All About What's Green

I've been neglecting my blog writing -- the main reason being because I'm writing again -- and, by that, I mean a story, a novel, a tale -- whatever you want to call it. I've almost gotten ten chapters written and that's always a milestone for me.

But, anyhoo...

Unless you've been totally out of communication, you've probably read about a golfer named Tiger. If you don't know where he is, I'll tell you. He's right here, in my hometown of Augusta, Georgia, for that little tournament known as the Masters.

If you detect a bit of sarcasm, you'd be correct.

Now, I don't have any problem with golf -- or Tiger Woods, for that matter -- he has a wife and children to answer to, not me. I don't really even mind that my town becomes a tourist (and media, especially this year) mecca for one week out of the year -- the Masters brings in a lot of money to the area. Augusta gets "cleaned up" the week before the tournament -- somehow they always find the funds for that even if, during the rest of the year, they just let a lot of areas go to seed. People rent out their houses (a point of pride and superiority for some) to fans and golfers and Augusta becomes the center of the golfing universe amid the azaleas, wisterias and dogwoods -- and massive amounts of pollen.

So, what is it that I don't like about the Masters? I'm going to focus on one thing, though there are others -- but I don't have all day and neither do you. So here goes.

Women are not allowed to be members of the Augusta National (which is the actual name of the golf course). Now, I don't want to be a member -- no desire and no use for it -- but I hate to think that a female can play the course only if she's in the company of a male member.

You may interpret and visualize that last line any way you prefer.

What I hate more than that is how many women are fine with such a thing. Now, I can understand older women feeling that way but, when a younger one says it doesn't matter, I so want to climb on their heads and beat them about the neck and shoulders. I don't call myself a feminist -- I actually do think there are appropriate times and places for the sexes to be separate. However, there is a difference in playing in a tournament (for which you have to qualify) and being a member of a golf course. I'm not saying women should play in the Masters itself, I'm just saying to keep someone from joining a golf club based on sex, in this day and age, just goes against my grain. If golf was something only a man could do, that would be one thing but women can play golf, too. I'm not talking ability here, either. I'm sure a lot of men who are members of the National can't play worth squat -- but they had some sort of connection (people/money) which got them a stamp of approval on their application form.

Oh, yeah, in case you didn't know -- it was only a few years ago -- not fifty -- that they had to change the rules about blacks being able to be members. They had to in order to accommodate Tiger Woods. See, people would have screamed bloody murder about that (and, rightfully so) but women? Eh...whatever...

I compare the Augusta National to the Vatican:

A small plot of land, in the middle of a city, ruled tyrannically by a group of old farts. And, best of all, even if you make a mistake (in your private or public life), you're sheltered and protected.

Well, what can you say. It's not about what's right. It's all about what's green.

Hot dog...

Hearing about the major snowstorms in parts of the country made me think about something very unusual that happened back in 1973. It snowed in my hometown of Macon in central Georgia. Not a dusting of snow, either, but enough to make watching dachshunds a spectator event (and we had two of them -- Dolly and Missy -- this was before the naming of dogs became so important). We had to make a path for them just so they wouldn't get lost in the snow drifts.

I can't remember if the snowfall was predicted, was worse than it was supposed to be or nobody saw it coming but I do know it took everybody off-guard (which snow around there -- or here -- does, anyway). I was 13 at the time, in the 8th grade -- and what I do remember is that we actually had to make up snow days on Saturdays. We grumbled mightily but I think most of us thought it was worth it.

It was like living in another world -- though it stopped snowing, it was days before it melted. For those who are used to seeing snow every year, our fascination with the stuff is probably quite amusing. For us, it was enough to make the most sane person become unhinged.

I'm sure I took photos back then -- probably with one of those old Kodak cameras -- but where they are, I have no idea. But I still clearly remember walking in a winter wonderland in a place where such things just don't happen very often. In my memory, that was a one-time experience.

There's a part of me which wishes something like that would happen again in these parts -- but, only if I have plenty of food in the house, the electricity stays on and I don't have to go anywhere. A tall order, to be sure.

I think back on that time with fond memories, though the adults back then probably remember it quite differently. It's too bad we tend to lose our wonder as we get older.

And that's a good a reason as any to get a dachshund.

Cooking with gas...

I've always said that Augusta, Georgia is in some kind of odd "weather pocket". We tend to get the opposite of whatever weather is predicted -- or it's better/worse than anticipated. There's only one thing that's guaranteed -- it will be hot in the summer. The rest of the year? Well, you never really know until you're in the middle of it.

At the moment, according to local authorities -- but not weather.com -- we might have some snowfall during the night. Notice the word might. In other words, maybe we will and maybe we won't. What it really means is that nobody knows for sure.

Snow is rare here. Every few years, we might (there's that word again) get just enough snow to stick but, most of the time, if it snows at all, it's just pretty while it's falling and that's about it. The real problem is that even the threat of snow can cause otherwise sane (debatable) people to flip out. For the most part, people here don't know how to deal with snow. Which makes sense because it doesn't seem very wise to spend a lot of time and money preparing for something unlikely. However, when it does happen, on that rare occasion, the city almost comes to a standstill. Schools close before it happens (and then sometimes it doesn't happen) and, sometimes the kids have to make up snow days for nothing.

The biggest problem is not so much snow but ice. While a little snow is really not that onerous, even a little ice can be -- especially for drivers who are not used to it (and that includes me). A few years ago, we had a pretty big ice storm -- we ended up without electricity for three days -- Georgia Power was overwhelmed, I think, because, again, who would have thought? At any rate, it was no fun -- but it made me grateful for having a gas range and two gas fireplaces -- and a crank-up radio.

So, we shall see. When we wake up in the morning, we'll either have a beautiful, if light, blanket of snow. Or nothing. I'm betting on nothing. But who knows? Perhaps our little pocket will surprise us once again.

So, if I disappear for an appreciable length of time, it's probably because the electricity went off.

Hey -- can somebody invent a gas computer?!!

Feeling bad about a gator

I tell you what -- I respect alligators. They're big and they've got teeth. And they can swim a lot better than I can. Not sure if they could run as fast as I could if one was after me -- don't really want to find out. I'm afraid the answer might be why, yes they can, you silly human.

Anyway, Augusta is not known for having alligators though, on occasion, one will swim up the Savannah River and make itself known (to some consternation and eventual removal). I don't know if this is where this one came from but, for several years, an alligator has made its home in a pond behind Brown's Feed and Seed. This particular place is not out in the country but on one of our busiest roads -- it used to be more rural but not any more. I think I remember hearing about this before but, until recently, it was nothing that was on my mind.

Until someone killed it -- decapitated it and took its tail.

Now, alligators aren't cute and cuddly -- and, frankly, I wouldn't want one in my back yard -- I don't even like those little green lizards -- but whoever did this is just plain mean. They are also poachers.

Now, in spite of the yuck factor involved in this -- and some pity for the reptile -- an alligator really doesn't belong in an area where people live and work. Of course in coastal areas in the south, alligators are all over the place -- and near people all the time. So, not sure how this is any different, other than, like snow, we aren't really equipped for them around here. I would assume most people know they're dangerous but, hey, some folks don't know coffee is hot so whatever.

There are people who are incensed that there is a higher reward for information about an alligator-killing than there would be for a human death. Maybe that's not right but I think it's probably the out-of-the-ordinary factor more than anything else which gets people's attention. And, really, you know, folks ought to give info about a human murder, anyway, without waiting for a reward. But I digress.

Here's another gator story:

Several years ago, we were vacationing on Kiawah Island in South Carolina where alligators abound. We were staying in a condo on a lagoon and the kids and I were on the banks, throwing bread to turtles -- by the way, that's a mistake. Mark was on higher ground and he suddenly said, "Get up here now".

Well, me being me, this is usually where I would say, "What's happening? What's going on? I don't wanna', ain't gonna', can't make me..."

But, there was something in his voice which told me I needed to move and I needed to move now. I pushed the kids up the bank ahead of me and, as I climbed up, I asked him if it was an alligator.

"Yes," he said.

Once away from the water, I turned back to look. Yep, it was a gator alright. A big one -- probably a six-footer. And there we'd been, some three or four feet away from him.

But all he wanted was some bread.

Anyway, I feel bad about this particular -- and now dead -- gator. I guess someone has a trophy for their wall. And made a meal (or several) out of his tail.

All I know is I'd have to be mighty hungry to eat an alligator.

But it would probably be better than him eating me.

Dawg Gone It

From Imagination Prompt:

Did you go to college or have vocational training - where and when?

For my first two years of college, I attended Macon Junior College -- which is now called Macon State College. I was strange, I guess, in that I had no desire to leave home -- something I look back on now and think, huh?! Anyway, while there, I lived at home and worked at my church's daycare center in the afternoons. At the time, Macon Junior was a two-year college so I had no choice but to go somewhere else afterwards. I could have continued to stay home and attend Mercer University or Wesleyan College but I'd always wanted to go to the University of Georgia -- so I did. I majored in Journalism and minored in History. Today, when I look back on my college career, it's those history classes I remember with the most fondness -- everything from generalized history to specialized -- like the Antebellum South and the French Revolution. I graduated from UGA in 1981, if that tells you anything. Like how freakin' old I am (but only in body, never in mind or spirit).

My husband also went to UGA, majoring in chemistry. He was accepted into both Emory University School of Medicine (Atlanta) and to the Medical College of Georgia (Augusta). We chose Augusta and here we are, all of these years later. We never expected to stay here but he was accepted into the residency program in Anesthesia so we ended up putting down roots. All of our children were born here and it's home, though there are days when I think, "let's get the hell out of here..."

My oldest attended Georgia Southern University and my middle is now attending Georgia Tech. My youngest? Well, she's got another year of high school, then we'll see. She's leaning toward UGA and it would be great if one of them attended our Alma Mater. But I want her to go where she wants to go -- if UGA is it, wonderful. If not, so be it.

At any rate, we're all Dawgs at heart.

Shield's up!

I long ago decided that Augusta is surrounded by some sort of weather shield. It's not necessarily a shield which keeps us from getting bad weather but one that keeps us from getting predicted weather. For days now, we've been warned about the wintry weather headed our way -- we've had the warnings to batten down the hatches and be prepared. As of yesterday, we were expecting snow and, worse, ice. The list for school closings started to grow -- but, having heard this kind of thing before, we told our youngest not to expect a day off -- and, while almost all the other schools did close, hers did not. We get very little snow and ice in this area and, quite frankly, folks don't know how to handle it (myself included) as far as driving -- so it makes a warped kind of sense to shut things down just in case. The thing is, though, it's seldom necessary. But what's the choice? A morning of chaos while different schools decide what to do? The chance that kids will be injured or hurt during the commute? Or that the schools will have to shut down midday -- which would make things much worse. Anyway, after all the warnings -- and the scary looking radar on TV -- we have awakened to...nothing. In fact, the skies are blue and it's shaping up to be a beautiful if chilly day. I must say I'm disappointed -- I was hoping for a little something white on the ground. But I didn't expect it. I never do. Around here, you have to watch out for the weather that takes you off-guard and by surprise -- the weather that even the forecasters didn't see coming. Anyway, once again, Augusta's shields held firm and we remain in our little pocket of unpredictable predictability.