Notes From the Road

Road trip.

I love them. Well, mostly. Packing the car and following the asphalt ribbon out of town always builds a little excitement in me.

So I'll share some tidbits from the journey.

Let me just say that it takes a strong woman to share close-quarters lodging with four dudes. Don't get me wrong, we don't stay in those places that require a deposit for your bed linen and there's not usually a flashing neon sign just outside the window but sometimes you wind up in accommodations that aren't exactly Trump Tower.

I can tell you that a woman will hide in a corner under a blanket if you call for maintenance to bring a plunger. In a related story, the plunger wielder may or may not be tending the breakfast area the next morning. Also, a woman that shares a room with four guys is likely to claim that guys snore from both ends.

But that is just conjecture.

Specifics from this trip...

A sidebar in Macon. Got to take a quick peek in at Rose Hill Cemetery. Impressive population of residents. We're talking people with counties named after them, or at least after their parents. It was a quick visit so my impressions are from small amounts of evidence.


My thoughts?

They need a foundation, like Oakland in Atlanta. The condition of the house at the gate was sad, considering the beauty of the architecture. The grounds were in desperate need of mowing. When I'm standing in knee-deep grass between governors Alfred Colquitt and George Towns, it's time for a mow. These men were pivotal to Georgia history. They deserve better, as do the people that visit their memorials. There's a lot of potential here. The location and the setting are beautiful. It just needs a bit more attention.

That being said, the gravesite of John Basil Lamar is stunning. Sitting near the top of a hill with a beautiful view of the Ocmulgee River, the tomb of this soldier, writer and orator includes an impressive obelisk and appears to be well kept. Finding his grave has led me to learn more about him as I was not familiar with him beforehand.

And then there's Duane and Berry. By far the finest burial site I encountered was that of Allman Brothers musicians Duane Allman and Berry Oakley III. It is fitting that these men are buried here after they were tragically killed in almost identical fashion just over a year apart on the same stretch of road in Macon. The historic cemetery was a frequent hangout for the band and provided inspiration for much of their music, specifically Little Martha and In Memory of Elizabeth Reed. This site is breathtaking. Despite the fencing erected to deter vandalism and other damage, the site is beautiful. The grounds are maintained well. The grass and hedges are trimmed and the walkway was clean of any debris. It is a fitting tribute to Macon's lost sons. I'd recommend a stop for anyone who loves the music these men made.

In other news....

Interstate 75 will never be completed.

Ever.

I almost died in Turner County. I was assaulted by a medium-sized swarm of gnats that was lying in wait to ambush me at a rest area. In true North Georgia fashion, I mustered enough strength to break free of the fracas and flee to the safety of the car. Then we had to strategically remove the small swarm that made it into the car. This may or may not have been finally accomplished by one of the boys using chemical warfare. I think it was the youngest one. Any locals present were probably laughing at me while blowing from the corners of their mouths to deal with their own issues with the gnats. I think the average South Georgia diet is roughly 25% gnats, intentional or otherwise.

Anyway.

Chic-Fil-A is closed on Sunday. Even when you're on vacation and that's one of the two places you can get the picky kid to actually eat something.

There are few things in this world funnier than watching people tripping over themselves as they frantically trample from the wave pool in a water park to get out of the rain. Are they worried about getting wet? Really?

Florida (the "Flor-i-da" part) is this whole other place. We saw a girl in a Disney Resorts uniform sitting on a bench in front of Papa John's eating sushi with chop sticks. Never did find the sushi restaurant. Down there, a well-placed wrong turn, while frightening at first, could save you $1.50 if it causes you to miss one toll booth. Fire ants still list human shins and ankles on their list of delicacies.

Yeah....trust me, Interstate 75 will never be completed.

That's a quick take from this road trip. Summer is young, there's plenty more where that came from.

On Decoration Day, From the Archives

From the Archives: this post appeared on a past Memorial Day but its message is still relevant so I thought it was worth another round.

Shades of Gray on Decoration Day

By Sam Burnham

So it's been a while. 


The Spring has been busy and loaded with events, travels, a few disasters and the trappings of everyday life. In the words of a hero, "so it goes". 

Mentioning such a hero is a fitting way to start this entry as heroes are what make this weekend possible. For that matter, they make most everything possible. And so we set out to place men and women on tall pedestals and revere them for great works that they have done. Such great men and women walk on a plain above us. They are not susceptible to error or wrongdoing.. And if we find them guilty of wrong, we drag them from their pedestal and cast them from the ranks of demigods, back to a life as a lowly commoner...perhaps even a criminal. I won't even enter into the examples of this from the ranks of American celebrities that we drag out until they become cliche.

One of my journeys this spring carried me to a rural patch of land on the Tennessee River, where the states of Tennessee, Alabama and Mississippi all meet up. In places, it is so desolate that a man will stop and ask for directions. And so I did. 

Oh, I was on the right road, the lady reassured me of that. I needed to only drive a few miles until I saw the "kwairy" which, incidentally is a hole in the ground from which rock is harvested. The lady was not the best speaker in the world, had obviously seen better days...if not years. But in that moment, she was a hero to me. She was a friendly source of practical knowledge along a poorly marked road. She probably had no advanced education of the significance of my destination, but she knew where it was and how I could find it. She saved my morning.

And so we finally found the location of Pittsburg Landing. Better known to American History as Shiloh

My son and I walked through a cemetery filled with fallen Union soldiers. We saw the  "trenches", mass graves filled with the Confederate dead. We walked around Bloody Pond, where the wounded of both armies turned the still water red.

I was almost brought to tears when we walked from the monument where Albert Sidney Johnston was shot to the the small ditch where he was carried to die. It was so far from his native Texas. He had left the US Army at 58 years old. He had been a hero in previous wars. At Shiloh, he fought his last. 

In the midst of the Union Cemetery is a marker for the location of Grant's Headquarters. We also saw sites that were significant to Sherman's involvement. There was the location of Fallen Timbers, where Forrest was nearly killed but instead elevated himself to legend status. 

And my mind comes back to the trenches. Family members requested safety to bury their dead. But Grant had already buried them in the trenches due to the heat of the day. And so, the mass of Confederate dead lie unmarked. Known only to God.

Heroes and villains....depending on who you talk to.

And as I shared such important time with my son, teaching him and learning with him - even learning some from him, I wondered to myself what it all meant. It can be a humbling thing to stand in such a place and have an eleven-year-old boy in a blue kepi ask you who the good guys were. I wanted to just make it short and answer "yes and no". But I knew that answer was not good enough for him. Or for me.

So, for months I have thought about it. Other events have played a role and I've come to realize that a war that is often painted, quite literally, so black and white is just not that simple. And when I look at my personal heroes, they aren't that simple. And then I have to look inside myself for the Grace to grant these people the right to maintain their humanity while still remaining heroes - the Grace to live in the mores and standards of their day - the Grace to make mistakes but still be great.

And so I hold my nose for an ATBIG first. I have to share a quote by the monster and war criminal William T. Sherman: "General Grant is a great general. I know him well. He stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk; and now, sir, we stand by each other always." 

Loyalty born of Grace and a common struggle. I'd be hypocritical to recognize the evils of these two men and somehow pretend I am above them. I'd be in the wrong if I denied them the ability to be heroes to someone and pretend that everyone holds the same opinion of me that my children do. Because "hero" is a tricky word and can find itself on the oddest labels. And evils, both real and imagined, can cloud our judgement towards people, allowing us to skew their stories. 

So, on the Decoration Day (the original name of Memorial Day) weekend, while swimming, eating and drinking, take time to remember heroes from all shades of gray that lie in graves and trenches while we party. Remember those that lie in graves and trenches so we can party. And, please grant Grace to those heroes. Someone, somewhere believes in them.

Fan Fiasco

By Sam Burnham

So it's warm outside. That's Georgia in May. It's not a big deal as long as you're used to it and know what to do about it.

So I made a gallon of sweet tea, vacuumed out all the returns on the trusty A/C unit and turned on some fans...

Great. My oldest son's box fan wasn't working. A short? It wouldn't be fashionable for me to have to call the local fire department for a myriad of reasons. So, being thrifty (my coworkers prefer "tightwad") I decided to fix the fan. 

It was a simple task, actually. I found a few loose wires. No problem at all...at least not until the cheap plastic on the switch housing made a crunching noise that made colorful vocabulary words build up on my tonsils. I didn't let them get past my uvula. (That's the dangly thing that hangs down in the back of your throat. I've been told mine rattles at night, creating a sound that makes colorful vocabulary words build up on my wife's tonsils but I've never been awake to prove it.) I knew the fan was kaput.

My wife needed gas in her car anyway so I made an outing of it. A fill up and a trip to the neighborhood discount store. 

It's not a big place and you'd assume something the size of a household box fan would be easy to find...but it ain't.

I found some tools. A ladder. Home pregnancy tests. Macaroni and cheese. A doggie bed. A floor lamp. Kitty litter. Cleaning supplies. Etc.

I was leaving an aisle of adult diapers, headed towards the DVD players when I encountered a man explaining to his children, "women have the best deodorant." When they questioned his assertion he continued, "It's true. 75% of all male prisoners that are locked up request women's deodorant over men's because it lasts longer." I wondered for a second how he knew such a thing. Then there was the validity of his sample. Sort of gives a whole new meaning to "control group".

What ever happened to "4 out of 5 doctors" or "Choosy moms"?

You can't make this stuff up. 

I made another lap around the gift cards. I knew the gig was up. I was going to have to ask for help. So I saw a man shelving light bulbs. Yes! Help is here.

I'm not trying to talk bad about a man trying to put in an honest day of work but my newfound friend probably doesn't speak English at home. And "box fan" got lost somewhere in translation. I made  a circular motion with my arm and he appeared to become more confident with his understanding of my request. He walked off his aisle and pointed, directing me towards "the corner". 

I reverted back to my worried state vis-a-vis his understanding of "box fan". That corner houses night gowns, pantyhose, women's shoes, and underwear. I hesitate to use the term "lingerie". In this particular establishment it's probably more like "lawn-jar-ay".

But then I saw them. Perched on a high shelf was a row that looked to be three deep. Two different styles of ceiling fans and two different styles of box fans. The box fans seemed to be emitting a golden aura that beckoned to me like The Grail to Gallahad.

I thanked my retail Sherpa and meandered through the muumuus and house shoes until I stood beneath the fans...and directly in front of a peg loaded down with lime green thongs, complete with hot pink trim. There were some black lace boy shorts that didn't appear to fit anyone in the building, including the deodorant researcher. 

I'm honestly trying to decide on a fan. So seeing that there are two, I grab one of each and hastily scurried for the door. I paid a very friendly lady for the fans and then headed out the front door, hopefully toward easier to locate goals.

My wife explained that the combination might have something to do with "the change". I'm skeptical about that but I am wondering if Victoria's Secret carries box fans.