The Pentecostal Peeper Prayer Meeting of 1975.

This is a story that some of you may have read before, as I have posted it on my Facebook page, but wanted to share it with a broader audience here.  Plus, it's illustrated this time!  Hope you will enjoy it, and it gives you many laughs.

Some of you may have remembered that Ray Stevens song that came out in the late 1980's called "The Mississippi Squirrel Revival," but about 12 years or so before that song hit the airwaves, a real-life story that was even more hilarious happened in the small town of Bedington, WV,  and this one involved tiny frogs and a 6-year-old kid with a fascination for catching a menagerie of critters, as well as a bunch of glorybun-crowned Pentecostal church ladies.   Although little humor was seen by the ladies, and the frogs were just relieved to taste freedom again, it now provides a great family legend that makes relatives chuckle.

My grandfather and my late stepgrandmother Goldie lived at the time in a double-wide mobile home they owned on a meadow-adorned plot of land just east of the town of Bedington off Scrabble Road.  Mom and I stayed with them at the time, as we often lived a semi-nomadic existence between relatives then.   Goldie was a very devout Christian, and was active in a tiny independent Full Gospel church just to the north in the town of Falling Waters.  It was an old-fashioned little church, but also a lively bunch, pastored by a demure balding man by the name of Claude "Jeff" Carbaugh and his wife Altha.   The Carbaughs had pioneered a number of those little Full Gospel churches around the region, which encompassed the far eastern panhandle of West Virginia as well as north-central Virginia and west-central Maryland.  And, he was a conservative, old-time Holiness-Pentecostal minister who could preach passionately and also had gained a great deal of love and respect from his parishioners.   Being churches then actually believed in prayer meetings, the congregation had an active prayer group that met at the homes of its members on a rotating basis each week, and that particular week was our house.  As the group - mostly old Pentecostal ladies who dressed modestly and lived their faith sincerely - assembled in my grandfather's living room, they began a spontaneous prayer meeting that was emotional, vocal, and intense; these people really did know the power of prayer, and they practiced what they preached.  There was a comfort about that too which I didn't understand then, but nowadays I really miss, as many churches don't believe in this like they used to.  Church felt like church, and you knew when you were in God's house or among his people.  Nowadays, no one knows the difference between a church and a nightclub, and now "self-esteem" seminars have replaced prayer meetings, which is truly tragic.  However, I digress, so let's get to the story.

It was the late spring, and earlier that day there was a rainstorm.  Near the house was Hoke Run, a tiny stream that cut across the edge of the meadow on Grandad's property.  There were some wooded groves near the edge of the meadow where Hoke Run meandered through, and in those meadows was a cornucopia of wildlife that I liked to capture.  So, on one of those invasions of the grove, the fresh rains had brought out literally dozens of these tiny little frogs called spring peepers. If you have ever seen one, they are roughly the size of a grown man's thumbnail, and they make a little chirping sound that gives them their name.  And, if you knew where to look, you could find them in great abundance.  And, I had a keen eye for those things, and armed with a large Maxwell House coffee can, I went a-huntin'!  After an hour or two, when my active 6-year-old mind began to lose interest, I headed back to the house with a canful of tiny amphibians, and being proud of my catch I bolted into the door.  What happened next was classic, and it was something probably some of the people in Grandad's living room never forgot until their dying day.

The prayer meeting was in full swing by this time, and people were really intense in their prayers - they were crying, praying in tongues, shouting, etc., and some real intercession was happening.  Then, I come in the door, and anxious to proudly show off the day's catch, I popped open the lid to that coffee can, and tiny frogs exploded everywhere!  As the women bolted up on chairs, their frantic screams brought their glorybuns down, and the frogs were going up dresses, getting stuck in pantyhose, and some managed to achieve such a height that they landed on top of a couple of buns on the ladies' heads.   Mom had to act fast to restrain me - she had gotten used to doing that a lot! - and in due course of time we managed to round up the majority of the peepers and safely incarcerated the little critters back into the Maxwell House can.  I am pretty sure I got into trouble, but am a little young to remember the punishment.  Definitely a prayer meeting to remember!

This is one of several stories of my childhood adventures I will share from time to time, because in many cases truth can be more entertaining than fiction.  Therefore, feel free to visit again, and we'll share some more stories in the future.

The Legend of Uncle Bonzo

Every family has their share of eccentrics, but it seems like we West Virginians have more than our fair share of them at times.   A family eccentric not only becomes a source of many amusing tales at family get-togethers, but can even become something of a local legend.  Southern humorist Louis Grizzard said once, "Southerners don't hide their crazy family members; we put them on display for all to see."  That rings even more so true with us Appalachian families.  One of my late uncles in particular personifies this sentiment perfectly, and I want to talk about him today.

Robert Turner was the second-youngest of my great-grandmother's children by her second marriage to the late Delbert "Mose" Turner, and he was born I'd say around 1940 or so.   As a kid, he looked like a combination of that Steve Urkel character from the old Family Matters sitcom of the early 1990's and Jar-Jar Binks from Star Wars.  His personality was such that he gained the nickname "Bonzo" in part because he reminded people of Ronald Reagan's primate co-star, the chimpanzee Bonzo, in a number of films of the late 1940's and early 1950's.   Uncle Bonzo was skinny, cocky, mouthy, and although afraid of his own shadow, it never stopped him from getting into mischief and almost getting the tar whipped out of him on several occasions - a particular target of his mischief was his older brother, my uncle Delbert "Teak" Turner Jr.  Uncle Teak taught Bonzo many a lesson, although the memory of those lessons wore off fast, as Bonzo couldn't resist the temptation to stir up trouble.  Since a lot of that happened before my time though, I am relying on the tales of family, in particular my grandfather, as reminiscing about Uncle Bonzo is a classic topic of conversation whenever we visit home. 

Although Bonzo had type 1 diabetes (called "juvenile diabetes" in those days, as it was congenital unlike the type 2 that many develop later on), when he was older that didn't stop him from having an affinity for a brew or two, which added to his goofiness.   However, much like a gander-goose, Bonzo could also be a bit cranky at times, particularly in the mornings when he would have a nice long argument at himself in the mirror when he woke up after a lively night on the town.   Despite all that though, he endeared himself to many of us.

A particular quirk - the source of much amusement too - that Bonzo had was his linguistic abilities.  I don't believe anyone could totally reconstruct the English language like he did, and some of the goodies he came up with were so hilarious that years later they still make people laugh.   My grandfather tells a story, for instance, about a time when much of our family lived in Baltimore.  On one particular night, Grandad and Bonzo had stopped off to eat at this diner-like place there in the city somewhere, and Bonzo by this time had consumed a couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons (his favorite libation then).  So, when they proceeded to order, Uncle Bonzo looks at the menu board, and tells the waitress "I'm gonna have me some of that Phillip Hancock!"   Of course, what the menu really said was "fillet of haddock," but in Bonzo's mind that took on a revolutionary new meaning.  He also had an affinity for what he called "fried polack fish" (for those of us who talk "normal," that was pollock), and his favorite phrase was "how you like them apples?"  If a dictionary could be compiled of "Bonzo-speak," I am sure it would take a doctorate-level course to figure out some of it!

Speaking of food, one of my memories of Bonzo was that he loved eating two things.  One was potato soup, which Granny had to make for him at least once a week.  The other was burnt popcorn (don't ask - can't explain that one either!), which as a kid I remember he used to pack away when he briefly stayed with Aunt Pip Schroeder (his oldest sister) when Mom took care of her.  Although he ate pretty healthy, Uncle Bonzo never weighed over 90 pounds soak-and-wet his entire life, and for some reason that endeared him to the old ladies he hung out with.  In short, it was never boring with him around, to be sure!

Bonzo was also a man of many business ventures, although many of them ended up falling flat because he either didn't see them through or they were just goofy ideas.  Getting a buck quick was like an obsession with Uncle Bonzo, and if he couldn't earn it honestly, then he would find a way to try to sue for it.  On one occasion, he came up with the brilliant idea to steal apples from an orchard in Romney, WV, which he planned on selling to people in Baltimore.  However, as he was doing his dastardly deed, he tripped in a mole hole in the orchard and sprained his ankle.  So, he planned on suing the orchard owner - mind you, he was stealing the guy's apples in the process, so keep that in mind! - for damages he "sustained" in the injury.  I was around 6 years old at the time, and remember that well- nothing came of either the apple business or the lawsuit, so the matter was dropped when the next thing caught Bonzo's interest.  Then, while living at Granny's in Hendricks, WV, back around late 1976 or so - Mom and I lived there too at the time, and I was in first grade in school - he decided to get into the chicken business.  So, he goes out and buys these chickens, locks them up in a delapidated old shed behind Granny's house that no one used for anything, and of course eventually a lot of the chickens died from either poor care or they ended up on the butcher block for supper.   Being somewhat devious myself at that age, my pursuit on one particular day was trying to come up with money to get a candy bar and a soda at Sonny Hedrick's Store up the road.   So, I decided I was going to blackmail Uncle Bonzo, who at that particular moment was somewhat hung-over from a hard night's carousing up at the old Sunset Inn bar in nearby Bretz and was miserably stretched out on the glider outside on Granny's porch.  I told him that if he didn't give me a quarter, I would let all those chickens loose.  Being he saw dollar signs with feathers rather than the clucking, noisy birds they were, that got his attention, and I got myself a Chunky Bar and a grape soda that day (Chunkies then were about a dime, and sodas were about a quarter - talk about price increases!).  When I was a kid, Bonzo and I had almost a continual battle of wits, as I was the only one then he could match them with (amusing too was that he was easy to outwit, which I did a lot, much to the amusement of the rest of the family).  And, looking back on that, I had some tremendous fun aggravating Uncle Bonzo too - it was almost an unavoidable temptation actually.

I mentioned Bonzo's affinity for the old ladies, and that extended back to his youth.  I was told that back then there was a rather weird old woman that lived in Hendricks whom I also believe was a distant aunt of his on his Turner side of the tree.   Any rate, this old woman had this yellow cat that was causing some problems because he was having his way with a lot of the female cats and was creating an alarming population of kittens in Hendricks.  The old lady decided some action needed to be taken to keep her tomcat home, so she enlisted Bonzo, whom she called "Bobby," to assist her in neutralizing the tomcat.  The two of them came up with a technique that involved an old boot and a razorblade, and the objective was to stick the cat's head into the boot and extract his kitten-makers.  So, with the old lady's assistance, Bonzo got that cat into the boot, was holding it by its back legs, and sawing away on its cojones with this old razorblade.  The cat was not happy about this little operation, and was expressing its displeasure by making a "RRROOOWWWWLLLLL!" sound from inside the boot.   The old lady was somewhat worried, and said to Bonzo, "Awww, Bobby, don't hurt 'em!"  Apparently the cat survived Dr. Bonzo's surgical procedure, and naturally the kitten population went down afterward.  

Also when he was a teenager, he could get into some trouble, and although Granny was little and frail-looking, she could assert her authority well if she had to.  One thing she did not tolerate was any sass or backtalk (I experienced her wrath myself once when she spanked my butt with a spatula, which I called the "skillet spoon," so I can attest to that well!), but of course Bonzo had to push the issue. She had gotten onto him for something, and he sassed her back. She told him basically that if he didn't shut up, she would crown him with a bar of soap she was using to clean with (this was not bath soap, but rather a brick-sized bar that was used for household cleaning, as it really wasn't suited for hygenic purposes).   However, he did the unthinkable - he told her, point-blank, "I dare you."  Those are three words you never said in Granny's presence, and within a short time, WHAM!! - upside his noggin went that monster cake of soap, dropping him like a fat man's drawers on an anorexic acrobat!  For a time it seemed, he learned his lesson, but his instigative nature didn't allow that to last for long obviously.  

Much more could be said about Uncle Bonzo - heck, a book could be written about his exploits! - but sufficive to say, you have the general idea of the kind of person he was.  We all wanted to choke him at some point, but we also loved him too, and life definitely would not have been the same without him to be sure.  Unfortunately, due to his diabetic condition and the fact he really didn't watch his health all that well, Uncle Bonzo soon met a death long before his time should have been up.  In 1979 I believe, just shy of his 40th birthday, Uncle Bonzo was either going to bed or just waking up, and when he got up he stepped on the sharp edge of a Mason jar lid.  Now, with many of us, that's not a problem - you just disinfect the wound and bandage it up.  However, diabetics have a unique situation in which if something damages their extremities, it could be fatal  In Bonzo's case, that is what happened - gangrene set into the wound, and because somehow it wasn't caught in time, it eventually claimed his life.  Today, he rests in the Fansler Cemetery above Hendricks, near Granny's grave, and his memories live on with many of us who knew and loved him.  If you have an eccentric relative like this, I am sure you can appreciate the story, and more than likely can relate to it on some level.  Rest in peace, Uncle Bonzo, and stay out of the chicken houses and apple orchards. 

Reflections on Appalachian Roots

Have you ever, when you were a teenager getting ready to graduate high school, been anxious to leave the nest so to speak, spread your wings, and see the world?  Many of us felt that way as kids, and I remember personally when I graduated high school in Terra Alta, WV, that I wanted to get out of there fast!  So, I did, but in a short time I began to miss home.  Over the years too, I have learned to greatly appreciate and value my roots more too, and to be honest, I am very thankful I was born in West Virginia, and am an Appalachian American, and want to reflect on that some.  Sometimes, living in this crowded city, I really have those days when I miss home badly, and want to go back to simpler life.  But, reality doesn't allow that to happen so soon necessarily, but that is why we have our memories and convictions.   So, I am going to share mine with you.

I was born in a town - Parsons, WV - that in its entire history never had more than a population of 2,000 people at any given time.  In recent years, with the economy as it's been as well as some major changes to the area brought about by a devastating flood in November 1985, that population is less as people make an exodus for points elsewhere to find good jobs and attend good colleges.  The town I graduated high school in - Terra Alta, WV - is smaller still.  However, there is a charm and drawing with these places that many of us from there cannot resist, and although some of us were restless to leave and explore the wider world in our youth, our hometowns still exert a magnetism over us that draws us back to them, and that is something that is a blessing rather than a curse.  West Virginians even have a term for that, as we call it a "sense of place."  "Place" means something to Appalachian people, and it is something that I can't quite describe in writing - you just have to be one of us to understand it I guess.  I feel it when I visit certain places back home, and to be honest our part of the state has some very nice areas.  The way the roads are constructed, the stair-step houses on the sides of the hills that often it takes a flight of 20 steps to get up to, and the delapidated old barns and other landmarks give the place an atmosphere.   Even the roadsigns have significance to me personally - in West Virginia, there are these green county road signs that designate a certain rural route, and something about those signs is just familiar and somewhat comforting.  Some of the people I grew up or went to school with would probably not notice that until it was pointed out, but the look of "oh yeah, I see what you mean..." tells you they understand where you are coming from with that.

This is a newer version of one of the "guide signs" I am talking about, although in another county in WV.

And, this is the classic sign like the ones that were around when I was growing up - this one is from Pendleton County.

It is just hard to imagine for some - and hard to explain for me - why something as mundane and insignificant as a road sign would have such a meaning to it, but they do for some reason.  As a kid, I would have taken that for granted, as many others back home may have, but now it signifies something to me personally.  But, it isn't just road signs, but other things too.

The "place" you grow up in is part of your identity, and it says a lot about who you are too.  But, there is more to it than that.  You see, I grew up a significant part of my childhood poor - my parents divorced when I was quite young, and my mother raised me, although we spent a lot of time at relatives too.  Living with my maternal grandmother and step-grandfather just south of Augusta, WV, for many a year was a particular learning experience for me.  My grandparents were what you would call real mountain people - their house didn't have running water, bathrooms, or any type of air conditioning or central heating.   If you wanted a bath, you heated up the water on a wood stove in their house and bathed in a large metal tub.  If you had to go to the bathroom, you used either an outhouse in good weather or a contraption my step-grandfather rigged with an old kitchen chair, a toilet seat, and a 50-gallon lard bucket in inclement weather.  To heat the house in the winter (and also to cook) there was a wood stove in the living room, and although my folks had electricity, things were still pretty primitive.  Also, we grew, hunted, and foraged for a lot of the stuff we ate - although there is a mandatory hunting season there, often out of necessity my step-grandfather would shoot deer even in the summer months, and we also ate a lot of groundhogs, snapping turtles, and other creatures too.  Another rustic culinary delight I loved gathering but was not thrilled about eating was poke greens.  These were the young tops of the pokeweed plant that were harvested in the summer months and cooked fresh like spinach as a vegetable.  The adult plants were poisonous, and had long stalks of black berries that were also highly toxic.   And, of course, there were a wide variety of berries available throughout the year - tiny wild strawberries in June, huckleberries and serviceberries in July, mountain rasberries and blackberries in late July, elderberries in September, and wild grapes (those were bitter and nasty to eat though!) in late September.   Naturally too, there were in late March the ramps to harvest as well.  Although this stuff was not exactly gourmet fare, with a little creativity you could survive well on it.  We were also a gardening people too, and in the summer months there were always abundant supplies of tomatoes, squash, cukes, and other vegetables, sometimes so much that people gave them away to friends and neighbors.  It was not uncommon, for instance, to step out on your porch some morning and see a big bag of zucchinis or tomatoes sitting at your door.  People got creative with garden produce too - we fried a lot of stuff, but with zucchini it seemed like anything could be done; people baked with it even (one girl I went to grade school with even has a recipe for zucchini brownies!  Imagine that).  Besides food though, there were also other ways we "made do."  Many times, clothing was handmade, and contraptions abounded as innovative mountain folks came up with things that would make a nuclear physicist envious.  Although rough at times for me growing up - it didn't help that my mother also drank a lot too - I learned much from the experience, and as a result it made me work my butt off to assure I got a college education, good work, etc.  



A young pokeweed plant, about the right size for harvesting.

Sometimes a little adversity can be a good thing, as I found out the hard way growing up, and it tends to build character in people.  Too many kids today are so spoiled and disrespectful that it is frightening, and if only they had to "rough it" like I had to do when I was their age, they might build the character many of them so sorely lack.  Just a casual observation...

Well, I hope you enjoyed this article, and will hopefully return soon to share some more of my life with you. 

Memorable Restaurants

An important part of my memorable travels has been places we have eaten over the years, and although I have a separate food site, I feel this would be more appropriate for posting here.  As a "foodie" personally, a restaurant can express my identity well, and therefore I wanted to just tell you about a few places we have eaten at that have been good experiences.

The Chattaway, on 4th Street in south St. Pete, FL

We had the privelege of eating at the Chattaway Restaurant in St. Pete yesterday, a place that is a local institution around here.  Started by a couple from England I believe, the Chattaway has been serving good food for decades here, and its reputation is well-deserved.  It doesn't look like much from the outside - it looks rather like a decrepit Florida "Cracker cottage," but that adds to its charm, as I love it! - but the food is excellent.  Although noted for its "Chattaburgers" (Barb had one and loved it - no leftovers for her!) I personally don't eat burgers so I ordered the fried chicken, which was the most delicious fried chicken I have had in a long time.  Also, we got to eat inside the "tea room," which is a quaint little dining area decorated with all sorts of vintage bone-chinaware and all sorts of other charming bric-a-brac, and while we were enjoying the dining experience, we also had the pleasure of the company of two of the most adorable little cats which the owners recently adopted from a rescue - they were mother and daughter, and the mother, Alice, was a black shorthair while her baby was the most beautiful little tortoiseshell-marked kitten.  The wait staff too was some of the most friendly I have seen in the area.  We will surely be going back, as they have a fried shrimp basket I am dying to try!

Allen's Historical Cafe, Auburndale, FL

This place, which unfortunately closed several years back, was Allen's Historical Cafe in the Polk County town of Auburndale, FL.  Started by the late Carl Allen, a late "Florida Cracker" historian, this place was one of the most enjoyable, but one of the most unique, dining experiences I have ever had.  If you wanted to try "Cracker cuisine" in its most authentic form, this was the place!  It was where I first tasted alligator actually, and have loved it ever since.  Allen's also had on the menu such delicacies as (all deep-fried!) softshell turtle, rabbit, rattlesnake, catfish, and some nasty things even such as deep-fried dill pickles (yuck!).  Also, if you were up to the challenge, they served as a side swamp cabbage (the inner trunk of a saw palmetto bush) and other such stuff.  The place looked like a museum inside also, with about every old artifact imaginable festooning the walls, ceilings, and shelves.  And, if you had the fortune of eating there at least one Saturday a month, they had an impromptu Gospel sing where you could even join in and "jam session" with local musicians.  If you want to learn more about this place, there is a book of Carl Allen's articles for the Lakeland Ledger over the years called Root Hog or Die Poor.  It is really too bad the place closed, as it would have attracted people for years to come.

Bay Island Seafood on Pratt Street in Baltimore, MD

Back when I was a kid - around 5 or 6 - we lived in Baltimore, and on Friday nights Mom, my Uncle Ken and Aunt Flo, and other family would get together and play cards and Yahtzee and would order out. This was the place they ordered from too - one of the best seafood places in the city!  Their fried oysters - one was the size of a small steak - were the best.  After all these years, the place is still there, and they still serve fantastic seafood.



Twin Oaks Barbecue, on Norwich Street in Brunswick, GA

My father, Wayne Thrower, lived in Brunswick, GA, and I used to spend time with him and my stepmother Debora when I was around 9 years old or so.  For a number of years - and it is still in business today! - the premiere BBQ place in town was this one.  Twin Oaks had excellent food, and their signature was these battered seasoned French fries - people would actually go there to just eat those! 

There are two restaurants in Graceville, FL, from my college days which unfortunately I don't have pictures of, but they were excellent.  One was Felter's Seafood, which unfortunately closed when its owner, Clyde Bailey, passed on a few years back.  Felter's was the home of one of the best seafood buffets in the area, and for around $10 you could eat to your little heart's content on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays (as Clyde and his wife Sybil were devout Baptists, the restaurant was closed on Sundays). I actually worked there a short time as a busboy and prep cook back in 1991 to earn a little extra money while in school at BBI up the street, and had the privelege of getting to eat a lot of that good stuff free.  Clyde had every seafood imaginable on that buffet too - fried oysters, clam strips, shrimp, scallops, catfish, mullet, froglegs - and it was good stuff.  After Felter's closed, the gap was filled by another good local restaurant, Grady's Seafood House.  Back in my college days, Grady's was as I recalled more of a homestyle restaurant, but in recent years it has become a first-rate seafood place, with some of the best oysters (both the owner of Grady's as well as Clyde Bailey used to get all their oysters from Wayne's Oyster Bar, a friendly rival up the street) as well as HUGE succulent Gulf shrimp and some of the best onion rings.  If you go to the area, it's a good place to stop and eat at.



Desert Inn Restaurant, Yeehaw Junction, FL

This place is one of those small-town off-the-beaten-path restaurants in Florida you have to give a try if you go down US 98 between Lakeland and West Palm Beach.  Although the place don't look like much, the food is good.  Also, it has that rustic "Cracker" look that provides some enchantment for Florida culture as well.



The Crab Shack, on the Gandy Bridge in St. Petersburg

Now, THIS place will REALLY fool you, because when you drive past it on Gandy Boulevard just before you cross the bridge into Tampa, your first thought will probably be "Good Lord, what a dump that is!"  Back in 2005, when I was working at a title company doing closings near here at a condo conversion project called Itopia, my boss discovered this place and figured, "What the hey??" and ordered from there.  Turns out though the food this place had was excellent; as a matter of fact, it was some of the best seafood I have had!  Therefore, in this case, don't judge on first appearances - you may be pleasantly surprised!

Galley Pizza, Palm Harbor, FL

Next to fried chicken and fried oysters, I also have an eye for good pizza places, and this is one of the better ones in the area I have come across.  Like most businesses in Palm Harbor, Clearwater, and Tarpon Springs, a lot of good restaurants are owned by the sizeable Greek community, and I have learned that Greeks can do an excellent job with pizza.  The reason I like this place is that you can order a pizza with feta cheese (very good on pizza, BTW!) and it was one of the first places I was introduced to the art of eating fresh basil as a pizza topping. 

Christino's Coal Oven Pizza, Clearwater, FL

This is another excellent pizza place that has opened in the past couple of years here in Clearwater, and it has some of the best pizza I have eaten in many years.  Their specialty that I like is that you can get gorgonzola cheese as a pizza topping, which adds a little zing to the pizza.  Their sauce and ingredients are all made fresh and to order, and if you have room, they have a homemade gelato that makes a refreshing dessert. 

Another place too that is good that we discovered about a year ago is in north Clearwater, in a small mini-mall on Myrtle.  The place is called Raco's Chicken and Ribs, and if you like "soul food" this is a great place.  The owner, an African-American fellow named Oscar, has the friendliest service and he will make whatever you order to your liking.  The fried chicken is delicious, and to wash it down they have some of the best homemade lemonade I have tasted since my great-grandmother's.  Our monthly tradition now is to order out from Oscar, and we take a big bunch of fried chicken and BBQ ribs over to my mother's in Lakeland to eat - she has raved about those ribs too ever since.  They also have a classic "soul food" dish too that many people unaccustomed to it would think is weird, but they actually go well together - chicken and waffles.



Frog's Landing, Cedar Key, FL

This is another one of those out-of-the-way places, located on the water in the little hamlet of Cedar Key in north-central Florida.  This place, which we ate at in 2002, had some of the best local Gulf seafood.  If you want to avoid the "tourist traps" of Florida and see what Florida is supposed be like, Cedar Key, as well as Everglades City (which also has a good local restaurant, although I cannot recall the name of it at present) are two places for you.

Some other good restaurants in the Tampa Bay area which are no longer around (many of them cannot keep up with the highway robbery called the county commission in this area, which taxes them out of existence!) were the Apple in Madeira Beach, Angelo's in St. Petersburg, and Pep's Sea Grille which also used to be on Fourth Street in St. Pete.  Another excellent place that unfortunately closed was the Miramar on Euclid in south Tampa, which served some excellent authentic Cuban food.  And, there is one fast-food place I have to mention, as it was something I remember fondly from my childhood:

Artist's rendition of the old Red Barn restaurant

Back when I was around 5 or 6, there was a fast-food chain called the Red Barn that served some of the best fried chicken then.   At the time, Mom and I were staying at my grandfather's in Bedington, WV, and just south of there, on the outskirts of Martinsburg, there was a Red Barn near the shopping center where Goldie, my step-grandmother, went grocery shopping at the Acme Store every week (no joke - Acme was a real supermarket chain then!).  One treat of the shopping outing was that we would eat at the Red Barn, and I always looked forward to that.  The Red Barn as a company is gone now, but to this day I still remember that unique fried chicken they had, and have found the recipe for it. 

That was a small culinary tour of my life, although not exhaustive, and hopefully you enjoyed the trip as much as I did.  If you get a chance to try some of these places, please do - many of them are quaint and somewhat unique, which adds to their charm.  Anyway, good eating until next time!



Telling Tales on the Wife

If you have been married for a while and understand the intricacies of the marital relationship, you often find out things about your spouse you never expected.  Barb and I have been married now for almost 19 years, and in that blessed time there have been those moments which serve to amuse and stimulate memories and are just worth retelling for others to enjoy because they are so good!  What I am about to share will probably make her want to kill me, but there are a few amusing stories about my dear little woman that definitely fall into that category.

Barbara is one of those type of people that will make you laugh without trying.  She doesn't try to be funny usually when she says some of the things she's said or done some of the things she's done at times over the years, but it comes out so amusing that I catch myself chuckling when I think about them.  I have a few of those gems I want to share here as well.

Barb and I of course met when both of us were attending Bible school in Graceville, FL, back in 1990, and we were friends almost a full two years before we even considered dating.   As a matter of fact, the reason I met her in the first place was due to the fact I had an interest in her roommate at the time, a girl named Rachel King, and one night in January of 1990 I finally worked up the nerve to go ask her out.  Lo and behold she wasn't there, and Barb answered the door instead. So, we stood there and talked for hours, and we began to become close after that.  It wasn't until Christmas of that year though when we realized we were put together by God, and we officially became a couple then and were married in May 1992.  However, even in those early days Barb proved to be something unique, and one incident happened on a night in October 1990 that illustrated that point well.

That night, we were going to a Bible study at Dr. Barry Nolan's house just north of Graceville - Dr. Nolan was a devout Christian and a member and adult Sunday School teacher at First Assembly of God there in Graceville, and many of us thought very highly of him because he was a godly man.  Mind you, Graceville is not a big city, and being the small town it was the roads tended to be dark out.  Around Graceville, and into Alabama a couple of miles north, the area is noted for a lot of peanut farms, and one of those lie just south of Dr. Nolan's house on SR 77 north as it snaked toward the Alabama state line.  The way into this peanut farm was by a dirt road that went a ways back into where the farmhouse was, and at night all these driveways looked somewhat alike in the darkness.  Well, in trying to find Dr. Nolan's house, Barb turned down this peanut farmer's driveway, and upon arriving at the farmhouse I knew it wasn't Dr. Nolan's.  Advising Barb of the same, she turned around, and as she was backing up there was a loud "CLANNNGGG!" Turns out she had backed her little Datsun into the guy's peanut silo!  Swaying in the wind with a shrill creaking of its thin metal legs, it got the attention of the farmer, whose porch light came on and out he stepped with this sawed-off shotgun!!  Barb hit the gas, spun some rubber, and we were out of there fast!  It wasn't long though before we actually did arrive at Dr. Nolan's though, but that experience is one I have razzed her about for years.

A second incident happened a couple of years after we were married, when I was attending Southeastern University in Lakeland and we lived in an apartment on Colorado Avenue.  The apartment, originally owned by a retired Pentecostal evangelist by the name of Rev. Clarence Pansler but later bought by a Canadian "snowbird" by the name of Bill Oxford, was originally a makeshift parsonage attached to the back of an old church that then served as a storage shed when we lived there, and inside it had high wooden ceilings in the kitchen.  One day in 1994 I believe, Barb decided she had the inspiration to make homemade guacamole for herself, so she began preparing the stuff to put in a blender to chop up.  For some weird reason, she didn't have the lid on the blender, and the stuff shot upward when she switched it on, subsequentially painting a section of the high kitchen ceiling green!  That stain was still there years later, when we moved in May of 1998 from there.  I am happy to report though her culinary skills have greatly improved since then!

Later on, after we moved to St. Pete, I formally became Catholic and we attended a Byzantine parish on 13th Avenue North, a couple of minutes from our house then, that was called St. Therese of Lesieux.   Now, my wife has her own rules of grammar and pronunciation, and while taking my mother who was visiting one day out for dinner, we drove past the church - it is a beautiful structure, BTW, with an octagonal construction and a beautiful gold cupola crowning the main sanctuary.   So, Barb turns and says to my mom, "Yep, that's where we attend church, Saint Terese of Less Sex!"  After busting out laughing over that, I said, "Well, I certainly hope so - she was a nun after all!" to which my mother almost fell out the door cracking up.  I told that story to our vicar at church this morning too, and his face was so red from laughing that I thought for sure he ruptured a blood vessel.  A Catholic comedian by the name of Doug Brummel also liked the story, and saw it as potential material in his act too! 

A final story involved a drive down Ulmerton Road here in Largo one day a year or two back.  We were stopped at the traffic light, I'd say over around 66th Street, when Barb noticed this car in front of us with a Marines sticker on the back of it.  So, just out of the blue, she says, "Look, he's in the Marine Corpse!"  to which I busted a gut laughing.  The only other person I know with such a unique twist on the English language was probably my late Uncle Bonzo, who more or less could have written a dictionary of the stuff he came up with.

These stories are not meant to embarrass my beloved wife, as I do love her, but rather to show people what fun she can be without even realizing it.  It is one of the things I love about her, and I wouldn't change a thing - life would not be the same without those "Barbara-isms" of hers.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do, although they are better to hear in person. For some of you that have the privelege of knowing her, don't be surprised if she doesn't come out with one of those gems sometime when you least expect it, as God seems to have given her a gift of unintentional humor.  And, I hope to have many more years of those with her myself, as they are priceless.

Inspiration for Home-Spun Tales

If you will allow me to wax retrospectively-philosophical, I want to talk about what makes me tick personally.  I write on a lot of things - religion, politics, other stuff - but the one thing many people seem to connect with is when I write about childhood memories and such.  I won't be doing a lot of those here on this blog, because most of that is on my Facebook page that you can read when you get the chance.  What I do want to talk about now is how things inspire me to write what I write.

Today, that subject hit me as I was listening to one of my favorite "classical" works, Sibelius' Finlandia.  There is just something about listening to stuff like that which fires the imagination, but listening to that type of music has to be done when I am in the right attitude and frame of mind.   My classical music collection is not really large, in comparison to the big band stuff I talked about, but over the years some things have really caught my attention and have captivated me.  Sibelius is one of those, but I am equally inspired by Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring (probably because I get homesick listening to it), Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto (also known as the pop standard "Full Moon and Empty Arms"), most everything Stravinsky has ever written (he is my favorite composer!), and the beautiful Strauss waltzes (I really love those).   Good serious music like that - much of which also has a strong Judeo-Christian root as well - is the music you create by, and it also stirs the imagination.  God has given some people the ability to create and arrange sounds to powerful results, and pieces like these above-listed exemplify that well.  Great music like that takes us back to a time when honor, grace, and class were things to be valued, and as a result there is a noble quality to great compositions like those and some others I could mention.  For one thing, it makes me sometimes wish I was born in Europe the way it used to be - before all the secularism and socialism emasculated it - when the monarchy was a symbol of respect and Christianity was the foundation of the law of the land.  And, being I have the blood of Charlemagne, William the Conqueror, Prince Vladimir of Novgorod, and other great monarchs in my veins (I am a direct descendant of all that on my father's side of the family) I feel as if that great music personifies something in me that I personally connect with.  It is hard to describe in great detail, but you get the picture. 

I am also captivated by great stories, as well as not-so-big folktales and legends.  When I was just a baby, Mom got me this set of story books called My Book House which were first published in the 1920's by a Chicago educator by the name of Olive Beaupre Miller.  The books represent a very good cross-section of the great literary heritage of Western civilization - ethnic folk tales, ancient mythology, Bible stories, early American folklore, and classic literary works.  These were the books that first exposed me to some of the stories I still enjoy today, such as William Makepeace Thackaray's The Rose and the Ring, and several years back I actually bought a new set of those which I have now in my library (the original set Mom got me is long gone).  As I grew and matured, those books led me to read other literature, which as a kid included stuff such as Robert Newton Peck's Soup books, William Saroyan's My Name is Aram, and other literary classics.  It was through reading stuff like these works that I began to develop a writing style all my own - it is a folksy style that bases a lot of my own life experience into story form, but at the same time it is detailed, epic in scope, and has some overlap.  So far, except for a couple of things, most of my stuff has been non-fiction, and is more in the tradition of the storyteller - being a member of Toastmasters and the National Storytelling Association has helped develop that more for me too.   In time, I want to capture the essence of my life in book form, bind it in a volume, and have it available for others to see.  It will be lengthy, as I love trying to catch every detail as my life story is sort of a way to reach back in time and touch some things I have forgotten or missed. As a result, I can get wordy, so want to apologize to you all beforehand, because you are in for a LONG read with my stuff!

    This is what my original set of My Book House looked like.  This

   edition is from 1965.

Places also stimulate me - that is a West Virginia/Appalachian thing though, as the "sense of place" is a strong connection.   And, I am not just talking about places I grew up or have lived, but also those places where, if you are traveling on the road, just stick out at you.  The look of a certain house, the architecture of a country church, an old gas station or eatery...these things catch my attention easily.  I am a fairly decent graphite artist, and have tried to re-create them in drawings, but it isn't the same.  I will also be posting some drawings later as well soon as the scanner gets back in operation again. 

This is one of those places that inspires me but I have never been to - yet!

It is Lake Bled in the Slovenian Alps, and I love the view of this.

Well, that is all to say for tonight, but will have some good stuff up for you to see soon.  Take care.

The Snowbird Christmas Carol!

I wrote this as a humorous email when I was bored and didn't have nothing better to do at work last year (maybe actually working would have been a good idea too, right!).  Anyway, although it is the middle of August when I am posting this, consider it a belated "Christmas in July" gift.




"Murdock the liver-spotted snow bird,




had a very bulky car;



He couldn't see 2 inches,



from the steering wheel to the guardrail bar.



And when Murdock went shopping



At the local Publix store,



He would haggle with the bagboy



Because his pack of wienies were a dollar more



Then one busy Friday noon,



The SSI check came in the mail



And the traffic cop said, Murdock with your bald head so bright



Please don’t drive without your nurse tonight.



But how the shuffleboard club loved him



The little 80-something ladies cackled with glee



Because little old Murdock



Had his own teeth and a condo on Big Key!"