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HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL
Talk of the Town
R
Julie
Evans
Evans
Newspapers
Inc.
jevans@evansnewspapers.com
The 36 Hour*
Ordeal
When Danny asked me if
I wanted to ride with him to
pick up a truck, I thought
“why not” to myself. My
questions to him was, “how
long of a drive is it”, he said
“5 V 2 hours.”
I must tell you that I
don’t like to ride in a car
for long periods of time,
but I would be riding with
Danny and since we seldom
are together without some
one or something always
interrupting us I said,
“Lets go.”
We left Friday morning
around 9:30 headed towards
Highpoint, NC. (Remember,
we must go North on 1-75
to get there)
It was actually pouring
rain when we left Perry,
and it never did stop the
entire trip. I mean, a hard
raifi that requires wind
shield wipers on “super”
fast the whole time.
We were taking 1-675
bypass around Atlanta
headed North. While rid
ing through Atlanta, I kept
thinking (to myself) that
this has got to be the lon
gest ride through Atlanta,
but I didn’t say anything
UNTIL I saw a sign that
said, Atlanta Airport (We
had already passed the air
port 30 minutes ago)
That’s when I asked
Danny, “Aren’t we supposed
to be going north?” Guess
what? I don’t know how
this happened, but some
how we had turned around,
and we were headed back
on 1-75 headed SOUTH!
That kind of set my mood
(which was not good) for
a while. THEN, Danny’s
phone rings (which it does a
lot) and he tried to answer
it.
That’s when I saw the
BIG CONCRETE WALL!
Danny jerked the wheel
quick to miss the wall,
swerved to the other lane,
and corrected the car!
Thank Goodness no one
was in the next lane. (God
was listening that morning
when I prayed to him to
keep Danny and me safe
during our travels)
Update on my mood.
After the near collision
with the wall, not any bet
ter, worse!
So, we get turned around
and headed in the right
direction. (Did I tell you
that I am driving now? It
was time for me to take
over) we stopped for lunch
a little later, which did
“help” my mood from, irri
tated to “I’m OK now.”
We rode and rode and
finally we got to our des
tination at 6 p.m. That’s 8
1/2 hours later! He told me
that this was a 5-V2 hour
ride, remember!
I don’t think that I will
bring up the fact that find
ing the hotel almost got
a little “interesting too”
between Danny and me.
Some road construction,
and lots of exits made some
“uncertainty” cross our
minds about which exit to
get off.
Dinner reservations were
set for 6:30. We weren’t but
45 minutes late when we
arrived.
Thank goodness, we
didn’t lose our reservation.
That would have done me
in for the night!
I enjoyed the cab ride
with our driver from South
Africa, but the “rap” music
See TALK, Page iC
LIFESTYLE
What’s the ‘best body of work’ in a newspaper?
It was an interesting brief
I saw in a newspaper indus
try bulletin the other day.
A reporter from one of the
South’s largest newspa
pers won the top prize from
the Society of Professional
Obituary Writers Awards.
I blinked hard. First, I
didn’t know there was such
a thing as “professional
obituary writers.” Second,
I couldn’t fathom that they
had all gotten together and
formed a society. I love the
fact that as I grow older
that life still surprises and
amazes me. 0 .
See, in all my years in the
newspaper business, I have
yet to know anyone who
wanted to write obits, little
long aspire to the heights of
obituary renown. My experi
ence has always been that
newsroom folks fight over
who has to write them.
There’s a lot of pressure
that comes with being an
obit writer. This, I know
first hand. If you want to
see someone mad in the
: it jjjjf I
Mandy Milliot plays the cello and Gabrielle Baker of Warner Robins plays the viola in the McDuffie Festival for Strings.
WR violist performs, studies at McDuffie Festival
Special to the Journal
Violist Gabrielle Baker of Warner
Robins was selected as one of 16
talented high school musicians who
participated in the fourth annu
al Robert McDuffie friends Labor
Day Fetival for Strings at Mercer
University in late August.
The intense five day festival and
The new rule: electronic-free Tuesdays
Me and the Boys
pr
Angela
Lineberger
Columnist
“Tuesdays at our house are
going to be ‘electronic free’
starting this week”, my hus
band, Kerry announced on
the way home from church
last Sunday.
“Oh, great.” Tully, my
oldest son said, “Someone is
going to get killed”.
“Maybe not”, I said
between chuckles of laugh
ter. Even though I was try
ing to sound optimistic, like
Dixie Divas
|P ***
Ronda
Rich
Columnist
www.rondarich.com
most non-Christian-like
way, then just mess up the
final farewell of their loved
one. Once at a newspaper
where I worked, the obitu
ary writer lost that job when
he had the man who died,
preaching his own funeral.
But that reporter went on
to bigger things, winning
Emmy awards in television
news where he didn’t have
to write obituaries.
For a brief period in my
college days, I filled in on
the obit desk and was abso
lutely diligent in every detail
since I had grown up, hear
ing people complain over
musical learning extravaganza pro
vided the students with an opportu
nity to study with world-renowned
violinist and Distinguished
University Professor of Music Robert
McDuffie.
Baker, the daughter of John and
Teresa Baker is a senior at Central
Fellowship Christian Academy and a
Tully, I wasn’t so sure if we
could all survive one day
without, television, comput
ers, game systems, iPods, or
movies. Kerry announced
we would be able to use
the telephone, but couldn’t
escape by talking on it for
hours at the time.
The boys tried every way
to get around the rules, so
Kerry finally gave them a
guide to use. “If it wasn’t
invented before the 1930’5,
you can’t use it.”
Tuesday morning dawned
cold and bright and every
one hustled off to work and
school. I was left home
alone with my “to do” list of
chores for the day.
I turned on the television
and checked my e-mail before
getting down to business.
I suddenly remember that
erroneous obits. In actuality,
I was probably best at writ
ing death notices, better at
that than anything else I
have written. After a couple
of weeks, the town’s funeral
directors pleaded with the
editor to leave me in that
position.
“She’s mighty good,” they
said.
My editor thought it was
funny. I didn’t. “No!” I
exclaimed frantically. “You
can’t leave me here! I’m
meant for bigger things. I’m
meant to have bylines.”
Now, I see, though, that
there are few pieces of news
more important than obitu
aries and it’s probably the
most consistently read sec
tion of the paper. My mama
didn’t just read the obitu
aries, she studied them.
Honest to goodness, she
would spend two hours a day
reading every line of every
obituary. One day, Mama
called me and I had someone
working at my house.
“What’s his name?” she
student of Jo Nardolillo.
Students participating in the pro
gram had to submit a recommenda
tion and evaluation from their music
instructors, as well as an audition
CD. All of the selected participants
received a full fetival scholarship
from Mercer.
The 16 students seleced repre
it’s Tuesday. Oh, well, the
no electronics rule doesn’t
apply until the boys get
home from school, I reason,
so I can still get my daily fix
of “Desperate Housewives’
reruns that are shown dur
ing lunchtime.
I have to attend a meeting
later in the afternoon, so I
am not home when the boys
get home from school that
afternoon. Tal, Hunter, and
Ben arrived home first.
You know what they do.
Tully arrives home after
them and when he walks
in the door, it seems like
every electronic device in
the house is up and running.
He loves to demonstrate his
authority, so he forces them
to shut everything down and
then calls me on my cell
phone to tell me that being
asked.
“It doesn’t matter because
you don’t know him.”
“Well, I might. What’s his
name?”
Finally, I relented. She
repeated the name a couple
of times as though she was
searching for its familiarity.
“Oh I know. Someone in his
family died last week.”
“Oh, c’mon. You don’t
know that,” I retorted.
“Yes, I do. That boy who’s
workin’ at your house was
one of the survivors. I read
it in the obituary. I think it
was his grandfather.”
Not for one minute did
I think that Mama really
knew something like that
about someone she had
never heard of before. To
prove my point so I could
triumphantly report back
to her, I hung up, walked
in the kitchen and asked,
“Did your grandfather die
last week?”
He turned and looked
startled. “How’d you know
that?”
the responsible son he is,
he’s caught them in the act
of using electronics and has
made them turn everything
off.
He isn’t too brokenheart
ed about the new rule since
he loves to read and has
just bought a new book. I
return home from my meet
ing to find Tully reading,
Tal and Ben riding outside,
and Hunter fast asleep on
the couch.
Hunter doesn’t have a
problem with the new rule
either since if forced to, he
can happily sleep the entire
day and night away.
In their boredom, Tal and
Ben obviously invented a
new game outside involving
the bicycle and dirt bike,
because they come in dishev
eled and out of breathe. As
SECTION: C
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 2008
This goes to prove that
obituaries are being read
diligently by people every
where, even when they don’t
know the deceased.
But I swear: I didn’t know
there was a society of them
or that they gave awards for
literary greatness in obitu
ary writing. Had I known
that, I might have stayed
in the business. It would
be quite a feat to have your
own obituary to one day
read, “She reached the pin
nacle of her career when she
was named the nation’s top
obituary writer in 2001 and
then incredibly repeated the
feat six more times.”
By the way, just so you’ll
know, the top obituary award
is officially called “Best Body
Of Work.”
I guess even obituary writ
ers have a sense of humor.
Sign up for her newslet
ter at www.rondarich.com.
She is the best-selling author
of What Southern Women
Know (That Every Woman
Should).
sented Florida, Georgia, Illinois,
Missouri, New york, Pennnsylvania,
Rhode Island, Virginia, Washington
and Wisconsin.
McDuffie is a Grammy-nominated
artist acclaimed for his recordings of
the violin concertos of Mendelssohn,
Bruch, Adams, Glsss, Barber and
Rozsa.
they stumble into the kitch
en, Tal gets a glass of water
and announces, “I’ve got
grass in my teeth”. “I don’t
even want to know how you
managed to do that,” I tell
him.
“Okay, he says”, picking
his teeth as he goes back
outside for another round of
torture.
It’s getting dark, and
Kerry and Luke arrive home
from football practice.
“It’s time for dinner”, I
announce.
“Oh no, do we have to
eat together too?” Tully
exclaims.
“Yes,” says Kerry, “All at
the same table”. Dinner is
served up with some live
ly conversation and a little
arguing on the side, and then
See BOYS Page zC
Contributed