"They [the fans] are welcome to the shirt off my back--they put it there." - E.P.

 

I didn't appreciate Elvis when he was alive. I thought I was too sophisticated to be impressed by a little old country boy. Then that day when I heard he had died, I cried out loud, the way I cried when my daddy died. It was incredible, as if the moon had fallen into the ocean, and the world was still turning around.

August 16

Happy Elvis's Birthday!

Sunday:  Season 3, episode 1 of Downton Abbey, was better than I expected. Even old Shirl was pretty good, especially the expressions on her face as she slowly realized the Family were going to hit her up for more cash. No mention was made of Sir Richard Carlisle and his ominous newspapers; at least he held off until Mary was safely married.

Pat and India dropped by at 8:00 to watch the show with me. They brought me a beautiful birthday card and two lovely gifts.

Monday:  The Tide just tromped all over the Fighting Irish. Ho hum, almost, until you remember that Texas A&M beat Bama, and Miss. State (or Old Miss, I never can remember which) gave them a good run.

Is it fair, that the coaches seem to get all the credit for great teams? Maybe so. Who deserves the credit, and who deserves the blame? Nikolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name.

Tuesday:  What adventures does today hold? I think Mo has to go to the vet.

James James Morrison's Mother

Today I drove down to the end of the town, and got back in time for tea. I wanted to see what has been built where Uncle Doug's house used to be, and I think the Canterburys'. There's nothing at all there, but Leeds stretches several blocks further on towards the trestle, all kinds of what might be little businesses.

Then I went and bought a Christmas wreath, so now I've got to find something that will enable me to hang it on the door, which is made of glass.

Then I went by Sonics and ordered a bacon cheeseburger. When I got home, in the Sonics bag was a bacon-and-egg sandwich, but by then I didn't care any more.
*
The news says that Voyager I, which left earth in 1977, is now 11 billion miles from the sun. I'll bet that's where Elvis went, and when he gets back, he'll still be middle-aged, and the rest of us will be dust.

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I entered the Chamber of Commerce building. I spent about an hour in the library's book room, gathering up books to buy, but no one was there to take the money for them. There was a group upstairs, but nobody downstairs, so I had to leave the books. They were just books I thought I might like to read, anyway, nothing I thought would sell for much.

When I was a little girl, I went to Dr. Clayton's clinic once, but never to his house. When I was at the University, the Falettas invited me to a party when Elvis was in Leeds, but I couldn't go because I was in Tuscaloosa and didn't have a way to get home; anyway, I think they still lived in the house near the school. Some time when Jack and Ima lived in the rock house, Mama said that it was a mess of tiny rooms, but over time they knocked out walls and renovated it.

My impression of the house yesterday, as I walked all around downstairs and found nobody, was that except for the book room, it's spacious but very dark downstairs. The upstairs rooms have more windows and fewer curtains but are not fully decorated. Overall, it's a lovely house, and I wish somebody lived in it. BTW, downstairs, there were Wrights everywhere--pictures of them, that is--one of old Mr. and Mrs. Wright with all the singles and twins and triplets.

Yesterday, because of hunger and lack of time, I ate a cheeseburger from Sonics. It 'ardly ever 'appens, but not a good idea, even occasionally. Today I have "chicken kickers" barbecuing in the crock pot, and I aim to make an apple pie at some point, from a bag of scrawny apples I bought at the little store.

Right now I'm going to write until the chicken is done.

Trying to make haste slowly

My right hand looks like it's beginning to turn into 300-grit sandpaper. So this morning I decided to wear an acrylic glove on it all day while I'm cleaning the microwave and refrigerator, washing dishes and trash cans, picking up trash out of the yard. There's what looks like a bundle of packing material in one of the trees in back, but I couldn't reach it with the rake, which is the longest-handled tool I've got. I've worked on the house some today, but not frantically. I think I'm done with frantic.

*

Joyce Earle called me yesterday and said that we'd lost another classmate, Jerry R. He didn't graduate with us but we've always considered him a classmate for some reason. I don't even remember his being in any classes with us. Anyway, that's a sad note.

*

Another Elvis dream. I feel like Blanche Devereaux, dreaming about "George." These aren't romantic dreams, just sometimes sweet and usually funny.

Favorite Recordings By E.P.

Don't
Farther Along
For the Good Times
From a Jack To a King
Good Time Charlie's Got the Blues
He Touched Me
Honey
I John
I'll Remember You
Little Egypt
Moody Blue
Proud Mary
Stand By Me
Sweet Spirit
What Now, My Love?
Where Could I Go But To the Lord
Without a Song
The Wonder Of You
Yesterday
You Gave Me a Mountain
Young and Beautiful
You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'
***

E.P.: Call home.

Building Self-Esteem

I had a most interesting dream last night. Somehow I had won a bit part in an Elvis movie, but it was a very special bit part--the Elvis character was supposed to receive some very good news which made him so happy, he kissed the girl standing nearest him--which was me. I must have been about 33 years old, because that's how old Elvis--who never paid the least attention to me--looked.

It was a long, complicated dream, mostly having to do with the crew quarters which consisted of a large warehouse-looking building. The interiors were windowless, all done in tile and metal and fluorescent lighting, so clean and spotless I wondered if we were going to eat off the floor. In addition to my bit part in the movie, I was responsible for the props, which were continually being delivered at the back of the building.

Anyway, when it came time to film The Kiss, I was as nervous and fluttery as a hummingbird. The director and star and other people were standing around joking and laughing, and I was standing on my mark. The director yelled "Lights!" and I closed my eyes. Then a pair of skinny arms closed around me, and a really revolting mouth closed over about half of my face. Somehow there I felt the gap of a missing tooth. I stepped back, opened my eyes, and beheld a grinning old geezer in a suit completely covered in rhinestones. He even had glitter in his sparse, fuzzy white hair.

I looked around, and Elvis and the crew were talking and laughing with their backs to me.

"My gosh," I thought, "they sent in the stunt man."
*
Anyhow, I've got to get dressed and go mail a book.

Remember

Forever Young

Life--It's enough to make you cry.

If my friends and loved ones didn't usually read this blog, I'd write down why I've bawled for hours. But it involves not only Vann, but Jenny, and a long conversation with Sally Freind, and packing and mailing my last remaining book about Elvis, and the sky being so beautiful that it would have made me cry if nothing else had. But I'm going to stop any minute now, and it's not likely to happen again for months.

Then, Now, and Always, The King

I talked with our cousin, Betty Taylor Thompson, yesterday. She had been back only a few days from a trip with her daughter Cindy to see her grandson, Cindy's son, "graduate" from boot camp. Betty said she was the only person there, as far as she could see, who dressed in red, white and blue and carried an American flag. She said that most of the boys in Travis's group were awaiting deployment and didn't yet know where they were going. But Travis has received his orders to ship out to Afghanistan in November.

She is extremely fearful for him, and said she has a feeling that he won't come back. I didn't tell her about Jed's friend's son who was killed in Afghanistan recently.

Tonight I watched a few minutes of Fox News's interview with John McCain. He had a lot of moving stories to tell. I agreed with most of his stated positions on issues that were posed, so I turned it off before I lost that "loving" feeling.

Books read in June, 1998:

So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish, by ?? (Funny, at least the first few pages.)
The Sword in the Stone, by T.H. White (Best in June)

Happy Day To All!

(Thank you ver' much...)

He touched my heart

He would be 73 today.

Praise...

Morning has broken, like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for the springing fresh from the Word.


Cat Stevens, Freddie Fender, Otis Redding...
where have all the voices gone, I wonder.
Listen: the wind sounds like the voices softly
singing; hear the music in the thunder...

Y

Added Sat., Aug. 18: Re: Voices - Elvis and Maria Callas are the only two singers I've heard of who could allegedly sing 3 octaves. I read this a long time ago about Elvis. And I've seen different stories about Callas: some say she was one note short of 3 octaves, and others say she hit a high E in an unrecorded performance. Wouldn't E.P. have made a great operatic baritone or tenor?

Nice Matters

My sister Susan at Blackberry Creek Winter nominated me and Sourwood Mountain to receive this "Nice Matters" award. The originator of the award, Penny at Lavender Hill Studios (her blog), wrote: "This award will be given to those that are just nice people, good blog friends and those that inspire good feelings and inspiration! Those that care about others that are there to lend support or those that are just a positive influence in our blogging world!"

What an honor! I thank Penny for creating the award, and send my heartfelt thanks to Susan for nominating me.