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CARTOON: Laying of the wreath
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De Soto’s Idol
In the Spring of 1541, the Spanish explorer Hernado de Soto sat on a log by a roaring campfire. After a cold winter (near what is now known as Tupelo, Mississippi), the weather had turned syrupy warm. Four hundred and sixty years later, people would know that violent weather was on the way. But the expedition had no idea what hell the night would bring. De Soto pulled out a smallish leather pouch and opened it up. Inside was a small, glowing, golden idol he had taken from the natives in the Appalachians. Crafted from gold (from the area that would eventually become Dahlonega, Georgia), the idol was both beautiful and magical. And as far as De Soto was concerned, it was the prize of this expedition. While he found no other gold, this one find had made the trip worth it. After they had taken it (by force), wonderful things began to happen. Wounds healed. Sicknesses were cured. Hunger and fear ceased. de Soto stroked the gold and felt that much closer to God. He knew he could conquer the world with such a prize in his possession.
Little did he know that the idol had other plans.
At about 10 that evening, strobe lightning began to flash from the southeast. The expedition had tasted the violence of a Southern thunderstorm before. But what was about to hit them was something that very few people have experienced even today.
A mile-wide EF-5 tornado was bearing down on them.
First there was the stillness. And then the hellish violence. The roar (no one knew what a freight train sounded like back then) bore down on the group. Most of the expedition escaped with their lives. The tornado erased any indication that their camp had ever been there.
De Soto rode his horse back into inspect the destruction. The camp — the supplies, the extra horses, 15 of his men — was completely gone. He checked where his shelter was. It, too, was obliterated.
De Soto’s idol was gone. The tornado had picked it up and thrown it for miles. Hernado de Soto clutched his head with his hands. How could such a precious find be swept away from him? It was a fate that would haunt him until his untimely death a few months later.
The Native Americans in the area, the Chickasaw tribe, never found the idol either. But they discovered the area where it had landed had magical powers. They built a small mound over the spot where the idol was. But soon, another powerful tornado followed the same track as the first one and obliterated the village. The Chickasaws abandoned the mound and vegetation quickly hid it for a few more centuries. And no one lived there again. Until the year 2012.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Just sign the papers here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here. And then sign them here.” The banker smiled like a man who was about to make a lot of money. The old paper company property had been for sale for over five years. Finally, suckers customers had decided to buy the worthless old timberland.
“How much longer until the land is ours?” The couple was anxious to build their dream home. He was 32, tall with a pock-marked face. She was 28, short, dark-headed and slightly overweight. She had Multiple Sclerosis and thanks to some benign tumors in the wrong place, was unable to have kids. Unknown to both of them, he wasn’t able to father children anyway. Never had two finer people been denied the opportunity to bring a family into the world.
Three days after the closing, bulldozers cut a road through the land. “Looky here, we found us a high spot.” The foreman looked at the plot of the property and said, “This is where you should build.” The years had eroded the mound, but it still was the highest point on the 25 acres. Within five months, a tidy little two-story farm house sat high on the hill.
The couple sat up housekeeping. And within four weeks, they noticed strange things beginning to happen.
First thing that they noticed was that their blind, 13-year-old dog suddenly could see. His arthritis went away and the dog was running around the house like a puppy. Strange, they thought.
How strange.
Then one morning, he noticed his face was no longer acne-scarred. “Funny.” Three scars on his arm had begun to fade away, too. “Hey honey, check this out.”
She came in the room crying. “What’s wrong?!?” he ran to her.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just got the report from my neurologist. My MS has disappeared.” Both held the paper, rereading it over and over. “This has to be a joke.” A quick phone call confirmed it wasn’t.
How strange.
“Let’s celebrate.” She ran to the store and he fired up the grill. A romantic dinner was called for. And it was followed by the most passionate night of their lives.
A month later, the wife came into the bathroom. And once again, she was crying. In her hands was a pregnancy test. Another miracle had happened. “I’m pregnant.” The next day, the OB-GYN had confirmed it. Scans showed that the tumors had totally faded away. And a little less than nine-months later, healthy twins were born.
How strange.
Six months later, the family was sitting in the den of the small home and the weather radio went off. It had been a warm, sticky evening and thunderstorms had been building over the Delta. Thanks to the winds blowing off the Gulf, you could smell New Orleans in Northeast Mississippi. The husband flipped on the TV and the weatherman in Tupelo had confirmed the worst: A huge tornado was bearing down on their home. They ran to the closet underneath the stairs with the dog and the babies. But this tornado was a monster. No one in its path would survive it. The small family held each other and prayed.
And right as the mile-wide EF-5 tornado approached the house, it pulled up into the sky. The storm dissapated, leaving nothing but the stars twinkling in the springtime sky.
How strange.
In the whole history of the idol, it had never sensed such good people. And at that moment, it decided that they should continue to benefit from its power. The young couple would live the rest of their lives in that farm house, passing it down through the generations. All lived happy and long lives.
Two months after the tornado, the dog went out to the backyard to bury a bone. As it dug, it hit something hard. He pulled back and looked down into the hole. There was a golden head. The dog quickly (and wisely) covered it back up with dirt and went back to the house.
And from that moment on, De Soto’s idol would remain hidden for the rest of time.
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Fit-to-Fit-to-Fat Blog: Summer is here
Goal weight: 195 lbs.
Today’s weight 198 lbs.
Memorial Day Weekend is the official start to the beginning of Summer. And heat and humidity apparently subscribe to this notion. I ran 8.51 miles while wearing a wet, warm blanket. Have I ever mentioned I hate heat and humidity? Not because I’m some big puss. No, no — I did run 8.51 miles today. It’s just because my body never has acclimated to heat well. It made high school football practice crappy. It makes running in the summer rough 27 years later.
I ran out of my neighborhood at 5:30 a.m. From there I cut to the Natchez Trace and followed it as the sun poked it’s evil red eye over the Ross Barnett Reservoir. A lone houseboat was parked in a cove, looking like a giant alligator waiting on the glass-like water. I ran South on the Trace to the Overlook, where I picked up the Ridgeland Multipurpose Trail. From there, I ran to the Jackson Yacht Club and then ran through some of the neighborhoods nearby. About five miles into the run, the sun really began to cause the temperatures to rise. I was sweating profusely by that point.
I am not really acclimated to the heat yet. I’m not sure I ever will be.
My heart rate shot up into the upper 150’s and then into the 160’s. That’s too high for an old geezer like me. The frustrating thing is that I’m in better shape than that. My body just couldn’t cool off. The humidity made it hard for the sweat to evaporate efficiently. By the time I got to mile eight, I was tired. And frustrated. I finished at 8.51 miles and walked up the hill to my house.
I’ve been going over the numbers from today’s run. I ran a little slower than normal (probably more to do with me taking a couple of pictures and stopping to refill my water bottle than my pace being that much slower). My heart rate did rise toward the end of the runs. Hills caused it to spike. The high heart rate is why I’m more tired than normal. (I love my Garmin 301 for giving me all the data to compare all of my runs).
So what did I take from today’s run? I need work on my fitness. I need to improve my heat acclimation (or run earlier in the morning.) I’m setting some new goals for next week’s run. And I have to find a way to dry out my shoes.
Posted in Fat-Fit-Fat
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A Day at the Beach: A Memorial Day story
High up on the hillside, an elderly man in a wheelchair rolled onto his porch. He looked down at where the Pacific Ocean taunted the land. It was another beautiful day at LaJolla Shores Beach. The thin strip of sand was teeming with holiday revelers. He could hear their laughter and cheers mixed in with a constant drumbeat of the aqua blue waves crashing. On the horizon, the marine layer (a thick bank of clouds), hovered just off shore. The elderly man closed his eyes for a minute and opened them. Out of the marine layer, hundreds of Higgins Boats appeared, chugging slowly toward the beachhead. Explosions began to surround the boats, occasionally picking one off. He suddenly was in one of the boats, feeling the old fear again and smelling the vomit and diesel. Bullets whizzed over his head and when the landing platform dropped, all Hell broke loose. Smitty, his best friend from basic training, evaporated into a red mist of meat and blood. His sergeant lost his head. He jumped into the too deep water to escape the hail of lead and struggled not to drown. The beach turned red and the teeming people he had seen before became a sea of corpses.
The man closed his eyes again. He opened them and rolled himself back into the house. Even after nearly 70 years, the memory was too much.
He knew the true meaning of Memorial Day.
A few hundred yards below him was an attractive 40-year-old brunette. She was playing Frisbee with her 15-year-old son in a park across the street from the beach. As she leapt high to catch the flying disc, smoke from a nearby grill tickled her nose. She smelled the cooking meat and the smoke and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was in Iraq, leaping out of a landing UH-60 Blackhawk. On its side was painted a red cross. She was on a mercy mission. She was a medic. Off the the left of the chopper was a burning Humvee. She saw the bodies and ran to assist whoever she could. The heat was searing. In the driver’s seat was a young private. Adrenaline pushed her closer to the flames and she grabbed him, yanking him from out behind the wheel and to safety. His badly burned mouth was screaming for his mother. And before she could save him, his expression went blank. She would never forget his face for the rest of her life.
She opened her eyes, looked at the burn scars on her arm and hugged her son.
She knew the true meaning of Memorial Day.
Forty yards away from the former medic was a balding grandfather on a boogie board. He was playing with his young granddaughter in the surf when a bright orange Coast Guard helicopter roared over the white sandy beach. The grandfather stopped, touched the bottom of the seabed and allowed the waves to crash over him. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them, he was on a UH-1 Huey gunship, firing his machine gun into the perimeter of the landing zone. The Viet Cong was riddling the chopper and the people on it with bullets. Smoke poured from the hit engine but he kept firing. The co-pilot was dead and the pilot fought with all his might to get the Marines out of the area. He felt the searing pain of the bullet that ended up taking his right arm.
He opened his eyes again and smiled at his beloved granddaughter.
He knew the true meaning of Memorial Day.
Down the Coast a few miles from the grandfather is Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery. Perched high on Point Loma, it overlooks the entrance to San Diego Harbor. A small group of people were gathered around a grave that looked just like the hundreds surrounding it. A lone bugler played taps as the color guard fired their rifles into the air. A fighter flew over the gravesite and a young widow watched as her Navy SEAL husband’s coffin was lowered into the cold earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
The marine layer finally approached the shore, shrouding the land in a cold, damp fog. A single tear trickled down her face. As the Navy Captain handed her the flag, she opened her eyes.
She, too, knew the true meaning of Memorial Day.
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Fit-to-Fat-to-Fit Blog: 5/25/12
Goal weigh: 195 lbs.
Normally I’d be running right now, but I took the day off. It’s a rest day — I’ll do a long run tomorrow morning. Rest is a good thing. Right now I need more of a good thing.
Posted in Fat-Fit-Fat
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Daily Links 5/24/12
Good morning! Hope you’re having an awesome Thursday. Just one more day until a three-day weekend. But don’t forget why we are getting the long weekend.
A quick few links (because I have to draw).
I have nothing but respect for Smithville Mayor Gregg Kennedy. Now the Small Business Association does, too.
LIVE (as opposed to what I don’t know) TWEETS about the S.E.C. Tourney.
Stennis Space Center in South Mississippi is one of the state’s least known-about gems. One of the many functions that goes on there is rocket engine testing (it was created to test the giant engines on the Saturn Five.)
Dude jumps from 2,600 feet without a parachute and lives to tell about it. Sounds like me doing my radio show every single day.
Sorry, if you wanted to buy the vile of Ronald Reagan’s blood at auction — it’s now off the market. I wonder if they could have used it like the old guy at Jurassic Park and made an army of Gippers.
Madison County and Tupelo Schools will only teach Abstinence-Only sex education. Parents need to step up and fill in the gaps.
From USA TODAY: Cadillac’s XTS’s carseat shakes to warn drivers of danger. I went to a motel room that had a bed that did that, too.
Dates set for two out of three inmates for their executions at Parchman. Attorney General Jim Hood’s office had asked earlier this month that justices set execution dates for Henry Curtis Jackson Jr., Gary Carl Simmons Jr. and Jan Michael Brawner on June 12, 13 and 14, respectively. But now they won’t be back to back.
Who’s going to be at the Mississippi Museum of Art watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
United airlines will no longer allows families with small children to early board. Probably will charge to check them in baggage, too.
The New Orleans Times-Picayune survived Katrina. It may not survive the changing media market. Damn.
Fit-to-Fat-to-Fit Blog: 5/24/12
Goal Weight: 195 lbs.
Whew. I actually hit the snooze this morning (much to Banjo’s disgust.) I was whooped. I didn’t start running until 4:45 a.m. — it took me a while to get ready this morning for some reason. Thankfully I only had planned on running a little over three miles. The first mile was slow (my legs are very tired and I had some big hills on the first leg of the run). The second mile I ran a little faster and then I sprinted the last mile. I walked about 100 yards at the end of the run, just as a change of pace. I turned my music off and listened to the birds sing as they announced the pending sunrise. Not many air conditioning units were running in the neighborhood, so it was quiet. It was a very peaceful end to a quick run.
I came in and did 50 pushups and 50 sit-ups. My stomach is starting to actually have some definition. I don’t have a six-pack, but I also don’t have a 2-liter. My chest and shoulders are more defined, too. Even my melanoma scar on my back doesn’t hurt as bad as it did when my fat self was stretching it. A little muscle tone goes a long way to making you look better.
Tomorrow I will rest and then I’ll get up bright and early and do a long run. There’s a race on Saturday my boys and I might run — but I have to check the family schedule.
Posted in Fat-Fit-Fat
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