The Days and Nights of Catherine Evermore

John 8:7 – And as they continued to ask him, he stood up and said to them, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Just because certain people aren’t running around with their hands in the air shouting Hallelujah, Praise the Lord, and Thank You, Jesus, does not mean they are not people of faith.

I am a person of faith. My relationship with God is personal. I have friends – devout Christians and Jews – who have prayed for me on more than one occasion. If prayers get you to Heaven then I’ve got my one-way ticket come Judgment Day.

Anyway, it is quite clear that if you don’t do the Christian boogaloo according to the gospel of certain folks then you are not true believers. There are those who would not know a Christian value or the polite, kind way to treat another person if it bit them on the ass.

Is it their job to roam the Internet looking for people to stone to death because – wait for it – they are good and fine upstanding members of the community, and as God as my witness, they are good Christians?

I don’t know what Bible some of you read, but I’m beginning to think there are those who have a Jim Jones mentality.

Warning: Don’t drink the Kool-Aid.

Thus endeth the lesson.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

Operator
by The Manhattan Transfer

Way back in the day … I mean before some of you were even born … I moved to in a small southern town that supported dirt track auto racing. The women were way too pretty for their own good, and the men always had a wad of tobacco tucked in their cheeks and talked like they had marbles in their mouths.

Did I mention the men wore tight jeans?

I was the new girl in town. It was a small town and word got around fast.

“Hey! Did you meet the new girl in town? I hear she’s from the big city.”

Anyway, it was a friendly little town, and people were always inviting me here and there to meet other friendly people. That’s how I ended up at the dirt track.

Dirt track auto racing was a big Saturday night event, and half the town showed up to cheer for their favorite driver. People would come from miles away on dirt track racing night. As it turned out, there were other dirt tracks sprinkled throughout the neighboring towns. Once, we ventured as far away as Valdosta, Georgia.

The brother of a new friend had two friends who owned a dirt track race car. We were in high cotton because we got to watch the race from the back of a pickup truck down in the pits.

Being much younger back then, hopping on and off the tailgate of the truck was easy. Once, I almost caught the hem of my jeans on a something or other, which would have put me face down in the dirt. There’s an art to hopping off the tailgate of a pickup truck.

After each Saturday night race, we would head on down to the all-night diner for breakfast. I think the only time the diner stayed open all night was on dirt track racing night.

Did I mention how dirty everyone was after the race?

Being a squeaky clean kind of gal, I soon learned that a little dirt (or mud) on my face wasn’t the worst thing in the world. By then, I had learned to dress appropriately for race night: jeans, boots or thick sneakers, a long t-shirt with the number of my favorite dirt track race car on the back, a ball cap with my hair twisted up under the cap, and a bit more than usual makeup.

You had to be there to appreciate the look.

Two years later, I moved back to the big city. After a few road trips to visit my friends in Small Town, USA, we all moved on, some moved away, and a few passed away. My dirt track auto racing days had come to an end.

Last I heard, they torn down the all-night diner to make way for a four lane road that goes right through the middle of town.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

The Grisham’s are stacked over there on top of a nightstand, and the alphabet series is spread out over three bookcases. Ms. Cornwell is here and there, and if you won’t laugh, I have a section on erotica somewhere in the closet. A few Janet Evanovich books have been added to my collection, and they are stacked on a ladder-back chair in the dining area. She’s new to me, so I’m saving her for a rainy day.

My father’s and grandfather’s Oz books by L. Frank Baum and later Ruth Plumly Thompson date back to 1915 (there are three different books). There is Tennyson’s Poems that must have belonged to my great-grandmother (dated 1896), and let’s not forget The Blue Book of Social and Friendly Correspondence (dated 1922). I have several other books that belonged to my parents and grandparents, as well as books for children that my siblings and I enjoyed when we were young.

Through the years, I have collected a few Bibles, but none is more beautiful than our family Bible, which dates back to 1873. Actually, there are two family Bibles, and my sister has the other one. I should ask her about the date.

For some reason, I have a collection of dictionaries. The same is true for cookbooks that came from my mother’s kitchen. I’m a card-carrying member of the world’s worst cooks organization. Okay, there probably isn’t such an organization, but the title fits.

Dad’s Carrier Cruise Annual (1950-51) is displayed quite nicely, as is a model of one of the aircraft he flew. My uncle sent me his three volumes of Lee’s Lieutenants by Douglas Southall Freeman (dated 1943 and 1944). I’ve yet to read them.

I have slim books and fat books, hard covered books and soft covered books, paperbacks that have yellowed with age and books that are begging to be read. Mysteries, poetry, history, art, travel, and the old self-help books all grace my bookcases, table tops, and various other places. A few classics are thrown in for good measure.

Books, books, books … and now they come in LARGE print. No more squinting at small print found in paperback books. Soft covered books and hard covered books in LARGE print is a true blessing to these old, tired eyes.

Well, I could go on and on, but I won’t …

Have a nice day!

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.