Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
A visit with Pocky
Pocky was up in Prattville last weekend, so Sunday afternoon he came down to get a good visit in with his great grandson. They put together some puzzles, and Pocky taught RIley about his hands and fingers (you can see the picture below of them comparing digits), we did some more playing around and RIley was in generous modd and gave Pocy a hug on his way out. We had a big time!
Moving...
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter...
From: Allison Godwin
To: Shelley Scarbrough; NAN ; angie_irvin; Coy.Irvin; "Irvin, Elizabeth" ; harriett godwin ; Michael Godwin
Sent: Mon, May 17, 2010 9:41:30 AM
Subject: M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter...
I love this love letter to MS. I think I will post it on my blog. My friend Carolyn is from the Delta and her Mom is always sending great little articles. I am particularly fond of this one so I thought I would share.
Allison
M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter ...
Tuesday, Apr 13, 2010
OXFORD, Miss. — I forgot the address of my old friend Martha Lu Jackson, but got close enough, and she stood and waved and yoo-hooed me in from a jasmine-draped street corner.
Where else but Mississippi?
It was one of those weeks when I felt sorry for all people who live anywhere but old Mississippi, much less north of Tennessee. Bless their hearts.
I had driven the back roads through a wisteria jungle to get to Oxford, the town with a courthouse the color of homemade ice cream and so many good writers they must take a number and wait for national recognition.
I'd tell you it was a Thursday, and I went with most of the rest of the town to a live radio show called "Thacker Mountain" and heard a former Miss Mississippi named Mary Haskell, still blond, belt out a Patsy Cline number, and the with-it, bluesy young Memphis band Star and Micey wail into the tangerine afternoon, but you might not believe it. Well, I did.
Mississippi is something you have to experience, a seamless blend of small town and sophistication and anachronistic delights. This state is a secret still, which keeps it nice.
I had supper in what used to be an old grocery store where once the grocer cut and wrapped the bologna on the wooden countertops.
Now at City Grocery there's fine dining and wine, imported beer and no less than five specials, including panned pickle duck rillette cake, pork belly beggar's purse and country-ham-wrapped saddle of rabbit with mushroom cornbread pudding. It might be Savannah or Atlanta, except with manners.
And you can't go through food like that without dark descending. It didn't much matter because the streets are safe, and the courtly, movie-star-handsome former chancellor of Ole Miss, Robert Khayat, walked me to my car, positioning himself on the street side as his mother taught him, greeting everyone we met on the busy sidewalks by name and often with a hug.
Where else but Mississippi?
I drove home in less than two hours to a hollow so dark you can see all the stars, no competing lights anywhere. And I sat for a while on a porch where the best moments of my life, so far, have been spent, and I felt so grateful to be breathing Mississippi air.
It was a circuitous journey for me to Mississippi, from my native Georgia, to the Florida Panhandle, finally across Alabama's Rooster Bridge into the romance and history of a whole other world. It was 1979. I was dubious. I didn't have any idea at the time how much I'd love the state, or that Mississippi would seem, almost instantly, more like home than anywhere else.
You must forgive me the periodic and rhapsodic pitch for Mississippi. For every now and again, when I least expect it, the privilege of being a part of this place — with its gut bucket blues and its accessible heroes and uncontrolled profusion of sweet-smelling vines — overcomes me. And like an adopted child with a troubled past who has landed in the lap of love, I weep.
To: Shelley Scarbrough
Sent: Mon, May 17, 2010 9:41:30 AM
Subject: M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter...
I love this love letter to MS. I think I will post it on my blog. My friend Carolyn is from the Delta and her Mom is always sending great little articles. I am particularly fond of this one so I thought I would share.
Allison
M-I-Crooked Letter-Crooked Letter ...
Tuesday, Apr 13, 2010
OXFORD, Miss. — I forgot the address of my old friend Martha Lu Jackson, but got close enough, and she stood and waved and yoo-hooed me in from a jasmine-draped street corner.
Where else but Mississippi?
It was one of those weeks when I felt sorry for all people who live anywhere but old Mississippi, much less north of Tennessee. Bless their hearts.
I had driven the back roads through a wisteria jungle to get to Oxford, the town with a courthouse the color of homemade ice cream and so many good writers they must take a number and wait for national recognition.
I'd tell you it was a Thursday, and I went with most of the rest of the town to a live radio show called "Thacker Mountain" and heard a former Miss Mississippi named Mary Haskell, still blond, belt out a Patsy Cline number, and the with-it, bluesy young Memphis band Star and Micey wail into the tangerine afternoon, but you might not believe it. Well, I did.
Mississippi is something you have to experience, a seamless blend of small town and sophistication and anachronistic delights. This state is a secret still, which keeps it nice.
I had supper in what used to be an old grocery store where once the grocer cut and wrapped the bologna on the wooden countertops.
Now at City Grocery there's fine dining and wine, imported beer and no less than five specials, including panned pickle duck rillette cake, pork belly beggar's purse and country-ham-wrapped saddle of rabbit with mushroom cornbread pudding. It might be Savannah or Atlanta, except with manners.
And you can't go through food like that without dark descending. It didn't much matter because the streets are safe, and the courtly, movie-star-handsome former chancellor of Ole Miss, Robert Khayat, walked me to my car, positioning himself on the street side as his mother taught him, greeting everyone we met on the busy sidewalks by name and often with a hug.
Where else but Mississippi?
I drove home in less than two hours to a hollow so dark you can see all the stars, no competing lights anywhere. And I sat for a while on a porch where the best moments of my life, so far, have been spent, and I felt so grateful to be breathing Mississippi air.
It was a circuitous journey for me to Mississippi, from my native Georgia, to the Florida Panhandle, finally across Alabama's Rooster Bridge into the romance and history of a whole other world. It was 1979. I was dubious. I didn't have any idea at the time how much I'd love the state, or that Mississippi would seem, almost instantly, more like home than anywhere else.
You must forgive me the periodic and rhapsodic pitch for Mississippi. For every now and again, when I least expect it, the privilege of being a part of this place — with its gut bucket blues and its accessible heroes and uncontrolled profusion of sweet-smelling vines — overcomes me. And like an adopted child with a troubled past who has landed in the lap of love, I weep.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Riley loves to garden...
Well he loves to play with his rake and shovel and hoe. Here are some pictures that Etta took today:
New Jammers
It appears Riley has some new PJ's. And you will note that paci is still in hand. I really do not know how we will get rid of it. Perhaps an intervention and a few pacifiers anonymous meetings will be in our future.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Riley's Weekend
Here are a couple more pictures from Riley's weekend in Brewton. He enjoyed some pool time, and saw all his great grandparents, played with his favortie "Little People" toys, and got in a visit with the Garrett Quads. Once again, Riley, was more interested in the Quads toys than the Quads, but I have high hopes for future playdates, since they were able to get them in the same frame this time.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Today
Today, Riley is in Brewton. And, as usual, Etta has sent me pictures of my little angel. The last one is histerical. What is that face, I think he is being mischevious. In it he is wearing an outfit that was Michael's when he was little!
Monday, May 10, 2010
He is his fathers child...
Take him outside and you are in for it. Good luck getting him to come back inside. Here is a picture Etta got of him a couple of weeks ago checking out this tree. Last week he decided to check out Holland's brand new potted flowers by her front door, and before Michael could stop him he had removed each and every bloom! We are working on teaching him how to "be sweet". I will post more pictures tonight from our weekend. After recovering from the stomach bug we had a great Mother's Day. 
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