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Archive for July 2012

Good morning, Mr Firemen. July 31, 2012

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For the third time in less than a year this morning I found myself sprawled in all my glory on the floor of our apartment, a fallen blob who’s missed one of the strict rules I use to transfer from chair to chair. From bed to bed. Kerplunk. Can’t do it. Can’t get up. If I could just get on my knee and use the bed for leverage….. can’t do it. If I could just sit on my little stool and raise myself in stages as I’ve done so often in the past…. can’t do it. Soooo, CB calls 911 and gets the in-shape guys out. “Scooch up on the sheet, Frank,” they urge. “Now everybody left at once.

The sheet tore. I tumbled to the floor.

“Anything hurt?”

“Only my sacroiliac and all the little nerve fiber in that and neighboring communities.”

They call the state for reinforcements. For a reallllly strong sheet,

It worked, I scooched.  They lifted, I am back in my chair.

Oh, no, thanks. I no longer have a need nor a desire to visit the throne room which, as I recall, is where I was heading when the butt hit the rug.

Thanks, Cincinnati firemen.

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Written by frankieleeee

July 31, 2012 at 3:36 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

The Battle for Lunch with the Lunchbunch 20 July 2012.a

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Willie nervously tests the food and the water, looking for good taste and also for suspicious warning signs that the Joycists are on the rampage. flefoto Criptographics. Peruano Sabor. Fairfield OH

I awoke in the pre dawn yesterday. It was Friday the twentieth of July. As I jumped off on cold, if invigorating icy floor tiles, I realized if I didn’t have my “A” game pretty much at its peak today, the Lunhbunch would be footless and almost certainly luckless in ways that one or two of the couldn’t even imagine.The T-Part air fighters had shredded much of Route 4 from Interstate 275 to Motherfuckuh Highway, effectively shutting down automobile traffic in the finest food zone on Cincinnati’s west side. Hell or any of its sides.

July 20, 2012. All of us (back: CB, Willie, and Jude; front: l-R=r: me then Bob with his Julie shirt) in full battle garb Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH. Peruano Sabor. Criptrographics.

Jealousy.

Plain ole jealousy.

Concealed behind these walls, the inside paint gun locker of the restaurant where our final hopes would lie if we were forced into fierce action against the Joycists. fotobyfle Criptograph July 20, 2012

Bob’s military wife Commander Joyce tired of hearing about the best pizzas, the fried chicken, soup’s of all sorts, cornbread of all sorts, carrot cake, flan and you-name-it pies, had called em out after p;ulling her battle gear from that huge waterproof bag she had suspended under the surface of the inlet halfway across the lake.

The Joycists resurrected.

Special guards, at the behest of LB members, have been hired by the restaurant to protect us from those who would painfully deny us our one sumptuousness of the week. (How dare they?) Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH DSCF1025DSCF1006

Nobody was going to out brag her gourmand friends. oafter what seemsd like a hundred calls from my cellphone, I was able to have Willie desiccate construction site inspector. At thats site outside my favorite South American joint – outside Sabor Peruano. I had information a gang of Americans posing as illegals planned to make a big fuss – complex with hand pained

Family style dining gives each of us a taste of as many as a dozen appetizers/entrees/desserts/specialty drinks. Here is the pork and rice I order (and shared). First time in my memory that everything everyone ordered was superb, but especially dat crispy pork Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH. Criptographics. bobfoto

signs, body and internet noise accusing me and others like me of huge pretense – pretending to love Latin American food to dilute its level of consumer delight in Cincinnati.

They were determined to drive us to the west side where there hasn’t been a self-respecting restaurant since Aunt Flora’s left for the Findlay Market and where running upon one good meal a year is  not unlike rediscovering the hope diamond, and that’s is we all agree on it.

Bob after months of intensive conditioning is obviously fit to confront the worst the Joycists can throw at him. Bob, on more than one occasion, has thrown himself between oncoming paintballs and his friends, including me. Quiet but loyal, I’d say. Yes, I’d say that. 120721 Fairfield OH flefoto Criptographics.

Which we don’t hardly ever. Even for real bank money.

I had been suspecting Joyce was up to something like this for weeks.gh

I called my friend Sarah who works there, who had sent me steaming bowlfuls of Peruvian food when I was in the hospital on the a-tip of the crust. Sarah rounded a half dozen of her friends and family up, commandeered their vehicles, including – can you believe it? – one with a chair lift and slipped us in through back entrance. All of us, that is, except Jude, the designated decoy was arrived normally late.

CB always getting up and down up and down to help me; poor kid. Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH flefoto Criptographics.

Joyce’s crowd was left outside in the parking lot sucking hind tit and creaming of better days, of more effective days when the Lunch Bunch would no long have either the best meal or the last

CB had the green spaghetti probably colored by spinach whose flavor (thankfully) didn’t bleed through loudly. Peruvian food seems to include a heavy European influence (e.g.), namely influences from SpainChinaItaly, West Africa, and Japan (spaghetti). Out-of=state foods prepared with hometown foods. I like it a lot, but I’m not sure how the rest of the gang feels about it. Most don’t complain but also aren’t normally as loudly complimentary as I. Did I say the restaurant twice sent food, insisting on no charge to my friend who picked it up. First of all, how could I not love them, eh? Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH DSCF1024

Don’t fool with the Lunch Bunch. Mess with us at the rest of have your ego busted.

Dirty table – No, I don’t think that’s the word at all, more like the ashtray after sex – I can still hear my friends full-throated purrs of satisfaction rumbling around the room as the crew changes the scenery for the third act of our Lunch Bunch – Scrabble (copyright til you die). Enough! They said. “Too much” (from the peanut gallery). “Blessed at the gluttons!” Finally a smattering of Joycists stepped out of their concealment to applaud our expertise in both ordering and eating and being all around nice folks. Still, looking at the quickly disappearing food one can not help wondering  how many tales the table could tell, for it heard and saw all, where each of us could grasps no more than a minuscule soupcon. Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH flefoto. Criptographics.

Yesterday’s meal was, in MY OPINION, the best meal we’ve had: 2 soups, deep fried bacon and potatoes, onion salad, pork and rice, spaghetti, chicken steaks and rice, paella with its yellow rice (ordered eagerly by Bob but methinks NOT eatern eagerly by him), cookies that melt in your mouth, flan, all day long ….. all day long… till the Scrabbleboards (copyright til you die) come out.

Jude in full stride, like the rest of us, she’s a talker, and, like the rest of her, she has absolutely no chance of spitting out a single sentence of more than six words intact. Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH flefoto. Criptographics.

THEN

I lost two.

But it didn’t spoil my day.

CB beat Bob. Not sure, but that could have been a day breaker for someone. Willie beat the piss outa me; don’t know how she fared against CB.

Sarah, server and savior. Who will neither forsake no shorchange.  Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH. flefoto. Criptographics.

Then it was time to go, for willie to flow ahead of traffic.

For Bob to hit Dewey’s for a makeup pizza for Joyce.

Jude seafood soup. Willie and I do no like cilantro which is brought to the table in a little non-polluting bowl. Soup’s good. Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH DSCF1025

Since the previous LB, CB had a colonoscopy after we made that emergency turnaround in Kentucky where some afoul was spilling out of her bowels.

All’s better. No cancer, it would appear.

Willie’s been to a wedding near Colorado Springs where her very best friend in the whole wide world (originally) from Vermont lives. Her photographs showed the devastation of that huge wildfire in the Colorado Springs area. Cases of water on the ground space regularly – comfort for firefighters. A beautiful wedding, she see. Hell trying to fly out of the SPRINGS, said she, especially for her friends trying to get back to Vermont, although it wasn’t a ride in the park for Willie, either, said Willie, to us all.

Willie brought Elk sausage from Colorado. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Already tasted it. Already like it with mustard and crackers. Doesn’t she look good in red? Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH. flefoto. Criptographics.

Willie has been traveling like the headless runner of late. East Enosburg, Albany, Lake Champlain, Dayton, Santana concert, Colorado Springs, Fairfield OH (Lunch Bunch), and now to Findlay OH this weekend for more Scrabble.

’til dus

My Hopkins family had the first reunion without me in a bunch of years…well over ten. Still almost can’t get my mind over not EVER being able to go to Paris (TN) my hometown again. Certainly a prisoner of my own doing, but a prisoner nonetheless. Several Scrabble (copyright til you die) tourneys have called without response in Michigan, Tennessee, Ohio (this weekend, too). Slowly  the tope is being pulled tighter.

man, do we have a llot of dishes when we eat family styile big family with lots of tastes of lots of taste; and Karina who, too was commended as server/savior. Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH. flefoto. Criptographics.

Not nearly desperate as it could be without my family and friends.

Both Ronald and Willie (and her trusty helper John) have put together electronic memory books for me. I try to watch one or both every day to feed the psychic hunger pains that threaten regularly.

our ammunition to their sorrow Lunchbunch 120721 Fairfield OH DSCF1013

Jude is looking for a job. Good luck, although the Lunch Bunch would definitely be the less without you, friend.

Happy Trails to you (channeled just for you from Roy and Dale)

eh?

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It suddenly occurred to me that with as many families as I come from down there – Moody, Smith, Mc Swain, Sutton, Hopkins, Culpepper, Hastings, and about a zillion more – we got our fingers stuck in every pie from mud pie to apple pie. And so, dear friends, I confess the battle is not to them. But to US

I’m Surprised to find relatives everywhere: Moodys on HnCoTn Planning Commission here. Everett Moody and Harold Bass, whose mother was a Moody, are, along with a passle of us, descendants of the three Moody brothers who traipsed across Tennessee way back when. Just like our great great grandpa: yes gotta make sure it’s done right so we take it in hand to tell em all how. Criptographics.. Paris Post-Intelligencer. Tuesday, July 10, 2012. DSCF0556

But even more I’m surprised how agonizingly long it takes me to figure stuff out, like Pogo (is that the correct character) told us decades ago: We have met the enemy and it is us! When I was a kid I was scared toooo death of the police, for example. My daddy sicced a beat cop on my but in front of Paxton’s Grocery in Porter Court one time because I had swiped a little bag of candy from the candy shelf. Big cop comes up and scowls and frowns and assures me in the meanest voice he could conjure that if ever he heard of my doing something like that again, my ass was grass and behind bars.

Don’t think I got to eat even one piece of that candy.

There’s another bunch of us that owns the businesses by the score, i.e., that’s is taking control of the economy around Paris. Poor Parisians. Mebbe we can get em back on the frm after they’re been in Paree?

Had I stayed in Paris instead of falling in love and running away to bigger pastures, who knows what a big guy I’d be in town. Mebbe in charge of propaganda, controlling information we give to the public to make sure those bullets they shoot at us are blanks?

Today, I could go through the roster of the Paris Police Department and the Henry County Sheriff’s office and find a gang of closer and farther cousins and such working there. Rod and Ron Frey, (Henry County Judge) Carter’s grandsons, although no kin that I can find, were practically next door neighbors and kid-buddies. I remember well the old chemistry set they gave me for Larry Grainger and me to play with and attempt to blow ourself out of Granddaddy’s “shop” – half shop and half chicken coop. Seems like lots of the Smith boys are among the constabulary around Paris, mostly  from my brother-in-law Joe Frankie’s line – his mother Corene was a Hastings cousin. Etc. Etc. I’ll have to pause for more than five minutes some day and figure out just how many of us are controlling the governments and police of Henry County, TN. Have you looked back over your own shoulder? To me it’s kinda like running away from yourself every time you screw up. How the hell can you escape your own self? Even if you try real hard?

Hell, I’m even descended from the McSwains, according to cousin Johnny. Including the husband of the Librarian. What kinda pull is that? Controlling in-coming and out-going information, just sitting there with a big stampee thingee : WHAM! This one won’t do at all. BAM! Don’t know how this one made it through the postal system, but git it back out anyway you can ‘s long as it’s a fast way.

And the blood drips slowly but surely on my poncho, my once free thinking poncho.

Sez I better come outa retirement and set thangs right down there…. ‘Suppose I could get a medivac ‘copter to pick me up here in Cincinnati and set me down there right in front of where WTPR used to be, right above the Davis (women’s wear) Store and set up a purification station at the top of the states where the boys and girls and playboys and playgirls and horny toads used to have deep and serious conversations by the minute. A dollar a minute, or it might been fifty cents back in ’60. And cleanse this town of all of its MOODYs; you know you can’t trust a one of us, not yet, anyhow

Written by frankieleeee

July 16, 2012 at 6:34 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

First he sobered up, then Sam Garrett, got up, dusted himself off and walked away from my mother’s blood which he had spilled. July 14, 2012

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120715 ca 1945 l-r Frankie, Ruby, Jacky, Connie & Peggy Moody home from the war. Yet death stalked us, even our pregnant mother. Criptographics studio photo

March 29, 1947 my mom dressed me in a playsuit – I remember it was pink but since I was 4 at the time, I’m almost certain it was not – made sure my sister Peggy and my brother Jacky were presentable for a Saturday night in Puryear (TN), picked up 3-month-old Ronald and herded us to our pickup truck where my dad was waiting. The chauffeur. On the way to a simple farmer’s family evening out at a small town – Puryear had a popularly of fewer than 400 – Sam Garrett smashed his car into the rear of our truck, killing my mother, seriously burning my dad, injuring my sister, and breaking my little brother Ronald’s wrist. Drunk as a lord. Had been stopped and let go by sheriff’s officers, then let go on his promise to drive directly to Murray. We were a barrier to his promise. Manslaughter, they said, until the grand jury refused to indict Garrett charges. Absolved him of all charges. As if my mom had never died.

Dad sued for $75,000. A Henry County jury awarded Dad, Peggy and Ronald $9,000! In damages.

I don’t think my dad ever had a peaceful night between mom’s death and his own and that includes his two intervening marriages.

Sam Garrett was a native of Hazel, KY. He was on his way from Paris to pick up his wife in Hazel when he drove through my mom.

Furniture power. He owned several furniture strews in Memphis.

My dad was a sharecropper. Did not own his own farm. A family is what he had. Back from WWII. Until the furniture man came roaring down U.S. 641, filled to the gills with …. with …

It is said he was later hospitalized with his own injuries from the accident. Don’t know how serious. Probably shouldn’t comment on that, eh?

He died at the age of 62 in 1954, so he must have been 55 when he became a murderer. 55 is an interesting number in my family. Both my dad and my brother Jacky died at 55. I had thought for many years that would be my fate, but here I am.

And I didn’t know what happened to him until today. Today I’m 69 years old and change.

Like they were squashing a bug.

I can’t begin to boil down this anger of mine. Although I mustn’t forget to thank some people for helping me find out before I died. My brother Ronald, always a helping hand – thank you. Doy Webb, husband of my cousin Barbara, daughter of my mom’s brother J. W. Sutton, and, Henry County’s most spectacular genealogical spelunker Stephanie Routon. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Written by frankieleeee

July 14, 2012 at 10:02 pm

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July 8, 2012. Gramma Martha Hopkins Annual Birthday Party Reunion. For me from afar for all my tomorrows. (Hopkins Reunion)

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What if you had a party and nobody came?

Or. What if THEY gave a party and YOU couldn’t come?

The Hopkins Reunion last Sunday in Paris, Tennessee, home of my heart and many who reside in my heart. I didn’t go. I could ‘t. I blame my COPD. Too many hoses, too many machines, too many visiting hospice norses assuring me I’d be in deep doo-doo if I left town and got into trouble out of town because they don’t cover that ground?

Shit.

Thank goodness, brothr Ronald and niece Sandra took a lot of pictures.

Thank goodness Wanda gathered signatues from everyone which she included in that beautiful card I received in the mail yesterday along with the card and note from Vita.

Sad as I am about losing such a chunk of my life, I am so lucky to have so many friends, so many family members who are also friends.

No cornbread. No black-eyed peas. No blackberry cobbler.

The face of our reunion is changing dramatically. Aunt Maxine died short weeks ago, the oldest of Grandmother’s children,, leaving only Aunt Margaret.

Uncle Willie’s kids seem to have stopped coming after the deaths of their spouses and/or siblings.

Forty showed up Sunday. It looks like there’s a brand new field of beginning seniors who will take up the staff of memory keeping for the Hopkins family.

L-R: lap and folded hands of Joe Frankie Smith, husband of Gramma’s great granddaughter (my sister) Peggy Moody. Gina Hopkins, daughter of Gramma’s cousin, Eli Hopkins. Dana Harvoth, daughter of the late Rebecca Hopkins, daughter of Eli Hopkins. As close to the olden days of rocking on the front porch and swapping stories, keeping them alive for the next year and the next generation. And showing pictures. Pictures. Jump starting our memories of people we used to love as much as ourselves. Or liked a lot. Or knew only slightly in passing. Picture of lives we thought would be with us forever. 120708 Hopkins Reunion, Paris Tn Ronfoto IMG_2010

 

120708 Hopkins Reunion, Paris Tn Ronfoto IMG_2010 Wanda Green Sykes, the tomato lady (Ron got my tomatoes this year, she see, as I sobbed)

anna lou owens hopkins n spouse Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2020-001 Ronald photo

Barb n doy family2 or dup of 1 Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2032-001 Ron Shot

barb-n-son-n-wife-n-son-ronshot-hopkins-reunion-paristn-july-8-2012p10103202.jpg

Barbara Webb and a handsewn quilt in the works at the senior center. A reminder of the quilts Grandmother used to make in the wintertime. I can still see, in my mind’s eye, the big quilting frame hanging from the ceiling, after she had sewedalll those tiny patches into beautiful patterns. Outworn shirts, dresses and god knows what else would rise to the discernible eye. Criptrographics.

Ronphoto. Barb and son and his die and their son. Sandrashot. ParisTN. Jul 8, 2012. Hopkins Reunion. Criiptographics. My earliest memories of Doy, I believe, are in church at Mansfield Baptist Church where all of us went way back then : Uncle Sam and us; Uncle Jay and them and seemed like all of Mansfield wuz Baptists.

Barbra talking to yet unid Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2027-001-1

ben nixes son john warren Nix and two children Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2037-001

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cousin elis family Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2030-001

fred n sandi n randy Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012 IMG_2019-001

Hopkins boys n wives Odell Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2035-001

JOE frankie and Hopkins boy Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2017-001

Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2029-001

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Jim Forsythe. Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2014

Joe F et all Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2022-001

Joe Frankie and others. Hopkins Reunion. July 8, 2012. Paris TNIMG_2013

john warren etc better teweaked Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2038-001-1

Kay (far right) sisters n niece Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2015

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not sure thinks its connieowens Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2036-001

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odell n brother n wives nelda and anna Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2034-001

Ozellas family Hopkins Reunion. ParisTN. July 8, 2012IMG_2033-001

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Teresa Smith IMG_2016-001

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Written by frankieleeee

July 14, 2012 at 3:46 pm

Posted in Family, Genealogy

Panera! Panera? The Yuppy Retreat? for Lunch Bunch? Not so bad, he see! Tuesday, July 10, 2012

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Hot as hell. Usual for this the hottest year…so far…in the history of weather record keeping in the state of Ohio! Perhaps in the entire state of the bemused.

`

We are being served from the counter. Fast food for ole farts and yuppies. Somehow seems a bit fancier than Mickey Dees and the like and the food, while not great, perhaps not even good, was wholesome tasting (How’s that for euphemism?). Soups, salads and sandwiches, mostly.

But we fought the desert winds and we won – actually we simply refused to wear out, for once.

CB and Willie wait with pleading eyes for food before their legs remove themselves to the glue factory. ‘Course I had to stop for a taste of their lemon chick orzo soup which was absolutely wonderful except it had no discernible taste, but an excellent example of the definition of bland. Still, we hung in there like two-toed sloths waiting for a slower-crawling slug to slowly make its way .. accidentally … into our mouths and down our gullets. Criptographics. July 10, 2012 flefoto

There were five of us. Willie and Bobby and CB and Jude and me the fle!

Salads may well be Panera’s specialties. Here’s a cobb salad for Bob. flefoto

Tromping into the Panera shop just outside the Dayton Mall this morning.

may have gotten salads mixed up..help, bob and willie… both were good… willie’s with citrus much better….even if the food sucked, would have been a good time because we like spending time with each other. a lot. flefoto criptrographics

I lost two Scrabble games to Willie and Bob. Willie won at least one and Bob won at least one. Jude played and played and played. But not Scrabble (copyright til  you die).

Skirmish after skirmish, many barely hidden under the thick skin of experienced explorers as we searched for nuggets of goodness among the soylent green most of them seem to be determined to foist upon us. Here’s Bob deliberately considering choices which will thank his body late. Criptographics. flefoto

July 10, 2013. Willie and Bob, within the next next half hour from when his photo was shot, will be able to definitively grade Panera’s quality of food and service and restrooms and clean hands and evehthang. Criptographics. flefoto

Jude came, too, to add to our smiles of welcome and buddyism. Unfortunately, just as she is getting up to speed with out little group, she’s coming out of retirement to rent her skills on the buying markets. Good luck, Jude. I hope you have Thursdays (LunchBunch) off. Soup (lemon chicken orzo) and half a sandwich for Judy. She liked it, or acted a whole lot like she did. Criptographics. flefoto

July 10, 2012. CB had a trial after going to ER Sunday for intestinal woes. She insisted on today and made it through, by dogeys, to make her additional push, punch and shove examinations tomorrow. Criptographs. flefoto

July 10, 2010. Another day of talk talk talk until we run down….rest rest rest few a minit….then…talk talk talk……what is more wonderful that talking among friends, world’s best drug. Hands down. Over a meal shared by every one who shares… over Scrabble (copyright til you die)…..over all sorts of issues and visions with new found friendly folks, like the kid and his dad in the next pictures. Criptographics.

Hey!

With Wee-Willie, it’s always christmas. Yesterday, too. Jolapena chorizo fresh from Vermont to go with those maple filled cookies. Yep, back from another jaunt to her second home in East Enosburg. Spousal unit John and she are slowly (over time, not speed) dragging their teepee to her old someplace across the street from the church up there, where her throne sits woodenly between two narrow walls, waiting. Mostly. For its prophecy also to be fulfilled.

Written by frankieleeee

July 10, 2012 at 11:45 pm

(July 4, 2013) Blast! Zowie! Pow! Krak! Kaboooom! Batman and Robin clash over Paris Landing (TN) on July 4th; some of you mistook their aggression for celebratory pops of pure patriotism

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Explosive lanaguare of fealty over what used to be the Tennessee River and which now is the Kentucky Lake at Paris Landing Tennessee State Park. July 4, 2013. Criptographics. fotobyRon

One thing that hasn’t changed since I was a child. Fireworkds. First, sparklers which would do no more harm that burn your fingers, or eyes or arms or your house. Couple years older and we were eligible for cherry bombs which were a real man’s firework: blow open mailboxes, scare the hell outa chickens, other domestic animals and young children who had sense enough to know those things were dangerous. All the way up to the atomic and hydrogen bobs and rocket boosters and such which make the exciting shows of our youth so insignificant. The same people who passed laws forbidding the use of celebratory firecrackers that might injure our young boys and girls, are today themselves playing with the fireworks which, once touched by a flaming match, would destroy civilization, leastwise what we often miscall civilization. Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam, our Frankenstein, but he’s ours, by dabbit!

Written by frankieleeee

July 9, 2012 at 4:27 pm