500 Great Things About Life

Songs that can change your mood

2010-04-18T13:20:00.000-05:00

When you feel your mood sliding and all else fails, try a song. If possible, put your feet up and turn up the music too loud, or use head phones if you can. (You can also refer back to Post number 1 and try my Bloody Mary, too.) This post is not a list of my favorite bands, songs, CDs, vinyl or whatever, but I was thinking just now of songs that can completely change the course of a day.

Here are a dozen songs that work for me when I need to redirect the flow of the my mood. They're in no particular order. Most are rock n roll, but not all. Something about those tunes that were part of high school and college seems to provide the right vehicle for transporting me away from worries like making payroll or finding a good plumber to fix the leaks from frozen pipes.

Van Morrison--"Into the Mystic" This may be the perfect song. It's certainly among the top 100 songs ever recorded, by my standards.
The Four Tops--"Reach Out I'll Be There" Who can listen to this and not feel the love.
Jackson Browne--"Song for Adam" Poetry set to music.
Dickie Betts--"Blue Sky" There are no better Southern rock guitar licks than in this song.
Patsy Cline--"Crazy" I admit it, this song makes me cry. (Okay, not actual tears.) But it still gives me hope.
Lynard Skynard--"Free Bird" A rock symphony rarely equaled.
The Beatles--"Hey Jude"The perfect recipe of lyrics, a great tune, and artists at their peak.
Tony Bennett--"The Shadow of Your Smile" This guy can sing. He plays the audience's emotions like no one.
Jimi Hendrix--"All Along the Watchtower" Vintage rock at its best.
Steve Earle--"Transcendal Blues" When the bass kicks in right before he sings, I go into a trance.
Eric Clapton--"Have You Ever Loved a Woman" The blues version is like a drug.
John Prine--"Angel from Montgomery" Still trying to figure out exactly what this means and why I love it.

Okay, so there you have twelve good substitutes for librium or whatever the doc gives you. So tell me your top songs that can change a day for the better....

Number 13: Lessons Learned from Sports

2009-12-06T19:08:00.006-06:00

This afternoon I returned from Atlanta, having last night watched the Alabama Crimson Tide dismantle the reigning national championship Florida Gators, led by a Heisman winner and filled with confident, talented players, to win the 2009 Southeastern Conference Championship. As I walked my ten-month old lab, Miles, through the woods near my home I thought of the wonderful memories of the game. But I also began to marvel at the lessons these young warriors had taught us. Here are half a dozen lessons these players had offered to us:

1) TRUST YOUR TEAM

It was the first drive of the second half by the Tide. When tight end Colin Peek ran his route down the middle and veered left away from the play action pass going right, he may not have been the primary receiver and probably had at best modest expectations. But he had beaten his defender, so he continued his route even though it was taking his farther and farther from his quarterback. His job was to get open, the quarterback's job was to get him the ball. The first receiver was covered, and the quarterback reversed his field of vision and saw Peek coming open. Greg McElroy lofted the pass over the defender and into the hands of the tall receiver. Earlier in the game, I had watched one of the team's leading receivers come open far down field. But he was so deep he hesitated for a moment, perhaps believing the quarterback could not heave such a long pass. This hesitation did two things--it allowed the cover man to catch up, and left the ball just past the receiver's outstretched hands. Peek had trusted his teammate to do his job, the other receiver had not. The one with faith scored a valuable touchdown. The one with little faith in his co-worker earned nothing.

2) DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE, NOT JUST YOUR JOB

Senior punter P.J. Fitzgerald spends time year-round sending spiraling punts high into the air. He lifts weights, runs, and does the other things needed to stay in shape as a football player on an elite team. But he does not line up and practice tackling every day. His job is to kick the ball long and high. Others should make the tackle. But when Florida's speedy Brandon James swung left around the Tide defense, after taking the ball at the 23, fans gasped or cheered, depending on their side, as everyone immediately saw that the only man between James and the goal was the punter. Fitzgerald didn't do as so many punters do and merely wave their arms as the runner goes past. He place himself squarely in the way and made up his mind that this touchdown would not come on his watch. He grabbed James and down they went.

3) HUMILITY MAKES A MAN'S STATURE GROW

Mark Ingram has become one of the greatest runners in Alabama history, and played himself into position for a possible Heisman trophy. The voting deadline is tomorrow, and I'll be amazed if he is not in the top two and possibly even number one. When asked recently about this possibility by a reporter recently, Ingram answered that he was part of something much bigger now. He was referring to goal number two and three of his team. Number one was to win the West Division of the SEC, which they had done. Next up was the SEC championship (which they won last night) and hopefully the National Championship after that. Mark knew this season was special but it was not about him. For that, I see his stature growing.

4) WINNERS HAVE CLASS

Tim Tebow is a winner. Conference championships, national championships, a Heisman. He's a proven winner. When he saw his team was going down last night, he wept. Openly, and caught by the camera and flashed on the giant screen for all to see. Yet when the game was over, he stayed in the middle of the Alabama celebration, patiently waiting to congratulate Coach Nick Saban. He was heartbroken and utterly disappointed, but he honored his competition and faced up to his opponent with class.

5) HONOR--THE TEAM IS BIGGER THAN ONE PERSON

Greg McElroy had the game of his life in beating Florida to win the SEC as a junior in his first season as a starter. He was named MVP. No one had given him an credit for being able to compare to Heisman winner Tim Tebow. But he had bested him and proven himself as a leader. He had every reason to gloat and be full of pride. No one would have thought anything of it if, when he stepped on the stage for the awards ceremony, he had held up one finger to symbolize that he and his team were now number one in the SEC and certainly would be number one in the nation in the next poll. But he didn't. McElroy held up two fingers in each hand, symbolizing 22 SEC victories for the Crimson Tide, dating back to the beginning of the SEC. McElroy had a sense of history and understood that his success was due in part to all the players, coaches and fans who had gone before and built this tradition of winning. He was saying that he was merely part of something large and wonderful, and bigger than one person.

6) DISCIPLINE AND SELFLESSNESS PAY OFF

Javier Arenas is one of my all-time favorite players. He is merely a few yards from holding the all-time NCAA record for punt return yards. He leads the SEC on kick-off returns. Although primarily a defensive back, he knows how to run the ball. Florida was making a bid to begin a turnaround and get back into the game with Alabama. No quitter, Tim Tebow and his Gators had last year come from behind the Tide in the fourth quarter to score two touchdowns and turn a 17-20 deficit into a 31-20 win. Last night, Tebow had marched his team to a first down and goal from the six. On the next play, Javier Arenas placed himself between the quarterback and tight end and intercepted the pass in the end zone. I expected him to run it out. Who would blame this talented runner. Two of his teammates had immediately wheeled around to block for him. But without hesitation, he took a knee. This fabulous runner took a knee. He was disciplined and selfless enough to know that getting the ball on the 20 would be a fierce blow to his opponent and help his team. It was not about Javy, it was about the team.

Number 12: Chick Flicks

2009-08-31T22:06:00.003-05:00

Okay guys, this one may not be for you. But then again, there may be a point worth remembering. Tonight was date night, and my wife picked "Julie and Julia" as the movie. We arrived early to what she admitted was a chick flick (sorry if that offends anyone, but there's just no better term for this kind of movie), and were the only people in the theatre so we sat near the front and began eating our popcorn with too much butter. Oops, I soon learned from the movie that there is not such thing as too much butter.

Groups of women in twos, threes and fours began to arrive just before the previews. Yikes. What was I in for. She had baited me by reminding me that I was writing a cookbook. Okay, good enough.

Final vote: I enjoyed it. Light fare for sure, but interesting, well acted and well edited. Definitely a good Monday date night movie.

As we walked to the car, I noted that I must have developed a weakness for chick flicks as I started remembering the ones I had reluctantly grown to like. My favorite of all time would be "Only You," a mid-90s romantic comedy starring Marissa Tomei and Robert Downey Jr. One of my all-time favorite lines, that somehow finds its way into at least one or two conversations every year: "Itly, what's she doing in Itly?" It's a Norman Jewison directed piece, someone whose work I don't normally like that much, though he did produce "Rollerball" and "Jesus Christ Superstar."

Of course, this movie must be watched after re-watching "Roman Holiday" or you'll miss the insider references. (Both movies had scenes in Rome.) Audry Hepburn and Gregory Peck made this film great, chick flick or not. And it's wonderfully aged, having been made in 1953 when I was born.

A few others I'd add to the list that guys should rent if their wives or girlfriends are tired of "Die Hard 57" or whatever the latest number is: "Pretty Woman," "When Harry Met Sally" (one of my faves), "You've Got Mail," "Thelma and Louise" (at least it had some action), "Terms of Endearment" (who can't love Debra Winger, and everything with Jack Nicholson is worth a $5 rental at least), and perhaps the greatest of all time, "Love Story." I would throw in "The Wedding Planner" if anyone other than J.Lo was in it.

Anyway, there's no shortage of movies for this list. These are just a few that I can handle and admit to enjoying. Just be careful guys, or your wife will say you should ask the doc to check your testeron level next time you see him.

Number 11: Watching Children Catch Fish

2009-06-16T16:12:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, my friend Charles Woods (Bubba to me) and I told young Matthew Hunt (age 9) we would help him catch his first red snapper. We're on Dauphin Island for a week, and Matthew's parents said he could go with us if we really meant it. So we loaded up the Virginia Reel ( a 23' Cobia walkaround) with Penn Spinning reels and 4.0 deepsea reels. I had the GPS numbers for a pipe uncovered by Katrina and knew it had held fish in the past. It would be an easy trip only eight miles offshore. As we motored through the Katrina Cut where the island has been split in half, the gulls were working the area and we suspected Spanish mackeral were killing the glass minnows. Ten minutes later, we had straw rigs (3" lengths of McDonald's straws we use as tube baits for trolling) behind the boat, and soon Matthew was reeling the first of several fish. But we soon pulled the lines and headed south on a 179 degree heading for the pipe. As we slowed 20 minutes later, fish immediately showed up on the depth finder, and we soon hooked sixinch croakers and dropped them nearly to the bottom of the 65' water. Bubba hooked up immediately and caught a grouper, but it was under the 24 inches required. An hour later, we still had no snapper, but six grouper. But a promise is a promise, so we made the decision to head south another ten miles to a gas rig, despite the distance. Over the next two hours, we hauled in a couple of 10-15 pound snapper--nice size for sure, and lost three that broke the 25 pound line and one that broke 50 pound line. Then young Matthew hooked up on a fresh live croaker. It was clearly a large fish. I sat on an ice chest and he leaned back inot me as hetook the rod while I reached my arms around him to help. He had to do the reeling, but I helped hold the pole. The fish--whatever it was--was heavy and determined. Matt used both hands at times to reel as I held the pole for him. Finally we saw color---red! A minute later Bubba scooped the net beneath the fish. We were hollering and high fiving as Matthew had his snapper, about 20 pounds of him! I've never had more fun catching fish myself than I did seeing the grin on Matthew's face.

Number 10: Movies

2008-03-02T19:01:00.003-06:00

Okay, I admit it. I've wasted enough hours watching reruns of movies to have completed the next great American novel, or two or three. Or at least reached all 500 entries in this blog. And not necessarily good movies. Stuff like Die Hard, Mission Impossible, Jaws and Rocky. I love action flicks. War movies. Bad westerns. There's something about propping my feet up on the coffee table, grabbing a bag of popcorn and ignoring the world for two hours that has a grip on me. As a graduate student I had the fabulous job of helping teach the American Studies course popularly known as Monday Night at the Movies. Not sure of the real name, but it was probably something like Popular Culture in America or something along those lines. We watched some great movies, some of which have remained on my all time top 20 list.

Here are the movies I recommend, and why:

1) It's a Wonderful Life. Produced in the 40s, this is perhaps my all-time favorite movie. Or perhaps it's just grown on me since my wife insisted on watching it at least twice every Christmas for the past 25 years. We have it on VHS (several copies), DVD, and on tape for the car. Whenever I find myself growing cynical, I try to think about this Frank Capra movie, which probably shows Jimmy Stewart at his best. Guys, if you are like me and don't like to be seen crying, watch the final scene in the dark.

2) I'll stick with the same era and mention several movies made from around 1939 to 1942, perhaps the most prolific era for Hollywood in reaching that magical place where film transcends the moment and transports us to somewhere special. Citizen Kane broke ground and departed from the Hollywood formula (good guys, bad guys, good guys win). It probed that murky gray stuff called real life where important characters aren't always either bad or good, but perhaps both at the same time. Orson Wells was fabulous as Kane, loosely based on William Randolph Hearst, who then used the power of his newspapers to trash Wells and permanently stunt his ability to flourish. If you don't know it, get it this weekend, turn off the phone and enjoy!

3) Another from that same period that still holds up is Casablanca, a great romance with enough action to keep my short attention span. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman steam it up. A must-see for all serious film watchers.

4) John Wayne came into his own about that same time with Stage Coach, where he played the good-hearted bad boy and forever earned his place among the great Western heroes. John ford directed and probably should get the most credit for making Wayne's career by casting him so often when they were both getting started. I think that was the same year as Gone with the Wind, the big epic movie that gives us a decent look at how people could love the old South despite its flaws. I'll throw it in here as a double feature for 1939.

5) The Maltese Falcon has to be mentioned along with those other three films that appeared over a three or four year period. It was John Huston's first film as director. Bogart again starred, as Sam Spade, along with the great Mary Astor. Yes, it's a corny plot. But the acting and its stage-like filming (it was all shot inside) give it a slot on the shelf of classics filmmakers have to acknowledge.

6) Moving on the one of my all-time favorites that shows me something new every time: Bonnie and Clyde. Part of me thinks that glorifying this murderous duo is sick. But this late 60s movie broke such new ground, not just in the cinematography, but in allowing us to see inside the heads of the bad guys in a way that allows us to understand their feelings, motivations and reasoning. In the end, we can reject them, but for a moment we are suspended from our day to day morality and allowed to explore a world where we cannot live.

7) I suspect Bonnie and Clyde is what allowed us to enjoy Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the first (I think??) matchup of the fabulous duo of Paul Newman and Robert Redford. Again, we're allowed to live outside ourselves and celebrate the freedom of non-conformity, even if only momentarily and tragically.

8) Might as well go ahead and mention Redford and Newman in The Sting, which is certainly in my all-time top five movies. Cannot tell you how many times I've quoted Newman from the movie, saying, "Revenge is for suckers." Taking that advice has kept me out of trouble more than once.

9) Wars are often understood and illuminated well by movies. And several have made my top 20 list. Let's start with Patton. The bigger than life personality, well portrayed by George C. Scott, helps us understand the mental state of mind required to triumph under such adversity. When men go to die for great causes, and lead or send others to die, they must attach themselves somehow to something beyond a high calling, to something transcendent and permanent and spiritual. And Patton certainly did so I believe. I think the support role of Karl Malden as General Omar Bradley is perhaps one of his best moments in film, too.

10) And as someone who turned 18 in 1971, Viet Nam movies have to be on my list. There have been several that turned my head. But Platoon is perhaps my favorite. William Defoe is simply amazing in his role, and Charlie Sheen and Forest Whitaker weren't too shabby. The film provides a sensitive look at the improbable morality struggles that go far beyond the politics of war. This one made me cry.

11) Dropping back for a moment to WWII, let's not forget The Great Escape. Steve McQueen is probably tied among my top three actors of all time and was a fun character to cheer for in this movie. The name tells enough of the story.

12) Go back a few hundred years (to when, I don't know exactly), but if honor, dignity and bravery mean anything to you, Braveheart should be on your list of movies to watch a time or two. Overlooking the phony accent, Mel Gibson does a great job of winning me over and taking his rightful place in serving the concept of the worthiness of struggles for freedom.

13) To Kill a Mockingbird has to fit in here somewhere randomly as a great, great movie. Gregory Peck was never better. This film based on Harper Lee's novel of the same name, with screenplay by Horton Foote, has to be on any list of great films. I mentioned earlier my list of top actors, and Robert Duvall became such through his Westerns and a fabulously heart-warming flick that I think was titled Secondhand Lions or something like that with Michael Caine. Funny and worth an afternoon by the way. Anyway, you may not remember he played Boo Radley in this movie in what has to be one of his earliest roles.

14) I don't just like the old stuff. Great movies are still being made. Jim Harrison's fine novel Legends of the Fall came out about ten years ago and blew me away. yes, it's romantic, but is a big, sweeping epic way. Grandiose scenery and intricate themes of love between men and women, men and their families, men and their lifestyles. Brad Pitt's best role ever. Period.

15) Even the later seventies, which I have a hard time forgiving for letting disco ruin a great run for rock and roll, had it movie moments. Certainly Star Wars changed the way we think of ourselves. George Lucas made action/adventure mean something new and created a whole new world for us to explore. Can it ever be topped?

16) And just when we thought the good b-movie was dead, along came Raider of the Lost Ark in the early 80s. What fun. Need I say more?

17) Soon to follow, The Terminator. Again, our world had been expanded by Star Wars and back came the future.

18) Whatever you think of the Coen Brothers' fine films (Millers Crossing, No Country for Old Men, O Brother Where Art Thou), it would be hard to question the brilliance of the quirky Fargo. Marge Gunderson's pregnant character is completely impossible to ever forget as she methodically goes about piecing together the inept crime spree of the perpetrators. I put this at the top of their resume.

19) Horror, blood and guts have their place in film, so I have to include at least one. My pick would be The Silence of the Lambs. Based on the novel by Thomas Harris, this film brings us face to face with what infects our souls when we let in the darkness and become its friend. Interestingly, I never hear anyone here in Jackson, Mississippi, mention that Harris was born here. Surely we owe him the same due we give Grisham or Iles.

20) Last but not least, who could have a top 20 without The Godfather. Brilliant writing, acting, directing. Will anyone who saw Marlon Brando as Don Vito Corleone ever forget that husky voice?

So there you have my top 20 (or so), though not really in any order. I'm sure that by next time I visit the blog I will think of another film or two that should be on the list. I'm already feeling bad about leaving Clint Eastwood behind. I love all the spaghetti Westerns. I've watched those mid-60s movies over and over: A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. So put them on the list too. And throw in a couple of Dirty Harry movies for good measure if you're killing time on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I spent many great nights in the late 60s at the drive-in back in Ozark, Alabama, watching Clint shoot 'em up.

Send your votes and arguments, if you have a flick I need to see or forgot to mention.

Number 9: Favorite books that become old friends

2008-02-09T08:36:00.000-06:00

It's Saturday morning. After two cups of coffee and an English muffin while reading the The Clarion-Ledger, I decided to take a few minutes to write. The sun has already risen to the treetops and the reservoir looks white-hot with the sun reflecting through the front window as I look out over the balcony. This library where I write has become my favorite place in the house over the six months we've lived here. Watching that sun come up over the water has been almost--no, perhaps truly--lifechanging. It makes it worthwhile to roll my feet over the side of the bed in darkness just to be sitting here when the sun finally spalshes red light across the water.

So anyway, I had built-in bookshelves installed and created this library, complete with a cool ladder from a Delta general store so I can reach the bookshelves 12 feet up. Before I moved, my books were scattered around the house, stacked here and there, and difficult to manage. After the move, I had the opportunity to pick up each book and decide where it should live. It did something unexpected, which was to let me reconnect with my favorites and arrange the library so I could see them more often and more easily find time to reread.

Here are a few of the books and authors on my list of all-time favorites:

#1--The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain

I've said this before, but I know from my education and the opinions of some literary scholars that Huck Finn is supposed to be the foundational book of American literature. But personally, I like Tom Sawyer better. It's just a fun read. I don't think it would be an exageration to say I have read it cover to cover more than 20 times. Growing up, it became a summer ritual to read it again.

#2--What Thou Lovest Well Remains American, poetry by Richard Hugo

Hugo is my favorite author. Period. Reading his work is looking through his eyes. No hidden meanings, nothing to interpret, just a raw, direct connection to the world as he saw it. I've never spent much time in Montana (actually none other than goose hunting). But I feel like I know the place. I once wrote a poem mimicking his style and sent it to him. He was gracious and wrote me back to say he liked it. I don't care if he really did. If you don't know his work, you don't know one of our age's greatest writers and one I predict will survive the ages. You might also try The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir.

#3--The Book of Nightmares, poetry by Galway Kinnell

I mention this book because I attribute my learning to write to Hugo's book above and this short volume. Both contain work written first half of the 1970's, or perhaps late 60s, that were my high school and college years. The language delivered a new way of looking at the world, a challenge to think differently. Although my favorite poem by Kinnell is "The Bear" from Body Rags (1967 I think), there was something about this book that left scar tissue in my brain. I have read this and the Hugo book many, many times.

#4--Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice

I love popular fiction. And I have difficulty with the distinctions we often make between pop and literary fiction. The distinction matters little to me. Whether a writer propels me to through the work because I want to know how the fight ends or if I care so deeply about a character I want to know if he lives, I just enjoy the work for what it is. Rice created a separate universe through this book. I can't argue the merits of this one book over herothers that trace the history of this world she created, but I know that this book continues to haunt me (in good ways) three decades later. Again, the book came along in my most formative years as a writer, so I'm sure that had something to do with my reaction. It was published in 1976, which I believe was the year I first had a poem accepted for publication.

#5--Almost everything written by Henry David Thoreau, but probably the classic Walden is still the piece most memorable to me and with the most influence on my thinking. I think of him often, as I get caught up in my business world and become so focused on making money or winning a new account. There is more to life than work or money. Trite and easy to say. But I also remember HDT invented a new pencil for the family business. Thoreau had a way of keeping things in perspective that is as relevent today as it was in the early 19th century when we lived.

I have to make on aside here, that is of distinction. This is a strong request for those of you (this of course assumes I have an audience here, which is a large assumption, I know) who have even a passing interest in those writers and scholars known as The Transcendalists. Or anyone who is a student of American history. Or who simply enjoys biography. Go find a copy of A week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, by Thoreau. This is basically a book based on his journals written during a trip, as indicated by the title. That is almost unimportant, though the work is a fun read. What is important is the incredible biographical sketch written by Emerson that serves as the introduction to the book. It provides the most insightful biographical look at Thoreau one could possibly find, and the writing sings, even by modern standards. It is compelling, honest, loving and critical at once. It is one of my most favorite pieces of writing of any sort, and brings Thoreau to life in ways no one other that RWE could possibly do.

#6--Poachers, by Tom Franklin
It's hard to say what makes me put this volume of short stories (about 10 I think) in my all-time top ten list; there could be several reasons. Its stories are often set in South Alabama where I grew up. The language and and the characters are those I grew up with and relate to, despite their sometimes creepy nature. I know and like Tom, from conferences and book signings. The book is recent (1999), and we live in the same state. All that said, the real reason is that this book--like all the ones mentioned above--builds a world I like to explore. I may not want to live in it, but it fascinates me.

Okay...my self-imposed deadline to write is here. I'll stop and publish this page and try to get back to it later with at least my top ten......Philip

Number 8: Beautiful Endings

2008-01-17T06:23:00.000-06:00

My old lab died in my arms last night. While it left me and my wife heartsick and sobbing, it was a beautiful ending. Boaz would have been 14 in March, so she had a full and wonderful life. That's her retrieving the duck in the photo.This is her story.

Some 16 years ago, we loved and occasionally bred golden retrievers. Our two dogs Jamaica and K.C. (King Cassidine of Circle Hill, technically) were great pets and loving dogs. Jamaica was a deep red, well proportioned head, quiet and loving. KC was a boy. Frolicking, laughing and full of life. I could not imagine ever not owning a Golden.

Then our friend Joyce Woods, one of the premier lab breeders in the country (Oakdale Labs, if you want to look her up), showed up at our house with a van full of dogs she was running in a hunt test in Jackson, Miss. Among the dogs was CH Broad Reach Bocephus, owned by Jim Bowron (Fortune Labs, South Carolina). I fell in love with this dog immediately. His personality made you want to love him, the way he treated you as if you were his dog. He would look you in the eye. And though I knew not what a lab should look like at that time, I knew he was the most gorgeous animal I'd ever seen.

I told Joyce I wanted a puppy from this dog when KC and Jamaica are done with this life. They were 11 and 12 at the time. She laughed. "I bet you do," she said. "He's the number one lab in the country."

(You dog lovers can look up "CH Broad Reach Bocephus, JH")

"Well," I said. " I don't just want a puppy, I want a male pick of the litter."

That was the beginning. I was undeterred and on a mission. Within months both Goldens died and opened the backyard for a puppy.

Months passed, and my name moved up on the list. Then one day Joyce called. "It's not a pick of the litter or male, but I have a female puppy I will give you that is the granddaughter of Bo."

I told my wife that was fine if she wanted the puppy, but I still wanted the big boy from Bocephus. We took the puppy, who we named Boaz. Boaz would be Virginia's dog and I'd get a puppy later. As things developed, mine would be available three months later.

Well, dogs have their own mind. Boaz was an alpha bitch by every measure. As they grew, she became a fiercely independent dog who loved, guess who, me. Once she learned about hunting and retrieving, she adopted me.

Our second puppy, Morgan (who came to be known across the entire Southeast at dog shows as Baby Morgan, rather than his real name CH Oakdale's MorganBrake Bocephus) became a mamma's boy, instead of mine. That's him standing beside the 4 wheeler after a hunt in Arkansas. He grew big and handsome and eventually was our version of the perfect triple purpose dog: Champion (in the show ring), great duck and goose retriever, and loving couch dog who loved to crawl up in your lap to watch TV.

Boaz cared little for such petting. While loving and eager to please, she was about exploring, retrieving, hunting and being the boss. She too went into the show ring and earned points, and I believe would have finished. Her head was gorgeous. But we were committed by this point to the breed and had her eyes and hips checked. One hip would not certify, so we had her spayed.

She did go on to earn a CD (companion dog) title under my wife.

The Boaz stories are worth repeating. Like the time she retrieved the garden hose that was running on full to fill the pool. She managed to carry it up the deck stairs, across the deck, down the other side and through the doggy door into the den. Where my wife found her one morning on her way to work. Boaz, still a puppy, held the hose in her teeth proudly to show how smart she was.

Another day Boaz the puppy proudly retrieved the dead and half rotten possum through the doggy door.

We still have a wood duck mount that was her first retrieve and Virginia's first duck shot. It was the last duck we saw on the last day of the season. The beaver pond was frozen and we broke ice all the way the middle. The sun was about to set and the season would be over. Red streaks had already spread across the horizon when this lone woodie whistled over the treetops. I yelled to take the shot, a high straight up shot. The duck folded and landed some 75 yards away, and merely skidded across the ice. Boaz was over the side of the boat and into the ice. She dog paddled her way, breaking ice with each paw stroke all the way, never thinking twice about it, and brought us the duck.

Through most of her life she remained loving but very independent. Four years ago Morgan got cancer and died quickly. He was a once-in-a-lifetime dog, with amazingly robust personality, perfect lines, penetrating eyes like his daddy. Loyal and caring. He loved to hide his eyes against my leg on the couch and have his ears rubbed. Not Boaz.

When he died Boaz mellowed a little, which continued in her old age. She finally learned to stand still for more than two seconds and let us rub her ears. She even "hid her eyes" a few times. She became a companion for Virginia and they were together all the time as Virginia painted from home often rather than go to the studio. And for the past few months moved her studio home. They became better friends than ever.

Boaz travelled everywhere with us. She was happy in the back of the car and never complained or whined about hours on her bed amongst suitcases. She could no longer jump into the car due to her bad hip. So we had a routine. I'd tell her to "Load." She would put her front feet on the bumper and I would lift her back feet so she could scramble into the car. She loved travelling.

About Thanksgiving Boaz developed cough. At first it was not too bad, but during Christmas it worsened. We visited a vet while out of town and he confirmed that fluid was building. She was treated with various things, but ultimately her age won. I knew the end was coming and even called my mom on the drive home last night to say I did not think she would make the weekend.

Boaz was tough. She had survived two major surgeries from clogged intestines after swallowing socks. Yeah, she had some bad habits. She had been in a few fights. But her spirit never slowed. Even to the last day she would always pick up a toy when I came home to show me how much she wanted to retrieve and how smart a girl she was. She loved toys that squeaked.

For the last two days, she hardly sat and never slept. When she tried to lie down, she would cough and could not breath. One last trip to the vet confirmed he could do nothing lasting and the potential surgery would be painful and temporary. We could not put her through that just to give us a few days.

When I arrived at the back door, Virginia told me to be quiet, that Boaz was actually sleeping for only the second time in 24 hours and had just put her head down.

I tiptoed upstairs and changed clothes. I heard her bark or cough, so I went down to see her. I knew her little nap was over. As I reached the bottom of the stairs she was on all fours, with her head up. I walked over to pet her and she looked up at me, then immediately rolled over unconscious as I held her. I held her and Virginia petted her, feeling her heart slow down as she died in our arms like that within a minute. She wanted us there, and waited for me to get home.

It was a beautiful ending. She was ready to go. We'll miss you, Girl. I hope you and Morgan are back together now.

www.philipshirley.com

Number 7: Cutting your own firewood

2008-01-13T16:04:00.001-06:00

This weekend I spent a few hours Saturday morning and into the afternoon cutting and splitting firewood. We love fires in the home, and have had a couple of dozen fires this year already. Behind my house several trees had been cleared when the land was prepared for my new house. And one large tree had recently been felled by the Pearl River Water Authority, thinking it threatened my house I suppose. I need exercise, but can only take so much time on the weight machine (15 minutes maybe) or walking ( half an hour tops). Holding a chain saw and swinging a mall keeps me going for hours. There's something about the smell of freshly cut wood that sends a feeling through my veins like a drug. The satisfaction of bringing that mall down on a section of tree and feeling it give as the heavy weight divides the wood into two halves delivers a feeling that I rarely get in the office. I can have a great day creating incredibly powerful marketing and fun ads, but the next day I'm back at the start on the next round. So when I can step back at the end of the day and enjoy that stack of wood, it brings me closer to something that feels right. More in touch with home, with the good life, I suppose. And who can argue with the feeling of power when that Stihl chain saw grabs that log and chews its way through. Or the beauty of the smooth cross-section of wood, which I love to run my fingers over as I inhale its freshness, guessing at the number of rings telling its age. At my cabin in the Cumberland Mountains, the only heat is a lone wood stove. The feeling of security and self-reliance is hard to beat, knowing that you'll be comfortable and secure whether the electricity flows or not.

Number 6: The Mississippi Delta

2008-01-06T21:53:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I arrived home after a weekend in the Delta. There is no place comparable on earth, in ways that are good, bad, mysterious, mystical, and many other adjectives that I'll work into this blog at some point. For those who don't know, the Delta has nothing to do with the Gulf of Mexico, and nothing to do with how the Mississippi River dumps itself into that gulf. The Delta is a half-moon shape of flat land that runs from about Vicksburg, Miss. to Memphis. It floods, but is generally protected by a long levee system. Some politicians and geologists claim parts of it cover Arkansas and Louisiana. But to me the real delta is a flat stretch of bottom land in Mississippi. Known as the center of cotton production a century and a half ago, mixing mind-numbing poverty and concentrated wealth (I've a feeling the phrase land poor started here), this area continues with its alluring mix of duck and deer hunting, the concomitant "deer camps" the hunting has fostered for a century, honky tonks with real blues, straight flat highways for miles, and the prevalence of small, poor communities over thriving towns and cities. I spent Saturday and Sunday mornings 35 feet up a large oak tree hunting whitetail deer, listening to mallard duck wings whistling from flocks high overhead and the screams of woods ducks in pairs just over the tree tops as they headed for 5-mile Lake nearby, one of hundreds of oxbow lake left from the meandering of the Mississippi over thousands of years. That's it in the photo, as shot from a duck blind across the lake. About a hundred yards into the woods about in the center of this picture is the tree where I was hunting.

Saturday night we visited the Onward Store for dinner, which deserves to be named one of my 500 great things all by itself. Onward Store is the teddy bear store, the place where Roosevelt visited when he had his famous hunting trip to Mississippi, but refused to shoot a bear tied out for him. The store has been around for nearly a century, its worn hardwood floors smooth from muddy boots and children's bare feet. We were there for the new owners to serve up the Saturday special, a huge rib eye steak ($21.99) cooked over real charcoal in a large grill sitting in the side parking lot. We started with some fried Boudin Balls ( don't ask) and a dozen tamales, a Delta special that every restaurateur with any self respect has first on the menu. We took our own wine, in this case a box (Box Star) and a glass carafe, which seemed out of place but anything goes here. While we waited on our food we struck up a conversation with three young hunters, 6, 9, and 12. The 9 year old, son of the proprietor, had killed a 10 point and a doe (from his back yard I suspect), so he was the real hero here. He pointed to the display case where there was a football some guy he didn't know from Auburn had signed the day before. Before the night was out, he had it out of the case and was throwing it to the 6-year old in the wet, gravel parking lot. What he really wanted was a Peyton Manning signature on his Fat Boy.

In my stand the next morning, sweating bullets as I strapped myself to the tree and inched up, I thought of the bears that had been seen in the area. Paw prints bigger than my hand were reported 75 yards from my tree. The sunrise was not its usual spectacular view due to the overcast weather, but the three does that fed in front of me made it worth the climb.

If you've not visited the Delta, you should. I have not even scratched the surface of the stories this place holds for everyone who visits and listens.

Number 4. Old-time Pool Halls and Coke bottle bets

2007-11-06T22:19:00.001-06:00

I don't know about where you grew up. But in a couple of small South Alabama towns, the pool hall on Saturday morning was on the top ten list of fun things we could do. Yes, it might have been just a tiny bit on the bad boy side, but in Ozark and Monroeville, the two towns where I grew up, the one pool hall was exotic to a boy of 16 or 17. Mysterious. Alluring. Irresistible.

Most of the patrons were good old boys, in the best sense, usually from the wrong side of town--meaning perhaps they had even less material prosperity than those of us from modest (though not poor) means. I learned to cuss more easily there, and where to buy a beer if you were under age. We learned all the betting games, from nine-ball to snooker, six-ball and straight pool. We learned about the Amos and Andy board, a sloping board that covered about a third of a standard pool table, and had holes with numbers beside them. The goal was to draw a "pill" (dice with only one number) from a plastic bottle, then shoot a ball into a hole so that the ball number and hole number combined matched your pill. Hit the eight ball into the seven hole if you held a 15 pill and you won the bet, usually a dollar for each of the four or five players.

But my favorite small-time bet was when we all wanted a Coke. Yes always a Coke. Not Pepsi, which was a Yankee drink back then (then?). So anyway, next to the drink box was a United States map, with a string pinned to the town location. We'd each pull a Coke bottle and look on the bottom for the city where it was originally bottled. Then measure the distance from where we were. Panama City might be only a hundred miles, but St. Louis was five times that--or something like that. I can't even remember all the cities where Cokes were bottled, but it was a fine bet to see whose bottle traveled the greatest distance. Even today, when I run across a short Coke, I am instantly transmitted back in time to a smoky pool hall in Monroeville, to the clack clack of pool balls, laughter at Smitty's joke we'd all heard before, to the high seats looming over the pool tables. To Jeff amazing us with his runs of 20 or thirty balls without a miss in straight pool. To the incomparable taste of that icy Coke when stuffing four dollars into a jeans pocket because my bottle travelled all the way from California.

Number 3. Finding Old Photos

2007-11-05T17:44:00.000-06:00

My father died as the result of an explosion on a natural gas pipeline a few months after I graduated from the University of Alabama in 1975. I was 22, and he was my role model for how men are supposed to comport themselves in life. Nearly 20 years later, I was rummaging through a drawer and found a tiny black and white photo of my father as a young man. there was nothing special about the photo, and I had seen it before. But something about where I was in life had changed (reaching 40 maybe?) and I reacted to the photo in profoundly important and moving ways. I had not written poetry for over a decade, having officially "retired" from poetry writing on the day my second book was published (a story for another day). But this photo so moved and delighted me that I sat down and wrote the poem below. That photo remains a treasure to this day. I hope that you, too, have old photos hiding in a book or drawer that will give you the same special moment this one gave me.

Surprised By An Old Photo, December 1994

I watch you stand there comfortably, weight on one leg,
hands at your side, loose-fitting gray suit,

cuffed trousers that would be fashionable again today,
and I realize I’m older than you, daddy.

You are caught with that half smile, confident but not cocky.
I don’t remember that striped bow tie, but it fits you well

with your hair slicked back and parted just so, on the left.
This must be Sunday morning before church, and I’m behind mom

in my little white shorts and coat, Nan with her horn-rimmed glasses
and long plaid skirt beside me. I can see us there in the back yard

though we’re nowhere in the shot. But it’s your hands
I remember most, always too old for your face. Seeing them in this scene

brings back small moments like finding old photos scattered in a drawer
that tell me I learned something from you.

I learned from you why men don’t cry.
And I try to explain it’s not macho, I just trust you. Few people understand.

I’m still fascinated by your strong hands, rough, worn,
with the nails you scraped clean each night with the pocketknife I carry now.

I can’t remember you holding me
as a small child, though I’m sure you did.

You knew things were never as black and white as this.

Number 2. Unpredictable Sterotypes

2007-11-05T11:10:00.000-06:00

Okay, it was 8:30 a.m. Here's the setting: I was in line for a coffee at Cups in downtown Jackson, Mississippi, in the lobby of a retail section of a tall bank building. I was wearing my usual suit and tie, scanning my Blackberry for any urgent emails (as I was a minute late for work) and glancing at the chalk board to see the featured coffees of the day. I had settled on Southern Pecan, the flavor of the day. The sun was shining through a set of tall windows, creating shafts of light that reflected on the polished marble floors. Several coffees were brewing and the smell made me think this would be a great day.

In front of me was a man of about 35 or so, blue jeans, nice work shoes and a camo cap. As he stepped to the front of the line, I found myself trying to predict his order. Large Southern Pecan? Regular dark roast? "Small coffee."?

Wrong all the way.

"Triple latte," I heard him say. "Skim milk. Splenda. And add a shot of espresso if you will."

I love stereotypes, especially of Southerners. Mostly because I am so often wrong when I think of them. Today I was so wrong it made my heart sing. Just another of the 500 things I love about life.

Number 1. A Perfect Bloody Mary

2007-11-04T22:13:00.000-06:00

Nothing is better on a crisp, fall Saturday morning before a football game than a Bloody Mary. Here is my recipe, which has converted many a screwdriver drinker who never had a really good bloody Follow the order and ingredients below:

Ice Fill a tall tumbler with ice. Not half way. ALL the way to the top. Bloody Marys must be very cold.

Lemon Take a big wedge. Not LIME. Repeat, not lime. Unless you're at the beach or something and have to make do. Remove the seeds with a fork. Squeeze every drop, the put the remains into the glass.

Louisiana Hot Sauce If you swear by Tabasco, fine. But in reality it's more heat than taste and you can fire up your bloody with a couple of extra drops of something more tasty. I use about a tablespoon. At a minimum, try a teaspoon. If you see someone carefully dripping two drops of hot sauce into a bloody, grab the fixin's from the wimp and make your own drink, for goodness sake.

Vodka You can use the good stuff if you like, but I'd bet my house NO ONE will know the difference between Taaka or Kettle One or Stoli. I pour an unmeasured ounce to ounce and a half. Keep it in the freezer if at all possible so it does not heat the tomato juice.

Celery salt Any brand seems okay as long as it's fresh. I go for a hearty two shakes. Yes, it seems like a lot, but go for it. This is one of the primary tastes for a magnificent waker-upper drink.

Salt Okay, it's not good for you. I know. But neither is starting drinking at nine in the morning. Unless you count mental health. Shake a few grains over the top.

Pepper Grind a few fine flakes over the top. Maybe one quarter of a teaspoon.

Lea and Perrins Worcestershire Substitute another brand if you must, but try to get the real thing if you care about yourself and your guests. This is perhaps the most important chemical in the concoction, to transform mere tomato juice with stuff in it into a marvelous elixir. Be generous. Perhaps a tablespoon for starters. If the red color does not mellow into a creamy reddish chocolate, you are being stingy.

Real tomato juice Get it from a bottle if possible, but if not, pour it first into a pitcher to let it oxidize for a few minutes. Do NOT use V-8 or some other weird concoction unless you're a phony. If you are a phony or obnoxiously pretentious, then V-8 will work fine for you. Obviously, pour enough to fill a tall glass after all the good stuff has been poured. Who knows how many ounces it takes. Just fill the frikking glass.

Now mix it Don't just stick a spoon in and swirl it. This is a perfect mix of chemicals that long to convert themselves into something else that will set off fireworks in your mouth. Pour the entire mixture into another glass, then pour it back. Twice would be even better.

Celery Cut fresh celery into lengths just long enough poke out the top of the glass about an inch. Cut right before you insert into the drink so the celery oil actually merges with the drink. Once you start drinking, eat the celery along with the drink.

That's it! And please DO NOT do any of the following to a wonderful bloody Mary:
...Substitute V-8. (Did I say that already?)
...Add an olive. Yuck. If you need an olive, put two into straight cold vodka. But please wait until after 5.
...Insert something weird like a pickled string bean. What idiot came up with that?
...Go too light on the hot sauce.
...Go too light on the Worcestershire.
...Only fill the glass half-way with ice (just do it once and see how many people at the party only finish half their drink. A warm bloody in worse than a last sip of a warm beer.)

Enjoy! I'll share another of my 500 greatest things in life later.

PS