Author: Catherine

My sister called one day to ask if I was familiar with the term “catfish.” I must confess that the only catfish I know about are the bottom feeders you fry up and eat with tartar sauce. Furthermore, my one and only experience with catfish happened while I was living in a small southern town many years ago.

A restaurant on the outskirts of town offered a Friday night “all the catfish you could eat for next to nothing plus sweet tea” special. You needed to get there early if you wanted catfish. Otherwise, you had to order something else.

One Friday night, I was invited to have dinner at this particular restaurant to partake in the catfish ritual. Not knowing the “proper” way to eat catfish, I found myself with a mouth full of tiny bones. Apparetnly, there is an art to stripping the fish off the bone, but I never quite mastered the craft.

Thank goodness for the fries, slaw, biscuits, and sweet tea. I seem to recall that was what I had for dinner once I deboned my mouth. Vanilla pudding might have been offered for dessert.

Back to my sister’s call. She watches the Dr. Phil Show, and she wanted to know if I had watched the episode about catfish … online dating predators. Nope! I’m not a Dr. Phil fan so I missed it.

As for fish, I recommend the broiled grouper or halibut at the Red Lobster.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

there is a space in her soul
a space that cannot be seen and
it cannot be measured and
it cannot be described
simply because there are
no words to explain how it feels
there is an emptiness in her life
for opportunities missed and decisions made
the basic desperation for survival
a lack of knowledge
a thirst to know more
and the fear of forgetting everything
there comes a time when peace
must be made with a mind that said “turn left”
and a heart that insisted on “staying the course”
for the mind and the heart
have a way of sabotaging common sense
while leading each other to self-destruction
this is the time to let it all go
and make peace with the past
decisions … decisions
good and bad, twisted and straight
black and white, left and right
only forgiveness can cleanse the soul

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

She was lovely in her long black gown
Pearl earrings hidden by her soft auburn hair
He was handsome in his black tuxedo
Starched white shirt and perfect black tie

As he gently took her in his arms
They danced slowly to the sounds
Of the jazz quintet set up in the ballroom and
They made the perfect couple or so it seemed

What the others didn’t know was this
Their significant others
Stayed at home that night
In the comfort of each others arms

“Charity begins at home,” said he.

“Hi, my name is Charity,” said she.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

Lead The Way
by Mariah Carey

Back in the early 1970’s, I lived west of here in a small town called Small Town, USA. What I loved about Small Town was the size of the town and the friendliness of the people. Having lived in the city most of my life, moving to the country was a refreshing change of pace. Something I learned rather quickly was that Small Town had many of the same problems as Big City, just on a smaller scale.

In no time at all, I started to make friends. Seems word got out rather quickly that there was a new girl in town. There probably wasn’t much to talk about around that time which would explain the chatter about someone new. Everyone I met was very friendly and only too happy to help out their new neighbor.

One day I walked to a restaurant about a block away from where I worked. Not knowing a soul, and being rather timid about eating alone, I found a booth at the back of the restaurant and sat there all alone trying to not make eye contract with anyone. All of a sudden, a rather tall, well-dressed blond woman walked right up to my booth, extended her hand to introduce herself, and then asked if she could join me. I was a bit surprised but quickly said, “Yes, please do.”

Betty was her name. She was the owner of an apparel shop, and she wanted to welcome me to town. (Guess word got out faster than I thought.) She had been raised in Small Town, and she knew quite a few people in town. From that day forward, we were fast friends.

After that, I started to meet other people and soon found myself invited for Sunday dinners. The meals were always delicious and usually consisted of veggies fresh from the garden, fried chicken or baked ham, mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, sweet tea, pie, and ice cream. You name it, they served it, and if anything was left over, they sent me home with a “to go” plate. I never went hungry while living in Small Town.

One of the things I did while living there was volunteer work at the VA Hospital. My assignment was to sit with a man named Elroy. Elroy had suffered a minor stroke and he needed help with a few things. He was a country boy from Moultrie, Georgia, and he lived about as far back in the woods as one could live. I would sit with Elroy for a couple of hours on Saturdays, and we would talk, play cards, or I would wheel him outside if the weather was nice and we would share snacks (usually something he had asked me to pick up at the grocery store.). He seemed to appreciate my company.

One night I received a phone call from Elroy, and it went something like this:

“Hello.”

“Cath, is that you?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“It’s Elroy.”

“Elroy? How did you get my phone number? More importantly, what is wrong?”

“Well, I looked it up in the phone book, and I need your help.”

“Oh? What is it you need?”

“Well, it’s like this. Back in Moultrie, I have this little business, and I need help with something. I can pay you $800 if you will help me out.”

“Dear God, $800 to do what? Is it legal?”

“Well, Cath, I run moonshine, and I need someone to make a run. Can you do it?”

“Elroy, I don’t believe I can run moonshine for you. I’m not ready to spend the next few years in prison.”

“No, Cath, you won’t get caught. The cops all know I run moonshine, so they won’t bother you.”

“Well, Elroy, as much as I would like to help you out, and I sure could use the money, I’m gonna have to pass on this one.”

“Okay, Cath. Will you still come to see me next Saturday?”

“Sure, Elroy. See you then.”

Moonshine!

Little did I know that on Saturday, Elroy was going to be discharged from the hospital. When I got to his room, I found not one but two wives ready to take him home. Two wives! They both looked at me, I looked at them, I suspected they thought I might be Elroy’s girlfriend, so I quickly explained that I was a volunteer at the hospital.

They were sweet little dumplings, and Elroy seemed happy to be leaving the hospital. We all hugged good-bye, and I never did hear from Elroy after that day. However, I suspected he went back to running moonshine … or he found someone to run it for him.

You just never know what you are going to find in Small Town, USA.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

The other day, I was sitting at a red light waiting to turn left when a car pulled up on my right side. We both were waiting for a green light.

The man driving the car next to me rolled down his window, blew his horn, and started waving at me to roll down my window. I looked at him, looked the other way, looked back at him, and he was flapping his arm like there was no tomorrow.

Seriously, he was starting to scare me, but I rolled down the window thinking he was going to tell me something was wrong with my car.

“Jesus Loves You,” is what he said to me.

“Jesus Loves You,” once again.

I sat there thinking this man is going to whip out a gun and shoot me, so I waved, rolled up the window, and prayed like you know what that the light would change right away (which it didn’t). He kept staring at me as if he expected me to carry on a conversation with him. It was very strange.

So, yesterday morning I was driving home from the doctor’s office, and some man in front of me had his window rolled down, and he was waving at each car that passed by. No joke! Each on-coming car got a big ol’ wave from his big ol’ hand.

I was thinking, “This can’t be the same man, can it?” and slowed down a bit.

He turned left. I went straight.

End of story.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

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.