World Beginnings

A small girl sat quietly in the front row of the balcony, wearing her shabby Sunday best. Around her, her third-grade classmates poked each other and squirmed in their seats, but she gazed in amazement at the scene before her. Elaborate crimson velvet drapes covered the walls, and a plush red carpet led to rows of soft seats. Suddenly, the curtains rose to reveal an orchestra seated with their instruments. The women were dressed in black, and the men wore tuxedos. The girl was mesmerized. Suddenly, the conductor emerged from backstage to applause. He bowed to the audience of public school children and their frazzled teachers. Silently, he raised his baton, and the sound exploded as the musicians played “Flight of the Bumblebee.” The girl’s entire body pulsed with the magical buzzing sound. Seventy years later, she still remembers the name of that piece and the “1812 Overture.” It was the very first experience of beauty she had encountered in her seven years. That little girl was me. So...

  Biloxi's Best Burger,   2021 My brother Johnny and I drove into a small parking lot where a square, block concrete building stood, completely windowless and with no visible door. I noticed the vehicles in the lot were mostly trucks and SUVs. After parking his truck, we approached a recessed door marked with a bold sign that read, "No weapons allowed." With some trepidation, I followed him into the bar, which was called The Project, located very close to Keesler Air Force Base. The single room was dimly lit with a long L-shaped bar and about ten tables scattered throughout. The hanging lights cast a soft glow, creating a dim and solemn atmosphere. It reminded me of the old Star Trek series where the crew would find themselves in a rough bar filled with large, alien-like beings; this time, however, we were the crew. The Project is a true dive bar, and its popularity is largely due to its proximity to Keesler Air Force Base. The lunchtime crowd mainly consisted of young so...

  When we arrived at Doris and James' expansive house—my brother’s in-laws—located in a rural area outside of Jackson, we found the oval driveway filled with their relatives' cars. It was a crisp, drizzly Thanksgiving day. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, and the scent of smoke from the fireplace signaled the warmth that awaited us inside. As we entered the beautifully decorated home, the sounds of laughter and cheerful chatter enveloped us. The aroma of roasting turkey mingled with fresh-cut flowers and scented candles, creating an inviting atmosphere. Even the bathrooms impressed, offering soft, monogrammed hand towels instead of paper towels, along with fragrant soaps and perfumed hand lotions. The dining tables overflowed with every Southern culinary delight, and Doris’s cornbread dressing—made without white bread or fancy ingredients—stole the show. This was more than just a meal; it was a feast for the mind, body, and soul. Plus, everyone took home leftovers,...

July 7, 1944 — April 6, 2024 July 7, 1944 — April 6, 2024 To celebrate Kate's wonderful and caring life, I have been reflecting on all she brought to our world. KT (Katee), as I affectionately called her, was very well suited for her job as a school guidance/college counselor. She was one of the rare people who knew the right questions to ask a struggling student, an upset colleague, or an angry parent. Kates' questions could gently probe, get to the root of the problem, and develop creative solutions out of a hat, much like a magician. KT's ability to deal with the most delicate situations truly amazed me. I remember when a girl had slipped off campus to meet a former student, an expat, for lunch, and her father found out, along with the newly available video chats with an unknown boy. He beat her black and blue and pulled her out of school. But she was a senior, and graduation was just around the corner. We know Emirati men are not accustomed to being challenged by a wo...

  Gradually, I have been cleaning and tossing old memories because they mean nothing to anyone but me. The picture above is my first husband, our son Steven and his two children Erik and Hope. Thomas Leroy Witcher was born in Choctaw County, Mississippi, in 1945 to the poorest of poor families. His father, Booker, was elderly when he married Bessie, an illiterate fourteen-year-old girl. Together they had seven children. Old Booker had given up the drink and became a fervent religious convert in his dotage. The family had so little to eat, his mother canned peas and beans, and there was certain to be at least one fly in each jar. The family joke was that was all the meat they had to eat.  Thomas and his sister Maybelle were the only ones to make a life for themselves. Maybelline attended Belhaven College, married a fellow student, and they became missionaries. Thomas attended the local junior college for a semester and dropped out to join the army. One summer day in 1966, a fri...

  Sri Lanka, 2005 One of my classes in Sri Lanka was analyzing E. M. Forrester's masterpiece  Passage to India , one of the most important works of the 20th century. In an attempt to convey the mysticism of India to these young people, I learned about a very unusual Hindu temple in Colombo. In short order, I arranged a field trip. The picture above represents the type of structure we would see around Colombo. But the temple we visited was unlike any Hindu temple in Sri Lanka. After talking about proper behavior in a holy place, we traveled to this temple. I wish I could remember the name. Arriving, I was struck by the concrete structure before us, nothing like I expected. Fortunately, there were only about twelve students, and they huddled around me as we entered the dark interior, leaving our shoes at the door. Unexpectedly, we had come on a particular holy day. Hundreds of candles lit the interior, creating an otherworldly sense. Devotees had brought offerings of flowers wh...