Obama Identity Crises

     Ever since the country heard Mitt Romney, there was been a major shift in the polls.   Over the past few weeks, I have observed how this shift in opinion has affected Obama and Romney. These two men are under enormous pressure and it is fascinating to watch the dynamics play out.
     There is less that 13 days left in this long road to November 6 is this is when the "bone marrow" of the person is revealed. Mitt Romney is appearing in control, optimistic and energized.  President Obama looks like he is taking is cues from the sidelines. He looks overwhelmed, confused and lost.  
     Reminds me of the Robert Redford movie years ago entitled, "The Making of a President."  The last scene of the movie is revealing when Redford wins on his image and is finally alone in the Oval Office and says, "What have I done?" 
    Ever since I saw Obama speak at the Democratic National Convention when Kerry was running for President, I told myself then that this guy could be the first African American President.  Sadly, I think the far left folks got their hooks in him and crafted their agenda.  I think Obama is way over his head and it is telling in his words, actions and demeanor.
    This country is at a cross-road and I pray that the people of this country see the reality of the leadership we need for the future of this country. Do not vote for the man who is trying to re-craft the timeless principles and values this country was founded on.

Jane Jenkins Herlong

Remembering Tootsie

   With its red digital message, the hotel clock shouted my wake-up call that Saturday morning. It was 5:30 AM. Not until later in the day did I realize the timing that only our Heavenly Father could arrange. My second mother, Ruth “Tootsie” Blige, began her eternal reward that morning - she died at 5:30 AM.

     Tootsie worked for my family just shy of fifty years. I can still see the large yellow Buick with my mother’s silhouette behind the wheel and next to her sat Tootsie. River Road was their highway to heavenly places such as Piggly Wiggly and, in Tootsie’s words, the drug sto'.

   Friends called them all kinds of names: Maude and Florida, smoke and fire, Bert and Ernie, or Lucy and Ethel. However one chose to call the duo, Momma and Tootsie were an amazing team. I have seen those two beat wayward lizards to death, leap on the kitchen table and perform a "I saw a mouse in the house!" dance, and put out fires with aprons. I’ve seen Tootsie drop to her knees laughing after my mother said something funny and I’ve seen them in tearful embraces.

   Momma, Tootsie, and I were a super-glue trio until I had to start first grade. I thought my heart was going to explode when I sat at the wooden desk that reminded me of a cage. All I could think of is how much fun I was missing. No more watching “I love Lucy” with Tootsie at 10 AM. No more running around the house as Momma and Tootsie tried to brush my honey-colored ringlets that Momma called knots. No more flour fights with Tootsie as she made her delicious biscuits and our pretend clothes-line tents would now be white sheets hanging lifelessly on a wire.

  Just hours before her stroke, Tootsie called to give me a good tongue lashing. I had fallen off a ladder and torn a ligament in my foot. Her language was always poetic. She spoke in pure, low country Gullah, “Girl, I done tole you not to git yo’self up on no ladder! Dat is men’s work.” exclaimed Tootsie. Then Momma grabbed the phone and added, “How many times have I told you if you climb a ladder your uterus will fall on the floor?”  Since having the stroke, Tootsie lived in a nursing home.

   After the funeral, I decided to stop by Walker Funeral Home and give a contribution towards her funeral expenses.

   Using my GPS on my cell phone to locate the funeral home, I wound down the two-lane highway through massive, moss-covered oaks and hairpin turns to my destination. When I arrived, I noticed there were several cars in the parking lot. I mused about how busy they appeared to be, but as I entered the building, musings turned to reality for the office was crowded with several families planning funerals.  I decided to wait in the hall out of respect for the family members who were making arrangements.

     The son of the funeral home owner greeted me in the hallway and politely escorted me into another section of the building. “Do you mind sitting in this room until my father can speak with you?" asked the young man. “Not at all,” I replied. Thinking nothing of his request, I took a seat in the dimly lit room.

     As soon as I sat down, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered on making the room brighter. I suddenly realized why the young man asked if I minded waiting in this particular room. I was sitting between two bodies.  Since I am a humorist, my first reaction was, “This is a bad sign. It must a really long wait.”

     Suddenly my cell phone, which was in my back pocket, announced in that typical monotone voice, “You have reached your final destination." I had forgotten to disable the GPS.  Once my pounding heart calmed down, I had a good laugh.

     Hmmmm….there was a profound amount of truth in that statement. If this is the final destination, I hope the ride was wonderful.

     I knew Momma and Tootsie were looking down from heaven laughing and reminding me of the power of a merry heart.  Their message to me is to serve the Lord, laugh and enjoy the ride to the final destination.

Momma's" Fur" Coat

It was time to tackle the closet in the front hall. My mother’s many coats, collected over a lifetime, hung in the closet appearing lonely and neglected. If they could talk these coats would say that they were sad and confused.

But there was one coat that stood out, Momma’s fur vest. It was a reversible leather and fur vest and was the perfect length and weight. This was my mother’s dream coat.

I remember when mother called me one morning to share the news, “I got a surprise today; a reversible fur and leather vest. It is just what I have always wanted.” I was excited for her. “How does it look?” I asked Momma. “It is dark leather with a collar and it zips up the front.” She said proudly. “Tell me about the fur. What kind is it?” I asked.

“Well, huh, I do not know. It looks kind-a mangey. It has some fur missing and, well, it is just different,” she said. “What kind of fur is it?” I repeated. “Let me look,” my Mother said. There was a gasp and word I cannot repeat. The next sentence will live on forever……”IT’S POSSUM!” my mother shouted.

When another line that will live on, “Oh, wait. This is good possum. It is from New Zealand.”

All I could think was does my mother actually believe that New Zealand possums are superior to other possums?

That New Zealand possums don’t play dead or live in trashcans or eat trash? That they don’t become squished “buzzard bait” from trying to cross the road?

Momma always wore that vest with the fur side in and the leather side out. She declared that she was proud of her possum but still never wore the fur on the outside.

Several weeks later, I invited my mother to one of my speaking engagement in Myrtle Beach. We packed all of our belongings and the possum coat made the trip with us. For the first time, she wore the fur on the outside.

One of our favorite restaurants was on the way so we stopped for dinner. As always, it was full of people waiting in line for a table. I parked across the road and left my mother in the car. The hostess told me that they had a table for two and were ready for us. I walked outside and told my mother to come in.

There stood my mother on the other side of the road, wearing her possum fur for the first time. It was a moment.

As she began walking across the road, I could only think of one word, “RUN!”