On or about this time every year I share my approach for ” The Reason For The Season”. At eighty plus years of age decorations and Christmas lights on a tree are like a time traverler being hurled through space. Some of our decorations go back decades while some are as recent as last year. Like life these decorations and lights speak of love, heart break, tears and laughter.

My stress recommendation for the hustle and bustle of Chrisetmas is simple and inexpensive. There are four basic steps to my method. Like most, you have your favorite escape spot, go there. Next, you have a favorite beverage, in moderation of course. Step three, put the ear pods in and find your favorite Christmas music. Last step, begin to ” count your lights”.

Between the lights and decorations you will find some burn brighter than others or have greater meaning than others. The gamut can range from the hills and valleys this past year, or angel wings that speak softly to you. At times I find myself laughing out loud and other times realize my eyes have teared up. May I suggest you bring a few Kleenex, just in case.

When I seem to disappear in the evening my better half will comment, ” Are you counting lights”?

Peace on earth—Be safe.

Being raised in a small town with a population of six hundred people you were never inudated with political rhetoric from either party. One major reason, very few people had access to any form of communication other than radio, a few posters, and word of mouth.

My parents were Democrats and other than it was the party of their parents, and their grandparents, and so on and so forth generations past, that was the connection. Maybe the Republican elephant did not catch their fancy as much as the Democrats donkey logo. If my memory serves me correctly ( your snickering is very apparent) it was the presidential election of 1984 between Ronald Reagan and Jesse Jackson ( so I Googled it, sue me). Reagan won in a landslide.

At some point in time before the election, I was talking with my mom about the upcomg election.

” How do you feel about the electon”?

” We will vote Democratic”.

” And dad”?

” Ever how I tell him”.

” Are you familiar with Jackson’s platform”?

” No, I just know which ever party has the most moonshine and dollar bills will win the election. The Democrats have the moonshine covered, but not the dollar bills”.

“You can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” Abraham Lincoln. Happy Thanksgiving.

Be safe.

October being the month of ghost and goblins, I am reminded of the events and stories that would bring chill bumps to my sisters and me. My blog from 10-31-2019 “Small Town Folklore” details a few of those stories.

After we moved from the cotton mill village closer to town there was one landmark that carried with it as much mystery as The Beast of Bladenboro or Joe Baldwin searching for his head at the Maco Light railroad, it was—- “The Bridge”.

There was a swamp with a stream between our home and down town that required the N.C. Department of Transportation in the 1920’s to build a permanent structure over it, the bridge. Many an hour was spent playing in the swamp and under the bridge. Of course when play time went from day to dusk you left the swamp and bridge to the mysteries that dwelled there. According to the old-timers at Azzie’s Barber Shop The Beast of Bladenboro still lurks in the swamp on odd days of the month and the unexplained cries that come from the swamp when there is a full moon have never been resolved.

My sisters and I were very exicited about going to the Wonet Theatre during the week to watch a horror movie titled. “The Thing”. The movie was based on a space ship that crashed in the Antarctic with an alien on board that was frozen for decades. After cutting the alien out of the ice they brought it inside. As the ice began to melt around the alien, scientist began to disappear. The movie was in black and white making the dynamics even more scary.

During the week the theatre had only one showing at eight o’clock, meaning the movie let out at ten o’clock. When the three of us exited the movie our town had become a ghost town. There was no traffic, no store lights, and a few street lights here and there. Still polarized from the movie when we reached the edge of town we all stopped in unison. Before us stood the bridge in total darkness with an errie glow from a distant street light.

You could have cut the air with a knife. The only sounds were coming from the swamp and our heavy breathing. My oldest sister broke the silence with four words,” What is today’s date”?

Remembering the old-timers comments about odd days of the month I mumbled “October 29th., one day before Halloween”. My middle sister in typical fashion said, ” On the count of three we start running and if you fall down you are on you”.

I can still recall our screams as we sprinted across the bridge. Have you ever been so scared that when you came to your senses you cried and laughed at the same time? We did. Happy Halloween.

Be safe.

As we slip from summer to fall, I am reminded of the various Farmers Markets in our area that bring their home grown veggies, melons, and goodies to our city. Seeing the home grown watermelons in particular takes me back to a time when I was young. ( yes children, I can remember that far back).

Since we are well past the statue of limitations I must admit to caper that happened long ago, I committed a crime. On a boring Saturday night with nothing to do in our small town, my knot-hole-gang ( Me and three of my buds) stole about twenty watermelons from Mr. Fields watermelon patch. The watermelon patch was huge. On Saturdays, Mr. Fields would load his pick-up truck with a few melons, park at the post office and sell them for a little gas money.

In our defense, numerous melons in his patch had begun to rot due to the hot summer sun. It was an act of passion because everyone loves a good watermelon. One of my bud’s had an old Studebaker pick-up which was a perfect fit for the melons.

My bud’s and I decided to do a charitable act for our neighbors on the Cotton Mill Hill. We were aware of the families that would appreciate a nice free watermelon left mysteriously on there front porch. Like Vegas, ” what happens on The Hill, stays on the Hill”.

“All’s Well That Ends Well”. We had one large melon left and being in a celebratory mood we decided what better way than to bust that melon at our one stoplight intersection. As we were about to enjoy the fruits of our labor Deputy Red pulled up in his squad car. “Y’all want to tell me where you happened upon that melon at eleven o’clock on Satruday night”? The one logical member of the gang simply said, “Deputy Red, how about some sweet watermelon”? All’s Well.

Be safe

When the philosopher Diogenes was asked, ” Why do you go around with a lighted lamp in broad daylight”? He confessed, “I am looking for an honest man”.

Can I assume there is none among us that has never used one of the following excuses? ” He or she made me do it”, It’s not you, it’s me” ( usually to break up a relationship). ” Nobody instruced me to do that”, It’s certainly not my fault that happened”. Sadly, in today’s world being held accountable for one’s actions is a thing of the past.

I am not sure if the people supposedly in charge of the world irritate me the most, or the people who follow them like sheep jumping off a cliff. How gullible we have become to accept a person’s ideology on Monday and on Tuesday the ideology has rotated one-hundred and eighty degrees. Why on God’s green earth ( or used to be) other than financial gain would anyone run for public office. You do realize that every aspect of your life personal or professional will become open game weather true or false. ( Side bar: John Wayne-the Duke’s real name was Marion Robert Morrison) You telling me all of us do not have skelton’s in our closet.

Today’s world is so broken. Feel free to pick your topic, there are so many choices. I am reminded that Jesus was betrayed for thirty pices of silver. If all the rhetoric is correct in the world, I must ask the question, ” Is there an honest man among us”.

Be safe.

Summer in the South, let me count the ways. You have beaches, lakes, rivers, vacations, farmer’s markets AND mosquitoes. Granted these little pests are everywhere, but where I was raised there was concerns mosquitoes were so large they might fly off with your puppy.

In my small town we were surrounding with swamps, rivers, and lakes which are prime breeding grounds for ” skeeters”. ( Sidebar: It is the female mosquito that sucks the blood from your body. It offers the nutrients that allow her to produce her eggs).

In the summer in an effort to beat the heat at night you sat on your front porch. This made you open game for the pesky devils. There were two ways to combat the nuisances. One, you took a large aluminum can, filled it with rags, set it on fire, and let it smolter. The smoke would keep the mosquitoes at bay as long as you had the smoke around you.

The second method was the mosquito truck ( public service) that came by once a month and sprayed a mist of D.D.T. ( very toxic). Not knowing any better, my friends and I would ride our bikes behind the truck laughing and joking all the way. I have often wondered why my eyes turn werewolf green when there is a full moon. The “skeeters” were big and buzzed around your head like a swarm of bee’s. When they bit you a welt was sure to follow. We probably went through a bottle of alcohol a week.

When sitting on our patio today and the familiar “singing” of the female mosquito buzzes in my ear, it takes me back to my upbringing. As we would smash one of the blood sucking pest, the comment on the porch was, ” Now that’s a skeeter”.

Be safe.

From time to time I make reference to my family members. As a refresher course, I was either blessed or cursed with two older sisters. As the saying goes, ” opposites attract”. Nothing could have been more true than my siblings. You guessed it, being the youngest of the three I was subjected to psychological manipulation well before the fantastic movie The Manchurian Candidate.

My oldest sister was the intellect of the three. Her approach to me was smoother than milk gravy. After she had me hook, line, and sinker, here came the hammer. Was I gullible, yes? Did I do her chores, yes? Was I her patsy when there was a sister-sister issue, yes? Could she talk me out of the shirt on my back, yes? And all the time making me feel a though I was the one in charge. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.

Now for the middle sister. If you ever saw the movie “To Kill A Mocking Bird,” my sister’s personality wise was a dead ringer for the young actress that played Scout. If I ever crossed her during the day at night I would sleep with one eye open waiting for her retribution. Her mind game was directly proportionate to Dr. Hannibal Lecter in ” Silence Of The Lambs”. However, I must say her physical and mental attributes developed her into being an All-State Basketball player her Senior year. I still question her DNA and believe the milk man left her on the front porch.

My Achilles tendon with both of them was the infamous ” double dare”. The double dares for Superman, Tarzan, Batman, and back flips on the bed are real easy to remember. All I need to do is feel the scar tissue on my head. At that age I had not heard of Sir Isaac Newton’s Theory of Relativity resulting in stiches.

When my mom would inquire, ” How did this happen”? Their reply, ” You know how he is”? Cursed with two older sisters, no. Blessed with two older sisters, yes.

Warning to the wise, if you have siblings, just be aware of the ” double dares”.

Be safe.

If you ran across my small blog looking for a recipe by mistake it is evident I came from a small Southern town. As a ten year old growing up in a one stop light town there was a limited amount of exposure to local, state or national news. The news reel in the local theater was pretty much our internet for worldly news but then all my attention was focused on my favorite western star Allen Rocky Lane. Having said all that we did have a variety of homegrown heroes, especially athletes.

To sit beside one of these heroes on Saturday in the barber shop was spellbinding. Not to sound chauvinistic the female athletes had the same star appeal as the guys. When there was a home football, basketball, or baseball game the stands were packed. At times even the most devout church goer would let the referee know what a lousy call he just made. As a young want-to-be that type of loyalty resonated with me.

At the time names like Davis, Welch, Hester, Bridger, Hammonds, Edwards ( my sister was an All-State basketball player) were royalty in the community. Each of these had college potential and a few even baseball’s major league. In retrospect, I never understood how all this talent fell through the cracks other than the lack of exposure you get from a small blue collar town.

On a given Friday night the division of front street upper crust to the hourly textile employee was non-existent. The town’s people flocked to the gym’s, and playing fields for one common cause, cheering on these ” small town heroes” and making them feel like ” big time heroes”.

Be safe.

It was early May in 1959 and summer was fast approaching. There remained one last major obstacle to accomplish in my twelve year climb in education, graduation.

My Senior year there was a grand total of seventy-two grads. At the time I could not speak for the other seventy-one but for me I had no idea what the future held. On graduation night as the principal called my name to receive my diploma it was likened to falling into an abyss. The days of being a pretty good athlete, somewhat popular, and lot’s of friends was now in the rear view mirror. Not being one of the sharper knives in the drawer major uncertainty loomed heavily for my future.

Being a single A high school with a total enrollment of approximately two hundred students from the 9th. through the 12th. did not offer guidance counselors to prepare you for the next chapter in your life. We were not subjected to college prep courses, S.A.T,’s, or employment opportunities. At the time in my life I think none of that would have mattered. Cotton mill here I come.

My mentor with every positive accolade I could list was my high school coach. After graduation he talked me into playing American Legion baseball with Elizabethtown N.C. Somewhere in the scheme of things he failed to inform me that one of our opponents would be Wilmington’s American Legion 10. One of the strongest teams in N.C. lead by All-State everything Roman Gabriel. Gab went on to stardom at N.C. State and NFL quarterback for the Rams and Eagles. He was a starting pitcher at 6’4″, 225 lbs. Need I say more.

Long story short, as bad as they whipped us that night ( as the old timers in Bladen Co. would say to a hitter, hit it where they ain’t.) I was able to scratch out two hits and a couple of runs batted in. As I was leaving the dressing room that night I was approached by a portly man with his hand out stretched. ” I am Earl Smith assistant baseball coach at East Carolina ( at the time he was also the head basketball coach as well) and Coach Mallory and I would like for you to come for a tryout and visit the campus”.

Thirty days later after a visit, an S.A.T., and college application, I received a partial scholarship to attend E.C.C to play baseball. Jaws were dropping in my family, mine being the largest. In my old age I sometimes wonder if I had not had a good showing against one of the premier teams in the South where would my “now what” have taken me.

Be safe.

“Just when you think it is safe to go back in the water”, Stephen Spielberg’s JAWS movie in 1975 with a great white shark being the main character. This reminds me of my recent medical set backs for the past few years. Allow me to bore you briefly with the time line. Ready? Deep Vein Thrombosis (removal of massive blood clot)—-ablation ( irregular heart rhythms)—-two stents (clogged artery)—AFIB ( rapid heart rate that causes poor blood flow). To my point, my thinking was my only problem was the blood clot, silly me.

After the afore mentioned procedures and numerous medications my cardiologist instructed me to sign up for twelve weeks of rehab. This program is one hour a day three times a week and is overseen by Novant’s Cardiac Rehabilitation and Wellness Center on Randolph Road. My first session was April 2023′.

With my head in a whirlwind I walked into the exercise facility taken back by the activity and interacting of staff and patents. I was immediately met by some of the finest professionals you could ask for. After brief introductions one of the staff greeted me with a stethoscope in hand. “Welcome Joe, I need your blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen level, weight and have you hydrated today”?

Three little suction cups later and a monitor down loading my every move, my list of exercises and the goals for each was discussed. When I felt like the little steam engine going up the mountain I kept saying, ” yes I can, yes I can”. And the caring staff was saying, ” yes you can, yes you can”. An “Atta Boy” never felt better.

Fast forward, April 2025′ will be my second year in the program. After my twelve week graduation I was able to sign up for a membership, “best money ever spent”. The sessions are more of a celebration than a workout. It is a melting pot of personalities that have become friends. Psychologically the peace of mind the sessions bring is as important as the physicality it offers. I am reminded of Toby Keith’s hit record, ” I Love This Place”.

One wonders, ” I know they are there, but why can’t I see their angel wings”. They truly are the Miracles on Randolph.

Be safe.