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CARTOON: The debate
Posted in Cartoon
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Fried Chicken & Wine: The book
I feel like a father awaiting a new child. My newest book, Fried Chicken & Wine is about to hit the press and will ship on November 2nd. I’ll get lots of boxes a few days after that. And the books will be officially on sale.
I sat in bed last night trying to think about how to describe the book. “Different” might be a good word to start with. Most people know me as “Marshall Ramsey, Editorial Cartoonist.” Fried Chicken & Wine does have several of my drawings in it — but they are illustrations for the 71 short stories that I’ve written. Some of the tales are funny. Some are moving. Others bring hope. All have characters who find unique ways to unravel the challenges of life. The stories are very personal — and yet they aren’t about me. Most are set in this unique state we know as Mississippi, although New York City, The Smokies, San Diego, Washington D.C. and Atlanta all make cameos. Laughter, hope and redemption are ingredients that make up the seasoning of the literary gumbo.
The stories vary. The Mustard Seed is a story of hope for a man struggling to reinvent himself after his career has been turned on end. It’s a story that has spread around the country on the internet during this crazy economy we’re surviving. If Sherman Attacked Atlanta Today is a funny story about if the Battle of Atlanta occurred today. The Bottle Tree is a story about true love. Up in the Delta sky is also about love and the need to heal. The Final D-Day salutes a forgotten soldier. The Legend of Winston the Whitetail Deer features a local deer from Kosciusko (because I like saying Kosciusko) who saves Christmas. The Amazing Game tells the life of a father and son as a football game. And of course, there are several stories featuring Banjo the dog, my beloved Border Terrier who died this summer. Requiem for a Terrier is his obituary.
Banjo’s companionship and love is the golden thread that runs through all these stories. As I struggled to reinvent myself, he did what a good dog always does – he was there.
Many of the stories just came out of the blue — true Godsends. My best ideas always come like that. I hope you enjoy the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Order today at www.lemuriabooks.com
Posted in Writing
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The VP Debate
If I had to sum up last night’s debate in six words? Much better than the last one.
You have to believe that Michelle elbowed the President at one point during it and said, “This is how you debate.”
I know, I know, Republicans thought Joe Biden was rude. I thought he was just being Joe Biden. I’ve watched the guy since he ran for President in 1988. He was like he is: Aggressive and goofy. He flashed his Gary-Busey-giant teeth. And he interrupted Paul Ryan. A lot.
It’s what the President should have done to Mitt Romney. But the altitude had put Barack Obama to sleep, I guess. The President needs to learn that it is a debate, not a hugfest. I have no problem with aggressiveness. And Joe Biden was aggressive to a fault.
Paul Ryan is 42 years old. And last night he proved he will be on the national stage for years to come. He did a very good job going toe to toe with Joe. His nine mock debates showed last night. He was prepared, calm and I thought his closing statement was top-shelf. He looked into the camera and made his case.
So as a debate, I thought is was a heck of lot better than the Presidential debate. There was meat and potatoes and good stagecraft. Real issues were brought up and argued about clearly. My sons and I watched it together (since they are going to be paying for our national debt). They were impressed, too.
Politics isn’t clean. It isn’t pretty. What we saw last night was at times a tussle. Both sides claimed victory. And as good political entertainment, I give it a solid B.
Fit-to-Fat-to-Fit Blog: Resting while on the run
Like you, I live a very busy life. Kids, two jobs and a budding freelance business all keep me going 18 hours a day. Reflux issues caused me to give up caffeine two months ago. So now I’m doing it on my own. I’m on the run day in and day out. And I’m learning how to rest on the run.
It’s a skill I learned from distance running. I take a minute to slow my pace and to allow my heart rate to drop. It can be on a flat surface or on a downhill stretch. I take deep breaths and fill my lungs. I think of sitting on a blanket in Cades Cove and looking at the snowcapped hills surrounding me. And then I pick up my pace yet again. When I ran the Marine Corps Marathon, I did a modified version of this — I walked one minute every mile. I finished the race remarkably strong (even through my legs decided to cramp.)
I don’t take a lunch. I don’t take breaks. But I do find five minutes every couple of hours to close my eyes and take deep belly breaths. I calm myself and reflect on my day.
I’ll rest when I die. In the meantime, I’ll find ways to steal a moment of peace here and there. It’s the art of resting while on the run.
Posted in Fat-Fit-Fat
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Friday Free-For-All
Good morning! I’m so glad it is Friday! How about you?
CARTOON: Lance
The USADA report on Lance Armstrong’s doping activity is damning. Armstrong, who dominated cycling, denies the report and claims it is a witch hunt. Let’s be honest, his legacy will have a hard time overcoming the mountain of evidence that has been released. But even if he did dope during the Tour de France, the hope he provided so many cancer survivors is very real. As a person who has had cancer, I’ll always be grateful for the encouragement his cancer story has provided.
The Legend of Jimmy Bob’s Talents
“Ex-lax, come here! Come here, Ex-lax.”
Not everyone would name their dog Ex-lax. But Jimmy Bob Delray wasn’t everyone. Far from it. His ex-wife Becky Lou called him, “the most difficult man on the planet earth.” It was probably an exaggeration. Becky Lou was a drama queen afterall.
Jimmy Bob broke off a piece of his beef jerky and gave it to Ex-lax. The brown, scruffy terrier cocked his head as if wondering when he would get another piece of the prefabricated meat treat. “Not unless you fetch me a beer.” Ex-lax turned and walked over to the couch. He jumped up on it and curled up and went to sleep. Even a dog named after a laxative had to have some pride.
Jimmy Bob Delray was a renaissance man. Too busy to work, he dabbled in the finer things in life. He could play a mean guitar and write incredible music. He was an excellent acrylic and watercolor painter. He spoke three languages and used to read voraciously. His poetry was the finest around. There was a bright, creative light that burned in his heart. But like the servant who buried his talents, Jimmy didn’t allow anyone else to see what was inside of him. Somewhere along the way, though, that creative light and had burned out.
His neighbors thought Jimmy Bob was a loser. Jimmy Bob could care less what his neighbors thought. He liked his beer. And he loved his dog.
Jimmy Bob once went to a fancy school for the arts in New York. He was, what his teachers called, a child prodigy. But something went wrong along the way. Like a massive hungry boa constrictor choking its prey, fear slithered into Jimmy Bob’s brain and asphyxiated his dreams. When he was 18, he dropped out and lived on the streets. He’d play guitar street corner and make enough to survive. The New York winters were cold. Jimmy Bob turning his back on his talent was even colder.
So Jimmy Bob came home. He packed his guitar, his few remaining things and bought a bus ticket to Mississippi Delta. When he arrived in the town of Greenwood, he picked up a copy of The Greenwood Commonwealth newspaper and saw an add for an old hunting trailer. He bought it and leased a few acres of land. Ex-lax was a stray Jimmy Bob found running along Highway 49 one fateful Tuesday afternoon. He met Becky Lou while working at the convenience store. Becky Lou saw something in Jimmy Bob and Jimmy Bob loved the plump cashier from Belzoni. But whatever Becky Lou saw in Jimmy Bob, Jimmy Bob wasn’t giving up enough of it to her. He came in from the bar one night and found trailer empty except for Ex-lax and his bowl.
But like the Honeybadger, Jimmy Bob didn’t care.
Jimmy Bob rubbed his gray whiskers on his chin. He graying way too early for a man of his age. He stumbled over to the fridge to snag a mid-morning beer.
He turned around to see an old man wearing white sitting on the couch next to Ex-lax. “Fine dog you have here, son.”
Jimmy Bob scrambled for the kitchen drawer to get his pistol.
“No need for guns, boy. I mean you no harm.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, you can say, ‘a friend’ if you’d like.”
“I don’t like.”
“Jimmy Bob, I’m here to see what you’ve done with the talents I’ve given you.”
Jimmy Bob’s suspicion that a crazy guy was in his trailer was burning red hot in his mind. “Who are you again?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Or what I am. What matters is what you’re doing with your talents.”
“Becky Lou sent you. She wants more alimony.”
“Becky Lou,” the man sighed, “wanted what everyone wants. She wants you to live up to your potential.”
Ex-lax crawled up into the old man’s lap. The old man pulled a pack of bones out of his robe’s pocket and fed the little dog.
The old man then pulled a dusty book out of his other pocket and began to read.
“But his master answered, ‘Evil and lazy slave! So you knew that I harvest where I didn’t sow and gather where I didn’t scatter? 27 Then you should have deposited my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received my money back with interest! 28 Therefore take the talent from him and give it to the one who has ten. 29 For the one who has will be given more, and he will have more than enough. But the one who does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. 30 And throw that worthless slave into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth’”
“Gnashing of teeth? Kind of harsh isn’t it?”
The old man looked at Jimmy Bob and said, ” Not using your talent is a pretty harsh, too, son. And a sin. The Parable of the Talents makes that pretty clear. You have been given incredible gifts. Your mind is as fertile as the Delta soil. But all that grown on it are weeds. Are you afraid of success? Of failure? Because whatever you’re afraid of, it is choking your life.”
Billy Bob opened the beer and took a long swig. Talking to some nut in a trailer wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. “Um, ok. I get it. Now you can stay and watch the Mississippi State game or toodle on now.”
The old man’s face turned red with anger. He clapped his hands and the sky around the trailer went pitch black. Lightning struck the oak trees that shaded the trailer, causing luminescent fireballs to light the inside of the room. “Don’t be ungrateful of your gifts, son.”
Jimmy Bob Delray took a look at the can of beer in his hand and poured it out on the green shag carpet. “OK, you have my attention.”
The old man set Ex-lax to the side of the couch and stood up. He walked over to Jimmy Bob and put his hands on his shoulders. Jimmy Bob felt a warmth that was indescribable. “Use your art for good, Jimmy Bob. Give others what they need and you will be given what you need.”
Jimmy Bob, feeling peace he had not felt in his 44 years, looked at the strange old man and said all he could say, “Yes, sir.”
The Delta had never seen a more giving artist. Jimmy Bob lived to give. He donated paintings to the local library. He played at the local nursing homes. He painted a mural on the side of a building in downtown Greenwood. He read his poetry at the local diner and even was published in the statewide literary magazine. His dog Ex-lax became a local celebrity when he had a small part in a movie being filmed in town. Jimmy Bob turned his heart inside out and gave and gave and gave.
One day, Jimmy Bob was walking back up to his trailer when he noticed the old man was back on his porch. “Hello there, old man. Any more parlor tricks today?” Ex-lax was sitting in the old man’s lap wagging his tail.
The old man smiled and said to Jimmy Bob, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful in a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Enter into the joy of your master.”
Jimmy Bob and the old man laughed as Ex-lax barked loud enough to be heard in Jackson.
And on that hot Delta day, a Mississippi legend was born.
Posted in Writing
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Fit-to-Fat-to-Fit Blog: Big goals
I perform better with a deadline. I achieve more when I have too much to do. I accomplish great things when I have an impossible goal set for me. I respond to a challenge. I use “I” frequently to start a sentence.
I like big goals. And big goals seem to like me.
Otherwise I flounder. I procrastinate. I do just enough to get by. Success is driven by me trying to achieve the impossible. The taskmaster of a written goal keeps me between the buoys.
Shoot for the sun. Aim for the Moon. Reach for the stars. Rise above the clouds. Set an audacious goal. And then break it into smaller, reasonable goals.
Fitness goals I’ve had in the past: A century ride on a bike. Riding all around the state of Vermont on a bike. The Peachtree Road Race (10K). A half marathon. A whole marathon. Losing 45 lbs.
I achieved them all.
Now it is time to set yet another big goal. I need to raise my training to, as my friend Paul LaCoste says, the next level.
This morning, I ran a quick 4.16 miles and burned 676 calories. I sailed over hills like they weren’t there. My legs and joints felt amazingly well. My heart rate stayed in the 150’s.
Posted in Fat-Fit-Fat
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Thursday Free-For-All
Good morning! It’s going to be a great day.


