red clay ponderings

Hmmm… what shall I ponder on today?


May 2020

“Come on home man.” George Floyd

For a little while, in the last week of May, we were all together. We were on the same team. Not for Covid19, but George’s Team.

We stood together, against dirty men.

In particular, we formed a line of solidarity against a dirty man wearing blue. Most of us agreed that there are bad men in every profession… preachers, lawyers, doctors…all professions are laced with evil humans. But this time, it was a man who had taken a vow to serve and protect. And we served witness to his evil intentions. Through the camera lens of a seventeen year-old girl, from where she stood on a sidewalk in Minnesota, we, the whole world, watched that dirty slug murder a defenseless man.

I cried when I heard George’s heartbreaking whimper for “mama”.

We hear about the murders in Chicago. We say we want something to be done about the statistics, but we go about our business and we wait for the next news cycle. It was different with George. We watched his murder, as it happened. It wasn’t just numbers in a news ticker. We saw life leaving a man. We heard him plead for breath.

We heard him say the words of a dying man, “mama”. And it did something to us. It changed us.

I’m angry. We are angry. And my gut reaction is the cop (he doesn’t deserve to be called “officer”), should be charged, tried and sentenced to serve his time in General Population, in the roughest prison Minnesota has to offer. Wherever that may be.

It felt like hope, in our brief moment… when we stood together, in the same battle, on the same field. Unified.

But then the looting began. The violence against innocent people was broadcast live, just as it had been with George. But we didn’t have sympathy for the violence. The violence feels like a another violation against George.

We watched mobs working in an animalistic frenzy, stealing from people who had nothing to do with the murder of George Floyd. Fighting each other. Attacking innocent bystanders.

Property was burned.

All in defamation of George.

We’re not all on the same battlefield any longer. That solidarity ended when men and women decided to behave criminally. When they chose to hurt innocent people.

I am still defending George Floyd.

I am still calling the cop a cold-blooded murderer.

But what’s happening in Minnesota has nothing to do with George Floyd.

No matter how anyone tries to paint it or tell the story, the looting and violence in Minneapolis is about criminals taking advantage of a man’s death. It’s about benefiting themselves, not fighting for justice.

This is violent criminal behavior being perpetrated by criminals, against people who have done no harm.

If the rioters are truly fighting for justice for George, why aren’t they protesting at the police stations? Or their Governor’s mansion? The state capitol?

The riots are not about George.

It’s about taking what doesn’t belong. It’s about getting away with stealing new TVs and cell phones.

MLKjr brought change without stealing. Without hurting others.

Without violence.

Without riots.

Animalistic behavior will not change anything. And it will not help the loved ones of George Floyd.

The rioters, and those defending them, further degrade George as a man. They disrespect him as a human.

And that is repulsive.

✨ Dear Floyd Family,

My heart is broken for you.

I am praying for you. May you find peace in your memories, and comfort in God’s love.

I’m am praying for justice.

May it be swift.

In Sympathy,


* George pleading for an end to violence.

There is a Summer Place

Happy 61st Anniversary to these two!

They were just high school kids when they fell in love. She has said she liked sitting next to him in class, because he was smart and could spell anything. He was her living dictionary and encyclopedia.

She liked hearing him sing.

He and his friends would gather under my grandparent’s big oak tree and “make music”. That’s how they spent most of their dates. Neither of them had a car.

They only dated three months before they were married.They were 16 and 18 when they vowed “until death do us part”.

I was born eleven days before their first anniversary. A year later, my dad was in a terrible accident that required months in the hospital, and several surgeries. Doctors wanted to amputate his arm, but my mom refused that option.

He was a musician; a guitar player. She understood that losing his creative outlet would be detrimental for him. At the time, she was 18 and he was 20. Where did she find the fortitude to resist the advice of top Atlanta physicians? Where did that strength come from?

Love. And grit.

But mostly it came from love. She knew she had to fight for him when he was unaware and unable to fight for himself. Physicians relented agreed to try and save his arm. But it would require extensive surgery. An experimental procedure.

He made medical history.

Doctors at Crawford Long Hospital saved his arm and hand by taking functional pieces of one hand, and adding them to the damaged hand. Skin was grafted from his stomach onto his forearm and hand. The surgery was a success.

But after a long stay in the hospital, they were financially destitute. They were poor kids to begin with, and now they had a mountain of medical debt. Lawyers contacted them and urged them to file suit. They refused. They also refused to file bankruptcy. In their opinions, to file a lawsuit against his employer or to refuse to pay their debt, would speak negatively of who they were/are. So while he was still recovering, she went to work in a poultry plant, Gold Kist. It was the same plant where he had had the accident. She worked long hours in cold, wet conditions. When he was finally released from medical restrictions a couple years later, he returned to Gold Kist. They both worked for GK until the summer I graduated high school. They had remained dedicated employees for all those years. Their time with GK ended only because the company closed up shop in Canton.

During those growing-up years, my brother and I seldom saw them, other than breakfast and weekends. They worked double shifts to pay off the medical debt,and would pick us up from the sitter after we were already sleeping.

When she was 23, she lost both her parents within a two month period. They were the people she had counted on for emotional and physical support when my dad was hospitalized. They were the baby sitters, when it came to caring for my brother and me.

In their stressful, imperfect, tragedy laced marriage, how have they managed to stay together for over six decades?

Several things…

Neither of them have ever had an ounce of alcohol. As kids, both had seen firsthand the damage caused from alcohol, and both vowed to never give it the opportunity to wreak havoc in their own lives.

They took their vows seriously. “Till death do us part” meant something to them.

They fiercely defended one another other. Even if they didn’t fully agree with the other, they still gave support. They worked out the differences behind closed doors.

Respect… for each other and their families.

My mom never spoke a negative word about my dad’s parents.

And he never uttered a negative word about hers.

Are they perfect? Not by a long shot. But they keep trying, even now. They never gave up on one another. Or us. They never gave up hope for better days.

He has dementia. Music helps him. But not long ago, he told me he likes to play Theme from A Summer’s Place on his record player, when she’s around. Because it’s always been her favorite. And because, he said, “I know it helps her memory”.


There’s a summer place
Where it may rain or storm
Yet I’m safe and warm
For within that summer place
Your arms reach out to me
And my heart is free from all care
For it knowsThere are no gloomy skies
When seen through the eyes
Of those who are blessed with loveAnd the sweet secret of
A summer place
Is that it’s anywhere
When two people share
All their hopes
All their dreams
All their loveAnd the sweet secret of a summer place
Is that it’s anywhere
When two people share
All their hopes
All their dreams, all their love

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