Marshall Ramsey

For the past couple of months, I’ve sat in book stores and shops around Mississippi, signing books and watching people rush around as they try to stay ahead of Holiday stress. I’ve had moments of busyness as I joyfully personalized books for eager customers. And I’ve had moments of boredom that allowed quiet reflection of the past year. As 2016 winds down, I think it is safe to say that this year has been unusually tough for many of us. I know it has been for me. I can’t remember a year this painful. I’ve lost. I’ve faced disappointment. Not since my cancer surgery 15 years ago can I remember walking away with so many scars.

But before you think that this is going to be a post of complaint or pity, please know its not. In fact, it is one of joy and hope. On Wednesday, I will have completed one more journey around the sun. On Sunday, my family will celebrate a day of love and gift giving. A week after that, we will ring in a new year. And for that, I am grateful.

When you remodel a house, you have to demo it. That means you strip away the old before you can rebuilt the new. It’s hard work and at times painful. But you can’t just put the new over the old stuff — you have to do the work. Life’s like that, too. The pain is a sign that we need to take the difficult step of change.

I know, change is hard. Like one commenter told me earlier this year, “But what if I don’t want to change?” Well, the answer is that the world will go along without you. As tempting as it is to sit in your comfort zone and to sit on your butt, that’s the quickest way to rot and die — literally and figuratively. I’ve had just about everything in my life called into question this year. I’m painfully aware of my past mistakes and the damage it has caused. I’ve had someone show me what I could become if I don’t change my ways. I wish a face as friendly as Clarence the angel (or even the scary third ghost) had told me all this. But I’ll take my wake up call in any form I can get it. I have my marching orders for 2017.

Life is hard and takes lots of energy. And we have both good and evil inside of us. To get that energy, you can tap into either the good or the evil. I personally feel that the good is loving others. And I choose to reject selfishness and be powered by love. Love of my family. Love of my friends. Love of this life. I choose to take on every day with joy and wonder. I vow to use my talents. I’ll give gifts daily.

Sounds kind of like a certain holiday that’s coming up, doesn’t it? We’re in the season of love and giving. And the season of hope and wonder. Many of us will celebrate a little baby who grew up to teach us that.

2016 has been tough. But it has been reminder that life is a series of problems. What makes life special is how we solve those problems. We can sit around, complain, write snarky comments on Facebook posts, throw a pity party, serve snacks and hope our problems go away. We can hope someone will come and save us. Or we can take on the problems head-on and choose to grow and learn — all through hard work and self discipline. It struck me the other day that if you take the word “EVIL” and turn it around, it spells “LIVE.”

Let’s choose to live.
Let’s make 2017 a year of passion.
Let’s tackle the world around us and make it a little better. Let’s reject those who make us afraid for their own gains. Let’s lift up those we love.
Let’s bring joy to the world.

Bless you and your family this joyous holiday season.

Moving to Mississippi didn’t make a bit of sense on paper. I had a great job (at Copley News Service in San Diego), had a great boss and worked with amazing people. And I lived in San Diego — don’t knock it until you’ve been there. But I took the leap of faith and came here.

If you don’t like me or my cartoons, blame Dan Turner. He was my editor in Conroe, Texas (the job before San Diego). He’s also a native of Philadelphia, Mississippi. He called me one afternoon and told me that he’d been at The Clarion-Ledger for a training session and noticed that they were hiring a cartoonist. I initially didn’t think it was for me — but he said that I’d be perfect here. That people would love my work and I’d be very happy.

Dan Turner is very convincing — and a wise man.

Amy and I were thinking of starting a family and having only one state between us and our families seemed like a good idea (no matter how many times I now cuss Alabama and the road construction on I-20). I remember driving across the state line in Vicksburg. I saw the river. I thought “This is my state.” (Someone owes me royalties, me thinks). I still feel that way when I cross back into Mississippi. I called David Hampton back after he offered me the job and said “yes.”

I’m not a native Mississippian. But my three boys are. And we’ve chosen to raise them here. Someday they’ll do like I did and spread their wings to chase their dreams. I hope they have as much luck as I have.

I’ll keep drawing for as long as I am able to. But for as long as I live, I’ll be grateful for the time I’ve spent here. And to all the people I’ve drawn, thank you, too. You’ve made my job easy.

Everyday I live my childhood dream and get paid for it. And I get to do it in a cartoonist’s paradise. I’m the luckiest man alive.

You can order a signed copy at clarionledger.com/ramsey20

Saturday, December 17

11 a.m. – 1:00 p.m.  Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road)

1:30 p.m. — 3:30 p.m. Inside Out (Renaissance Ridgeland, MS)

Sunday, December 18

12 noon – 2:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)

3:00 p.m. – 5:00 p.m. Barnes & Noble (Renaissance Ridgeland, MS)

Tuesday, December 20

11 a.m. — 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)

Wednesday, December 21

11 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)

Thursday, December 22

4 p.m. until close Book Mart & Cafe (Starkville, MS)

Friday, December 23

11 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. Lemuria Books (I-55 Frontage Road, Jackson)

At 5 a.m., I turned on the phone and read this headline,

“Astronaut Buzz Aldrin evacuated from South Pole after falling ill”

First thought: I hope he’ll be OK.

Second thought: Buzz Aldrin is a total bad-*ss.

Seriously. Sure, the guy was the second man on the Moon (and if you doubt that, he will punch you in the mouth.) But c’mon, he’s 86. Most 86-year-olds wouldn’t be at the South Pole. They’d be eating a bowl full of pills and mush.

I’m not totally sure of his secret to long life, but I think it has already been revealed in that headline. He was at the South Pole. He is ACTIVE.

I put my phone down, crawled out of my warm bed and put on my running clothes and shoes. Then I ran three cold miles — for Buzz. And for the hope that I can be jetting around the globe when I’m 86.

The Ole Smoky Candy Kitchen is one of those bookends of my life. Located in the middle of downtown Gatlinburg, it makes the best homemade taffy. My four grandparents (I won that lottery) would take me to Gatlinburg every summer. And I’d sit there mesmerized as a man would feed taffy into this giant taffy-pulling machine. It was very cool.

Thirty-five years later, I stood there with my youngest son as he was mesmerized by the same thing. I told him that I used to watch a man do the same thing when I was a kid. The guy, in a gruff voice said, “That was me.”

Gatlinburg is the gateway to the Smokies and to much of my life. My great grandfather had an opportunity to buy much of the land before The Great Smoky Mountain National Park was a park. But he didn’t — and while it seems insane now, he was wise back then to buy farmland somewhere else. The town was one of the poorest places in America back at the turn of the 20th Century. Then came the park and the tourism with it. Originally built like an alpine village, it has evolved and grown over the years to become a combination of beauty and a little bit of kitsch. But I love the place for all that is good and not so good. I took dates there in college. I went to parties in the condos that are now gone. I take my family up there frequently. We’ve done the tourist attractions and eaten pancakes (pancake restaurants are their version of Starbucks coffee houses — there is practically one on every corner.) Gatlinburg is a place full of good people.

And now they are hurting.

I’ve read about every history printed of The Great Smoky Mountains. My grandparents went on dates in the mountains. My grandfather worked in a nearby sawmill for a while. My dad rode horses up there and would pose with bears for the tourists from Ohio (Dad was a kid). It’s part of my DNA.

That’s why I couldn’t sleep the other night as it burned.

It will come back. The awesome Ripley’s Aquarium was unscathed. Ober Gatlinburg somehow escaped damage. Downtown survived. The forest will recover (the land was practically a moonscape in the 1920’s from over-logging and fires). But I’m worried about are the people who rely on tourism for their livelihood.

The good news? There will be lots of construction jobs. Insurance money will eventually flow. But it will take a while to get there. Trauma has to be overcome. Lives have to be rebuilt first.

I’m donating to relief efforts and will share links I find. I’ll continue to take my family to the Smokies so we can explore the wonders and leave my money behind. And I’ll cheer as Tennessee lives up to its nickname as “The Volunteer State.”

A fire can destroy. Or it can forge. I think the area will be forged into something stronger and more beautiful. How? Because spirit is something that flames can’t touch.

When I moved here, I had a non-county specific weather radio. If a cow farted in Port Gibson, it would go off — and my blood pressure would go up with it.

I’m not a big fan of tornadoes. I don’t chase them. I run from them.

Which is why living here makes no sense whatsoever for a funnel-cloud coward like me. I know the Great Plains gets more press, but we have as many tornadoes here in Mississippi as anywhere in the U.S. (Per square mile). And we don’t have wide-open spaces to see them coming. They’re like your crazy uncle: They just show up, rumble through the house like a freight train and leave a huge mess behind. And they can show up anytime of year. Sure, spring is the big tornado season. But as we found out last night, they can pop in during the late fall, too. Add to the joy, most of us don’t have basements or storms shelters. We just have a big ol’ target on our backs.

Lucky us.

I used to worry when a tornado would show up in another county. Now I turn on the TV, see that it is only one block away — but headed the other direction — and go back to sleep. I think Katrina made me a little more fatalistic. Anyway, my family has a weather radio, a plan and will execute that plan at a moments notice. Otherwise, I sleep. I’m too tired to worry.

Mississippi will do that. I’ve never lived anywhere were a tornado watch meant, “Pucker up big boy, it’s coming your way.” That’s usually reserved for a WARNING! Why? Because it just isn’t a tornado. It’s the really mind-blowing super-cell thunderstorm that will vomit hail that makes your car look like it had acne or tear up your roof and brings lightning that flickers like a haunted house strobe light. Also your trees try to do the limbo. That’s not natural.

Our weather is the stuff that made Jim Cantore famous. After 20 years of dodging it, I want one of those tornado tanks like Reed Timmer drives.

Severe weather is part of who we are. It shapes us. It defines us. Like I said in my book Chainsaws and Casseroles, before you can crawl out of the wreckage, there will be a church van in your yard full of people with chainsaws and casseroles. When disaster strikes, we pull together. I know, a quaint concept, right?

Hope you got through last night’s storms OK. I’ve read a few problems on my Facebook feed and on the news. One of my friend’s oven caught fire due to a lightning strike! (YIKES!) I know I was thankful for the 1.43 inches of rain we received. My Yazoo Clay was thankful.

But the moral of this story:

The sun came up. We made it through another storm. Which took me moving to Twister Land to  understand why that is such a metaphor for our lives.

Today, something will happen that has not happened in a long, long time. A mysterious mind-controlling liquid will fall from the sky. This liquid will make people forget how to drive. It will cause cars to bump into each other. Small children, who have not seen it in their lifetimes, will cry. Chaos will break out. Salty raindrops will fall down your cheeks, only to be washed away.

A few tips when the liquid falls.

1. Use your dry-rotted umbrella. This will keep you from becoming wet. But if you do happen to get wet, you are not made of sugar. You won’t melt.

2. If driving, look for the switch that turns on your windshield wipers. I know you’ve forgotten where they are — plan ahead and test all the buttons out on your dashboard. (The horn is in the middle of the steering wheel).

3. When driving when the liquid falls, turn on your car’s headlights. I know this is difficult — but it isn’t so you can see. It is so the other cars can see you. I hope you are listening Mr. “I drive a gray car and like to pretend I have a cloaking device when it rains.”

4. Slow the #$% down. The roads, with months of built up oil on them, will be slicker than owl feces. I know you’ve been itching to try out your airbags, but don’t do it today.

5. Stay calm. I know — wet stuff falling from the sky is scary, and different. But take a deep breath. With an ounce of calm we will all make it through this rain apocalypse.

Godspeed. May you survive this calamity.