“Ma’am, I’m at the address you gave us, but I’m pretty sure nobody lives here.” — -Cell phone call from the Comcast installer.

You can’t always judge a book by its cover. But, you can tell a lot about my new home by its floor: embedded buttons, plugged utility holes, and linseed oil stains.

The floor, along with 3 banks of 10 feet x 10 feet windows, 14-foot ceilings with exposed pipes and a brick wall, set the stage for the trickiest home decorating chore I’ve tackled, to date.

My new address is in an once industrial part of Jackson, a few blocks from Downtown. In 1928, the four story brick building was known as the N & W Overall Company Building. It was said to be a textbook-quality example of mill construction promoted by fire insurance underwriters in the 1920s: thick masonry walls, heavy timber framing and fire-retardant, slow burning materials.

Approximately 500 employees stitched bib overalls here for 40 years, and during WWII, N & W was a major supplier of Army uniforms.

Around the 1970s, the Williamson-Dickie Company took over operations and continued to make work clothes until the early 1990s. You can still buy Dickie’s work clothes today at JC Penney’s, Walmarts and on-line, made from one of several Dickie’s plants operating in other parts of the country.

In the 1990s, architect Robert Polk transformed the building into a mixed-use facility with loft apartments.  The first inhabitant of my loft was the late artist Carol Hardy Piggot who is know around the South for her beautiful depictions of scenes inspired by Eudora Welty stories. It was around the early 80s in New Orleans when I saw my first Carol Hardy Piggot painting and had two epiphanies: that original art had a special energy and that people would actually pay $6,000 for that special energy. I visited Carol Hardy Piggot’s paintings every time I went to New Orleans but I never purchased one, for obvious reasons. But, I now daily pass by the sink in my utility room where the artist washed her brushes. It was installed especially for her and still shows splatters of oil paint.

As interesting as the inside of Dickie’s Loft building is, the view outside my 3rd floor window measures up. Looking north to the skyline of Jackson, I can see the Old State Capitol to the right and the new State Capitol to the left. The new Federal Courthouse is right in the middle; a modern high rise flanked by two historic, lighted domes.

The first week in residence at Dickie’s Lofts, I couldn’t help by notice the two people on top of what I would later learn was the Hinds County Court Building. Depending on where I was in the loft, they positioned themselves in different proportions to each other; sometimes close together, sometimes at opposite ends of the building. Judging the size and distance, I acknowledged that these were not people but statues. It was my high school friend and current City Council member Virgi Lindsay who solved my mystery. My constant companions, 3 blocks away and on top of the three-story court building: Moses and Socrates. Moses, the giver of the law. Socrates, the interpreter of the law.

Although a very pleasant view, Jackson’s skyline doesn’t quite measure up to most metropolitan cities – not just yet, anyway. But who else can boast Moses and Socrates, looming larger than life, as next door neighbors.

June 8, 2019

“Applicants must love hosting events, older homes, families, art, music, majestic oak trees, funky design, architectural diversity, yet also excel at fundraising, writing and regularly engaging City Hall.“

Maybe this job had my name on it before I ever saw the job announcement. This is the actual posting from the Fondren Renaissance Foundation, advertising their search for an Executive Director. Could it get better? Yes, the Foundation has an on-site art gallery. Even better? Yes, the community is part of a Complete Streets transportation project which includes sidewalks, bike lanes, bike share and bus rapid transit. How could my varied work history – transportation, art and non-profit management – be so neatly curated into one job.

The traditional process went fairly quickly: resume sent, search committee interview, meet the neighbors and merchants, spend time with the staff. What started in mid-May has now come to a conclusion: on Tuesday I jump into my new role as head cheerleader for the Jackson, Mississippi community of Fondren.

From 1980 – 1985, I worked in Fondren as Executive Director of the Mississippi Press Association. Some things look the same but a lot has changed. The office supply store I walked to at least weekly is now part of a grocery story. I’ll never forget stopping in to buy a typewriter ribbon and seeing Eudora Welty at the copy machine.

While the old Press Association building could never be tagged as “paradise,” it most definitely is now a parking lot – for patrons of a modern new bank.

For the first few months, I’ll be easing into the job working 3-4 days a week. By September, I’ll be fully immersed, having relocating my belongings an hour and 45 minutes north to somewhere in Jackson, in or near Fondren.

I’m coming on board just in time for next weekend’s Mississippi Food and Wine Festival, a three-day event hosted by the Foundation. There will be four private dinners, featuring local award-winning chefs, capped off on Saturday with the 5th Annual Mississippi Craft Beer Festival.

Fondren is home to some of Jackson’s most notable restaurants, including Brents Drug Store which was featured in the movie, The Help. I actually remember Brents from my Press Association days when it was a drug store with a soda fountain counter serving ice cream and comfort food. In an odd turn of events, the soda fountain took over the drug store. The cosmetics counter where I used to buy Cover Girl is now just another corner of a busy dining room. (http://www.brentsdrugs.com/)

A new restaurant, Saltines, has taken over a part of the old Duling Elementary School, across the street from Brents. After lunch there last week with a Foundation board member who attended the school as an elementary student, she pointed out that the Principal’s Office is now the Ladies Room, prompting a thoughtful pause before entering. Boutiques and speciality shops dot the old school’s hallways. At the end is Duling Hall, a venue for live music and concerts.

There will be more to tell about Fondren as the next few months unfold. I have a lot to discover and even more to learn.

The photos below aren’t my own; I swiped them from other on-line sites. I didn’t want to look too eager by snapping photos while the interview process was on-going.

After five months of semi-retirement, I’m happy to be heading back to work … and grateful to find a job where hosting parties is not only acceptable but required.

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June 2, 2019

There’s no place to safely ride my bicycle at Walkers Bridge.  For exercise, I’ve turned to walking along the River Road which borders our property.

Of course, there are no sidewalks; no network of trails like I enjoyed along the American River.  But the River Road is paved, wide enough, doesn’t have a lot of traffic and even affords rivers views for most of my route.

This is the same River Road that I tried to jog on 40 years ago.  After repeated stops from concerned neighbors asking if I needed a ride somewhere, I gave up on the notion of exercise as recreation while visiting Walkers Bridge.

Times have changed.  For the past two mornings, I’ve passed other walkers and even one jogger along the River Road.  This new level of activity at Walkers Bridge is made possible by our newest neighbor – Paradise Ranch and Resort.

While I was in California, a group of out-of-state investors discovered the Bogue Chitto River and decided to make it a destination for the Recreational Vehicle world.

It’s not unusual for our little community’s population to blossom from 35 to more than 400, especially on weekends and holidays.   They arrive in RVs that cost more than the houses around here and set up camp around the man-made lake, stocked with fish and rented kayaks.  There’s another lake for swimming, and a zip line. Friendly pigs and New Zealand Red Stag roam the property and help to entertain the guests.

We’ve always thought of Walkers Bridge as a little corner of paradise.  I guess now it’s official.

Other photos since the last post …

April 7, 2019

Like thousands of other 16-year-olds, in 1973 I made a decision that would influence the rest of my life. I chose a college.

My short list of possibilities was really short. In fact, there was only one school on the list: Mississippi University for Women. It was an old school with a new name. My junior year in high school, the state legislature upgraded it to university status – from Mississippi State College for Women, fondly known as MSCW or Messy W; universally known as The W.

I selected it before I had even visited the campus because none of my high school classmates were eyeing it. In fact, only the girls in the Tylertown High School class of 1974 could have considered it because it was “an all girls school” – a fact, all by itself, that dissuaded my female high school classmates whose college qualifications included football teams and husband prospects.

Even then, I relished the road less traveled.

When I graduated from The W in 1978, I became a member of the Long Blue Line, otherwise known as the Alumnae Association. Besides being a 501c (3), the Long Blue Line is the living story of the University’s past, present and future as told by its graduates.

The husband of one of my classmates calls it a cult, with Homecoming as its mecca. In truth, he nailed it.

Ours is an engaged group, to say the least. It comes partially from a rich and on-going battle with the Mississippi State legislature which episodically would like to do away with The W. The contemporary arguments are fiscally motivated. Originally, the considerate all-male state house was concerned that if its women gained too much knowledge, their pretty little heads would explode. I’m not making this up.

It is no wonder that we’ve developed a cult-like reflex for advocacy.

Around the early 2000s, the then-University president found alumni involvement inconvenient and preceded to “disaffiliate” the university from the the association. Alums from far and wide – attorneys, judges, marketing professionals, teachers, housewives, scientists, doctors, etc. – rose to the occasion to ensure the legacy of the Long Blue Line. It’s worth noting that the Alumni Association is still here. That University President is not.

(Here’s a tricky grammar lesson that might be useful at this point. Alumnae refers to a group of female graduates. Alumna refers to one female graduate. Alumnus is one male graduate. Alumni is a plural noun referring to both male and female graduates. When our association was formed in 1889, it was an Alumnae Association – all women. When the university began admitting men in the 1980s, the association technically became an alumni association.)

Six years ago, when I was first contemplating a permanent move back to Mississippi, I made the trip from Sacramento to Columbus, MS for Homecoming festivities. As I’ve written before, MUW’s homecoming has nothing to do with a football game. It’s more like a 4-day family reunion with a lot of familiar faces and a slew of cousins you are meeting for the first time.

That Homecoming trip in 2013 settled my concerns about fitting in to a place I’d left behind some 30 years earlier. With the support of my MUW tribe, I could transition back. I could come home.

And, so it was on the afternoon of March 27, some two weeks ago, after driving 4 hours, I pulled into a parking place behind Shattuck Hall and found my place again under the canopy of the beloved ginkgo tree, behind the tall white columns, in the midst of alums of all ages scurrying to organize a silent auction that would raise $28,000 for scholarships by the end of the weekend.

With the end of each busy day that week, getting ready for the auction and accompanying party, as we vowed to return to the hotel and fall immediately into bed and a deep sleep, we didn’t. We couldn’t. There was too much to talk about. My roommates were my former Class-of-78-mates; one from Chicago and the other from Jackson. And, each night as we were finally ready to give in to sleep, our next door neighbors from the class of 1998 would knock on our door and bring us to life again. Even though we were older than most of their mothers, the conversation never took a parental tone. We were in that ageless space of the Long Blue Line. We were indeed revisiting that intangible place called home.

There’s more to write about the weekend, but this blog is already too long. So, I’m going to stop for now and post some photos, ending with one I took Sunday afternoon after one last stroll on campus – and, made possible by the Class of 1921 which reminds us “Time Passes, Memories Remain.”

That’s true for all the places, people and times I have called home.

March 14, 2019

My Mom spends every Monday evening with Ben and Erin Napier. Since I live with Mom now, so do I.

For HGTV fans, Ben and Erin are the stars of Home Town, a fixer-upper type show which follows in the footsteps on Joanna and Chip Gaines of Waco, Texas. Ben and Erin spend their TV hour renovating homes in Laurel, Mississippi, Erin’s hometown. Erin is an artist/decorator; Ben is a woodworker. Together, they help people find inexpensive homes in Laurel and in just 60 minutes, transform them into tailor-made residences that are doubled or tripled in value.

In their own way, they are also Laurel’s biggest cheerleaders, touting the value of small-town living.

I’ve passed by Laurel more than 100 times back in the 70s on my way to college in Columbus. Never once was I tempted to stop. Not even for gas.

Realizing that Mom and I would be passing close to Laurel Sunday on the way back from the Alabama family reunion – and understanding that Ben and Erin were like family, at least to Mom, I hatched a plan to stay overnight and spend Monday morning in Ben and Erin’s Home Town.

I made reservations at Wisteria Bed and Breakfasat, a beautiful antebellum home painted a soft lilac color. Most antebellum houses are white, but with a name like Wisteria, the lilac was an acceptable branding strategy.

We arrived after 5 p.m. on Sunday and were greeted by the owner who showed us to our first floor suite, complete with a red footed bathtub. Mom was ready to relax; I was hungry.

I was also out of luck. A 30-minute tour of town turned up no restaurants open for business. I went to bed hungry.

The tour of town also revealed many views not featured on the TV program. I recognized Main Street, shown in the program opening each week. I found Ben and Erin’s retail shop, Laurel Mercantile. I looked for some of the houses I had watched being transformed into lovely cottages – no luck.

Monday morning’s Wisteria breakfast took care of my hunger pangs: yummy grits, bacon, fruit and biscuits. And, the other guests around the table filled in the rest of the blanks.

There is no driving tour of Home Town renovations because homeowners are leery of tourists knocking on their doors. Ditto with Ben and Erin’s beautiful Craftsman renovation. Locals have taken a vow to not reveal any addresses.

It’s hard to keep secrets in a small town, however. One tourist couple at our breakfast table had unknowingly driven by the Napier house and noticed Ben, Erin and baby daughter Helen in the front yard. The tourists didn’t stop to chat, or ask to see their house. It’s a given for most people that Sunday afternoons with the family are private affairs. They did, however, tell us where to find the Ben and Erin’s house in case we wanted a drive-by.

Before leaving the breakfast table, we all took the vow to not share the Napier address. But if anyone plans to visit Laurel, message me and I’ll tell you where to find them.

As Mom and I left on Monday, we saw the trio in the front yard, too, and were not tempted in the least bit to stop and say hello. But, it is my thought that if you have a national TV show and insist on being in the front yard around the clock, you forfeit some of your privacy rights.

Insight was also offered into the menu of neglected houses selected for renovation, and whether or not the effort elevated the neighborhood, as the program promotes. Turns out, according to one tourist, most of the homes targeted for renovation are in areas surrounded by absentee owners who aren’t necessarily interested in neighborhood preservation. As one guest noted, “where else are you going to find a house for $30,000?”

I don’t know if all the featured houses are in hopeless neighborhoods because (see above) we don’t know where to find the new and improved houses.

I do know that there are beautiful homes along 5th and 6th street which make the visit to Laurel worth missing a Sunday night meal. There is a beautiful park just off 5th Street. And, Downtown Laurel does hold promise, although it has a way to go.

There is also a first-class museum across from Wisteria, the Lauren Rogers Museum of Art. It was closed on Monday – another missed opportunity.

I understand the challenges of small town resources, playing on a national tourism stage. You can’t offer everything 7-days a week.

Still, Laurel should be a stop if traveling on Interstate 59 through Mississippi and Alabama. Just don’t go on a Sunday. Or on a Monday. And message me for Ben and Erin’s address. Just promise not to knock on their door or tell anyone else where they live.

March 13, 2019

I have a history with the Tombigbee River.

My Mom grew up 10 miles from the river in Marengo County, Alabama. She remembers going with her brothers to fish from the eastern bank. She also remembers many meals at Ezelle’s Fish Camp on the other bank. We added a memory Saturday night, prior to Sunday’s Alabama family reunion. Just a few days prior, the Tombigbee flood waters had cut off access to Ezelle’s for more than a week. We joined a hungry crew of patrons with a pent up need for fried catfish and hushpuppies.

My history with the Tombigbee River started in the early 80s when, as a reporter for the Columbus, MS daily newspaper, I was assigned to cover the construction of the Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway.

The waterway was deemed a boondoggle by most of the Country. For the towns along the waterway in Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama, it was an economic boost, for a short while at least, bringing jobs, recreation and commerce to a fairly forgotten rural America that was in short supply of promise.

All in all, it was a controversial $2 billion public works project that created a 232-mile shortcut from middle America to the Gulf of Mexico by linking the Tennessee and Tombigbee Rivers. Commercial barges would be able to cut off 800 miles and five days by using the Tenn-Tom Waterway instead of navigating the Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers.

In my three years of covering the construction project, I climbed on unfinished locks and dams, spent a lot of time on boats and chronicled the stories of people who lived on the river – those who expected to benefit from the construction and those who were devastated that the government would take their land and displace their way of life.

One of my first experiences with the Tombigbee was during a Spring flood. Assigned to shadow the civil defense director as he assessed conditions, I was with him when the call came that a lady was stranded in her house with waters still rising. Dressed in high heels, a jacket and pleated skirt, I followed the civil defense director into the muddy flood waters. We walked for a half mile with the water just above our waists, trying to stay on the paved road beneath the water. It was a stupid thing to do. When we reached the stranded lady, she refused to leave her house. She claimed the title of “river rat” and recounted the many floods she had lived through without leaving her house. She was not about to budge now- even though a case could be made that we had risked our lives to fetch her. By the time the unsuccessful rescue had unfolded, a boat was available to retrieve those of us who were delighted to be rescued. Wet and cold, I was dropped off at my car at the water’s edge. My entire outfit for the day, shoes and all, ended up in the garbage can.

The next year, with Waterway construction well underway, I had an appointment with a tugboat captain to report on dredging progress. Arriving early, I hopped on the deck of the tugboat and knocked on the captain’s door. I was not greeted warmly. Superstition has it, I later learned, that it is bad luck for a woman to set foot on a tug boat. For the next year, I was blamed for numerous broken drills, two general mechanical failures and a broken arm.

And then there was the big press conference at then-Alabama Congressman Tom Bevill’s family river camp. With Congressional funding for the Waterway getting harder to come by, Bevill had invited key U.S. Representatives and Senators to take a tour of the waterway and have lunch with locals who supported the project. The turnout was spectacular. The press had to be bussed in because of parking challenges. The Congressional delegation arrived by helicopter.

Part of that Congressional delegation was Sacramento Representative Vic Fazio. During comments after lunch, Fazio made note of the large turnout. Bevill joked that the crowd came to see the helicopter.

It was Fazio that I picked out to interview for my story. I was curious why a California congressman would support continued funding for a controversial project that decidedly benefitted Southern states. He reasoned the need to bring coal more efficiently to the east coast, which would benefit the entire country.

Years later, as a Sacramento resident, I attended a fund-raiser for Fazio in his last re-election campaign. “We’ve actually met before at Tom Bevill’s camp in Alabama,” I said when it was my turn to shake his hand. He laughed and told me the real reason he supported funding the waterway. He agreed to vote in favor of completing the Tenn-Tom Waterway in exchange for Bevill’s vote for a wetlands project in Yolo County. Sacramento friends now know that project as the Vic Fazio Yolo Wildlife Area.

That could be a commentary on how politics used to work. The Fazio Wildlife Area is now a 400-acre managed native California wetlands ecosystem. And, as I recall, it has some positive flood control aspects for Sacramento. River commerce has benefited by the Tenn-Tom Waterway shortcut. And, the towns along the Waterway did get a much needed boost, even if for some it was short-lived.

Sunday, as we crossed the Tombigbee River again (now the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway), we indeed saw a barge barreling down the river. And, sure enough, in one compartment was a stack of coal.

March 8, 2019

For my first three years in California, every time there was an earthquake in Southern California I’d get phone calls from family and friends in The South asking if I was OK. Of course, I was unaware that there had been an earthquake in Southern California until the phone calls started coming in.

So, it was perfectly reasonable to get emails and phone calls from California when the national news led with “Tornados rip damage and destruction across The South.”

While tornados didn’t rip through our corner of Mississippi, I was certainly aware of the pending danger. Unlike earthquakes, tornados and their aftermath can be multi-state events that keep you guessing for days.

The first tornado that made national news was in Columbus, MS – major devastation and two deaths. Columbus is just under five hours away from Walkers Bridge, but very close in my heart. It’s where I spent four, formative years getting degrees in Journalism, Political Science and Life. I’m heading back there on March 27th for our annual Homecoming celebration. As an historically all-women’s college that now accepts smart men, our Homecoming doesn’t revolve around a football game. We return to campus when the azaleas are in full bloom and the magnolias are starting to bud.

The Alumnae Association had made arrangements for a few of my classmates and me to stay in one of the historic homes on campus, Puckett House, in exchange for tending to the Foundation’s fund-raiser Silent Auction.

The tornado made its way down College Street toppling only a few oaks before ravishing the outskirts of Downtown. The only damage to campus was, wouldn’t you know it, to the Puckett House, where the 100+ year old chimney couldn’t withstand the wind. We now have reservations at the Hilton.

Tornados also made news in Alabama, where Mom and I are heading on Saturday. We won’t be close to Lee County which got the brunt of 150 mph winds but we expect to see damage along the way. Flooding, which was actually happening before the tornados, is still an issue. Our dinner plans for Saturday night are dependent on whether the Tombigbee River waters recede enough to access Ezelle’s Fish Camp.

In fact, Mom and I tentative about our travel plans because of tomorrow’s weather forecast – thunderstorms predicted for our entire route through Mississippi and into Alabama. But with a mini-family reunion scheduled for Sunday, I’m sure we will persevere!

To be fair, I’ve been following weather in Sacramento where rain, snow and flooding are making headlines. As Mark Twain (allegedly) said, “Everyone is talking about the weather, but no one seems to do anything about it.” A blog on Global Warning is sure to follow soon.

January 23, 2019

Fortunately, in this my “next chapter,” the last two weeks will be a mere footnote.

The new year started with the death of my Aunt Lamenda who led a long, wonderful life which, among many other noteworthy things, produced 26 children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We had them all over for an early dinner the day before her funeral.

The circumstances were sad but it was great to reconnect with so many family members, and in a few cases, to meet some of those great-grandchildren for the first time.

It was late in the afternoon that Mom realized we had forgotten one important detail leading up to the final celebration of Aunt Lamenda’s life the next day – which would start with visitation at 8:30 a.m., the funeral at 10 a.m. and the graveside services to follow at the family plot where my dad, two uncles and one aunt were already resting in peace. The focus would certainly be on Aunt Lamenda, but if anyone happened to glance over at my dad’s grave, there would be no fresh flowers.

Mom and I made a plan to rush to town as soon as the dinner crowd left to remedy the flower faux pas. And, so we did.

Except, as I grabbed my purse and keys, my feet didn’t move quite as fast as my intention. I crumpled, head first, into the corner of the sunroom.

A trip to the Emergency Room replaced the original plan. I sat in the waiting room at the hospital where I once was a teenage Candy Striper, delivering juice and cookies to patients and their guests.

CAT Scan results were delivered by a delightful doctor named Kaizer (Kaizer with a Z) and we joked that regardless of his name, I was still out of network with Kaiser Permanente.

Then joking aside, he reported that my clumsy fall would only result in a bump on my head and a likely black eye. BUT, he said, the CAT scan did reveal a small brain tumor that would need immediate attention.

Needless to say, this was a surprising end to the day and the beginning of a new journey which landed me in front of more doctors and a tenuous wait for an MRI.

I worried about a lot of things but most immediately was how to stay still for 45 minutes as the MRI mapped my brain for a possible new destination to what I had envisioned for my life. I practiced. Fifteen minutes was my best effort.

As it turned out, two sessions of 15 minutes each was all it took. With fuzzy slippers on my feet for warmth and my ears plugged for noise, the MRI machine banged back and forth with a crew of attentive technicians looking on.

A few hours later, I sat in front of a computer screen. Yes, I have a brain tumor – I could see it clearly on the right side of my head. But, as it turns out, I have had that brain tumor for some time now – maybe for 20 years. It’s slow growth, if growing at all. It doesn’t appear to be cancerous. It’s just part of me. And, for right now, it will continue to be part of me because the risk of keeping it doesn’t outweigh complications of removing it.

Yes, I lost a few weeks to worry but I’ve gained an excuse for anything weird I’ve said or done over the last 20 years. My innocuous brain tumor will get the blame for past and future missteps.

I’ve also gained an important dose of assurance. A loyal Kaiser Permanente member for years, I was somewhat concerned about available health care when moving south. Now that I’m officially in the Ochsner’s Healthcare system, those worries are long gone. Best doctors, best nurses, best facilities, best processes.

Footnote cited. Next chapter continues.

I’m slowly getting into the rhythm of Walkers Bridge which is….well, slow. It’s partially due to the rainy weather, the post holiday malaise and my unfocused plans for 2019. We are watching a lot of TV (football, to be specific, as the Saints try to score in the background), snacking, and playing Words With Friends with my Mom who now sits in the same room with me instead of across country, as before.

So far, I’ve opened a new checking account, scheduled internet installation, joined the local gym, picked up the key to my new storage unit and arranged for delivery of my POD.

The POD delivery with my exercise clothes (among other things) arrives four days after my first day at the gym. This necessitated a shopping trip to the nearest mall yesterday. Checking out the indoor mall was great for a killing time and getting in a few hundred steps, but I ended up surrendering to the Walmart next door where I found two out fits to wear the the gym, Coffee pods, NyQuil and a lip stick pencil to replace the one that got lost somewhere between El Paso and Vicksburg. I tried to resist Walmart but, around here, Walmart is hard to compete with. When your mindset is to reduce automobile trips (as mine has been for 20 years), Walmart is the one stop answer with good prices, more choices and just about everything anyone needs. Everything except wine. For that, in Mississippi, you have to go to an official liquor store, assuming you are in a “wet” county as opposed to a “dry” county as Walkers Bridge is located in. From Walmart, I headed to the nearby liquor store to stock up before returning home.

With the stock market in a bit of turmoil, house planning is on indefinite hold. But with lots of time on my hand, I’ve turned my attention to the property here, which needs more attention than I remember. Old trees need to be pruned or cut down, the steep river bank needs to be cleared.

I hope I can find a meaningful job before this plan takes hold: I’ve been researching how to raise goats for eco-friendly brush-clearing. Initially, it sounded like a good strategy, even though I’ve never had ambitions to be a goat herder. Nothing is as easy as it first appears. Goats are social animals so you really do need a herd, and to keep the herd safe and in-line, you have to have a donkey. To keep the goats and the donkey happy, you have to have a shelter for them to sleep in at night. Then there are salt block and fence requirements.

Pursuing a job at Walmart and hiring a landscaper to clear the brush is probably the better plan but I’ll keep all options open for now.

Day after Christmas, we delivered traveling companion, Armando, to the French Quarter before his flight back to El Paso. Armando is a retired editor who worked at the LA Times and the El Paso News. On Christmas Day, he took a walk down the River Road and came back with a plan to write a mystery book about Walkers Bridge. My sister and I tentatively agreed to endorse the plan and help with details as long as we were both portrayed as skinny, clever and sophisticated protagonists. Publication plans to follow.

From New Orleans, Mom and I traveled on to Fairhope, Alabama to visit with Mom’s sister, her husband, the cousins and their children. Fairhope, located on the Gulf, is billed as the Carmel of the South. The comparison holds up…it’s a beautiful place. (I forgot to snap photos there.)

We drove the 3 hours home in the pouring rain with tornado warnings all around. We were spared a tornado but the heavy winds littered the yard with limbs and leaves and we are keeping a watch on the river which is rising by the hour but not at risk of flooding for now. But we have four more days of rain in the forecast. Goats would be helpful with the limbs and leaves but I’m not sure if they are good swimmers.

And so it goes…the rhythm of Walkers Bridge.

December 25

I’m now home at Walkers Bridge. I arrived safely on Saturday night about the same time my sister, brother-in-law and dog nephew Spencer arrived. Since then, there has been no time to collect my thoughts and share them.

Now that I have a few minutes, I’ve found myself checking the web to see what’s going on in Sacramento…what’s the weather (chains required on 80), what’s the latest news (blown transformer in midtown), and who is up and posting Christmas greetings already on Facebook.

I’m both home and away from home at the same time.

Enough of that. One big difference in California and Mississippi is the price of gas. Actually, that’s a difference in California and every other state I passed through.

I’m a proponent of SB 1 and will continue to be but I’m hard-pressed to explain the $2+ difference.

The trip from Abilene, Texas, was uneventful but long. Before reaching the Mississippi state line, we crossed the real state border: the Mississippi River. I’ve made the trip from Vickburg to Jackson many times, albeit 30 years ago, but I was beginning to feel in familiar territory. I took time out in a Jackson to play tour guide to traveling companion, Armando. We drove by the State Capitol, the Governors Mansion and a few other landmarks. The streets were deplorable …which may speak to the gas price issue, and downtown was abandoned. The capital city I once lived in is clearly facing many of the same issues a lot of other urban areas are challenged with. California seems to be ahead of the game on infrastructure and reinvigorating downtowns. What I didn’t see in Jackson (although perhaps I just didn’t see it) was the problem of homelessness which was so visible in Sacramento.

I guess every place has its own challenges and opportunities.

For Walkers Bridge, the main challenge seems to be internet access which I think I can address with one call to AT&T once the holidays are over.

Tomorrow brings one more road trip: first to New Orleans to drop off Armando, and then to Mobile for a two-day vist with more family. There may be another travel blog in the works, but for now, here are photos from the last travel day.

December 21

I was about 10 miles east of Lordsburg, taking in the sunrise, when I just happened to glance at a road side sign to realize that I was, at that very minute, crossing the Continental Divide. It was a moment, for sure, but barely a distraction to what was unfolding in front of me…the sun slowly floating from behind the mountains, painting the sky orange, yellow and then blue … and nothing but blue by the time I drove in to El Paso.

My sister spent her first years as an FBI agent in El Paso and I had visited her here quite a few times. She had arranged for one of her friends to join the road trip, share the driving and join our family for Christmas. As it turned out, there was no “sharing” of the driving. Armando drove the entire way from El Paso to Abeline where we have stopped for the night.

With Armando at the wheel, I was free to take photos as we traveled and you’ll see below some of those photos.

I’m sparing you, however, a glimpse of our travels through the Permian Basin, the western Texas region known for mass oil and gas producion.

My sister spent a few years in the Permian Basin, too. On our first visit there, our mother (trying to be polite, yet honest), commented “well, there’s not a lot of beauty here.” Enough said. Major road construction and traffic delays gave us plenty of time to look at vast, scrubby fields full of pumping oil rigs. Where’s a sunset when you need one.

The highlight of the day was a very late lunch with a very good friend of my sister’s whom I consider a friend, as well… Teresa Alexander and her adorable granddaughter Riley who was being treated to a Princess Day.

We have a 10 hour travel day tomorrow and chances are good that it will be Sunday before you here from me again. The next blog will be written from Walkers Bridge where the travel ends.

December 20

Maybe it was the 15 minute wait for a Venti Latte at Starbucks. Or the extra stop to check tire pressure. Or the longer than expected visit with Autom and Abe (we had a lot to catch up on). Or the heavy traffic in Phoenix. Or the quick shopping trip at the truck stop featuring more than one thousand souvenirs.

Whatever it was, I’m writing this blog from the Days Inn in Lordsburg, New Mexico instead of El Paso, Texas. Apparently I missed my mark by about 3 hours. But since this is about the journey, one must be flexible.

Today was marked by more stunning vistas and beautiful weather. I arrived at Autom and Abe’s at 1 pm. We made a quick visit to the community pool to see Autom’s ever elegant style at work with a beautiful new fountain and other designer features. (She’s the chair of the Sunland Pool Committee which is a big deal in a place where the number one activity is relaxing in the pool.)

We had a delicious lunch on their sunny patio as the golfers played right by us. I would only know it is December because of the six Christmas trees gracing every room of their beautiful house.

Back on the road, traveling east on Highway 10, there was another amazing sunset. I pulled off on Red Rock Road to snap a photo, which doesn’t do the exact experience justice.

And now I’m in Lordsburg where people are very friendly and Christmas greetings are plentiful…at least at the Subway, the Love truck stop and the Days Inn.

Here are a few photos from today….

Today was a perfect day for a road trip.

I was on the road by 6 a.m. Even at that early hour, Paula and Nancy were by for one last hug.

I wouldn’t trade anything for being in the Sierra this December morning for daybreak. The sun and the sky collaborated for a spectacular morning. By 8:15 am I had made it to Gardnerville with about 500 miles of Highway 395 ahead of me.

Resolved to not be in a hurry, I stopped at historic markers, pulled over to take photos, dropped by the Mono Lake Visitor Center, detoured to Convict Lake and shopped at Gus’s for beef jerky, honey and olives.

My mom called to see if I was “making good time.” The answer was “no.” The intention was to savor every mile, not make good time.

Marilyn called but cell phone connections couldn’t conquer the mountains. I tried to plug in to local radio stations when I could. When I couldn’t, I popped in cds of Michelle Obama’s Becoming (thanks JoAnne for the perfect going away gift.)

Read in her own words, Ms Obama’s words startled me as she talked about the question we frequently ask children: what do you want to be when you grow up? “As if growing up is finite,” she said. “As if at some point you become something and that’s the end.”

There were many gems in the first five chapters of Becoming but as I drive tomorrow I’m going to have to ponder whether I consider myself grown up “and that’s the end” or maybe I’m still trying to figure out what to be when I grow up!

In the mean time, I’m going to try to figure out how to upload some photos from today’s drive.

I’m in Debbie and John’s beautiful home tonight in Palm Desert after traveling on Bob Hope Drive and Frank Sinatra Drive and stopping in at a fancy grocery store where you can have a glass of wine at their bar after checking off all the items on your grocery list. I just snagged a few egg rolls and left – I was way too under dressed to be hanging out at this grocery store.

Tomorrow is Mesa, Arizona and El Paso, Texas.

December 18

After three tearful weeks of good byes, there’s nothing left to do but leave.

I’m not leaving on a jet plane. A flexible packing schedule prevented committing to a plane ticket. Instead, a road trip turned out to be a more accommodating plan. Now that my POD is ready for pick up, I plan to wake up Wednesday morning, make a cup of coffee and put Sacramento in my rear view mirror.

Long-time friend Bob Holderness and I have been discussing my first day’s route.  He’s promoting the scenic way:  Highway 395.  Over the last 20 years, Bob’s advice has always been solid. So, even though it’s two hours longer, my plan is to trade the efficient interstate system for the road less traveled.

“Should be spectacular views,” says Bob. “Not only the Sierra, but Mount Baldy and Mount San Jacinto.”

And, it just seems right to exit California via Highway 50.

If all goes well, I’ll arrive in Palm Desert late Wednesday night and sleep at the vacation home of John and Debbie Maus.  These two have been part of many of my chapters over the past 25 years.  And, they are the only two native Californians that I know of who have visited Hattiesburg, MS, thanks to college football.  I’m hoping to be able to offer them a place to sleep on a return trip to Mississippi in the near future.

From Palm Desert, I’ll head to Mesa, Arizona for lunch with former Gold River neighbors Abe and Autom Underwood.  Abe and Autom are proof that there is life after Gold River, and I expect I’ll need that proof by Thursday.

Thursday night will find me in El Paso, Texas where my sister and brother-in-law lived for many years.  I’ll be staying with their friend, Armando, who will join me on the trip to Mississippi and perhaps take the wheel every now and then.

We should cross the Mississippi state line late Saturday.

With any luck, I’ll be able to post some photos and provide some narrative along the way.  Two things could go wrong:  the long driving days could leave me with little enthusiasm for anything except sleep; or, typing anything more than a sentence or two on my IPad could be challenging.

Thanks to the many neighbors and friends who have dropped off “Road Trip Survival Kits.”  Whatever the next four days bring, I will not go hungry or thirsty, or be at a loss of audio books to listen to. 

And, it anything goes wrong, it will not be for a lack of advice:

     Get a can of Mace that sprays really far.  (Mom)

     Get wasp spray; does the same thing as Mace and does spray really far. (Judge Tronvig)

     Don’t forget to take a break every 2-3 hours; walk around, etc. so you shake the lethargy or sitting behind the wheel before you launch the next 2-3 hours. (Bob Holderness)

     Take a blanket.  (Bob’s wife, Donna)

I’ll take a box of Kleenex, too.  No one needs to tell me that!

December 9, 2018

It started with these ladies; old friends who treated me to a “good bye” brunch last Sunday.  To be sure, I am not really saying they are “old” but I have known and loved them for more than 20 years.  They are the best!

As I told them about my plans to drive 2,200 miles back home to Mississippi where I would start a new chapter, they suggested a blog.

Lately, I am not much for chatting about myself in public.   I cringe when someone tags me on Facebook and I have not changed my Facebook profile photo in 3 years because Facebook makes such a big deal of it when you do.

But, I  promised to give the concept of a trip blog more thought.  One week later,  I have decided to commit.  Recording the trip will be somewhat cathartic as I leave the home I love and make my way to another home that I love.

This blog is for the lovely women in the photo above, but  anyone is welcome to come along for the ride.