Sibling revelry

Last Monday night during the third and final presidential debate between incumbent Barack Obama and challenger Mitt Romney, President Obama several times accused Governor Romney of being "all over the map."

In fact if he said it one more time I was going to holler "Liar!" at the TV again.

The debate was broadcast from the Sunshine State (only one of Florida's many nicknames).

Ironically, I was not at home in the Palmetto State (only one of South Carolina's nicknames) on the night in question.

Because I have been rather all over the map myself.

From the Tar Heel State (only one of North Carolina's nicknames), where I sojourned for less than twenty-four hours (quick trip to take pictures of my babies), I came back home and began preparations for a long weekend in the Volunteer State (only one of Tennessee's nicknames).

We were to leave on Friday.

Only, on Thursday morning my beloved Uncle Sherrill passed away.

Of my original three uncles I have only one left.

Uncle Sherrill's death was not unexpected but still, it was hard news to hear. He had suffered quite a bit in the last few weeks.

So we left the Palmetto State this afternoon and as I write we are spending the night in the Peach State (only one of Georgia's nicknames), with our daughter Erica.

Early on Friday morning we'll set out for the Bayou State (only one of Louisiana's nicknames) via the Cotton State (only one of Alabama's nicknames) and the Magnolia State (only one of Mississippi's nicknames).

If that doesn't land me in a bona fide State of Confusion we will all come out ahead.

The funeral is set for Saturday. Please pray for us! We are a close family and hearts will be hurting.

My mother is the eldest of four children and her brother Sherrill -- the sibling closest to her in age -- is the first to go.

Their mother died in 1981 and their father in 1994.

So I have sibling revelry on my mind, because I was just with my three grandchildren, who find the cutest ways to love one another, and I am reminded of how close and happy my mother and her siblings have been throughout the years.

You know I'll get the pictures! And then I'll share them with you.

Meanwhile, be happy on purpose this Friday and this weekend!

Live in a State of Grace.

That is all.

Alrighty then

Seen today in Western North Carolina:

Two more weeks.

Just another day in pair-adise

Stephanie and Joel got engaged to be married twelve years ago today.

Congratulations, kids.

I remember that Saturday with crystal clarity: ten twenty two thousand.

TG and I, who lived in the Northeast at that time, were on a weekend getaway in the Poconos.

Stephanie had gone to Joel's parents' house elsewhere in Pennsylvania to spend the weekend.

I think she knew what was going down.

Joel served as Best Man in a friend's wedding that day (congratulations to you two too, Frank and Ramona), but before he performed that office he found time to put a sparkling diamond ring on the finger of our ravishing and very-much-in-love firstborn.

When our daughter called us later to share the momentous news, we could hear the joy in her voice.

Stephanie and Joel's church wedding took place eight months and ten days later. Now, eleven-plus years on, there are three wee ones.

Works for me! Romance, engagement, marriage, procreation. The traditional family, ordained and established by none other than the Creator of the universe.

In other words, the beautiful unfolding of God's perfect plan for mankind.

Not so much in Columbia today, which is hosting the annual "Pride" parade on Main Street.

I attended last year's event, to take pictures. I showed them to you on this blog.

Two years ago our pastor read in the newspaper the day after the parade, that there had been "no visible opposition" to the homosexuals marching south on Main Street toward our State House.

That didn't sit well with our pastor, who is a fine Christian gentleman. So last year, he and other local pastors organized a silent protest to the shameful "Pride" proceedings.

They encouraged God-fearing Christian men to assemble peacefully and simply hold their Bibles aloft along the parade route.

That's because God's Word characterizes homosexuality as a sin and an abomination.

An "unnatural affection" as it were.

I went along with TG last year to -- as I said -- take pictures.

My Bible stayed behind because TG is the head of our home and as such he did that part.

He kissed me goodbye earlier today and went to do the same thing at this year's "Pride" parade set to commence at twelve noon on the streets of our fair city.

As for me, I didn't have the stomach to once again witness effeminate males clad in underwear and leather straps marching in public, advertising a deviant lifestyle.

I cannot even talk about the masculine females.

Again this year the Sheriff of Richland County will march with the sodomites, and will provide taxpayer-funded vehicles and resources.

Even though sodomy is against the law in South Carolina, and a logical person would conclude our Sheriff is sworn to uphold the laws of our state.

Again this year our pastor entreated the men of our church to sacrifice a part of their Saturday (and a very beautiful autumn Saturday it is) to again line the parade route and simply hold their Bibles high in protest to the indecent exhibitionism taking place in our streets.

Hey! I just had a thought. Wonder what would happen if heterosexual people decided to march down Main Street in their underwear?

Not that they would. But I 'm just saying, what if?

My feeling is, there would be complaints from an outraged citizenry. And there would be arrests.

And rightfully so.

But there won't be any arrests in Columbia today for people marching lewdly down the street in their tighty whities and much worse.

Oh no! This deal is sponsored by The City of Columbia, Columbia Tourism, Food Lion, General Information Services, Inc. (GIS), Cleartalk Wireless, and others I wouldn't dream of mentioning -- much less linking to -- on this Web site.

So because I would rather not think about it anymore, I have given you some nature pictures. Nature in all its splendor!

Because there's what nature teaches, and what it doesn't teach.

I hope you like it and I hope you get the opportunity to enjoy it today.

Happy Weekend!

Forty love

I learned a lot some things about tennis this week.

I returned to the Rock Hill Tennis Center on Tuesday to see some more of the Rock Hill Rocks Open.

This time I had TG as my escort. He took a day off to spectate some splendid serves and lovely lobs -- not to mention vigorous volleys -- in the autumn sunshine.

Natalie lost in singles but played doubles after lunch. She and her partner, Jacqueline Cako, won that match.

Jackie told TG if this tennis gig doesn't work out, she plans to become a doctor.

Alrighty then!

Nat and Jackie are all set to play dubs again today, may even be playing as I make a stab at finishing this post, which I started yesterday but lacked the wherewithal to complete.

You might as well know: travel -- even short trips -- on consecutive days with early rising times, and including visits to large cemeteries in still-hot weather, gangs up on me and makes a recovery day not only necessary but mandatory.

On recovery days I accomplish nothing. I think there's something wrong with me.

Is there a doctor in the house? Jackie?

Hearing no reply, I will assume she's busy playing tennis.

So anyway here it is Thursday already and I haven't got a clue what to tell you about so I'll just say I don't understand a few things.

One, why in tennis does love mean zero?

Love should never, ever equal zero. I am just saying.

And why does the scoring go fifteen, thirty, forty, then you win the game?

Why isn't it fifteen, thirty, forty-five, or either ten, twenty, thirty, forty?

Whoever made all that up didn't take any of those logic tests that used to drive me crazy.

They kept talking about breaking and I guess I'll never really know what that meant.

And I don't know how they play tennis with the sun shining directly into their eyes, like it was for Natalie in these photos.

I didn't get any pictures of this (should have) but the bags the players carry their racquets and gear around in make them look like big insects.

Here! Here is a picture of a Babolat racquet pod! Imagine it on the back of a lean, athletic girl.

Point Jenny.

One last thing and I'll go do the ironing.

TG and I got together in August of 1978 and for Christmas that year, while we were still only dating, he asked his mother (athletic type, like everyone in their family, not at all like me, I am not a real Weber, let me make that crystal clear) to go to the store and pick out a tennis racquet for my Christmas.

Does the term "lead balloon" mean anything to you? How about "ham sandwich in a synagogue"?

Yeah. I had that racquet in my hand maybe once. I was an ingrate.

Allow me to make it easy for you. When considering a gift for me? Jewelry. Perfume (you cannot go wrong with Chanel). Poetry books. Johnny Depp's cell phone number.

If in doubt, a generous gift card to TJ Maxx -- or Tiffany & Co. -- is always appropriate.

I like it! Simple. Easy to remember. ~Captain Jack Sparrow

OK I've bored you long enough. Housework beckons. Mitt Romney would love me! I like keeping house and I don't think there's a war on women.

Happy Thursday!

All in the wrist

So today, you wouldn't believe.

The alarm woke me at five thirty -- in the morning -- and by seven I was on the road to Rock Hill.

Specifically I was bound for the newish Rock Hill Tennis Center, which this week is hosting the Rock Hill Rocks Open Professional Women's Tennis Association (WTA) tournament.

Big tennis fan are you Jenny, you ask?

No.

But I do like to be invited to things, and I was personally invited to this thing by one of the tennis players, Miss Natalie Pluskota of Newnan, Georgia.

You may remember I mentioned Natalie in a post last May, which was when I met her, on the day Andrew graduated from college.

Andrew and Natalie had become friends at a Bible study and since she played tennis for the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, he had gone to see her compete a couple of times.

Late last week Natalie sent me a message telling me about the Rock Hill tournament and we texted back and forth and I decided I'd go.

Then on Sunday night I found out she was slated to play first on Monday morning, and first meant nine o'clock.

Rock Hill is a ninety-minute drive from Columbia.

Oy!

But I made it in plenty of time and I met Natalie's mom and was visiting with her and then we proceeded to the bleachers courtside to watch Natalie play her second qualifying match.

Only, it promptly began raining -- in earnest -- and that prompted a delay. The contest actually began more than three hours later.

But we had a good time hanging out together, including a trip to Chick-fil-A. Back at the tennis center, before we knew it Natalie had taken to the court and in only one hour, she won her match.

Naturally I had found a big old cemetery to visit while in Rock Hill so after saying goodbye to Natalie and her mom, I tooled over to Laurelwood under sunny skies and scudding clouds.

I did a slow drive-around first to case the joint, as it were, and before long I found this lovely lady.

She beckoned to me and I went over and started taking her picture. About thirty seconds later I noticed she was an amputee.

I also noticed that her human counterpart was a married woman of sixteen years old at the time of her early death.

It's not unusual to see cemetery statutes with absent limbs or digits or even heads, but something about Willie Virginia's un-handed condition got to me.

Maybe it's because it's October which is sort of scary month, and in the movie Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte, which I saw not long ago and which is the scariest movie ever as far as I am concerned, poor John Mayhew gets a hand cut off at the wrist.

At any rate I took at least twenty pictures of all aspects of Willie Virginia's marred monument, before moving on.

Still marveling inwardly at Natalie Pluskota's confident one-armed backhand, I wondered if Willie Virginia would have enjoyed watching -- or playing in -- a tennis match, if she'd lived a little longer.

Figuring we'd never know, I used both hands and wrists to make it home safely. Then I took a nap.

That is all! Happy week!