J~
I go through Enterprise all the time on the way to the beach. When the old spill hit at the end of April 2010, I'd already spent 20 days at the beach that year. I get off the main road in Enterprise occasionally & I've been through the path of the tornado a couple of times. I couldn't remember where y'all's house was but I go by the Methodist Church where Asa Boozer preached when we attended there together. When my Daddy died of an aneurysm in Sept. '72, Asa came all the way from Selma to preach Daddy's funeral.

I taught my son how to pray; how to call on THE HIGHER POWER; how to listen to THE VOICE WITHIN. He's needed every lesson & those lessons have served him well.

Here's something I want you to read. I've written about unrequited love in my sci-fi novel SNAKE DOCTOR. http://snakedoctor.blogspot.com
There's a little "Jacquetta" in these paragraphs.

The Bermuda grass in Grover’s field was making hay this
spring afternoon, and he gazed with pride along the fence line of
the hillside pasture leading down to the white sand bank where
aeons of Big Springs’ cool, clear water had deposited untold tons
of its snow white grains of disintegrated quartzite. Parking his
Ford van by the cookshed, Grover climbed the steps up to the porch
of the grey cypress decked shotgun house he called home. With each
step he felt the burden of his 61 years; years he loved and
thanked God for every day, but years heavy with suffering and
grief.

Grover needed to smoke some reefer.

Opening his unlocked front door, Grover reached up to the
foyer closet’s door casing. Pulling down his little tin box, he
returned to the front porch, pulling the cord on both ceiling fans
as he strode across the cypress planks toward his green porch
swing. After checking the horizon to see whether the coast was
clear, Grover Moss, known affectionately to his friends as “Fur
Trader,” leaned back and took a hit off the pipe he made from the
antler of a twelve-point he’d killed at Ft. Rucker over 40 years
before.

After five tokes of his favorite blend, Grover gazed out over
his grassy field and accessed his progress.

“Boy, I miss that dog. I’m gonna have to find a little Zero
soon.”

It was lonely without his dog. Walking back to the front
door, Grover reached inside to the corner bookcase that held his
photo albums. Returning to the swing, he poured over the pages
looking for pictures of his beloved pit bull. Sure enough, he
found photographs of Zero, but he also found more than he was
looking for. Grover found the pictures of Florrie. There she
stood, a Southern angel, in that aquamarine bathing suit her
mother sewed wearing Grover’s Wekiwahatchee High School class ring
on her left hand.

Keeping with his morning’s horrible memories of Zero’s death
in the enormous jaws of Old Tom, and the gas explosion on
Tustennuggee’s riverfront, Grover thought of monsters again. Only
this time the monsters weren’t giant flesh and blood, red-eyed
reptiles. These monsters were made out of strong emotions. These
were green-eyed monsters; disturbing feelings Grover could not
deny.

He was still in love with her.

“How in the hell could this happen?” Grover asked himself.
“What kind of bond could connect me to a damn woman I haven’t seen
or heard from in over forty years? I’ve got to get over that
cunt. Man, I need a drink!”

Back on the swing with a cold bottle of India pale ale,
Grover looked at Florrie’s picture once more and it hit him. There
was his answer in full living color: so simple, so plain and
simple. Her hands! Grover’s whole world was right there in
Florrie’ s fingers!

Suddenly, stoned and rocking in his porch swing, Grover
Milton Moss, Esquire, made a miraculous discovery. Now he
understood the monster; not Old Tom but his other monster.
Grover’s monster was the thought of never being touched by Florrie
again in his lifetime. Here Grover found his greatest fear and as
any redneck knows, the best thing to do when scared is to go ahead
well armed. At that moment, Grover completely embraced the
unrequited love he held for his old girlfriend, Florrie Walker.

“Good God, this feels good” Grover yelled.

It felt good to have Florrie on his mind. Those thoughts were
more precious than gold. For the first time in over forty years
Grover fully grasped the joy and virtue contained in the
recollections of his youthful love with that beautiful woman.Memories
of Florrie were his most important possession, and the
determination to become the man worthy of Florrie's affection now
consumed Grover's soul.



I'd love to take you to the beach but there's also a big reason for me to spend about a week in D.C. Greg Spies (he's one of my Facebook friends) & I have talked seriously about writing a book about Mobile County history for the MOBILE COUNTY BICENTENNIAL in 2013. I need to go to the Smithsonian and The National Archives so think about when you'd like to hang out with me in Arlington, D.C. & Georgetown.

I'm calling you as soon as I get my act together this morning.
IT MIGHT BE NOON BY THEN!!!!
BEST,
r http://cottonkingdom.blogspot.com

P.S.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyCAZRKXaQk&feature=related