Cranks My Tractor

Dear Aunt Ruby

My Aunt Ruby passed away over two years ago at the age of 80. She was sweet and kind and always had wonderful things to say to lift you up. She was thankful for the smallest things in life and saw the toughest roads as happy journeys she was meant to be traveling.

While she was still living, I wrote stories about her noting how much she enjoyed her yellow swing on her front porch. She described the weather with the words of an artful Southern writer who wanted to put you in the swing with her. For these reasons and because she always wanted us to be thankful for everything, I put a little place on the internet just for her.

Does white or brown sand attract more Yankees?

Not really a nice way to ask that question is there? Honestly, I was just pondering the white sand versus brown sand conundrum and thought I would consider the question. Growing up in the South, the only beaches I ever knew were the snow-white beaches on the Florida Panhandle, thus I might be a little prejudice when it comes to which I prefer.

Having visited the Outer Banks of North Carolina quite a few times over recent years, I must say that the brown sand is quite nice also. The people are wonderful in both places, but the Yankee edge would have to go to the Outer Banks brown sand, simply because their beaches are further north, thus folks from the New Jersey and New York areas can get there much easier.

Witness for the Defense

When I write, I try to tell the truth to the best of my ability. I will sometimes get technicalities and specifics mixed up, but the gist of what I’m saying generally goes in the right and truthful direction. That being said, in my story about my next-door neighbor’s dog’s run in with the local police, I errantly noted that the police had pulled their weapons on the Husky because they were afraid she might start gnawing on the protected goose or geese.

It was actually a swan. As I noted, the Husky was swimming after a deer and the police were concerned, because the bird in question has been known to frequent this area of the backwater where the pursuit was happening. Not wanting it to be the Swan’s Swan Song was the reason given for the officers being in attack mode, as well as their thinking the wet dog might pose a threat to them.

Honestly, I do understand how a wet Husky might look a little like a wolf or something, but my neighbor was there to tell them she would not attack. My neighbor did get a violation or citation for his dog not being on a leash and has to appear in court.

Criminals All Around

I’m starting to feel overlooked and not very special. It seems there have been a rash of criminals in my neighborhood lately. The last time I was “warned,” I had left a congratulatory sign for my daughter’s high school graduation in the yard too long. That was three years ago and I think I had left the sign in the yard for almost a week.

My homeowners’ association and neighborhood police force seem to be back on the job and hot after those who are not obeying the rules. I honestly understand having rules and don’t get too bent out of shape when they point out the big things. However, sometimes it seems that it comes in spurts and can be a bit ridiculous.

The way I figure it, one person gets mad at another and reports them. Then the violator, in an attempt to either justify their infringement or to get back at who they think reported them, starts pointing fingers. Then the cloud grows wider and wider, moving from street to street and folks start trolling the neighborhood for infractions in able to ask, “What about this house?”

Chik-chik-cha-chik

It’s difficult to describe, but it’s so distinctive. When you hear the “chik-chik-cha-chik,” followed by the “ding,” and the dragging “ziiiiiiiiip.” If you’ve heard an old typewriter, you don’t forget the sound. It is somewhat difficult to describe, but it’s one of those things that you can identify pretty easily.

Growing up and having a father in the newspaper business, I knew about typewriters and I knew what a room full of typewriters being used sounded like in Alabama’s largest home owned daily newspaper. The smell of ink still kind of gets to me, having worked there myself through high school, college and graduate school.

My first publishing experience was in the fourth grade. Having transferred back into the public school with many of my friends and my Mama being a schoolteacher, made the transition rather easy.