The BEST Year of My Life

Today will be my final post for 2009. I am leaving for an extended stay in God's Country on the 18th and will return home just before New Year's.

Before I go any further I want to wish you and your family a blessed Christmas, I hope that you are able to spend time with those you love and remember the true spirit of Christmas isn't about the gifts we give or the food we eat, but the gift that was given to us, so many years ago in the birth of our Jesus the Christ.

This year has been the most difficult of my life. I was laid off from my job, a job I loved, back in January. Sam likes to remind me that my lay-off occurred just 2 hours after President Obama was sworn in.

Never did I imagine that I would be in the place I am at 45 years old. The year has tried my patience, my faith and my self-worth. As much as I know my lay-off had nothing to do with my job performance, it still stings when you are told that your services are no longer needed.

I have struggled this year in ways that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but through it all I have made it through, in many ways a stronger man than I was when the year began.

Through all the crap of being laid-off, I have found so much. I have been blessed in ways that I never imagined and have renewed my faith in the power of simple acts of kindness through the people who have carried me through.

As poor as my bank account is, my heart and soul are richer than they have ever been!

In March, the people of Lake Park, Florida elected me to the position of Town Commissioner. After a grueling run-off, I beat a long-term incumbent with over 65% of the vote. The job of Commissioner has been the most rewarding I have ever had. If only I could live on $9,700 a year!!!!

In this year, I have given back to my community and I feel like we are on a good path for the future. Like most communities we face difficult challenges ahead, but we have grown together and will move forward together.

Through the blog and Facebook, I have reconnected with old friends and relatives. People I have not had contact with in decades returned to my life. It has been wonderful to hear from so many people and renewed friendships.

The blog has given me a joy for writing once again. Something I hadn't done in years, but I have found that putting the words on the blog have been cathartic for me, remembering the good and bad times of life is important and the blog has given that to me. Maybe someday I will find a way to make a living with my writing, it really is something that I enjoy doing.

Many of you have embraced the blog and sent me notes through the year to encourage me to keep going. You don't know how much those simple acts of kindness have meant, I will appreciate it forever.

There are many more stories to come and I look forward to sharing them with you in 2010! I hope in some ways the blog has helped you to remember the moments in your life that were important, the ones that helped you grow, made you smile and sometimes made you cry. Memories are a powerful thing, without them our pathway through life would much less meaningful.

2009 has renewed my faith in my fellow man. From a simple hug, kiss on the cheek or telling me you are praying for me, the most important lesson I have learned this year has been that the fellowship of man is strong and thriving, when one of us is down we can rally behind the person and lift them up...... you have done that for me.

I will never be able to thank you all enough for the compassion, prayers and love you have shown me. I hope someday to pass that along in your honor to others in need.

Finally, 2009 has drawn me closer to my family and those I cherish most. Mama, Daddy, Sam, Donna, Chelsea, Zack and Aunt Beck are the most important people in the world to me. My family keeps me on track, we bicker, we laugh and we cry together, but through it all we love.

The love my family has shown me during the past year has been incredible, never judging and always without question, I am honored to be a member of the Rumsey clan!

Yes, in many ways 2009 has been a horrible year, one that I would like to forget. However, the lessons I have learned will be invaluable to me as I move forward in life. You can take my job, my money and my status, you can't take my compassion, love and the gifts that have been given to me through this year.

I will survive this and come out the other side stronger than ever before. Life isn't about the jobs we hold, the cars we drive or the money we make, it is about the friends, family and memories we cherish.

To all of you, thank you for being a part of my 2009 in more ways than I can measure the BEST year of my life!

The Harvest of Thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There is no pressure for the perfect gift, it isn't about one single person, it is just a celebration of thanks.

The food, friends, family all combine to make Thanksgiving a special time.

As I have grown older, my Thanksgiving celebrations have changed. Since, moving to Florida I have always had to work the day after Thanksgiving, so travelling to Georgia has been out of the question. Now, I celebrate this special holiday with my Florida family, a collection of friends who have blessed my life in unimagined ways.

It is sad not to be with my family in Georgia on this holiday, but I know that they hold a special place in their hearts for me as they sit to enjoy the harvest of love they feast on at Thanksgiving.

As much as I loved those Thanksgiving celebrations in God's Country before moving to Florida, and as much as I love the ones I take part in here, my favorite Thanksgiving memories are from my early childhood, in a place called Rochelle, Ga.

Rochelle, is a tiny town in south-western Georgia, approximately 60 miles from Macon. Not much happens in Rochelle, it is an agriculture community that thrives on pecan fields. Rochelle is where we lived the first year of my life.

We moved away from Rochelle, before my first birthday, but it has always held a special place in our hearts.

During our time in Rochelle, our family became part of a close-knit circle of friends the Hudsons, the Horns, the Mashburns, Whitworths, Conners, Reeds and others, an extended family much like the one I have created in Florida.

We had a special bond with the Hudsons, Newt, Gracie, Randy, Dixie and Suzanne.

For years after moving to God's Country, we would travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving. Mama and daddy would pack up the car after school let out on Wednesday and we would travel into the night to our friend's in south-Georgia. A standing invitation was held for us at Newt and Gracie's house and we would revel in being there.

Newt was the County Extension Director and later became a State Legislator. Randy, their son, is the splitting image of his father in personality and actions.

Gracie was a combination of Paula Deen and Rose Kennedy. The loud, hilarious, protective matriarch of the family. Dixie is as much like Gracie as anyone could imagine.

Suzanne, the perfect combination of her father's quite dignity and her mother's rambunctious zest for life.

To me, Gracie was the funniest, kindest, most loving person I have ever known. She had an infectious laugh that would echo through the house, a love that was as poignant one on one as in a crowd, and a simple elegance that would capture every eye when she walked into a room.

Arriving in Rochelle for Thanksgiving meant one thing.... joy! Unbridled joy!

We would drive up to the Hudson house late into the evening and be engulfed in hugs, kisses and laughter that would last long past the time we returned to God's Country.

Without delay preparations would begin for the Harvest of Thanks that would be presented the next day. A table filled with turkey, ham, beef, fish, vegetables, salads, cakes and pies of every combination and most of all love.

My favorite memories of Gracie have nothing to do with the meal preparation, but special times sharing the bench of her organ, laughing and singing to her concert that in my mind was performed just for me.

Located in the den of the house was Gracie's organ, no music in sight, but the most important piece of furniture in their house in my young mind.

To this day, I recall asking repeatedly "Gracie, will you play the organ for me?" After some simple coaxing, she would always pull off her apron, take me by the hand, place me on the bench along side her and begin to play. Gracie played by ear, and in my mind she performed like the best of the best at Carnegie Hall.

I would sit along side Gracie and the rest of the family would join us in the den. She would play, she would sing, she would laugh and we would all join in. Those moments spent with Gracie are some of the most treasured of my life, I will never forget that time for as long as I live.

Mama and Gracie would continue preparations for the feast long into the night. Potatoes peeled, oranges crushed, cakes baked and a continuous round of basting the turkey throughout the night, this was a meal prepared with love for all those who would sit together the following day.

After a long night, preparations would again begin early in the morning. After a full breakfast, daddy, Newt, Tom, Sam and Randy would make their way to the Hudson's farm, a sprawling pecan orchard with grazing cows and catfish ponds. I stayed behind, tugging on Gracie's apron strings just enjoying the time with this lady I loved so much.

By lunchtime, the house was filled with all the other families who had been a part of our life in Rochelle. Providing their own dishes, there was easily enough food for the entire state and more laughter in one confined place than should be allowed.

We would gather together as time for the feast approached and Newt would lead us in prayer. All holding hands, families intermingled.... an extended family of love.

A Harvest of Thanks!

I treasure those times in Rochelle, the memories of those days still impact me some 30 years later.

As I grew older we didn't travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving anymore. Ma-ma and Gramps were getting older and it was important for us to stay closer to God's Country, but that extended family still holds a special place in my heart.

We lost Gracie a few years back, I had not seen her in many years when she died and I regret that, but I know she loved me and I know she knew I loved her. She will always hold a special place in my heart and I look forward to sitting at her side again some day as she serenades the angels in heaven on her organ.

Yes, Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, a time to tell those important to you that they are loved.... a time to give thanks!

Short Notes..... Rabun Cross

I received an email this week regarding my story on The Shining Cross. The email included a link to the website Rabun Cross. If you would like more information on the cross, the story of the cross or to see additional photos, check it out, it really is spectacular.

Daddy's Little Girl

Like most kids, I had pets of all kinds growing up. You have read about my dog Andy, I also had "Duke", "Jip" and Sam had "Rowdy."

We had the occasional fish, craw fish and lightening bug, we once had a parakeet.

When I went away to college, I got a goldfish "Goldie Hawn" my Junior year and kept it alive until I graduated, a feat unto itself, but somehow I was able to keep it alive.

After Goldie Hawn, I went many years without a pet. With my tendency to move frequently and my 20 something life-style, it is probably a good thing that I didn't take on the responsibility of a pet.

As I began to settle down, I started thinking about a pet. Since I lived in a condo a cat was the most logical choice, but I hate cats, so that was out of the question. I continued pet-less until I moved into my home.

After moving into my house, I got the itch for a pet again, I knew what I wanted.... a dog.

As I was researching breeds, I set up some ground rules for what I wanted.....

• No female
• No sissy dog
• No pet store

With my rules set, I continued my research. One Saturday afternoon, I was out running errands when I ended up in a strip center with a few minutes to kill. Deciding that some hands-on pet research would do me good, I wandered into the pet store, just to look!

I made it clear to the salesperson when she asked if she could help me that I was not there to buy, I was ONLY LOOKING!

Out of the corner of my eye, a cute little bundle of black and white mischief got my attention. I was drawn over to the pen that little fur ball was housed in and reached in to pet the tiny pup.

With the horns blaring and big neon sign flashing "SUCKER ALERT" over my head, the salesperson rushed over and placed that little girl right in my arms.

Needless to say, after a few minutes of play, I knew this FEMALE, SISSY BREED, FROM A PET STORE dog was going home with me.

With a long breath, I told the attendant, give her a bath and I will be back in one hour, I need that much time to talk myself out of this purchase.

No sooner had I gotten into my car than I was dialing my neighbors, I knew both of the calls I was going to make would help bring me to my senses and leave this puppy in the pet store where she belonged.

First call was Leigh, I knew Leigh would tell me I was an idiot for even thinking about this. UUUMMMMM, no, Leigh thought it was a great idea, I needed a cute little puppy and she would even babysit when I needed her to.

Ok, strike out with Leigh, but a call to Wendy would certainly do the trick. Wendy is the neighbor who doesn't mince words, she will tell me quickly that I am not responsible enough to have a dog, I know Wendy will talk me out of it. UUUMMMMM, no, Wendy couldn't encourage me more, she thought a puppy was exactly what I needed.

So I ended up with this cute little pup, she came home with me that day and has been here ever since.

Rosalita "Lita" Grace quickly took control of our residence on day one and hasn't let up since. I remember before I had a dog I used to think people were unstable when they would talk about their dogs like they were children. Now I completely understand it.

Lita is the light of my life. There is not a day that goes by that she doesn't make me laugh. When she curls up into the small of my back at night for sleep a sense of peace comes over me at the end of a long day. I can't go from one room to the other that she doesn't follow me and our nightly game of fetch is a highlight for me.

It's funny, I realized many years ago that I would never have children, but I didn't realize until I adopted Lita that I could love anything as much as I do her. Dog love is different that people love, I get that, but the love I have for this furry little girl is incredibly strong.

Lita is the one thing on this earth that is totally dependant on me, I take that responsibility seriously.

In a few weeks we will celebrate Lita's third birthday, there won't be a party or anything that silly, but she and I will celebrate. She will get a new toy and a special treat, just to mark the impact she has had on my life.

Lita is my little girl, she is prissy and she is the queen of this castle. I love her and can't imagine life without her.

Short Notes.... Fall Splendor

Why do I call it God's Country?

Take a look at the video....

Fall Splendor

Thanks to my brother, Sam for sending this to me.

Run Lindsay, Run!

Well, my beloved Georgia Bulldogs suffered another massacre at the hands of the Florida Crocodiles yesterday, the planets are out of line and darkness descends on the earth..... these are sad, sad days!

Unfortunately for the better part of the last 15 years, these dark days have haunted our land as those nasty, ugly crocks have chomped down on our beautiful DAWGS and sent us home in defeat.

If this scourge continues, it won't be long before locust devour our fields and volcanoes erupt, covering our planet in orange lava...... those reptiles must be stopped!

It wasn't always this way, years ago, ok let me be honest, DECADES ago, we lived in a better time. A time when the red and black ruled supreme, when the world's largest cocktail party really was something to revel in, a time when the DAWGS were on top and those pesky crocodiles were just another pesky step on our way to College Football supremacy. Ahhh, I remember it well.......

Remember it with me, won't you.... a time when milk and honey were in abundance, when life was good, when a lizard knew its place and didn't pose a threat to a rough and tough bulldog, those were the days my friends!

Picture it, November 8, 1980 and the Georgia Bulldogs are mid-way through an undefeated season. Led by Herschel Walker, Buck Belue and a pack of others, the Dawgs make their way to Jacksonville, FL for the annual clash of states, the Georgia-Florida classic known as the "World's Largest Cocktail Party."

I settled into the living room with mama and daddy to watch the game on CBS. We knew that the lizards would be our toughest competition of the year and any hopes of winning a National Championship would be solidified, or lost, on the field that day.

As was customary in our house, if we weren't at the game we watched it on television. We watched it on television, but the sound was off....... for the true picture of what was happening we LISTENED to Larry Munson, the voice of the Bulldogs on the radio!

The game was a nail-biter all day but going into the game, no one could have predicted that the final 90 seconds would determine Georgia's fate, on their march to a National Championship.

With just 90 seconds to go, the Dawgs were deep in the Florida red-zone, behind by one point and on 3rd down, it seemed like the magical season was in jeopardy. For Georgia to win the game, all the goodness of the earth would have to join forces and help conquer those evil crocks.

As the forces of good, stepped up to the line of scrimmage, you could feel the tension in our living room, in the living rooms of the faithful throughout the state of Georgia and in the stadium in Jacksonville.

I had made my way to a chair between mama and daddy, we didn't breathe, we just let Larry Munson guide us through those next few moments.

Relive it with me now...... the miracle of 1980, the moment good defeated evil, the moment when the sun shone bright and the fellowship of humanity celebrate the slaughter of a ugly lizard, sending it back to the swamp.

Run Lindsay, Run!


As Lindsay ran, you could feel the excitement grow. Run Lindsay, Run! Mama and Daddy and I ended up on our feet, jumping with the Georgia faithful! The dawgs were headed to New Orleans and their moment of destiny, a National Championship!



Those were beautiful days, yes they were and I encourage you, to remember the way things should be, the way they will be again, the days when Dawgs are king and pesky reptiles know their place!

5' of Dynamo

Ma-ma died in 1994, some days, like today, it seems like yesterday. I still want to pick up the phone just to hear her voice.

Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo! She was a southern lady to the core of her being, with a mischievous grin that could light up the room.

I was my ma-ma's baby, the youngest grandchild. She doted on me like there was no tomorrow. After Tom died and mama was still recovering from her own car accident I spent a lot of time with ma-ma, it brought up incredibly close.

I remember taking a bath in the big sink in the kitchen, or drinking coffee with ma-ma at the kitchen table. Truth be known, I was actually drinking milk with a drop of coffee, but still to me I was drinking coffee with my ma-ma.

Ma-ma was quite the seamstress, she made all of the grand children's "fancy" clothes, she even made Sam's prom suit. She would sit at her old Singer sewing machine in the wooden cabinet and sew for hours. That old sewing machine now sits in my living room, to most people it is just an old piece of furniture, to me, it is memories; a prized possession from a woman who helped shape my life. Inside the old cabinet still lays her threads, needles and thimbles, just waiting for her to open back up and get to work.

She was also a great cook, but baking was her real forte. Her passion for baking was passed on to me at an early age. We would make sugar cookies, pound cakes, Christmas candies and pies. Rarely did she make a sweet that she didn't leave just enough in the bowl for me or the other grand kids to feast upon, there is nothing like raw dough and the pleasure of standing in her kitchen licking a bowl clean is something that will never leave my mind.

Ma-ma's other passion was flowers, she had beautiful roses and dahlias and African Violets. Her green thumb created one of the most beautiful gardens in the area.

There wasn't much domestically that ma-ma couldn't do and if she couldn't do it she would watch "The Nancy Welch Show" to get tips to make it happen. Nancy Welch was the pre-cursor to Martha Stewart and on more than one occasion ma-ma would quote her as an authority.

One of Sam's favorite lines to use on me is that I am the sensitive child. It's true I am, but the line originated with ma-ma. On one of the many occasions when Sam was picking on me, she came to my defense and told him to leave me alone, "Ken is a sensitive child." While at the time I wasn't too thrilled with the title, today I can't think of a greater moniker.

She could make us all laugh with just a simple phrase and she could make you shake in your boots when she would insist that you go out in the back yard and pick your own hickery for a punishment you would receive for doing something wrong. Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo!

As her health began to fade she lost her ability to do the things she loved. First the sewing and then the baking, but the flowers remained. Up until her death she had beautiful African Violets on her back porch that she and gramps tended to.

Her death was drawn out and painful, not just for her but for those of us who loved her, we didn't want to watch this vibrant soul suffer any longer. The week before she died she was in Emory Hospital in Atlanta, I am thankful she was there because after college I had moved to Atlanta and was able to spend time with her.

The night before she died, I sat beside her and held her hand. I helped her drink her liquid dinner and I told her how much I loved her. The next day, around lunchtime mama called to tell me she was gone.

I miss that sweet gentle soul, that 5' of dynamo. But I am thankful that I was able to learn from her, today some of the same passions she held mean the most to me. I don't ever bake a cake that I don't think of her when I am licking the bowl, and while my garden looks nothing like hers, I think she would approve.

I still miss my ma-ma....... just like it was yesterday.

The Shining Cross

People ask me from time to time, why I call my hometown God's Country. It began as a joke between Sam and I. When I moved to Florida and I would tell him about some of the shenanigans going on here, he would shoot back with a quick "we don't have those problems here in God's Country."

For me, God's Country is a place of idyllic beauty. Where the people care for each other, the seasons each bring forth rich balance and a simplistic peace flows like a river through the land. Basically, my hometown is as close to God's Country as I have ever known.

Nestled in the north Georgia mountains this beautiful utopia has thrived for many years. This earthly God's Country isn't perfect, the problems found in all society are there, but there is something about that place that gives me peace. It is like the mountains that surround the land insulates it from many of the troubles found just over the ridge.

Overlooking God's Country stands Black Rock Mountain. At the very top the land has been designated a State park and people come from far and wide to hike, camp and admire the beautiful scenery from its look out.

As I was growing up, Black Rock Mountain was a beacon for family picnics, camping trips and Easter Sunrise, but in mind the true beacon of Black Rock was the lighted cross.

Standing atop the mountain and off to the side of the state park was a beautiful lighted cross, standing 40 - 50' high. Each night at sunset, the cross would illuminate as if to protect those beneath it for the night. The cross on Black Rock Mountain was a symbol, not necessarily a religious symbol, but a symbol for the community.

I was raised to respect the cross for the Christian symbol of Jesus dying for my sins, but for others it had different personal significance.

Every night that cross would light up and it could be seen from miles away, a lighted cross shining as a beacon for those below. During the Christmas season, the cross would change. From Thanksgiving to New Year's, the cross would become either a Christmas tree or star, honestly I don't remember which, I just remember it would change.

Immediately after the New Year it would change back to that beautiful cross.

That cross on the top of Black Rock was a symbol for our town, one that gave us pride and shown as a light for all those who saw it.

Sometime in the early 70's the State of Georgia was sued over the cross on top of Black Rock. The cross had to come down because it was viewed as promoting the Christian religion on state land. I am a firm believer in the separation of Church and State, however as is often the case, the cross on Black Rock and the citizens of God's Country became the victims of someone trying to make a point and serving their own agenda instead of the public at large.

I don't know, but I am sure the person who brought the suit probably wasn't a resident of the town, but someone who heard about it or saw it passing through and decided they were offended by what it stood for.

For many years, we were without our cross. Somehow the nights seemed darker without that light standing guard over our town. The town went on, it didn't crumble, but when you looked to the mountains there was always something missing.

About a year ago, mama told me that the cross was back on Black Rock. I couldn't have been more happy.

This summer when I made my annual trek to God's Country, one of the things on my to do list was to see the cross. I had heard it was even more magnificent than it was when I was young.

Because of the torrential rains and flooding when I was there, I didn't get out much and a nighttime drive to see the cross was out of the question.

On the morning I left to come back to Florida the rains had subsided and a heavy coating of fog coated the countryside. As I was making my way down Smith Hill leading to the highway home, there it was.... the cross.

Caressed by a blanket of fog, the cross illuminated the landscape.

The cross now stands on land that is privately owned so as not to interfere with any one's "personal liberties," but it stands and it glows!

That cross that for so many years burned with radiance, was dark and now glows again, the cross still stands.

I got a sense of peace driving out of town that morning after seeing the cross. Once again the beacon had returned and it shined brighter than ever.

UPDATE:

One of my readers, Marianne Wilson, just sent me this photo of the cross on Black Rock. Now you can see for yourself how magnificent it is. Thanks Marianne!

Surrogate

When someone important in your life passes away, no one can take their place. For all time there is a hole in your heart that can't be filled. Although I was only a youngster, Tom's passing left me with such a hole that today leaves me wondering what could have been.

After Tom died, our family was in turmoil. Mama still faced surgeries and health issues, Sam was without his big brother and daddy did his best to create a normal life for his boys all while going through his own grief, it was a challenge.

For me, life basically moved on. Grief isn't something a six year old grasps easily. While my family was grieving a special teenager stepped in and took me under his wing, in part to fill his own hurting heart, but more importantly to make sure a young kid didn't get lost in the shuffle, acting in many ways as the big brother I had lost.

Tim was Tom's best friend. They had been friends since we moved to God's Country. Tim was the high school quarterback, Tom the running back. They shared a bond.

Tim had always been a part of my life since I can remember. Around the house with Tom.

In the summer after Tom died, Tim took me on as his little buddy. In my eyes he had one of the best jobs in all of God's Country, he was the lifeguard at the private country club Kingwood. His day was spent hanging out by the small pool, catching rays and visiting with the guests and locals who would stop in for a plunge in the nice cool waters of the pool.

Our house was on the way to work for Tim and at the beginning of the summer after Tom died he started stopping by each day to "take me to work with him." I remember how exciting it was for me to pile into Tim's prized Mustang each morning. I always thought the foot-shaped gas pedal was one of the coolest things I had ever seen.

During that summer, Tim would stop by each day to pick me up. He taught me to swim in that pool, how to measure the chlorine levels and would let me throw chlorine in the pool.

Around lunchtime each day, Tim and I would make our way up to the top level of the gazebo overlooking the pool and it was there that he became my surrogate big brother. Each day, just the two of us, would sit and have our lunch together. We would talk and although I have no idea what we talked about, I like to think that those moments allowed him to move past his grief, of losing his best friend, and helped me understand and move on as well.

Tim has always remained close to our family. After high school he went away to college, got married, had kids and became a respected football coach and teacher. I know Tom would have been proud of him for that.

For my part, I moved on, made my way in life and hopefully have made those who love me proud. I know Tom would have liked that also.

I haven't seen Tim since mama and daddy's 50th Anniversary party. I never got the chance to tell him thank you for taking a little kid under his wing and I never had the opportunity to say thanks for being a surrogate.

I hope Tim knows that long before he got a degree in education he was already teaching. His classroom only consisted of one student, but he made a huge impression on that kid many years ago. Tim taught me life lessons under that gazebo, he also taught me kindness and compassion, a gesture as simple as taking a little buddy "to work with you" each day can shape a person's life, for that I know Tom would have been proud of Tim and for me I am forever grateful.

Thank you Tim, for stepping in as a surrogate, for teaching me about life and for making your best friend proud.

It's Atlanta

As I watched the excitement this week in Rio, when they were awarded the Summer Olympic Games of 2016, I couldn't help but reflect back on a summer, not so long ago, when I lived in Atlanta and the same excitement exploded in the City, placing the capital of the South on the world stage.

I moved to Atlanta immediately after graduating college in 1986 and the City was just beginning to gear up for its bid to host the Centennial Olympic Games. Atlanta was considered a long shot with Athens, Greece the sentimental favorite. Other competing cities for the bid were Melbourne, Belgrade, Manchester and Toronto.

For years Atlanta pushed its bid, Olympic officials visited the city and the excitement of what could be pulsed through the veins of the city like an impeding Christmas morning. Those of us who lived in Atlanta knew what winning the Games could do for our town, transforming an otherwise sleepy metropolis into a bustling world-renowned focal point.

As the days grew near, leading up to the bid announcement, preparations were made and a grand victory announcement party was planned for downtown on the morning of September 18th, 1990.

In the days before the awarding, my family suffered a crisis, Aunt Laura Bea, was hospitalized and family was called to Atlanta as her status was not good. Aunt Laura Bea was ma-ma's sister, my great aunt, a sweet southern belle with a loving strength that kept us all in line. Cousins from around the country flew in to be with Aunt Laura Bea and during the time I reconnected with my cousin Dede from Houston who I had not seen since we were both children.

Dede and I hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends, a relationship that remains strong today.

On the night before the bid announcement I was visiting with the family when my cousin Tina, who also lived in Atlanta, mentioned that we should go to the announcement party together. I jumped at the chance to go to the event with Tina and we invited Dede to go along with us.

On the morning of the 18th, I met up with Tina and Dede before sunrise. The announcement would be made in Tokyo, many hours ahead of us, making it necessary for the announcement party to begin during the early morning hours.

Mass transportation was filled that morning, it seemed as though everyone was headed for Undergound Atlanta, the cities gathering spot and host of the Olympic announcement party. Arriving on the site, Dede, Tina and I found a spot on the plaza steps to be a part of the festivities.

As Juan Antonio Samaranch, President of the International Olympic Committee strode up to the microphone to announce the winners after the fifth and final round vote, the only two cities left in the competition were Athens and Atlanta. He took the stage and in one breath made the announcement, a hush fell over the crowd and Mr. Samaranch said "the International Olympic Committee has awarded the 1996 Olympic Games to the City of ...Atlanta!"

Hearing those words, the crowds assembled took one collective breath and then PANDEMONIUM! Underground Atlanta, the City of Atlanta and the entire United States erupted in a celebration that I had never experienced up until that time.

We hugged, jumped, clapped and cheered!

No work was done that day as people filed out of their offices and into the streets for a giant celebration. Tina, Dede and I toured the city, we walked from location to location and within an hour had our collector's edition newspaper with the headline.... "It's Atlanta!"

Leading up to the Olympic announcement I had been toying with the idea of moving. I knew that I would eventually wind up in Florida and the time seemed right to make that move. As the words rolled off Juan Antonio Samaranch's lips I decided in that instance to remain in Atlanta until after the Olympics. Living in an Olympic city is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I was determined to experience the next six years as a proud Atlantan.

The days party stretched long into the evening. Eventually Tina went home and Dede and I were joined by my friend Charlie. The three of us painted the town gold, we laughed and celebrated one magical day that will live in my memory forever.

Over the next few years, Atlanta moved forward and eventually hosted those Games. We didn't do everything right, but for the most part the Games were a huge success. The media wasn't too kind to the City, but as someone who was there, I will tell you the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games made me proud to be an Atlantan.

Short Notes

You may remember recently I wrote an entry entitled Hollywood Meets God's Country. The story was about the movie Deliverance being made in my hometown.



On Monday evening, I was thrilled to meet one of the actors from the movie, none other than Mr. Burt Reynolds.



Mr. Reynolds was the guest speaker at the Lake Park Historical Society monthly meeting. He was raised in our town and went to school here, his very first acting performance took place on the stage of our "Mirror Ballroom" where the meeting took place.



You could tell that Mr. Reynolds was deeply touched to be back in the room that gave him his start.



During his talk, Mr. Reynolds regaled us all with stories of his time in the area during his youth. It was a beautiful evening and he was one of the most gentle, kind men I have ever met.


When it came time for question and answers I introduced myself and told him where I was from. Mr. Reynolds got a sly smile on his face and talked for several minutes about the filming of Deliverance and how that movie changed his life.


After the presentation I went up to thank Mr. Reynolds for coming and I was delighted to share stories with him about God's Country and the people we both know there. Meeting Burt Reynolds was a dream come true and he was even more than I ever imagined!

Homecoming

Last week I returned from a brief visit in God's Country. I always go up for a week in the summer and this year my visit coincided with my parent's High School reunion. I stopped in north Florida on the way up to pick up my Aunt to take her to the reunion as well.

The visit was from the 17th until the 22nd. For part of the week I was on my own while mama, daddy and Aunt Beck attended the reunion.

On the way to God's Country, the weather turned and the rains began to fall. Little did I know that over the next few days the area would see continuous rain and flooding. Not exactly Chamber of Commerce weather for a visit!

I left God's Country in 1982 and haven't made it my home since then, however there is something about that little piece of heaven that will always be my HOME.

Cresting the mountains with a view of the landscape below always makes me feel at peace. There is something about that little town, that I grew up in, that reminds me of a hand sewn quilt wrapped around me on a cold winter's day.

The little town hasn't changed a great deal in the years since I left. There is now a Wal-Mart, Home Depot and McDonalds, and the main road in is 4 lanes but the fabric of the community remains the same.

In God's Country people take pride in their community, their family and their country in a way that is reminiscent of a time gone by. In God's Country people know their neighbors and take care of them. These qualities are like the ones I have found in my new home, in a small Town, something I haven't known since I left my childhood home and something I appreciate more with each passing year.

We moved into our present home when I was only six, not long after Tom died. It is a split level home with great room, master bedroom and bath downstairs and three bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Turning off the main road headed east and onto the road of my youth looks the same today as it did when we moved in.

There is something about turning into the driveway that brings me back to my childhood and the memories of a time when life was easier and less hectic.

I have turned down that driveway thousands of times over the years, in good times, in bad times and on days that were just as basic as any can imagine. Turning down the driveway and seeing the home of my youth at the other end is one of the most peaceful feelings I feel because it is here, that I am truly HOME. No matter how many cities I live in, no matter how many homes I own, this one will always be special.

Like so many times before, the minute I park the car daddy is out the door waiting to embrace me and welcome me home. On this trip it was no different, he was there, smiling, embracing and telling me he loves me. HOME

I don't think I have ever in my entire life walked through the front door of that house. The door into the kitchen is where everyone enters. As a child we always knew when a stranger was at the door because the front doorbell would ring, invited guests, drop ins and family use the kitchen door.

Not much has really changed in the house since I was a kid, the walls may be a different color, the carpets new and furniture upgraded, but the bones of the house are still the same.

Same Formica counter tops in the kitchen, the dining room table that we have shared so many meals on has been there since I was in high school. Two stuffed recliners, big sofa, coffee table.

A great rock fireplace anchors the room flanked by shelves overflowing with tchotchkes from throughout our lives. The ceramic lion Sam made in art class, the old man with hat that I made in art class, bronzed baby booties, the family Bible, precious photos and yearbooks from every year since the 60's all hold a place of honor on this wall that marks the times of our lives.

Dropping my bags in my bedroom I look around. Nothing has changed there since the day I left in 1982, same bed, same furniture, my old stereo sits silent and the bulletin board is still filled with memories of High School. My room is the blue room. Sam occupied the red room and the gold room was planned for Tom, the colors of each room marked by the carpet colors. So many memories overflow from these rooms, HOME.

When I visit God's Country I usually try to spend at least one day on Main Street, checking out the antique stores and galleries. This year with the rains I didn't get that opportunity. I did take a road trip with my nephew Zack to Asheville, but other than that I stayed close to home.

This trip was spent talking with family, eating the foods I love more than any other and soaking up the love of that old house. Sadly I know that one day this will no longer be OUR house. Someone else will move in and make it their own, but for now I want to let all the love found between those walls soak into my veins and fill me.

Homecomings are good if for no other reason than to recapture a time when life seemed simpler a time when the love of family made you know you were truly HOME!

Let Them Eat Cake

I learned at an early age that baking is an art. Baking also says a lot about a person. Ma-ma loved to bake and we loved it when she baked.

Ma-ma was the ultimate homemaker. She kept a perfect house, had dinner on the table each night when gramps came home, had control over a sewing machine like nobodies business, made homemade Christmas decorations and never had a hair out of place or smudge on her clothes while doing it.

Ma-ma was a domestic goddess.

As much as she was a master around the house, the thing I took from her was the love of baking. She always had cookies, cobblers, or cakes fresh out of the oven when you would stop by.

When birthdays would roll around, she would have a special cake designed just for the occasion.

Christmas brought an assortment of cookies and candies and treats to rival the finest confectioner. Most any occasion would warrant some sort of sweet.

I learned this appreciation for baking from ma-ma, in my mind something baked with love is one of the greatest gifts a person can give. There is something comforting about a fresh baked cake or pie.

I am not as good as ma-ma was in the baking department, but I can hold my own and like to give baked goods for friends on their birthdays or in times of need.

This past week, my neighbor Gayle lost her mom. Granny had lived with Gayle for a couple of years and was a sweet lady. She always sat out in the driveway to smoke and we would speak to each other whenever I would see her. Last Saturday, Granny fell and hit her head, she died a few hours later.

I didn't know about Granny passing until Monday, when Gayle came over to tell me. It all happened quickly and she didn't suffer, I am glad for that.

Gayle and her family had a memorial service this morning and I knew there would be a crowd at her house after the service, so I decided to bake a cake.

One of my favorite cakes ma-ma used to make is a Pound Cake.

Pound Cakes are a traditional delicacy that are about as basic as you can get, but not as easily made as you would think.

I loved ma-ma's basic pound cake, but several years before she died she began making Cream Cheese Pound Cake which I like even more.

Today, while I was baking a cream cheese pound cake for Gayle and her family, I thought back to all the hundreds of cakes ma-ma had made for our family and hope that the simple gift of a pound cake will bring Gayle and her family some relief during their time of grief.

Cream Cheese Pound Cake:

3 Sticks of Butter

3 Cups of Sugar

3 Cups of Sifted Flour (I just use self-rising, some people say you shouldn't but I say it is easier, so I use it.)

1 (8 oz.) Package of Cream Cheese

6 Large Eggs

Dash of Salt

1 1/2 Teaspoons Vanilla

Directions:

Cream butter, cream cheese and sugar. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each. Add vanilla and a dash of salt. Add flour. Pour in a bundt pan. Put in a cold oven. Bake at 325 for 1 hour, 25 minutes.

Today I added a raspberry glaze over the finished cake. It isn't the pretties cake in the world, but it is one of the best!

Short Notes...

Mama called today to tell me that she did NOT elope! Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry, Aunt Tenie and Uncle Lloyd went with she and daddy to get married.

Record corrected.

A Legacy of 57 Years

September 7, 1952

The Silver Chalice by Thomas B. Cortain tops the New York Times Best Sellers List

Maureen Connolly beat Doris Hart to win the US Tennis Open Championship 6/3; 7/5

General Naguid forms the Egyptian Government and becomes Premier

Eddie Bracken is the "Mystery Guest" on What's My Line

and

General Ray and Martha Joyce elope to Wallhalla, SC to get married.

GR and MJ have known each other since they were children. He the Big Man on Campus in High School, leader on the football field and Golden Gloves Champion Boxer. She the all-American beauty, popular, cheerleader.

While in High School they became sweethearts. Their romance followed them to college where they both majored in education. After graduation they became teachers.

Over Labor Day weekend in 1952, GR and MJ got married.

Tomorrow marks the 57th wedding anniversary of GR and MJ or as I like to call them, mama and daddy.

57 years is a long time, obviously.

Mama and daddy have been through a lot in their married life, it hasn't always been good, some of it has been horrible, but for the most part they have weathered the storms together and come out the other side better for it.

57 years provides a lot of time for adventure. Mama and daddy have traveled across America in a motor home. Driven to Alaska, cruised the Caribbean, attended most every Football Bowl Game you can imagine, attended Olympic Games, World Series and as daddy likes to proclaim visited every Wal-Mart ever opened.

But most of all, 57 years provides for mundane day to day life where examples are made, shown and lived.

Our family was very typical, a morning rush to get everyone out the door, after school activities that kept mama running from one end of town to the other, home at night and then starting all over again the next day.

We had some basic rules growing up, yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir and no sir. Dishes were to be taken to the kitchen after all meals and an "I enjoyed it" was expected whether you enjoyed it or not. (But we always DID enjoy it.)

When six o'clock came everyone was expected to be around the supper table.

We were pretty typical. Mama and daddy were pretty typical as well, we just lived our lives each day moving through life as best we could.

Life wasn't always a bed of roses, mama and daddy could, and still do, argue with the best of them. When it was time for a disagreement you just wanted to stay away. In our house nothing was ever thrown and voices were only raised for an explosive few minutes, but the silence would last for days.

Those days of silence were horrible, whenever mama and daddy weren't talking it was miserable to live in our split level ranch on Old Buncomb Road. And good Lord help us all when Daddy started calling mama "Martha Joyce" or mama referred to him as "Your Daddy." Uh-oh this one is gonna last a while!

Inevitably mama and daddy would get over it. Back to normal as quickly as the original argument had flared up and things would return to our typical American life.

Mama and daddy both chose teaching as their profession, a more perfect career could not have been assigned to them. As much as they taught in the classroom, they taught in life and the examples they provided.

For my brothers and I, mama and daddy provided lessons of humility. Both of my parents knew they were looked upon by the community with respect and honor. Throughout their adult lives, they have been humble in knowing the life changes they have made for so many, and shown humility in accepting that one person can make a difference without ever drawing attention to themselves.

Mama and daddy have taught us about perseverance. Life isn't always easy, it is often more difficult that you can possibly imagine, but through perseverance you move through the challenges of life and come out the other side with a renewed understanding of the importance of family, friends and community.

We learned about faith from mama and daddy. Faith has gotten us through a lot, mama and daddy taught us at an early age that we are given a great gift from God and that it is our duty to honor that gift through faithfulness in him.

Mama and daddy taught us the importance of family. We learned that when all else seemed to fail us, family would be there. Through good times, bad times, indifferent time, everyday time, mama and daddy stressed family. We are not, and have never been, a perfect family, but together we are more than we could ever be individually, I thank mama and daddy for instilling that truth in us.

Back in 2002 mama and daddy were preparing to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. This was going to be a big deal for the entire family and Sam and I were determined to make it special for them. Twenty five years earlier we had thrown a covered dish dinner with friends at the Ramey gazebo and I still remember how proud they were on that day to be recognized.

For the 50th Anniversary, Sam and I began planning months ahead of time. Sam had money and I had talent, the perfect combination! It was decided that he would pay for it and I would plan it.

The day of mama and daddy's anniversary party finally arrived. After months of planning the day was perfect. Friends and family from everywhere showed up. The day brought together people I hadn't seen in years, family who hadn't been together in ages were reunited and stories, laughter and some tears filled the day.

Sam and I presented mama and daddy with a portrait of their wedding day as their gift. A large framed photo of them in their youth, before the hands of time had greyed and wrinkled them, a time when anything was possible and when their legacy has yet to be envisioned.

Today that portrait hangs in the dining room of their house. Next to the table where we were taught the lessons of life, taught about faith, humility, perseverance and family. It is comforting to look at that photo, of a young couple starting out on their adventures of life together.

The twinkle in that young couples eyes may not be as bright and their steps may have slowed, but I am confident that young bride and groom would be pretty proud if they had any idea what their legacy would have been 57 years later.

57 years....great books, tennis champs, movie stars, and governments being formed. Or 57 years, a legacy of humility, perseverance, faith and family..... I'll take the latter any day.

Happy Anniversary mama and daddy and thank you for the legacy you have created for us all!

Short Notes

There are only a few species of the animal kingdom that I just don't like. I am not particularly fond of snakes, but I leave them alone and they leave me alone. Spiders, roaches and bees I have no use for. At the top of my list of least favorite animals are raccoons, I have never liked them.

Raccoons are just big overgrown rats, they look cute but they are anything but. Raccoons are mean, nasty varmits!

We have raccoons that scrounge around my neighborhood from time to time, I stay away from them at all cost.

This morning, Lita, my beautiful 9 pound attack dog, wakes up at 2:15AM in full barking assault. She had her sites set on the French Doors in our bedroom and she sees something outside. Her attack wakes me and I peer out onto the back porch. I see a raccoon looking through the glass at us as we USED to be sleeping.

I try to calm Lita down to no avail, I tap the glass to try and get the nasty varmit raccoon to leave and then notice another one on the porch as well, I look again..... FOUR nasty raccoons are outside the bedroom French Doors having a party!

Like I said, raccoons are my least favorite member of the animal kingdom.

Notes from a Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions..... Jan Norris

Jan Norris is a foodie's foodie! For years, Jan was the Food Editor for the Palm Beach Post. Last year when the media world turned upside down, Jan left the Post.

I was not happy about Jan's departure as I enjoyed her columns.

A few months ago I was enjoying lunch at my favorite sandwich shop "Brown Baggin' It" in beautiful Lake Park, Florida, when my friend Leila started talking about Jan. Leila informed me that Jan now had her own website. I couldn't wait to check it out and now am an avid reader getting my Jan fixes! Check out her site http://www.jannorris.com/

Jan's site is filled with stories of her southern Florida life, restaurant reviews, great recipes and most anything else a foodie could want, it is a good read and I recommend it to anyone!

I recently learned that Jan and I live about 2 miles from each other, we are going to get together for coffee soon and regale each other with stories of our southern lives and the joys of sharing our thoughts with the world through the Internet.

I hope you enjoy this edition of,

10 Questions with Jan Norris...

1) Where were you born?

Miami Beach. I'm an adoptee, into a Southern LA (Lower Alabama) family. My kin trace back five generations in Florida.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

My parents. Nearly all the values they instilled in me from day one are what I follow today.

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

Simple: My iron skillet.

4) What is your favorite holiday food?

Probably the fresh orange cake my mother made at Christmas and New Year's.

5) What makes you a Southerner?

The easy answer might be because I can make a mean biscuit and can put up the fig preserves to eat with them.The more complex answer is another question: How does one define DNA? Being Southern isn't an talking with an accent (I lost my thick drawl the minute I went to public school), or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion.

6) Biscuits or Cornbread?

Biscuits AND cornbread (absolutely no sugar in the latter).

7) What is your favorite memory?

I can't pick just one, so I'll pick a favorite food one.

It involves my Aunt Eleanor's buttermilk biscuits -- she made the best in our family. One night at her table as a girl, I was handed one. My Uncle Bill leaned over and said, "You know your Aunt Eleanor's biscuits will kill you, dontcha?"I shook my head, wide-eyed at this revelation. My favorite food on earth would kill me?

"That's right," he said. "They're so good - just set one on the top of your head, and your tongue will slap your brains out to get to it!"Everyone just roared.

This became a tradition to tell with anyone new at Aunt Eleanor's table, and it makes me laugh to this day.

8) Who taught you to cook?

I'm self-taught -- from cookbooks. My mother had zero patience for anyone in her kitchen who wasn't fast - and I was deliberate -- almost compulsively. It took me three minutes to spread one slice of bread with mayonnaise just to get it perfectly even and precisely to the edges. She rarely baked - so I took that task on even as a child, reading recipes, of course. After I was married, I read and cooked from every cookbook I could find. It was quite a surprise to my mom and the rest of the family when I turned out to be a really decent, and now very improvisational cook.

9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?

You left out pimento cheese - my favorite.

10) What would you serve, or have served to you, for your FAVORITE Southern meal?

If I could have them again, a giant pot of my mother's chicken and dumplings.

Jan was kind enough to share one of her favorite Southern Recipes with us and I can't wait to try it!

A recipe for my mom's fresh orange cake.

Simple, but time-consuming

As for the orange cake, I’m giving you a “best guess” recipe. Use any yellow sponge cake recipe you like; I use the same tender cake batter I use with my coconut cake. Make 3 or 4 layers. Soak it with the orange zest syrup. That’s it — simplicity, or so it sounds.With all the grating, juicing and soaking, however, it’s somewhat labor intensive – and you need room in the fridge for it so plan far enough ahead to do this. (Jan’s Rule: Don’t waste your time on this homemade beauty for unappreciative guests who’ll eat anything – bake them a fast box cake or just go buy something.)

Here’s a written recipe; but know that y0u must make a few to get the sugar/orange zest/juice ratio just right.

Nellie’s Orange Cake

For the cake:

■3 cups all-purpose flour, sifted

■2 teaspoons baking powder

■1/2 teaspoon salt

■1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

■1 cup milk

■1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

■2 cups sugar

■4 eggs, separated

For the orange syrup:

■juice of 8 Florida juice oranges (see note), strained

■grated rind of 8 oranges

■1 small can frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed

■1-1/2 to 3 cups granulated sugar, or more (see note)

Note: Thin-skinned backyard juice oranges are key to this cake. You can buy them at fruit stands and occasionally supermarkets. Do not use thick-skinned varieties or those from California.

Sugar: I can’t tell you how much to use; this will depend on amount of juice from the oranges.

Make cake layers.

Prep: Grease and flour 3 or four 9-inch round cake pans. In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Measure the milk into a glass measuring cup and add the vanilla. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form in clean medium bowl. Set all aside.

In a large bowl, cream the butter and add the sugar to continue creaming on medium speed. Scrape sides and beat again. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each is added. Add dry ingredients alternately with milk and vanilla, beating well after each to incorporate. Scrape bowl well. Remove bowl from mixer stand and with a rubber spatula, fold in the egg whites until no whites show; batter should be light and foamy.

Divide batter evenly among pans; bake at 350 degrees until tops are lightly browned and cakes spring back slightly to touch in center of cake, approximately 25 minutes. Cool on racks; set aside.

While cakes bake, make orange zest syrup: Wash oranges very well. Grate rinds on fine grate of box grater or with Microplane zester into a medium mixing bowl. Juice and strain oranges into bowl with zest. Add thawed orange juice concentrate; stir well.

Begin adding sugar and whisking to dissolve sugar. This may take some time – be patient. Add enough sugar so that mixture is very sticky and runs slowly off the tip of a spoon.

Assemble cake: On a cake stand with a lip (essential), layer first cake layer, and poke surface well with thin round skewer. Use a large spoon to spoon syrup over cake. Repeat with each layer. Use several spoonsful per layer, giving time between applications to allow syrup to soak into cake – this will take about 1 hour.

Allow syrup to run down sides and onto plate. As needed, spoon up syrup off the plate edge and spoon over cake again. Use as much syrup as possible. (Reserve remainder in refrigerator and use on cupcakes or orange quick bread.)

Add orange zest curls to top of cake as garnish, if desired.Serves 16-20 (cake is very rich).

Keep cake refrigerated; cake freezes very well.

First Born

Tom was the oldest, born May 7th, 1953. Died six days short of his 17th birthday, May 1st, 1970.
If I am truthful, I have to admit, I don't remember Tom. His death occurred 3 days after my 6th birthday. He was in a car wreck, a single car accident. From what I understand he lost control on a curved road and veered off the road and down an embankment.

After the accident Tom was taken to Greenville Medical Center in Greenville, SC. Surgeries were performed, but to no avail.

As Tom lay in one hospital bed in South Carolina, mama lay in another in Georgia. Just a year earlier mama and ma-ma had been in an accident that left them both mangled and broken. Mama had several surgeries after that wreck and was recuperating from her most recent, when Tom had his accident.

Daddy was a hero during this time, he travelled back and forth between the two, but spent most of his time with Tom as mama was stable.

Throughout High School Tom played football, he was a running back. Daddy was his head coach. As Tom's condition worsened it wasn't apparent which of his faculties he still had control over. After consulting with Doctor's daddy found a way to communicate with Tom. He held both of Tom's hands and would call out football plays. It was Tom's responsibility to squeeze Daddy's hand on the side he should run.

Tom died soon after that final game between he and daddy.

In the days that followed, all of God's Country came to our sides to comfort my family. It isn't every day that a High School Senior with such promise dies. It isn't every day that a High School Senior and son to two respected teachers dies. Tom's death shook our small town to the core.

I don't have a lot of memories about the days leading up to Tom's death, but I do have memories that have lasted for almost 40 years of the days that followed.

I remember being sent to my neighbors house to play when Sam and I returned home from Church that Sunday morning.

I remember being called back to the house a short time later and daddy taking Sam and I into our bedroom to tell us Tom was dead. I don't remember what was said, I just remember my daddy holding Sam and I.

I remember mama being wheeled into the funeral home on a hospital stretcher. I remember seeing Tom and crying. I remember my Aunt Beck held me until I saw my kindergarten teacher and then she held me and let me cry.

The funeral was held in an overflowing Clayton Baptist Church. My only memory from that day was sitting beside Sam, at one point I looked up at him and a single tear was streaming down his face, that is a memory that has been ingrained with me forever.

A child's death could destroy many marriages and families. I won't say our was unharmed because that would be a lie, but our family stayed together. The Spring of 1970 was the most bitter of my life and it is one that I have the least memories of ever.

During the months that followed Tom's death we marked our first Christmas without him, we watched as his classmates went back to school and then graduated. We marked birthdays and holidays and every day in between. Mama and Daddy have marked those same dates on the second year, 5th year, 8th year, 12th, 16th, 20th, 25th, 28th, 30th and this May they will mark the 40th.

Mama and Daddy mark Tom's death with quite reverence and dignity, but I know they mark the date and all the other dates they wish he were here for.

For me, Tom became an oil painting that hung over our sofa. From time to time someone would mention his name and something he had done and we would all smile, but for the most part Tom wasn't discussed in our house for many years.

Several years ago, I felt like it was time for me to know about Tom. I had been told how much he loved his baby brother, how we doted on me, what a great athlete he was, how smart he was, but I never really knew him, so I decided it was time for me to meet my brother Tom.

Mama and Daddy were coming to Florida on a vacation and I told them before they came that I wanted to talk about Tom. One night during their stay, the three of us sat on the balcony of their condo overlooking the ocean. For hours we talked about Tom, we laughed and we cried, but after that night I knew my brother.

I will always remember that night as one of the most important in my life.

Tom's death broke us, be it didn't destroy us. Through it all we have persevered as a family....together.

I am grateful to mama and daddy, Sam, our grandparents, extended family and the family of God's Country for bringing us through.

I am sure Tom would be proud of all of us.

Notes from A Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions.... Hollis Gillespie

Hollis Gillespie is a hilarious southern writer, whose ability to weave a tale is reminiscent of the late-great Lewis Grizzard.


I first heard about Hollis Gillespie when she made an appearance several years ago on "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno." She cracked me up and the back and forth moments with Elijah Wood were some of the most genuine I have ever seen by guests on a talk show.


After her appearance, I picked up a copy of "Bleachy Haired Honky Bitch" and read it cover to cover, laughing all the way through. Since her first novel, she has written "Confessions of a Recovering Slut: and Other Love Stories" and my favorite "Trailer Trashed: My Dubious Efforts Towards Upward Mobility." Trust me, not only are the titles enticing, but the books are as well!


Ms. Gillespie was named the "Breakout Author of the Year" by Writer's Digest in 2004. Today, she is a featured speaker, columnist and novelist. Additionally, she shares her wisdom in the fields of publishing, book pitches and becoming a paid author through seminars she teaches.


Hollis Gillespie may not have been born a Southerner, but she has adapted well. This week, it is my pleasure to present...


10 Questions with Hollis Gillespie:





1) Where were you born?

Burbank, CA, but I never went back until my appearance on The Tonight Show and notice the hospital where I was born is located across the street.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

My mother. She built bombs for a living and supported four kids plus an alcoholic husband with low self esteem. It took guts for her to get a job at IBM in the 50's straight out of college and pregnant with my big brother. Plus, she was a klepto and huge gambler. She could count cards even from a 6-deck shoe. I used to stand at her elbow in Vegas (back when they let kids in the casinos) and she would impart all kinds of wisdom, like, "Kid, you gotta put your chips on the table.:"

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

Cake mix, chocolate chips and dough of all form.

4) What is your favorite holiday food?


Birthday cake.


5) What makes you a Southerner?


I've lived in Atlanta for 20 years and I've perfected the accent.


6) Biscuits or Cornbread?


Depends. If it's the cake-kinda cornbread then it's that. If it's the cake-kinda biscuits then it's that. The best would be a corn-biscuit cake with honey-butter cream frosting.



7) What is your favorite memory?

Selling my first book to HarperCollins and watching the offer with my advance come through on the fax machine.


8) Who taught you to cook?


My mother, if by "cook" you mean add water to a cup of chemicals.


9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?


Banana with peanut butter and honey on whole grain with, like, chocolate gelato . . . made into a cake.


10) What would you serve, or have served to you, for your FAVORITE Southern meal?


I don't eat meat, so I serve mac-n-cheese, collards with balsamic syrup, sweet potatoes with cinnamon and marshmallows, mushroom stuffing, cheese grits and cake.

Thank you Hollis Gillespie for your participation. For additional information on her books, her columns or her seminars, you may visit her website at http://www.hollisgillespie.com/

Y-Camp

Mama and daddy felt it was important that we develop an independence growing up. Part of that independence was going away to overnight camp during the summer.

Athens Y-Camp was less than 20 miles from our house. It had a reputation for being one of the best boys camps in the south-east. A tradition began in our family, when Tom was young, that each of us would go.

The first year of camp was 2 weeks, second year 2 weeks. Two years of overnight camp were mandatory, after that you had the option of going away for four weeks and on up until a summer job at Y-Camp could be yours.

Tom and Sam both loved Y-Camp. Me, not so much!

Tom went away every summer, first as a camper, then Counselor in Training and finally a full-fledged Counselor.

Sam, same thing. They both loved the Camp experience and the opportunities it gave them to meet boys from all over the country and develop leadership traits that would help them in life.

As the summer of 1972 approached, I knew it was now time. Eight years old and time for overnight summer camp. I wasn't excited, no matter how hard Sam or mama or daddy tried to convince me that it would be fun, I wasn't buying it.

Mama needed me at home, who would she watch Days of Our Lives with? I couldn't go away to camp, mama and daddy wouldn't have anyone to talk to. A million things went through my mind, tons of excuses, but the tradition would not be broken by me, I was going to Athens Y-Camp, two weeks, end of story!

Sunday morning, first day of camp arrived and I loaded into the car with mama and daddy for our journey to camp. Just a short drive from home, but for me an agonizing trip to a land of mystery, with people I didn't know, activities I couldn't imagine and no mama or daddy anywhere in-sight, the next two weeks were going to be the worst this little 8 year old had ever experienced!

Upon our arrival, I was greeted by my counselor. (No, not the kind that would put me in a padded room with a white coat, but the guy who would be my mentor for the next two weeks.) We were led to my home away from home. A wooden cabin, with wooden floors, wooden walls, tin roof and NO BATHROOM! The cabin was filled with bunk beds, separated into two rooms, 12 boys all my age and a counselor would now occupy this cabin for the next two weeks. It was immediately obvious, there would be no turn down service or mints on the pillow at this place, we were roughing it.

Once I was settled into my new accommodations, the first big test of camp was at hand. Put on your bathing suit and head to the lake for a swimming test. The lake manifested every fear I had about overnight camp. For years I had heard my brothers talk about how cold it was, how high the diving board was, how the Vandiver Man used it to put bodies in....over and over again, that lake! Now, I was about to dive into that lake, headfirst and prove my manhood. An eight year old proving that I could swim from one dock to the next, approximately 25 yards, all for the right to be anywhere other than the beginners swim class.

I walked out onto that white dock and stood, looking at the other end, I knew I could make it but every ounce of doubt I could muster filled me up! The water is cold, the diving board is too high, and there are dead bodies in this lake! There was nothing I wanted more than to be in the intermediate swim group, but as much as I didn't want to be classified a beginner, I certainly didn't want to go in that lake.

After some minutes of nudging me closer and closer to the water, my counselor finally got me to jump in. For the next five minutes or so, I kicked and paddled myself from one end to the other, just like a beginning swimmer would do. It was obvious, I would be in the beginning swim class, no intermediate for me. I let my fears get the best of me, something I should have done and could have done easily was overshadowed by fear of the unknown.

Now after the swim test, it was time to say good-bye to mama and daddy. For two long weeks they would have to be without me, no one to talk to, I know they didn't want me to stay at camp, but the left me and made their way home anticipating the day they could come and retrieve their baby boy.

During those two weeks at Y-Camp, I learned a lot. I had never shared a room with 12 other boys before, it was interesting.

Each morning we would wake up to the sound of a bell that spread throughout the whole camp. 7AM, wake up, in your pajamas, underwear or whatever you sleep in, run to the top of the hill and meet the camp directors for morning exercises. I would have much preferred morning cartoons, but I adjusted.

At Y-Camp, I learned to clean my plate, it was a requirement. Sometimes not knowing what you are eating is a good thing, a special breakfast called DVOT taught me that lesson. A life-lesson I still carry with me today.

Camp was filled with activities, I took part in archery, arts and crafts, canoe, soccer and every day I went to swimming lessons.

At night, the entire camp would gather in the Lodge after dinner. The lodge was an old wooden building, with tin roof and wrap around porch, anchored by a large rock fireplace on the north wall. Sitting on long hard benches in the lodge we would sing hymns, camp songs and listen to stories of men who made a difference in the lives of others.

Surrounding us in that Lodge were hundreds and hundreds of handmade signs nailed to the walls and ceiling. Each sign had the name, hometown and camp years painted on them. These signs represent the history of Athens Y-Camp and the men who made a difference in the lives of others in big and small ways.

Every day I got more and more comfortable jumping into that cold lake filled with dead bodies that the Vandiver man placed there. Every day I got stronger and stronger, I wasn't a beginner swimmer and I knew it, I was an intermediate and I was going to prove it to everyone!

More than anything else, my favorite part of Camp was the trips we got to take. There were three trips. A day trip to "Frontierland" in Cherokee, NC. A small amusement park with rides and shows and candy!

The second trip was also a day trip, this one I was a bit more concerned about. It was a hike into the bottom of the Tallulah Gorge for an afternoon of skinny dipping at slipper rock. Now, the hike really didn't concern me, but I don't think it takes a rocket scientist to know, sliding down a rock, bare-assed and into a pool of water may not be the best idea. Once again, my fears were unfounded and I had a great time sliding down slippery rock with my fellow campers, free as the wind and naked as a Jay-bird!

The big trip all campers took was the most anticipated of all. A hike into the woods and overnight camp-out. We would cook hot dogs and eat potato chips and be allowed to drink Coke, but before any of that we would have to hike into those mysterious woods that surrounded Athens Y-Camp.

The woods, the very same woods that were the home to the Vandiver man, the very same Vandiver man who had put all those dead bodies in the lake.

Throughout my time at camp, I had seen group after group go off into the woods and come back unscathed, but the thought of having to do it for myself wasn't something I was looking forward to. When the time came our little group of 8 year olds made our way into those dark woods, led by our counselor, who by this time we had come to trust. We walked and walked until we came upon our official campsite.

After we had set up camp, it was time for hot dogs and fun by the camp fire. We ate, we sang songs and we laughed, then it happened. One of the camp workers who had accompanied our group to the campsite began to tell a story.

He told a story of a man who used to live nearby, who was disfigured and made fun of. A man who grew bitter and mean, a man they called the Vandiver man.

The worker told us this story and it grew more and more gruesome. Our tiny band of eight year olds clung to each word, scared to move, scared to breathe and even more scared that we wouldn't hear the entire story.

As the story of the Vandiver man was reaching its climactic high point, out of the deep dark woods surrounding Athens Y-Camp came a voice, a horrific voice....."I AM THE VANDIVER MAN!"

With that, our tiny band of eight year olds collapsed into a screaming, laughing, horrified mess; because instantaneously we knew, we knew there was no Vandiver man, there weren't bodies in the lake, it was all a story, a ghost-story passed down from generation to generation. A myth that taught its young listeners about respecting differences in others, overcoming fears and tradition.

Finally, as my two week adventure at Athens Y-Camp was coming to an end, it was time to showcase what I had learned to my counselors. I presented my works in arts and crafts, archery, trampoline and all the other various skill classes I had participated in.

Now, on the final day, it was time to prove to myself and everyone else that I had overcome my fears. My fear of a mythological figure who put dead bodies in a cold lake that had prevented me from being my best in swimming. It was time to overcome the fear that had held me back from a summer of learning to jump from the high dive into a cold lake, fear that kept me from being my best.

On that day, I walked out on that white dock and peered across the 25 yards to my destination. I was going to swim to that far dock, turn around, come back to my starting point and prove that I had overcome my fears of the lake. Without hesitation, I dove in and I swam, I swam to the far end and came back. I conquered my fears and I swam.

As I went home that year, overcoming my fear of a cold lake, with a too high diving board, filled with dead bodies placed there by a mythological ghost story character didn't seem like that big of a deal. But looking back on it, I realize that lake symbolized much more than swimming, it symbolized a belief that fear is an emotion like any other, it can paralyze you or it can make you stronger, during the summer of 1972, fear made me stronger.

I went back to Athens Y-Camp the next year, this time, no longer part of the baby group, but a 9 year old expert. I didn't just conquer the lake that summer, I passed up intermediate swimming and moved straight to advanced. I jumped from the high dive and hit bulls-eyes on the archery field. I may have started out slowly, but in year two, overnight camp was my thing!

At the end of my two weeks mama and daddy came to pick me up, Sam came with them. When they arrived, I was given a handmade sign, with my name on it. Together we made our way into the Lodge and found the perfect spot for my sign to hang, close to Tom and Sam's.

I haven't ever been back to that old Lodge since that day, but I am confident my sign still hangs there.

If you ever find yourself on the Campus of Athens Y-Camp, do me a favor and go in that lodge, look on the western wall, about 3/4 the way up. If you see a sign that says "Ken Rumsey, Clayton, Georgia, 1972 & 1973." Know that sign represents something, it represents a young boy who overcame fears, who learned something about himself and a man who was made better by his two summers at Athens Y-Camp.