My pal Tish

My wonderful friend Tish has had me guest post on her site today. Not blowing my own horn honest, but if you haven't met her you are missing one of the classiest dames out there. Grace, charm and a delightful take on fashion, travel and life await you here Plus it is an interesting topic with some good comments.

A Lesson, Old South Style

When I was a high school senior in Columbus Ga, I had an English teacher named Miss Byrd. I thought she must be a day older than dirt, but she was probably in her mid 60s as she retired at the end of the term. Miss Byrd I hope I wasn't a factor in your decision. Deep south, old school, she called you Mister or Miss. You were expected to stand when you addressed her. While I never saw her use it, she carried a long wooden pointer with authority. The Vietnam War was at its peak at this time, as was the opposition.As the son of a black beret wearing Ranger, my politics were pretty much ingrained in me. As Veteran's Day approached (yes you guessed it, it was Armistice Day to her) she had us memorize Rupert Brooke's "The Soldier" no explanation, just do it. On test day after we were all told "pencils down!" she sat and read the poem to us. When finished she paused, then in her Georgia drawl told us to remember no matter how you felt about war or politics or even your country always, always remember the fallen are real people who have given the full sacrifice and they MUST be honored.
Thanks Miss Byrd,I will never forget (and I didn't start the rumor about your Confederate Flag bloomers, honest.)

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven

I was the lucky one

"They told me Joe Frazier was through," Ali told Frazier at one point during the fight.
"They lied," Frazier said, before hitting Ali with a left hook.





I had a English Pointer once, lemon and white, with a chiseled head,deep chest, he was a beauty. Never believed in moving east or west, always north and south like an old school fullback. If something got in his way, too bad. Didn't push his way around the kennel, but didn't back down either. Only one name for a dog like him: "Smokin' Joe".
I was the lucky one because I was a young man during the so called "Golden Age" of boxing. Ali, Foreman, "Irish" Jerry Quarry , Little Red Lopez, and my favorite Joe Frazier. It was also the time when all sports began to morph into show business.But that's a rant for another time. Joe was a workman, skilled at his craft and did his talking with action not words.Ali was a peacock, a side show barker, but no one could take him. That is until Smokin Joe. And a legend , as they say, was born.
Today's ultimate fighting looks more like a parking lot brawl. The position these guys end up in are quite frankly embarrassing to see. Maybe you don't see boxing as I do. Part science,part art and part sport. That's fine, it is brutal and bloody, like life at times.It does have a macho tint to it. And that ain't so popular anymore.Still rest in peace Joe, you earned it. Oh and thanks.