on both sides attended one room schools. They were dotted across the country side and it would have reminded you of an episode of The Little House on the Prairie. Recess would be in the school yard and usually a bell would be rang to hustle the boys and girls back in to study.

Papaw was one of ten children and most of them attended Poole's School in an area where Christian and Caldwell Counties meet. My Nannie, on my Mother's side of the family was one of eight children and she attended Menser School, a one room school in the community of Menser a few miles outside of Dawson Springs.

Corporal punishment applied and usually a trip to get a switch or just a good whack with a yard stick would suffice in case you acted out. I can't imagine what a child today would say if a teacher asked him to go grab a switch from the yard.

Regardless, times change as they do but the memory of the way things worked in the past often help us to generate ideas about the future. These schools were plentiful so the classroom size was small and the children got a great deal of individual attention from the teacher. Obviously there were no computers, or cell phones, not even telephones. Carrying your girlfriends books really might be an act of chivalry, rather than walking a few paces to her locker you might walk her and her books a couple of miles and then still have to head home yourself. Before you left for school, since your family didn't own a television, you might get up and milk the cows, collect a few eggs, hunt for a few squirrels or rabbits for your breakfast. Then your mother used the bounty from your morning chores to serve you breakfast and lunch she was sending along. Upon getting home from school you probably have a few evening chores to do as well before you ate supper and hung around the Radio in the living room to listen to one of Roosevelt's Fireside Chats, or your favorite radio show.

Times really were different and as we progress through this century we may be certain that our way of doing things will begin to look archaic at some point too. But it will not stop us from remembering or charging forward for our own children and families. Because even though the days of the one room school houses are over in this country, there are many people among us that attended those schools and turned out to be some pretty smart folks...ask around!

Stay tuned.

The Art of Humming

I know a man who hums, and he is a good man.

He's a dentist in my hometown and he hums while he works.

I have often heard people tell horror stories about going to the dentist. Grown men and women still terrified of these doctor's chairs. I guess I just never understood that. You see, my dentist would start humming and I would often fall asleep in the chair. Seriously, during a routine teeth cleaning, just lying there conked out, can you imagine? I have often shared this with friends dreading to make a dentist appointment and sometimes they comment that they wish their dentist hummed too. But I am not all together sure that was the reason I was so comfortable with the man, after all I have known him all my life.

He grew up in the same time as my parents, and my sister and I grew up with his children. It seems funny but that's the way things work in a small town. Six degrees of separation in my hometown is almost a pointless endeavor; you would never stop connecting the dots.

Nevertheless, I always enjoy talking to him because he has such an interesting take on the world. His father was a dentist too, a nice man, an outdoors man. In fact if it wasn't so cold in Western, Kentucky, you might find him on Lake with his fishing buddy right now. He retired several years ago, but for a good long time they practiced together. My Aunt use to work in their office and that too might have been comforting but that wasn't it completely.

He and his family lived in a nice southern home, the same home that he grew up in. There is a lot of history in that house and the house is just about as old as the town. I always heard that the house was ordered from a Sears and Roebuck Catalog, and the supplies came in on the train, isn't that neat? A white house with a sprawling front porch and green shutters, a real beauty. I was there a lot in High School and sometimes I was even there at dinner time. His wife is a great person too, both of them have always been civic minded, nice people, and really great parents. He even became a minister while we were growing up, and you could listen to his sermons on the radio on Sunday mornings.

Once he told me a story about two prominent ladies in town that he did odd jobs for while he was growing up. The story really reminded me of my own childhood, heck I was still doing odd jobs and cutting grass for older ladies scattered all over town then. The story was a neat one about two neighbors who sort of competed to see which yard could be the prettiest. But to me what was so great about the story was that I found comparison with this mans childhood and my own. I thought then, Jonathon, you must be on the right track. From then on I thought about that story and how many young boys get the chance to cut grass and work for their neighbors, especially in a small town like ours. You can learn a lot from these older folks. So I kept up the work to keep money in my pockets and I never forgot that story; probably never will.

That story connected me to someone that I had a great deal of respect for. I haven't tried to mimic his life, but as life continues to happen I still think of this man as a role model. You know, if you can go into a dentist office and lie down in the chair and fall asleep during your appointment, then your dentist must be a pretty good guy. And that's just it, he is a good man, then and now. When I was younger I thought...that is the same kind of guy I want to be and still do.

I don't know if he ever knew I thought that about him, I guess it wouldn't matter much, he would have been the same good guy whether he knew it or not. He was brought up right, but the rest he did on his own.

That said, you never really know who is watching you or what they might be thinking. You don't know what kind of impact you are making on the people that are around you; up close and from afar. Even though I am not a dentist, or a minister, or a dad, the role model thing still applies. Who knows, maybe someday someone will think that way about me or you? It is at least something to shoot for!

Not long ago I shared a few stories about this man to a friend that had an appointment with his dentist the next day. After I was finished, he asked what did him humming have anything to do with the story? He obviously was not a deep thinker like myself.

My reply was:

"He's a great guy!" "How many ole grouches do you know that go around humming all the time?"

Stay tuned.

Climb Every Mountain

I had a long talk with myself at the end of 2009, I said:

"Jonathon, 2010 is going to be your year, for no other reason than you are going to make it your year!"

Wow, my year...

What to do, what to do...

You see I am the kind of guy that likes list. I love them and make list for everything. I am sure that you couldn't imagine how much enjoyment I get out of crossing off everything from a list. I know its a small triump, but a triumph indeed. Victory!

That said, I have so many things on my list this year and you guessed it this blog is one of them. I have all these stories about my family, about college, about friends, road trips, just about anything and everything that you can think of. Oddly enough stories I can't live without because they are a part of me. These stories take me back, they make me smile, and many times the stories help me to make sense out of things...if that makes sense.

So, back to climbing every mountain. I, for some reason have been itching to get these stories out of my head. I just don't want to lose them because so many of the lovely folks that passed them along to me have passed away and one really special person now has Alzheimers disease. All of which has triggered me to get them all down, while they are still fresh with details and spunk; like real names. I mean what's a story without real names, right? So bare with me as I climb this mountain and who knows what is on the other side.

For tomorrow I will tell stories, I am ready and I am able!

Now get on itunes and listen to Climb Every Mountain! Go on.

You've got to start somewhere!

I know that there are people out there that think like me; they're everywhere! We laugh at the same jokes, we watch the same movies, we shop at the same stores, we love life.

And I know what you're thinking: "There is no way in hell there are people out there like that nut!"

But I think you're wrong! We're singing out loud to the tunes we just recognized on the elevators, we're talking to every clerk at every grocery store, we're having a good time...maybe even too good of a time. So this blog is for you! The ones like me!

This will be my daily forum to say whatever I want. I have debated for a few years about blogging and this year I made it my New Years Resolution to blog...among other things. And why not? Why shouldn't I smear my opinions across the web for myself to feel validated? Who knows, maybe I can talk Mom into subscribing?

Regardless, I love to tell stories and I hope this blog gives me a healthy outlet to get some old stories out of my head and recorded. I also hope the blog helps me grow as a thinker and as is my hope in every endeaver...I hope this blog gives me another outlet to reach out and get to know people...I love that the most! Stay tuned...