A little blood, sweat and tears

This family has been seriously accident-prone these past couple of weeks. And I'm not talking about the usual driveway fender benders or even the occasional encounter with the gates of a gated neighborhood.

It's really not something to joke about, but you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Warning: If you are squeamish, walk away from the computer.

First, bruiser Bob had a collision with the fencepost of the sportsplex tennis courts. He is the least accident-prone of the bunch. He closes open cabinet doors and removes random house shoes from the hallways to avoid breaking a hip. Still, he couldn't stop chasing the tennis ball and the winning point. He left skin from his knees, shoulder and scalp on the court. That's balling.

Then Mary Katherine managed to slam a sliding glass door on her thumb. She promises this hurt worse than the time she dropped an entire metal locker onto the back of her achilles heel. And I can believe it. Photographs don't lie.

Then Reagan, one of our favorite cousins, topped off the week with a TERRIBLE head-on collision in Oxford. It is still so fresh and so close and so scary that there are hardly words to describe how grateful we are that he is safe and whole.

If Nanny were here, she would have been worried sick. But surely she knew, as Ralph Waldo Emerson so eloquently said:
"As soon as there is life, there is danger."

Or ...  here's a less eloquent way to look at it, taken from one of my favorite refrigerator magnets:

"You can either be a positive example or a horrible warning."

Here's to making the best things from the worst ones, fam. Be careful out there!

Hail, hail the gang's all here

January, cold and blank and not-yet-filled up, is a great time to take a memory trip. Just a short one. No time for wandering off into valleys and deserts.

Today, I was looking for a cute pre-school photo to instagram in honor of baby girl's 20th birthday. On the closet floor, I found her favorite childhood book "The Wind in the Willows." She loved it in the same way I like Sunday afternoon golf on TV -- it's such a comforting background for napping.

"The Wind in the Willows," with its friendly rodent characters, became like a worn baby blanket -- something a toddler could cling to and cherish. We took it to Minneapolis with us when she went for her kidney transplant 18 freezing winters ago. And in a flash of sentimentality, I asked the medics in Minneapolis to leave a note for her in the favorite book.

Today, I discovered that those notes, written for a two year old, were the perfect well-wishes for a 20th year birthday.

From our Nigerian housekeeper friend:

 May the Good Lord be with you. I shall continue to remember you in my prayers.

From the lovely woman pediatric nephrologist who was a Mississippi native:

 May your life be filled with rainbows.

From our longtime friend, the good Dr. Nevins: 

Love and prayers for a full life.

Happy 20th Rach!

It's 2014 y'all

Bet you couldn't predict last year. I sure couldn't. Thinking back makes me grateful. And really amazed.

In January, I went to visit my good friend Rhonda in Phoenix.

The highlight was climbing to this Indian cliff dwelling with a wonderful guide, who refused to let me fall off the mountain. Graceful.

Later in the month, Bobby and his team "Hot to Trot" won the chili cook-off in downtown Laurel. The secret ingredient? Bacon! That's almost cheating because bacon makes everything better. But we married them for their cooking ability -- right Carole? (and a few other things).

Team Hot to Trot: David Casey, Jim Rasberry, Mike Axton, Bob Gholson -- Mike Attaway went missing!

As usual, crazy Young Life antics were ongoing at the Gholson house.

We generally make a mess, but hey, that's life -- messy.

On February 14, lots of precious girls came over for Young Life spa night -- an annual Laurel Young Life tradition. The house never looked more beautiful, thanks to sweet Janna and her decorating talents.

And then when the girls arrived! The real beauty sparkled.

Lots of pampering, massages and manicures and sharing of heartaches and happiness. Jessica Welborn spoke about the love of God -- how he pursues us. It was a great reminder of true beauty and true love!

In April, in honor of our birthdays, my long lost friend and tennis partner Pam Howard played tennis with me. There's a lot of life, pain, joy and "twirly do's" bonding these two blonde chicks.

All along the way there was lots of tennis and lots of Toby!

And then in May, it snowed in hell I guess, because the Gholsons got an unsolicited offer on the Laurel house, and -- WHAT? -- sold it. Our friends were appalled, shocked, even mad. Kitty wouldn't speak to Bobby for weeks.

And despite my friend Karen's advice to take my time buying a new house, we didn't. A couple of weeks later, we were the proud new owners of a very old house in the Hattiesburg historic district. Not quite sure it was the right thing to do but doing it anyway.

Rachel Beth said she was homeless. Mary Katherine thought it would be a great adventure. Marcia and Papa and Aunt Rachel and Gene thought it was perfect -- the entire Roseberry family back in the hub city. How's that for coming full circle?

That's my down-the-street crazy sister and General Hortman entertaining our sweet neighbor Jane. 

The house is becoming home. We are working real hard to make it "where we love."

Kitchen before

kitchen after

300 6th Avenue, send us a letter!

Pretty much all the girls!

Since the move, life has been a blur. Rachel was a lifeguard this past summer at Young Life camp Woodleaf in northern California. Probably because I had the audacity to say she couldn't do that, so she proved she could.

At summer's end she moved into the Chi Omega floor at Crosby on the Ole Miss campus with her sweet friend Chandler. She changed her major to pre-law and engineering, much to our surprise and joy.

I took the trip of a lifetime in August with my girl friends and Sister Golden Hair Surprise (a.k.a Mary Katherine) to St. Martin.

And then, if that weren't enough excitement, Peter got a lawyer job with a great firm in Jackson! We think he is the cutest prince of a lawyer ever. And we think Daniel, Coker, Horton and Bell is fortunate. So is the prince.

Christmas was so exciting with the best presents, including a second trip in one year to St. Martin. We'll call this one a honeymoon.

Finally, not wanting to miss out on the big events of the year, Sister got a new home.

Mary and Peter bought a fabulous house on Northside Drive in Jackson. It just needs a little work. 

Don't we all!

Happy 2014 from our house to yours!

Well, how do you judge?

You can't judge a book by its cover.

That is such an over-used cliche that we often miss the wisdom in it -- telling us to look deeper, give it a chance, question, explore.

Living in our high-gloss, slicked-out, stars and stripes world, we are constantly stereotyping. And probably missing the joy because we are judging by the cover.

I was tempted to do it myself when I saw this boulangerie on the pock-marked Mont Vernon Avenue in St. Martin.

That's a bakery, believe it or not.

Now I love a hole in the wall restaurant. But that establishment. It just looked a little ... well ... scary.

Here's what we found inside.

That's A croissant fresh out of the oven (nothing like the grocery store variety).  A sticky, raisin and cream-filled bun and -- my favorite -- a brioche. The lady behind the counter kept trying to educate me in the correct pronunciation. "Breee-oshe." Wiki defines brioche: a pastry of French origin whose high egg and butter content give it a rich and tender crumb.

Oh yeah. Made me forget all about the outside of the boulangerie.

My Dad once shared a lesson he learned at the old Roseberry Piano House in downtown Hattiesburg. Daddy was a young piano salesman. I bet he was slick and tie-wearing and friendly. An older fellow came in wearing overalls. He wanted a new piano for his daughter. My dad the city slicker began showing him used spinets and talking up the Roseberry "rent to own" plan.

But the sales pitch was all wrong. The customer wanted a gleaming new (and expensive) grand piano. After making his choice, Mr. Overalls reached into his bib pocket and pulled out the cash to pay in full.

Proving once again: You can't judge a customer by his overalls.

------

1 Samuel 16:7  For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

Dashing through the sand ....

It's so sunny I can't open my eyes out here!

Such an out-of-the-body experience for the week between Christmas and the New Year. Normallly a time for unfolding all your new clothes and putting up the holiday plates and undecorating the dehydrated Christmas tree.

Instead, I am in the middle of three books, listening to the winds through the palms. And the French housekeeper slushing "suois" and "ouis" on her cellphone next door.

Yesterday we walked Friar's Beach, hiked to Happy Bay and glanced at the show -- and oh what a show -- on the nude strip (no pun intended) of Orient Bay.

Over the beach and through the waves.

It's really not better, just different.

And "different" is what I asked for, since I couldn't do "the same" in a place that wasn't yet home.

It will be home.

The Hub City. Downtown. The Oaks. Sixth Avenue and all the variety of people passing through it.  I'm sure it will be home.

As soon as I get screen doors. And a few more parties, gatherings, planning meetings, crying sessions, drop-ins and impromptu friend nights. Oh yeah. And overnight company. It needs to house a law clerk, a displaced family and at least a couple of overseas guests before it's really home. Any volunteers?

Here's to a 2013 that didn't turn out like I thought it would and a 2014 with the promise of more than I could ask or imagine.

I had hummus and pitas at Volta with three precious girls who are big fans of the END-IT movement. This is a cause they adopted thanks to Louie Giglio and his team of Christian speakers and rockers at the Passion Conference.

Basically, END-IT movement works to stop human trafficking. And human trafficking usually involves sex. Think of the movie "Taken" and those squalid brothels (if you can stand it).

For moms of young daughters, this cause is hard to look at. It's too painful. It's horrendously frightening. And if we admit it happens, we might not be able to sleep at night.

But awful things DO happen. And not just in Amsterdam or Guatemala. In my newspaper, on my kitchen counter, there is a picture of a man who got three life sentences for child pornography. It's gross to say, but this man filmed sex acts with children.

I know you don't want to read this here. You'd rather read about the hummus and pitas.

And I'm going back there -- to Volta and the beautiful freshmen girls who love their sorority and plan for formals and take self-paced psychology and go to chemistry labs.

Over hummus, these girls talked about dance practice. They are preparing for a weekend frat event called Derby Day that is always a blast. Yes, lots of people get drunk. But it makes for good memories unless your foot is squished by a bus.

The sun will shine and the dancing will be fun. Hundreds of girls will dress up like candy (that is this year's theme) and booty-shake and shimmy and probably pelvic thrust for the frat guy judges.

Woah, I can hear the voices say, "pelvic thrusting"? That sounds a little strong.

Better to just say: "They will do a provocative dance."

But being a journalist and a truth-teller at heart, I can't stand euphemisms. Call it what you will. I'm thinking slutty dancing.

Here's a description I found online, written by a guy, that pretty much describes it:

Got a test that week? Forget about it. You have to practice your ass off to perfect your bootylicious dance routine so old men judges can drool over you and hopefully declare your group the winning ass-shakers.  So, while all of the girls sell their souls to this male dominated absurdity, the men of Sigma Chi sit around, get hammered and enjoy all of the attention. At least it’s for charity, right?

I know I'm not supposed to, but, truthfully, I can deal with slutty dancing. I love the Sweet Potato Queens. I love Dancing with the Stars.  I love slow dancing myself to Percy Sledge's "Let's Get it On."

Here's the part that makes me squeamish. At this fun fraternity event, each sorority provides a girl to compete for the title of Queen for a Day. This is not a Cinderella-Snow White type of queen. NoNoNo. Think Brittany and Madonna on steroids. Think stripper pole and push-up bra and potty mouth in one gorgeous, slightly drunk package.

It is a dubious honor to be chosen for this role. Many girls politely say "no thanks" when selected to represent their sorority sisters. So the sorority moves on to the next wildly sexy candidate until they find one willing to, ahem, perform.

Now I'm not condemning. I'm just being honest here. It is quite a juxtaposition. A clash of values. A conundrum.

Sororities promote values of sisterhood, friendship, campus involvement, philanthropy, teamwork -- and of course dating, shopping, cattiness, elitism, money-wasting and partying.

So there's lots of material here for the essay writers and deep thinkers.

In your honors class, you might be leading an honors discussion on vanishing cultures  or writing a paper comparing and contrasting science fiction with the therapies employed by Sigmund Freud.

But this tying of the events of Derby Day weekend to the END-IT movement. Comparing and contrasting and fleshing it all out. That's a little complicated for me.

That's one for a real Honors College discussion.NOW.

A ring of fire

When I wrote for Gannett a lifetime ago, there was this category in grading an article for competition: Evokes emotion.

Does the story make you fearful? Does it make you laugh or smile? Better yet, does it bring you to tears? Now that is an accomplishment for a writer. Making the reader feel something.

You win Sarah Vowell.

Sarah is a writer and for the radio program This American Life on Public Radio International. Wikipedia calls her a "social observer."

Sarah's radio story about the romance and marriage of Johnny and June Cash will grab your heart. Perhaps you will be cold enough to avoid emotion. I broke into a gasp and found myself crying.

June and Johnny's love was wrong on so many counts. He was married. She was married. And not to each other. They fell in love anyway. It happened. And it turned into something beautiful.

Find some good in that if you will.

Johnny and June Cash don't fall into the category of "good example" or "horrible warning." But their love was oh so touching and oh so inspirational.

As Sarah Vowell tells it, June wrote the song "Ring of Fire" while she was fighting against the love she felt for Johnny. Later, Johnny and his mariachi band trumpets took June's creation and turned it into a song like no other. Johnny's gravel-voiced passion in "Ring of Fire" was frosted with the oohs and ahs and ladylike echoes of the background singers -- June's sainted mother and sister.

Johnny must have been some hunk of burning love.

Johnny credited June with saving his life -- and she probably did. Snatching him from drugs and sharing her faith in God with him.

Even as they contemplated death together, the two were passionate. This beautiful duet predicts the final days of their 35 years together.

See if it doesn't make you shed a silent tear as you listen to June's sweet thin voice:

"If it proves to be His will that I am first to cross,
and somehow I've a feeling it will be.
When it comes your time to travel, likewise don't feel lost.
For I will be the first one that you'll see.

I'll be waiting on the farside banks of Jordan.
I'll be sitting drawing pictures in the sand.
And when I see you coming I will rise up with a shout
and come running through the shallow water, reaching for your hand."

To hear Sarah Vowell's beautiful story of Johnny and June's romance, listen by clicking here: This American Life . The podcast is titled "What is this thing?" The Carters' story, Act 3, is contained in the last 10 minutes ... don't even bother with the first 49 minutes of the show.