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.

An English author Edward Bulwer Lytton in 1839 phrased the quote, ” The pen is mighter than the sword”. The quote emphasizes the power of words to influence and change history rather than the use of force.

To me there are two emphatic power points from Lytton’s quote, words and force. May I remind you of tragedies ( force ) that altered history in the modern day world we live in today. The bombing of Pearl Habor, invention of the atomic bomb, 9-11, Ukraine, Isreal, Gaza and terrorism. Think of all the failed diplomacy ( words ) prior and during these ongoing catastrophes. By no means am I advocating force to settle the division in the world today only that history does have a way of repeating itself.

May 10,1933 is probably the most famous book burning in history. Under the Nazi regime Adolph Hitler ordered all books in Germany be burned that would impair his dictorial race movement in Europe. (Soooo! as my granddaughter would say keeping one in suspense for the but) Do we put down the pen and accept “force” or assume “words” will defend the United States against foreign and domestic enemies? (Just saying as per the U.S. Constitution). Lytton certainly had good intentions with his quote in 1839, however in todays not sure.

Be safe.

After ( or even before) Thanksgiving one’s thought process turns to Christmas. Whether it’s the commercial aspect or the Real Reason For The Season somehow the stress factor always has a way of creeping in. Over the past few years not having to wrestle with a string of Christmas lights I have put a new twist on the dreaded stress of Christmas. You do not need to go to Amazon or your local mall to find it, just “count the lights” on your Christmas tree.

There are a few guidelines you need to be made aware of. The first is some form of Christmas lights, Christmas tree or a simple string of lights. One comfy chair, beverage of your choice, some soothing music ( Michael Buble’ kind of stuff) and you have all the needed ingredients.

Each light I count is in reference to a family member, friend, or memory as old as the decades of ornaments on the tree or as recent as last year. As my mind shifts from one light to another I find myself over joyed with the memory and other times teary eyed, so you may want to bring a few Kleenex. Like numerous families this year’s landscape has been filled with hill’s and valley’s. As a youngster I was quick to comment to my mom,” why don’t we have all the material things like our neighbors”? As her brown laser eyes shot me down like a scolded puppy she would say,” there are people better off than we are, but there are lots of people that are much worse off than we are”.

” yes ma’am”.

There are always some lights that shine brighter than others not because of the illumination but the memory behind it. Rest assured you will know when that happens. During the holidays when I magically disappear my better half will comment,” are you counting the lights”? Yes.

Merry Christmas-Be safe.

Engelbert Humperdinck ( yes, I Googled the spelling) had a hit song in the late Seventies, ” This Moment In Time” which resonated with me recently. Age does not have a monoply on time because if you can’t recall memories good, bad, or indifferent what good are they? There is an old saying, ” Sometimes I sits and think and sometimes I just sit”. When I do sit and think I am reminded of special times and days from my upbringing. Of course one can spend hours comparing the past to the present. Remember, the only constant is change. With Thanksgiving only a few weeks away I did “sit and think” how my family celebrated Turkey Day. Rest assured it was nothing like Norman Rockwell’s famous picture “Freedom”, but we did have a turkey.

Yes Mildred, far away and long ago people in my neck of the woods celebrated two special days that were seperate and apart of each other, Thanksgiving and Christmas. At our table how dare one at Thanksgiving dinner use the blessing of this day as the gateway to Christmas. The mere mention of Christmas would bring out the worst of my mom’s brown eyed lasers. Trust me you did not want to go there.

After a five minute blessing from my mom covering every relative on the family tree, neighbors, preachers past and present and even Brownie our dog, we began the meal. Turkey, hoping the drumsticks were sticking up, cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes, rice, peas & beans, and mom’s sweet potatoe pudding baked on a cookie sheet and cut into squares.

After the meal it was then and only then that you sat and let your thoughts turn to Christmas. Can I get an amen.

Be safe—Happy Thanksgiving.