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DawsonOpinion
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2018
This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and
others. Signed columns and cartoons are the
opinions of the writers and artists, and they
may not reflect our views.
There’s nothing
divine about waiting
for election results
Because of a finite deadline, I won’t be commenting on
the election results in Georgia until next week since some
of you will see this before the election and some after
ward.
But not to worry. As I
have noted previously,
American humorist Will
Rogers used to say, “I don’t
make jokes. I just watch the
government and report the
facts.” Me, too. There will
plenty of jokes going for
ward after the results are in.
No matter the outcome or the party, the government is the
government and a politician is a politician.
In the meantime, I have been analyzing Dante
Alighieri’s classic poem, the “Divine Comedy.” (How is
that for a nifty segue. Jokes? Comedy? Is this guy good or
what?)
Actually, I have discovered that the “Divine Comedy”
isn’t funny at all. It would be appropriate to compare it to
Bill Maher and Kathy Griffith, who call themselves come
dians but who aren’t funny, either.
The “Divine Comedy” is a poem that describes Dante’s
dream of traveling through the three realms of the dead:
hell, purgatory and heaven. It was written between 1308
and 1320. If Signore Alighieri were to write it today, he
might describe hell as Detroit City after dark, and purga
tory as waiting to hear a live voice when you call for ser
vice while a robot tells you your call is very important.
Heaven could be no place but the University of Georgia,
the oldest state-chartered university in the nation, located
in Athens, Georgia, the Classic City of the South. (That
one is a no-brainer.)
When Dante made his imaginary trip to hell, he discov
ered nine circles or levels there and where you were locat
ed depended on how serious your sin was. For example,
there is limbo, where a lot of virtuous pagans reside. I
know a couple of atheists who are nicer to deal with than
some stiff-necked, know-it-all Bible-thumpers. Limbo
sounds like just the spot for them.
Of course, some of the pagans could wind up in the
Heresy section of hell if they push God too far. That’s not
my call. I think some of the stiff-necks are liable to get put
in the Sullen and Wrath circle. Maybe they can bring their
guns and tell whoever runs that department, it is a “sancti
ty of life” issue.
Down toward the bottom of Hell is the Violence Circle.
I’m not sure how big a deal that was in Dante’s day but
we could fill the place up today with all the violence
going on. To know a bunch of white supremacists, street
gang thugs and ISIS terrorists were sharing the same cir
cle and getting their collective fannies burned would be
heavenly.
There are a bunch of other circles like Lust (Look out,
Jimmy Carter. God may forgive you for your racist cam
paign for governor — I don’t — but He probably remem
bers you talking to Playboy Magazine about having lust in
your heart. You might want to alert your apologists.) And
then there is Gluttony where a lot of people end up when
their arteries explode after their second and third trips
waddling through the line at the All-You-Can-Eat buffet.
A lot has happened since Dante wrote his “Divine
Comedy” some 700 years ago describing who goes to
what circle in Hell and why. With all due respect, the
poem could use a bit of an update. We’ve got a whole new
crowd that deserves consideration for a miserable forever
after. Let’s start with robocallers who manage to disrupt
our supper and the bad people who try to trick us on the
internet into giving them our bank account information.
Anybody who abuses a child or an animal needs to go
to hell, where a Rottweiler can chew on their nose into
eternity while cherubs slap them upside the head.
And let’s leave room for the professional football play
ers who make millions of dollars playing a kid’s game
while siring multiple children with multiple mommas,
slapping around their girlfriends, snorting drags, getting in
nightclub brawls but still finding the time to kneel on
Sunday and disrespect their country, alleging police bru
tality. Wait! Did I just generalize? My bad. They would
never do that.
Please don’t tell Dante I said this, but I find the “Divine
Comedy” a divine bore. Will Rogers is a lot funnier. If it
wasn’t for this infernal deadline, I would already be jerk
ing the chains of a bunch of pompous politicians. Having
to wait a week is just pure — well, you know.
You can reach Dick Yarbrough atdick@dickyarbrough.com; at
P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA 31139; online at dickyarbrough.
com or on Facebook at vwwv.facebook.com/dickyarb.
DICKYARBROUGH
Columnist
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Give thanks for great things and
great people in Dawson County
Giving thanks before this year ends, I would like to
extend my thanks to the following groups for making this a
great year to live in Dawson County.
First, thank you to Bob Alman and the Rotary Club of
Dawson County for the summer carnival to open the
Splash Pad at Rock Creek. It was an amazing day of
games, music, good food and lots of fun. The children of
this county are truly blessed.
Next, thanks to those who ran our public facilities; the
Dawson County Parks and Recreation Department and
Matt Payne for the amazing job they do providing beautiful
parks and recreation facilities in the county. The improve
ments to Veterans Memorial Park’s new pool house and
pool area were wonderful.
Thank you to Stacey Leonhardt and the staff at the
Chestatee Regional Library in Dawsonville for an array of
programs, classes and activities for both children and
adults. If you have not visited this library, you will be
amazed by the activity that is happening there on a daily
basis.
Last, I would be remiss if I did not mention the repair of
two bridges in the county on Hwy. 136 and Hwy. 9. We
endured months of inconveniences, but at the end of the
day, the improvements were worth it. Thank you.
Susan Baldwin
Dawsonville
Just a matter of miscommunication
Frantic.
That is one word to
describe how I felt, yet it
did not do the emotions
rushing through my body
justice.
I was wrought with out
right fear and anxiety.
My child was not where
he said he would be.
Or more succinctly,
where I thought he would
be.
When I last saw him, I
asked him who was with
him; he told me he was
going one place, so I
thought he was with his
friends.
When I went to round
him up, he was not there. I
asked another parent —
she had not seen him, but
told me where her kids
were.
Since my child is always
in search of food, I thought
it was quite possible he
had been scrounging for a
rogue granola bar or left
over Halloween candy.
I found his bookbag out
side my office, so I took it
to my car before going off
to find him.
“I better go back
through the building; he
may be looking for me,” I
thought.
I got to where I thought
he would be and where he
should be; only, he wasn’t
there.
I took a deep breath.
Surely he was in the
building somewhere, I just
didn’t see him yet.
I walked around the top
floor looking for him.
Nowhere.
On the lower level, I
found one of his friends
and asked her if she knew
where he was.
He had told her he was
going where I was the last
time she saw him.
And that was when he
told me he was going with
them.
Anger was the new
emotion coursing through
SUDIE CROUCH
Columnist
my body.
Had he lied to me ?
I made my way through
the building in a frenzied
pace, hoping I would find
him.
He was nowhere.
I headed back to another
building to see if he was
there, anger, fear, anxiety
and worry brewing.
My heart was in my
throat; was he OK? Where
was he?
And again ... had my
child lied? If so, why?
I thought I caught a
glimpse of him as I walked
back up the hill and called
his name.
No response.
Was it not him?
I kept waiting for him to
catch sight of me and
come running but nothing.
The few yards I had to
walk seemed to take an
eternity until I got up to the
building and finally saw
him coming around the
other side.
“There you are,” he said,
“I have been looking for
you.”
I was immediately
relieved, grateful and
wanted to sob I was so
happy to see him. But, in
true fashion, I did what all
the women in my family
do when scared out of our
wits.
I yelled at him. Or more
accurately, screamed. Irish
banshee, soul rendering
screams.
All the way home.
I am not even sure what
I said, other than, “Where
were you and what were
you thinking?”
I am sure it was much
worse than that because I
was in an anxiety fever fit.
I had been looking for
him for 20 minutes and
every imaginable horror
that could happen to my
child had raced through
my mind.
When I saw he was safe
and sound, I unleashed
locusts on his little mop
top self.
After we got home, I
continued my rant.
“You just need to calm
down,” Lamar said.
Even though I have no
empirical evidence to sup
port this claim, I am pretty
sure saying that to a hys
terical woman has only
proved to worsen the situ
ation.
I texted Mama to let her
know I was home,
because even though I am
nearly 46 years old, she
wants to know I am safe.
Wanting to know your
child’s whereabouts, no
matter how old and grown
they were, was never
more tacit than at this
moment.
“Home — too exhaust
ed and upset to talk. Talk
later.”
“What’s wrong? Are
you OK?” was her imme
diate response.
“Just really upset and
don’t want to rehash.”
So she did what any
mother would do — even
this mama.
She called.
“What’s wrong?” she
repeated her question.
I briefed her on the
events of the last 40 min
utes.
“Bottom line, if he had
just been where I told him
to be — which was with
me — to begin with, this
would not have happened.
I have let him have too
much freedom.”
She was quiet.
Unusually quiet. Normally,
Mama is the one who
defends Cole, her only
grandchild, no matter what
and things that would have
gotten me whoopings for
days, she waves away and
tells me to let it slide.
This time, she wasn’t so
quick to defend.
“Put Cole on the phone,”
she said sternly.
I handed him the phone.
He quietly talked to his
grandmother for 15 min
utes before handing the
phone back to me.
“We have discussed
what happened,” Mama
began. “It was a matter of
miscommunication, but,
we came up with some
ways to avoid it in the
future.”
“There won’t be any
future incidents,” I said. I
was being irrational I
know, but I was still shak
ing.
“You can’t do that,
Kitten,” she said quietly.
“You can’t do that with
him, no more than I could
do that with you when
you were his age. He is a
good kid. Remember that.
A good kid. But still a kid.
And sometimes, you have
to give him chances, even
if it means he messes up.”
“How are you so calm
about this?” I asked.
“Because,” she began,
“I know how that feels.
Oh, how I know how that
feels. It’s an awful feeling.
But, he thought you heard
him tell you where he was
going and you didn’t. It
was, as I said before, just
a miscommunication.
That’s all.”
Mama did something
Granny in all of her infi
nite, omnipotent power
and wisdom had never
been able to do.
Mama was somehow on
both of our sides.
Sudie Crouch is an award
winning humor columnist
and author of the recently
e-published novel, "The
Dahlman Files: A Tony
Dahlman Paranormal
Mystery."
I met my matron of honor two days
before my wedding, and it was magical
Saturday couldn’t have
been a more perfect day
for a wedding. Surrounded
by my family and close
friends, I walked down the
aisle to marry the love of
my life, and was cheered
on by my Matron of
Honor who I had only met
two days before the big
day.
Our story is rather
unconventional and begins
three years ago when upon
mourning the loss of my
golden retriever Bailey, I
joined a Facebook group
for dog owners and dog
lovers where I happened to
meet Nancy.
From the first time I saw
her photos of her golden
retriever Sawyer, I fell in
love with her dog. Sawyer
was absolutely beautiful. I
followed his story as a
therapy dog where he and
Nancy would read with
kids at the library, visit
hospitals and cuddle up at
assisted living facilities.
There was just some
thing about this duo that
was magical.
A few months later, my
family adopted Ruger, a
loving little Boykin
Spaniel puppy with a laun
dry list of health issues we
didn’t prepare for. With
five major operations in
the first year and a half of
his life, our little miracle
pup regained his eyesight
and ability to walk and
ran. Through it all Nancy
was there as a shoulder to
cry on, a staunch supporter
as we worked to raise
funds for his complicated
leg surgeries and someone
who truly connected with
my family and I during
one of the most difficult
times in our lives.
Then the time came to
return that love and sup-
JESSICA BROWN
Columnist
port last year when Sawyer
was diagnosed with cancer.
Through his treatment, my
family and I were shoulders
to cry on, raising money for
his chemotherapy and pray
ing for his recovery. When
he passed away in the sum
mer of 2018, we were there
to offer comfort and love
— to a woman in
Pennsylvania we had never
met.
When Nancy told me
she would be able to hop
on a plane and come down
to the Peach State for my
wedding, without hesita
tion I asked her to be my
Matron of Honor. Over the
past two years we had tra
versed some of the difficult
situations life had thrown
at us and there was no
doubt that this woman,
who I’d only talked to on
the phone once, was the
absolute best person to be
by my side.
Early Thursday morn
ing, my dad and I hopped
in the car and trekked to
the airport, both excited
and nervous to meet
Nancy for the first time.
“What if we don’t look
like our photos online?
Maybe she won’t recog
nize us,” we thought.
As soon as I saw her
walking towards the bag
gage claim I waved her
down with tears in my
eyes, and we hugged the
longest and warmest hug
while people brushed by
us.
In that moment it didn’t
matter that it was the first
time meeting. It felt like a
reunion of two kindred
spirits who had known
each other for centuries.
We drove back to my
parents’ house, showing
Nancy a brief tour of
Georgia before she met
Ruger, my mom and my
grandparents. She fit right
in with the crazy little
Brown family, and truth
fully I think they might be
working on the adoption
papers to make it official.
Over the next couple
days, we talked about love
and life, the good and the
bad — talking and laugh
ing so much I lost my
voice on Sunday. And she
was there Saturday morn
ing, helping me get ready
for the big day and clever
ly hiding tissues inside our
bouquets for the tears we
knew would ensue.
Saturday was the perfect
day for a north Georgia
wedding. The leaves were
beautiful colors, the sky
was blue and the tempera
ture wasn’t too cold nor too
hot, but most importantly
my husband and I were
surrounded by love from
our friends and family.
Of course when Nancy
gave her Matron of Honor
speech, those in attendance
who didn’t know our story
asked her to tell more sto
ries about the bride and
groom.
She froze for a second
and said “Oh I have some
stories, but I don’t think I
can tell them.”
But I can.
I haven’t been to many
weddings. I don’t know if
it’s customary for the bride
to say a few words, but I
did anyway.
I wanted to thank Nancy
for not only supporting and
loving my family and I
from afar in Pennsylvania
but for facing her fears of
flying and meeting people
who are essentially strang
ers in a state she’d only
driven through before.
“Today is Nancy and I’s
two year friendship anni
versary according to
Facebook, and this is the
first time we’ve actually
met. We met in person for
the first time two days
ago,” I said proudly.
Heads turned and eyes
widened.
I briefly explained our
story, but people were still
a little shocked at the
unconventional tale.
We hear so many bad
things about the internet
and social media — people
catfishing one another,
people using it to lie and
scheme, people hurting
one another — that some
times it’s easy to forget the
good that social media can
foster.
Without the internet, we
would have never met
Nancy. We would have
never sparked friendships
across the country with
wonderful and loving peo
ple of all ages and all paths
of life. Without the inter
net, my life would feel a
little empty without the
friends I’ve made over the
past couple years. I can’t
imagine my life without
my dear friend Nancy who
has meant so much to us
for what feels like an eter
nity.
Thank you Nancy for
sharing in my wedding day
and offering me your love,
kindness and friendship
over the past couple years
and for helping me navi
gate life with your wit and
wisdom. You were the best
Matron of Honor a bride
could ask for.