BOOK REVIEW: Grisham knocks it out of the park with A Time for Mercy

To be honest, I had not read a John Grisham book since Sycamore Row. When I learned that A Time for Mercy, the sequel to his first book, A Time to Kill, was out, I couldn't download it onto my iPad fast enough.

Photo from jgrisham.com

I've followed Grisham's career for several reasons, but we'll get into that later.  You may recall that A Time to Kill featured young lawyer Jake Brigance. Good old Jake returns in this sequel having been appointed by Judge Omar Noose (Don't you just love it.  Judge Noose, ha!) to defend a young, skinny, shy teenager—Drew Gamble. The kid is accused of fatally shooting a local deputy at point blank range, and the community is demanding the death penalty.

Drew, his mother, and sister have been living with the hard-drinking and abusive guy for some time. Jake reluctantly accepts Noose's appointment to defend Drew. But when he starts digging, he uncovers more than the obvious about the case. That's all I can tell you, except that the characterization was so real, and the plot was brilliant, and the dialogue very believable.

The book is a page a turner—that's for sure. Jake is played by Matthew McConaughry in the Time to Kill movie. There is speculation that he might do an encore if this is made into a film. Problem is—The two cases are five years a part in book time.  In real time, the first movie was released in 1996, and now it's 2020. If anyone can pull this off, Matthew can. He credits the first movie with jump-starting his film career.

Well, back to the other part of this story. Why am I interested in John's career? Yes, I can call him by his first name. We are the same age, and we happened to be at then Northwest Junior College in Senatobia, Miss., at the same time. For me, those years were 1972-73 and 1973-74. 

Grisham in the 1974 Rocketeer,
the Northwest yearbook.

Herein lies the irony. I didn't ever run into John, that I know of during that time. I'm sure he would have remembered me. He came back to his alma mater soon after the release of The Firm movie, probably around 1994. That was my only face-to-face meeting with him.  He set up in the conference room in the McGhee Building to sign copies of his books.  His real reason for being there was that he had donated a short story to the Northwest Review, the literary magazine.

And it was at that event that he told the students that he had taken Freshman English from the late Miss Frances Smith, a no-nonsense English teacher who spoke with perfect diction. He did not make a good grade. When he got to Northwest he had planned to be a stand-out player, but his grades put a damper on that. He left Northwest and transferred to Delta State University.

"I decided I needed to leave," Grisham joked. "I could not trust such a promising career to coaches with such limited vision." This, from a July 3, 2015 article in The Clarion Ledger.

We, I, too am a published author. Since retiring from Northwest in 2010, I have written a three-book series including The Carving Place, The Bargain—Paulette's Story, and Finding Marian.

Like Grisham, I sold books from the trunk of my car, at local shops, and even a few from Square Books in Oxford. I think I read that he sold 50 books at his first signing. I sold 5 at Square Books. Grisham has made millions, an estimated $300 million on his writing career. I have barely broken even. And when I took Miss Frances Smith's English class at Northwest, I made an A.

Movie Review: Rebecca classic wins my vote

I was in junior high school when we had to do our first real book report.  I chose Daphne du Maurier's 1938 book, Rebecca. It helped that I could watch it on television when Alfred Hitcock chose the story for his first American film in 1940.  No, I wasn't born then. I had to wait and catch it on a late movie.

Now considered a classic, Rebecca, was doomed to be a hit. It was produced by David O. Selznick (Gone with the Wind, 1939) and starred Laurence Olivier as the handsome widow Maxim de Winter and Joan Fontaine as the second Mrs. de Winter.

Hitchcock's version was in black and white, which made the grand house of Manderley even more creepy. That film won the academy award for Best Picture and one for Best Cinemotography,

Jump to 2020 to the Netflix version. Armie Hammer is certainly the dashing Max de Winter. In this version he is much closer in age to his new bride.  Speaking of the bride, she is played by Lily James (Rose in Downton Abby).  

Mrs. Danvers, the evil housekeeper who is obsessed with Rebecca, makes life miserable for the new bride. Danvers is played by Kristin Scott Thomas. Sorry to say she reminds me of the villain Cruella de Vil, the fictitious character of 101 Dalmations, come to life.

All-in-all, I must say that I was not in the least scared by this new version set in modern day time. Manderley was not spooky, the color was too hot, and I'm sticking to the classic.

Old oak stirs memories

Our treeline view to the South has changed. The tallest tree was felled this week. Back in the early spring we had a severe thunderstorm. We heard a scary-close clap of thunder followed by lightening that lit up the sky.  Not long afterward, the weather alert on my phone told me, "lightening has struck 0.0 miles from your location."

I guess my big oak tree took the hit. It wasn't obvious until this summer when a huge scar was visible on her trunk and leaves began to drop far too early. This tree is special to us. It is known by our family as "the Girl Swing tree."

When our grandchildren were small, Howard and I went to Lowe's and bought rope and hardware to construct two swings. The Boy Swing had a round seat with one strand of rope. Garrett would hook his feet together under the seat and with a big push, he'd fly so high it made me nervous.  The little girls were about 3 so they couldn't yet be trusted on that swing.

Their swing had one wide seat with ropes on both sides and anchored to the perfect limb on the oak tree. The seat was wide enough for two little butts to sit on it side-by-side. They laughed and squealed as granddaddy pushed them higher and higher. That made me nervous too. Now I know it was magical.

The trees also served as markers in our Easter scavenger hunt. I would hide clues in various places on the property. The first clue sent them to the Girls' Tree. Clue number two sent them all the way back to the house, and three was a trip to the Boy's Tree. You get the idea. After several clue stops, they ended up at the location where the prizes were hidden.  They thought it was great fun, and the hunt was successful in burning up some of the energy created by too much Easter chocolate.

All that remains of my tree is the bare trunk. Our friend who cut the tree for the firewood, hauled off the massive limbs yesterday. 

I have a great respect for our trees. After all, I wrote a three-book series based on our family name tree (thecarvingplace.com). Even though our treeline is different, the upside is that I can see more of our pond. The kids are almost grown. I hope those tree swing memories stick with them.

Perfect Design

Hey guys. Take a look at this photo. Kinda gross, right. Hint: It's not a sea creature, not an alien creature. It belongs to one of our most beloved creatures, especially to me. In my opinion it is just one of the examples of proof that God loves all animals, and that man and beasts are beautifully designed.

https://honesttopaws.com/newborn-foals-hooves/

These are the feet of a newborn foal. This is eponychium, the soft capsule that protects a mare's uterus and birth canal from the sharp edges of the foal’s hooves during pregnancy and birth. The term also refers to the thicker skin around the fingernail and toenail in human anatomy. They are also referred to as “golden slippers” or “fairy fingers."

Without this soft tissue, the foal's sharp hooves would damage the mare's uterus and do damage going through the birth canal. 

Lyn Scruggs with Scruggs Quarter Horses agrees. "The ones we see are not this extreme. We call them feathers. We normally don't notice them after the first few hours. I imagine once they (babies) stand they start to disappear. That hoof hardens pretty quickly. And those front feet//legs are pushing out so hard during labor it's good there is softness there on the bottom of those feet"

These look almost like a strange variety of drooping lilies.

We raised many colts on our farm during the 1960-79 period.  But daddy did it the old fashioned way—usually leaving the mare in a pasture by herself and let nature take its course—and finding a new baby early in the morning. Such a sweet surprise. So I never saw this miracle since the feathers has disappeared by the time I saw the baby.

Another instinctive miracle—Have you ever wondered why our babies take a year or so to walk, while foals and calves and other animals walk right after birth? Being animals of prey, horses know that predators are attracted to the smell of the placenta and blood and will track to the site of the birth. That's why the mother and foal need to be able to travel and get away from that site as soon as possible. (https://www.horsenation.com/2016/03/21/what-the-muck-is-that-eponychium)

I know all my readers are not horse people. But I can't deny this perfect design is by the hand of God.

Job 12:7-10
7 "But ask the animals, and they will teach you or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; 8 or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. 9 Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this: 10 In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.

Toy Story—Western Style

My sweet friend and her 16-month daughter were coming for a visit one day this week. I dug deep in the upstairs closet for toys that she might like. Most of the little dolls looked like they needed a trip to the washing machine. Then I saw it!

The grand toy of my children's early days. My daddy gave this to my son when he was four or so. A Vintage Ertl Chevy Titan Bronco Bustin' Rodeo Set, made in the 70s and 80s. Under the influence of daddy (Hayley Dandridge), Jason was a cowboy for a time.

This thing sells for $299 new in the box. Mine is
not in new condition and I'm sure didn't
cost that in 1980.

Here is the description I found on eBay.

 Of course mine is not in pristine condition. But take a close look. This big rig trailer was meant to haul four horses and had a furnished living quarters including a bed, swivel captain's chair, dinette table, and a sofa.

I want you to know that I have never had a trailer like that. Notice the bucking bull and horse, rodeo clown, and barrel.Those are long gone from my house. You see there was a problem. I guess the bucking animals were supposed to be played with outside of the trailer. But they had to get there somehow, right?

Well to a small cowboy, they needed to go inside the trailer. The animals were bigger than the trailer, but by George, he got them in there. Some went in the back door of the trailer sideways, and some went through the sunroof in the top of the trailer. Maybe that's why they lost legs and I don't have them anymore.

The top of the trailer has a crack where he or one of his evil sisters tried to ride on top of if. The girls pretended it was a fancy horse show trailer, so they didn't need bulls and bow-legged cowboys.

Jason did, indeed, go through the cowboy stage. For a while he only wanted to wear jeans and boots....cause Granddaddy did. No shorts for him.

He roped and rode every piece of furniture in our house. His poor stuffed horse, Brown, took a lot of abuse. We still have him too. His neck is broken and he is missing an eye.

Here's Jason  in "perfect riding posture" on Tiger the pony. Next my little red-headed cowboy and me on High Spots Tobie, our all-time favorite horse.

Jason continued to ride on and off until his early teens when he realized his true talent on the baseball field and basketball court.

I know people my age sometimes dwell too much on the past. But sometimes when you find a vintage rodeo trailer, you find a little pocket of happiness. I didn't shed a tear.

Jason and his wife Janice. Thay live in Memphis, where
they operate Senior Care Management Solutions. They have a daughter,
Caroline Dandridge Gibert, and a grown son Riley Allen.

Thanks for the memories.........

For those of us who are followers of Ernie Brents’ Facebook page, we have seen dozens of precious memories of Senatobia from days gone by, from the mid-1800s up to now. Pardon me if I use Ernie’s page to editorialize a bit, but these old photos have made me do some thinking.

Are we leaving downtown Senatobia with local businesses that our children and grandchildren will remember fondly?  Will they eat at a place like Roy’s Café, watch local craftsman like Lee Neal repair a boot, or walk to town to shop at Ben Franklin or with Mrs. Ruby Lyon at Volunteer Grocery? 

Even though those businesses are long gone, Senatobia is beginning to see growth in downtown. Just recently we have seen a beautiful mural come to life on the side of the old Varner’s Building, the future home of Community Pharmacy and Soda Fountain thanks to funds from the city and painted by artist Cristen Barnard. With funding from Sycamore Arts, another mural by artist Vitus Shell graces the wall of the Pocket Park at the corner of Main and Ward. 

Tate Nutrition, which sells nutritious teas and drinks, also opened its doors on Main Street.

On Front street, The Delta Steakhouse opened in the building formerly occupied by The Loft, and in my day, home for the Mississippi State Extension programs and U.S. Soil Conservation Service. Next door Is the beautiful home décor space of Wheat and Willow. This building had many other occupants including a funeral home, flower shop, and in the early days an Opera House.

The Five Star City Fest is growing each year, Market on Main is in its second year, and Movie Night in Gabbert Park is a hit. Thanks Senatobia Main Street. So….looks to me like we are leaving our children with a downtown that will spark sweet memories down the road.

And my second point is…Ernie tells me his collection of historical photos and memorabilia were collected from old newspaper clippings, found on microfiche, downloaded from the internet, and in old yearbooks.

With small hometown papers dying across the country, what historical documents are we leaving?  All across the country people have collected newsprint clippings from of their son’s little league team, award-winning vegetables and livestock, groundbreaking ceremonies for churches and buildings, and countless more events. These occasions may not have been national news material, but they are stored in frames, scrapbooks, old trunks and boxes belonging to people who treasured them.

I’m not against new technology. And I think that looking at the events of the past keeps us grounded and tells us who we are, but we also need to look at today and into the future. Where will people a half century from now find a photo of a church built in the 2000s, or an article describing a Garden Club meeting that their Great Aunt had held at her home….maybe a home that doesn’t exist.

Hats off to the remaining small papers, especially the Tate Record. And thanks for the memories Ernie Brents and David Grisham’s Senatobia History and Landmarks Facebook page.

PS: If I left out a new business, forgive me.

Plague invades north Mississippi

We read in the Bible about the seven plagues of Egypt. Not to make light of blood, frogs, lice, boils and such, but I think we have a new plague in this part of Mississippi......STICKERS! Last year we had stickers, but not like this. Until then, I can't remember battling the pesky little things. They are actually burweed or spurweed.

I have been taking a survey of all my neighbors.  "Do you have stickers?"
"Yes!" they usually respond.

These are not just little prickly pests. They hurt, they draw blood, they make grown men cry. The jump off the ground and attach their burs to your toes if you are wearing sandals or crocks. You need snake boots to water the lawn.

What's worse, is that they invade the house. You can check the bottom of your shoes and see the burs imbedded in your athletic shoes, sandals, and especially flip flops.

And once in the house, look out!  They are stuck in the rug and bath mat. Then they get in the clothes hamper, and before long they are in the laundry and your underwear.  OUCH!

According to The University Georgia the plants are native to coastal Georgia. The seeds must have come in on the wind. From what I've read and been told, it is too late to do much about it this year. This winter when we have forgotten about them, we need to spray a pre-emergent to stop next year's crop.

All we can do this year is to cut the grass really close with a bagging mower and water the good grass really well.

Warning! Once they turn from green to brown they are really deadly. Besides stopping running children in their tracks, they also get between your dog's toes and make them look like a sad hound even if they are a curly poodle.

Good luck with your stickers. We might all need waders before this is over.

Listen to the music of the night

From the back porch you can see our shop and horse barn
thanks to our security light. If you live in the country,
you just need a security light.

I've been sitting on my back porch with little Ellie the Silky Terrorist for her last visit outside for the night. She is mesmerized by the sounds—I like to call it my night music. She forgets why we are out there. Cash the lab is asleep in his Igloo doghouse with only his nose sticking out. Jilly, the shepherd I got from the shelter, is standing at the gate, ready to play. She has enjoyed this cold winter. Every time I come outside, she assumes her play position—rear end in the air, front end down, tail wagging, and she's smiling. She is 10 this year, but when it is cold, she plays like a puppy. When it's Mississippi hot, she moves with her head down and pants every breath. You would too if you had to wear a white fur coat that weighs 10 pounds.

So, while I'm waiting on Ellie to focus and remember why we are out there, I listen. A few nights ago I heard a female fox. We have heard the scream before, but this one was especially loud and really close. By the time I ran upstairs to get my phone to record it, of course, she quit screaming. It sounds like a damsel in distress shrieking out by the propane tank. I'll try to get a sample recording before the season is over.

Speaking of seasons.......Every frog in Tate County is down at my lake and they are all singing. If this means what I think it means, well, I don't want to think about it. I can just see all the tiny frogs-to-be dipping and diving in my swimming pool before long.

Looking into the dark with her special night vision is Lilly, the dilute calico cat. She is 14 and has never sat in my lap. My daughter found her in a wood pile, abandoned by her mother. When they moved, she didn't want to take her with them. My daughter is a dog person, not a cat lover. Her first word was DOG, not MOM. So, Lilly came to live with me. She has always been skittish. After all these years she will let me scratch her on the head. One move of my finger past her ears, and she's gone. When I go walking she follows about 10 steps behind me. If I stop suddenly and turn around, she freezes and looks away, like she is embarrassed that I caught her being somewhat social.

Almost time to go in when I hear a horse snort right at the backyard fence. This gray, wet, muddy winter has been hard on the two horses. My barn has been in a state of renovation, so I haven't been able to put them up on stormy nights. "What do you think the wild Mustangs do when it storms?" says my non-horsey husband. "They get hit by lightening," I reply. Come on spring, I say.

The horses look horrible, like big goats. Since the weather has been so cold, they grew extra hair. The long hairs under their chinny chin chins looks like a beard. They roll in the mud at least once a day. I dream of clipping their ears and giving them a warm soapy bath. "Quit being horse show Nancy," says one of my friends. "Be trail riding Nancy." I say, "Life is too short to ride an ugly, hairy horse."

My Memphis daughter-in-law is right—it is loud out here. Besides the sounds my animals and frogs make, I hear my neighbor's coon dogs baying. A distant siren blares, making my big dogs throw their heads back and sing. I'm so blessed to have night music and country dark. It makes my stars brighter.

Book two set to hit shelves early April

My new book, The Bargain, the prequel to The Carving Place, is in the proofreading stage. When I did the math to figure out how old Characters Asa Sinclair and Paulette would have been when this story began, I landed on the 1967-69 time frame.

Wow.  I started to include some of the cultural, political, musical situations that marked that landscape of time. There were too many. True rock and roll was new, culture was marked by experimental drugs, and free love.

Where were you in 1968? I was only 13, but was already feeling the influence of the music.

Instead of focusing on a cultural history lesson, I chose to weave just a little of it into the story so you knew where you were in time. I let Paulette Toliver, Asa Sinclair, and a host of new characters tell their own stories.

If you read The Carving Place, the new book is a prequel, telling you the story of Buck's mother Paulette and how he came to live with the Sinclairs.

I'm dedicating this book to the friendships of women, especially the relationship between and older woman and a young girl. I can't say more or I will spill the beans. Read The Carving Place before you read The Bargain.  The story will be more meaningful.

I hope to have the new book out around the first of April. So, get ready. Turn on the lamp on your bedside table and get ready for a night of reading. That's about how long it will take you to finish it. But I hope the characters of Paulette, Asa, Merry Bell, and Winston stay with you a long time.

I never tire of a good journalism flick, especially this one

I'm watching the 1976 movie All the President's Men for the umpteenth time. It helps if I let a few years lapse between viewings so that I can be blown away by the beautiful, raw, journalism that is demonstrated by Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) and Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) as they blow the Watergate scandal wide open.

Woodward and Bernstein

Robert Redford as Woodward and Dustin Hoffman as Carl Bernstein
walkerart.org  no copywriter infringement intended

In case you don't remember or were born before or near 1973, The Watergate scandal was a major political scandal that occurred in the United States during the early 1970s, following a break-in by five men at the Democratic National Committee (DNC) headquarters at the Watergate office complex in Washington, D.C. on June 17, 1972, and PresidentRichard Nixon's administration's subsequent attempt to cover up its involvement. After the five burglars were caught and the conspiracy was discovered—chiefly through the work of a few journalists, Congressional staffers and an election-finance watchdog official ^[1]—Watergate was investigated by the United States Congress. Meanwhile, Nixon's administration resisted its probes, which led to a constitutional crisis and the ultimate resignation of the President.

Watch trailer below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLt6djxhNe8


This movie takes me back to the summer of 1973 when I was asked to be a news intern at WNJC, the NPR-affiliated station of then Northwest Mississippi Junior College. I had no longer finished exams than I started working with News Director Ann Muchmore,who taught me how to rip and read Associated Press copy, how to search for local, small-town news, get sound bites and much more. We didn't have long because May 17, 1973 the station began carrying gavel to gavel coverage of the Watergate hearings. They continued until Aug. 7, 1973—just in time to go back to class.

We never played a record all summer except at night after the hearings had adjourned for the day.

Later I worked with Dr. Ann Whitten, journalism instructor and director of Public Relations. She loved to show her journalism students a few good movies that she hoped would inspire them to be good reporters. All the President's Men was at the top of the list.

If we can get past the changes in the way the news was gathered in 1973 compared to today, we can still be inspired. The reporters' cubicles were armed with reporter's notebooks, rotary dial phones, dozen's of phone books for every city imaginable, and other research materials, cascading off the small desks. No click of a mouse to verify the spelling of a name or exact wording of a person's title. There was a lot of checking, rechecking, and verifying.

As soon as they interviewed a source, furiously taking notes in their spiral bound notebooks.....name, date, spelling of name, title, quote, any other background information, any phone numbers or references....They grabbed a form and furiously typed their notes to be kept in a file to be used when they began the first draft on the story.

Some of the quotes are classic.

"Ben Bradlee: Now hold it, hold it. We're about to accuse Haldeman, who only happens to be the second most important man in this country, of conducting a criminal conspiracy from inside the White House. It would be nice if we were right. 

(Ben Bradlee was the executive editor of The Washington Post from 1968 to 1991.^[1] He became a national figure during the presidency of Richard Nixon, when he challenged the federal government over the right to publish the Pentagon Papers and oversaw the publication of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's stories documenting the Watergate scandal.) Wikipedia.com

"Ben Bradlee: Bernstein, are you sure on this story?
Carl Bernstein: Absolutely.
Ben Bradlee: Woodward?
Carl Bernstein: I'm sure.
Ben Bradlee: I'm not. It still seems thin.
Howard Simons: Get another source."

I didn't learn much about writing news that summer, but I learned a lot by listening. When the movie came out three years later, I was fascinated.  Still am.  Journalists of today should take note.