Here I sit.
For the last two hours, my brain has been idling in neutral. There’s something about rain on a tin roof. Inducing laziness, I guess.
And then, I put on my thinking cap, shifting my gray matter into gear.
I can’t explain why my brain chose to ramble along this hodgepodge highway. But here are some stops along the way:
Taylor Swift
The singing billionaire was named after a baldheaded music icon of my generation, James Taylor. I know Taylor Swift just married Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs. How could anyone not know that? I know that Taylor’s gazillion fans are called “Swifties.” But how can I not name one—no, not one—of her songs?
Duh.
Charlie Kirk
The conservative political activist and entrepreneur wasn’t as famous as Taylor Swift, but Charlie Kirk was on a rocket ride to stardom. Wherever he was, throngs of admirers gathered. And then one evil bullet—on a Utah college campus—silenced the co-founder of Turning Point USA. What a tragedy. And until his death, I had never heard of Charlie Kirk. How is that possible?
Duh.
Rick Jackson
Friends tease me about my old-school Rolodex and the list of contacts on my cell phone. Both are packed with names, physical addresses, email addresses and phone numbers. Since my 1960s college days, I’ve been diligent about keeping up with how to get in touch with people. Regular calls and texts come asking, “Do you have so-and-so’s number?” Well, I guess I’m slipping.
Until Rick Jackson threw his name and millions of dollars into the governor’s race, the health care businessman was a 100-percent unknown to me. And how was that possible? I’m scheduled to meet him soon.
But in the meantime, duh.
Lucy Hargrett Draper
My friends in the gray-hair set half-joke about reading the obituaries. One buddy says that his first exercise of the day is to read the obituaries. “If I don’t see my name,” he quips, “I celebrate.” I am a faithful reader of the obituaries. The July 12 list of obituaries in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution is a good example.
Just before I clicked to turn the digital page, a familiar name—Lucy Hargrett Draper—caught my eye. Our paths rarely crossed, but I knew Lucy’s father well. Screven’s Dr. McKee Hargrett (Doc said his name “rhymes with Margrett”) ran for governor when Jimmy Carter surged past Carl Sanders to win in 1970. If Lucy’s dad or any of the other candidates had won, Jimmy and Rosalynn would never have lived in the White House.
And that’s not a “duh.”
Summer sandwich
All this wandering through a mishmash of topics has stirred my appetite. Summertime is a good time to be hungry. And I am especially happy that there’s an honor-pay produce stand between our farm and town.
Squash, peas, beans, corn, okra, watermelons, cantaloupe, leafy vegetables, tomatoes and more are there for the picking. Out of the coolers, of course. And then there are friends who stop by with a “mess” of this or that from their gardens. In the immortal words of Tennessee Ernie Ford, “Bless their pea-picking hearts.”
Right now, my mind is lasered on those big red tomatoes on the kitchen counter. I do pray there’s a loaf of white bread, some Duke’s mayonnaise, salt and pepper within easy reach.
The bacon and lettuce can wait.
Duh, I’m out of here.
