Veterans Park

On Veteran’s Day, we locked up the office about 11 AM and headed over to the memorial unveiling of the new Veterans Park.  The Marine band was there, and these photos are taken from the back of the band.

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Errol, Gerald, and Car E.

Every morning on my way to work, I stop at the grooming salon to take care of the three cats that live there.  Handsome one-eyed Errol, SweetFace Gerald, and Charming Car E. love to sit in the window’s deep sill and enjoy the view and soak up the sun.

These cats are so loving and lovable, and so stinkin’ photogenic, that I can’t resist taking their pictures.

Gerald is will going to a home soon, as soon as he recovers from ringworm.  He had a breakout over his right eye which suddenly exploded into an outbreak over his entire body.  He now has a regimen of baths, medicated wipes, and topical liquid medication.  He might get over his ringworm before I get over mine.

I don’t know if I can stand to separate him from Errol and Car E.

I Am Still A College Graduate! (Part Whatever)

Why, yes, George did sleep here. Thankyouforasking.

I am a procrastinator.  I proudly claim it and own it.  Only 4 1/2 months after my celebratory graduation trip with the best sister-in-law in the world, I’m finishing the blog series “I Are a Collitch Gradjit”.

So Sunday morning found us in the garden sipping coffee and waiting for breakfast.

Vanna, tell them what they've won.

But on the way downstairs, I prowled about and took photos of the LawtonFest B&B.

My goodness, I love this photo, even if I did take it myself. This is taken out the window in a seating nook next to the elevator.

Where’s Waldo, Brazilian style. This is the waiting area at the elevator, so when the elevator door opens, you see this massive display cabinet. Only we’re doing that in reverse, since we are starving and all.

SIL has an incredible amount of energy, and her energy demanded that we stroll out and about before the heat became too unbearable.  We headed west, since we were at an easterly point of Savannah.

The sidewalk next to the B&B looking toward the square.

The same sidewalk looking back toward the B&B. The brick and glass tower in the upper right of the photo is the elevator shaft of the B&B.

Oglethorpe Square

I have no clue what the building is, but LOOK AT THE TREES. Pure oxygenating.

We came to a church on the corner, the Lutheran Church of the Ascension, where the greeters invited us in for coffee.  We decided over coffee that we would come back for the morning church service when we’d finished our LawtonFest B&B breakfast, because those Lutherans were just not going to take no for an answer.

It was a rousing, patriotic 4th of July service.

We met up with this poor homeless Clemson fan, who looks strangely like my brother-in-law.

After the church service, we strolled around the city.  It was pretty hot and muggy, but a beautiful day nonetheless.

I apologize for the shadows on the historical markers, but the trees would not cooperate AT. ALL.

Tomo-Chi-Chi one important dude.

TOMO-CHI-CHI’S GRAVE

Tomo-Chi-Chi, Mico of the Yamacraws, a tribe of the Creek

Indian Nation, is buried in this Square.  He has been called a co-founder,

with Oglethorpe, of Georgia.  He was a good friend to the English,

a friendship indispensable to the establishment of the Colony as a

military outpost against Spanish invasion.  He negotiated with Ogle-

thorpe the treaty, formally ratified on May 21, 1733, pursuant to

which Georgia was settled.  Mary Musgrove, half-breed niece of

Emperor Brim of theCreek Indians, acted as interpreter between

Oglethorpe and Tomo-Chi-Chi and lent her great influence to the

signing of that treaty and to the treaties negotiated by Oglethorpe

with other tribes of the Creek nation.

In 1734, at the age of 84, with his wife Senauki, Tomo-Chi-Chi

visited the English Court and was received by the King and by the

Archbishop of Canterbury.  He was a man of fine physique, tall and

of great dignity.

He died October 5, 1739 at Yamacraw Indian Village, and at his

request was brought to Savannah to rest among his English friends.

He was buried here with military honors.

And across the way is another church tower.

The building says something important over the door.

This is the Independent Presbyterian Church, founded 1755, as a branch of the Church of Scotland.  More photos are at the church’s website here.

We found a coffee shop across the way with *coffee* and more importantly, *bathrooms*, since we had increased our hydration level, what with the heat and all.

The coffee shop ceiling. I want one.

We reluctantly decided to end our trip and to head back to the LawtonFest B&B to check out.  BIL & SIL and two charming children had an eight-hour drive ahead of them.  We strolled back to our room at the B&B, packed up to head downstairs, and I walked down the stairs, snapping photos as I went.

It will perhaps be good to note here that this B&B was once a double townhouse.  Doorways were opened between the two residences at the stairways.  Sugar and I had once found that the address for A. R. Lawton was on York Street, but that was when there was a different numbering system, and we couldn’t decided which of several houses was A. R. Lawton’s.  We finally decided that a specific house was the absolute correct one, and I made some serious stalker-style photos, one even through the mail slot, and then we found out later that we were absolutely wrong.  Much apologies to the wrong house, although I didn’t photograph anything juicy.  Those photos will come later, much later, unless I get detained by the law enforcers first.  Then they won’t come at all.

On the second floor. Dead giveaway, what with the third floor being above and the first floor being below.

Hallway looking into the elevator area.

Another favorite shot. I couldn't quite get the laundry room into the photo and still act nonchalant. I like the areas that are practical and not dressed up for show.

So we said our good-byes and got all misty-eyed, because who knows when we’ll see each other again.  The BIL, being a gentlemanly sort, took the SIL’s luggage, and they headed back to their hotel on Bay Street.  (Note to you historical types:  the picture below shows the Owens-Thomas house.  Google it.  It’s important stuff.  And ask yourself now why the side porch balcony is so clean and refurbished and stand-outy.)

The sad part of the story.

So Ole Yeller and I shared a cup of coffee as we gazed back at the LawtonFest B&B.

Graduation.  It’s not for sissies.

Everybody’s Got One

Everybody’s got one.  Or two.  Or more.

Dirty little secrets.  We’ve all got something that we wouldn’t want to tell, at least right now.  Maybe someday, but definitely not now.

And what do you do when you know someone else’s dirty little secret?  Keep it?  Tell it?  Blog about it?

I lived in an area, right before moving to my little town, where there was a booming economy about ten years ago.  Lots of new people moved into the area for work and a new opportunity.  I learned over time that people might be a new situation, but they have generally packed up their problems and their problematic personalities and transported them right along to their new situation where they proceeded to repeat history.  We all have personal issues that we can’t, or won’t, change.

Here’s one for you.  When we moved to this area in 2001, I was married with a child in her first year of college and another child in his first year of high school.  One year later, my husband of 23 years packed his things and left in 45 minutes.  It was three weeks before April 15, and we hadn’t finished our tax return for 2001, and I pulled myself together enough to start gathering information for the tax return.  Over the course of several weeks, I found disturbing information in the files.  The checking account when he left had $321 in it.  The money in the college fund for the children only had $3000 in it.  All the savings accounts were gone.  He had cashed in two life insurance policies.  He had also obtained a loan from the bank that was being repaid from automatic draft from our checking account, the one that had $321 in it.  He had gotten a credit card in my name, charged a bit on it, and never paid on it, and that showed up as a charged-off account on my credit report.  He had charged a Christmas gift for his father on a Sears credit card, and never paid the bill.  I found checks written on his business account for large sums of money, $8000, $3000, etc., and the checks were written not to himself or another person, but they were written to the bank and he cashed them.  No paper trail.

Fast forward to 2009.  I was working for a veterinarian, having moved home and job to my little town.  The vet had been acting distracted and erratic for months.  He couldn’t concentrate on anything.  One day his wife and their 4 little children came to the practice, an air of anticipation hanging about all of them, although no one said anything.  No one, until the oldest little child, about 5 years old, said to me when no one else was around, “Have you heard?  We’re moving to Myrtle Beach!”  I said, “Good for you!  You’re going to have a good time!”  And waited to have a good time with this myself, for Myrtle Beach was not less than three hours away, and it would appear that the vet wouldn’t be commuting.

It’s a small practice, and the only other person besides the vet and myself was a woman who by her own admission has anxiety issues and should be on medication but cannot afford it.  That night, I mentioned what I had heard to Sugar, and while we were still talking on the phone, I did a simple search for “vet practices for sale in SC”.  And there it was, right there online.  The very place where I worked was for sale, and had been for some time.

After a few days went by, I told my office-mate that I needed to tell her something and that we were going to have fun with the information.  She did have a little anxiety attack, but she held it together even though she was in denial, and I showed her the website that listed the practice for sale.   It was clear that something was afoot, but at least we knew about it and would not be caught unawares.

One day, the vet, as usual distracted, left the office, and thus, left his computer, which was also the server.  My office-mate had reason to use the server and found on the monitor displayed a sales agreement between the vet and a buyer.  I copied the buyer’s name and did a search later that night at home.  I did not like what I found.  It seems that the buyer, who was also a veterinarian, had been disciplined by the state veterinary board in another state in the early 1990’s.

The sale went through, and the new folks took over in early 2010.  I started using another vet in the area for serious medical needs for my animals.  My employer does not know this, and I’d say he’d let me go if he knew of it.  He doesn’t know that I know his history, and indeed, it seems that people do not change, they just pack up their issues and move on.

On The Fly

The BabyBoy and I were headed to Chucktown for a day trip, and while waiting for a red light, I saw this restaurant in a parking lot.

I seem to have lost my appetite.

George Mosse’s Next Adventure

What to do about darling George Mosse?

George was neutered, vaccinated, and made healthier through a good diet and a serious de-worming regimen.  But what to do with him?  An extra dog at my place is just a deal-breaker.  Even I have my limits, and sometimes I actually obey them.  Sugar was pretty sure that George wouldn’t be a perfect fit in his group, plus George, having  been neutered as an adult with developed habits, *marked* his territory.  Y’all know what I mean.

Georgie had to be crated at night when we left for the day. Gerald the kitten, recovering from yet another respiratory infection, keeps him company.

He was fine livng at the grooming business, but, really, what kind of opportunity is that to find a perfect home?  It would seem like it would be a good opportunity, but George marked his territory there.  More than once.  Lots of folks who have their dogs groomed don’t have a place in their home for a dog who might will lift his leg and pee on the furniture.  So after much debate between BabyBoy, Sugar, and myself, we decided that the next course of action would be for George Mosse to go to the shelter.

We know that the shelter is the local county shelter, which is partners with animal control, which means that there is always a chance for euthanasia.  Yet if we present a healthy young dog, medium-sized, neutered, vaccinated, de-wormed, leash-trained, and social, his chances of NOT being euthanized are good.  No-brainer.

So with much foot-dragging, we bid good-bye to George Mosse.  I picked him up from the grooming business, and he leaped into Ole Yeller.

George Mosse: "Oh, goody, I love a good car ride."

I took this picture and the next one outside the grooming business.  When we got to the shelter, and he heard the other dogs barking, he climbed all over me and stood on me in excitement.  He couldn’t wait to get out and join the party, so I have no more photos to show.

I’ve since inquired as to George’s status, and, while the shelter workers really won’t reveal very much, one person told me that she believed George was part of a transport to another shelter out of the area.  So if any of you folks happen to meet a little red-headed Irish doggie, tell our Georgie we said hey.

Alice’s New Business

Alice the Cat has decided to embark upon a new business.  She will inspect your cardboard boxes for a very small fee.

Ringworm! Or, Thankyouverymuch.

Right on target.

I’ve taken care of plenty of stray cats, kits, dogs, and puppies, and I’ve never gotten ringworm.  I laugh in the face of ringworm.  Until now.

We were boarding a four-week-old kitten at the grooming and boarding business.  She had the worst case of ringworm I’d ever seen, and she was kind enough to share it.

Don't even ask where else it can pop up. And I was nowhere near those places.

To Catch A Dog

This post is a continuation of an earlier thread that actually began about a year ago.

Sugar was feeding a dog on his postal route.  She looked like she could have been a hunting dog that got lost, perhaps, and delivered a litter of pups in a rural neighborhood.  The dogs were living in a culvert at an abandoned house.

He has not seen the mother dog in months, but one of the puppies has stayed in the general area.  We’ve gone over and over a plan for catching her before she becomes a mother herself, and we couldn’t hatch a viable plan.  What to do with her when we catch her?  Where to keep her?  Will she go to the shelter?  Will she even be adoptable?  Will the shelter perhaps put her down?  When can we possibly make all this happen?  The variables were too great and too many, so he just continued to feed the dog by putting food out on the roadside, not knowing if she was going to eat the food before the wildlife got to it.

He came up with the most recent plan out of concern for her health.  We’ll take the ancient trap, set it, go off for a bit, and then come back and remove the trap whether she’s in it or not.

We found her lying in the sun enjoying the warmth, or at least that was what we hoped she was doing, because she was laid out on her side like she was dead.  She didn’t move when we pulled the van in the abandoned driveway and got out the trap.  She still didn’t move when we moved the trap under the trees and set it up.

Suddenly she jumped up and ran off like she was completely spooked.

Empty house beyond. The dog just lives in the neighborhood, mostly in the front yard of this house.

Then Sugar baited the trap with some canned food, and we left her, in hopes that she would go into the trap, because canned food is irresistible to most dogs.  To most dogs, except this one, at this particular moment.

Fearful, fearful.

We left her for about 20 minutes, mostly as a test to see it she would go in the trap.  We drove out of the neighborhood entirely.  When we returned, she was close to the trap but completely ignoring the food.  We reloaded the trap into the van, trying to be quick and cautious because people were out and about and we didn’t want to draw any undue attention to what we were doing.  But really?  White folks in a mostly black neighborhood trying to trap a wild dog?  It’s a pretty tolerant neighborhood if they tolerate this dog living there.  No one has shot at her or tried to harm her, and it appears that some folks might be putting out food for her.

So we’ll try again another day, and we hope that day comes before there’s another litter of pups in the culvert…

February 27, 1881 – Letter from Andrew Jackson Rhea to son William F. “Dock” Rhea

Here’s the second, and last letter, that I have from A. J. Rhea to his son William F. “Dock” Rhea.  The letter is written from A. J.’s home in Ellejoy, Blount Count, Tennessee, to Arkansas.  When I first received these letters, I thought that they were written by the mother, Rebecca Johnson Rhea.  I was surprised to see that they were written by the father A. J. Rhea, because they seemed so full of melancholy and affection, and I did not attribute those emotions to him, although I know nothing of him except these letters and what I have found on www.ancestry.com.

You can enlarge any photo or image on this blog by left clicking once, then once again if you prefer.

The transcription of the letter follows the images.

Ellejoy, E. Tenn.

February 27, 1881

Dear Son and Dauter, it is with plasure that I seat my Self to ancer your kind letter that came to han safe and was gladly reseved  I was vere glad to here that you was all well this leves us all in moderate helth  accept Ma, her helth is not good  Well Dock I have nothing of much intrust to write you  Wee air not dooing vere much towards fairming Me and Jack has soaed 1200 casks of oats and wee air goind to Sow Clover one thee same our wheat looks fine  I am going to sow a fue more oats next Weak  I have got all fo that peace of groun between the barn and the lane cleared ok and I going to pit it in corn this yeare I cleared it my Self and it is fine  Wee have not mad ene garden yet.  Well Dock the recurnt A arued Jonc Sone of Willoum Johonson is marred to Jane Davis Crafes dautter  they air living at oll biler’s home  harmon is debt Sherf Magis Ben Cuningham is County Court Clerk  Well I would like very well to bee over there to helpe you and van (Dock’s son) kill them deere and turkey  I dont think that I would lose my cap (next word off the page) that is just as good a prufe as I want that you had the buck eager  Jack sais fo me to ask you if you new when you pulled the triger and if you air serten that you had the gun towords the deer  he wonts to no is you did not shake Jack wants you to know that Hettie had a Nother boy.

Mr. Jo Gambell Mats father has bin verer sick but is better  the relation on both sides is Well as far as I now  Huse Pickens is not well yet  Well Dock I have got frank yet holt has ofered me 115 dolers for his but he nor no othere man gets him for les than 125

Well Dock I ont you to Write mo and tell me how you air getting along and What kind of a boy you have got and What kind of Stock you have  pleas give me all the news that you can for it is A hepe of plasure for me to here from you  I got a letter from Jo he is Still working with Clark  he was well and semed to bee do verer well  his ofese is McKinney Colens Co Tex  Ma sas kiss thim childeren for her and me and dont let them forget us  Ma has a bout 20 henes and the have not laed nerey egg this winter  Wee have 18 hed of shepe and 35 lams  Wee have not mad ene garden yet  Wee have not brok a furo for corn yet  Jack sas write to him and he will kill you a bird  John Bolen tal Jo that you were offoing him 20 cts and he payed it and Jack sais that it was for them suspenders that he made you a presents of  Well I mus close for this tim  ples write some an dont delay  Your father and Mother / A. J. Rhea an Rebeca Rhea to W. F. Rhea an Mattie

*****

Martha “Mattie” Gamble Rhea’s father was Josias Gamble, the sick person referred to as “Mr. Jo Gambell”.  He was my g-g-g-grandfather, and he died not long after this letter was written.

Jack is Andrew Jackson Rhea’s next-youngest son, Jackson B. Rhea.  The youngest son was Joseph W. Rhea, so I’ll have to do some research on him in Texas.

Now y’all go call your mother.