Yesterday, as I was out for a run, I found myself running in front of The Magnolia Cottage on North Bridge Street. I wondered to myself why I had never had occasion to go inside of this beautiful, restored Victorian cottage for dinner with anyone. Then I remembered that most people don’t like me and it made perfect sense. I typically get invitations when someone is raising money for a cause of some sort or they are expecting a gift. When that is the case I take full advantage of it. Any old port in a storm I always say. Anyway, my route would normally take me on down the sidewalk on North Bridge toward the city cemetery, but instead I decided to take a left onto Tuskeena Street. I’ve never paid much attention to the four or five houses that are directly across the street from The Magnolia Cottage. I always knew they were run-down but for whatever reason they never made it out of my peripheral vision as I passed them. On this day, as I slowly ran by(that really goes without saying), I took a glance into the back yards(I use that term loosely) of these homes and realized that the whole place is a dump!
Steve Slaughter, a Wetumpka native, is in the process of attempting to reach the top of Mt. Everest. You can follow his progress at his blog, We-tu 2 Mt. Everest via BKK. Fascinating stuff! Steve’s parents and brother still live right here in Wetumpka. Go join his blog and leave him some comments of encouragement!
Elizabeth Spiers, who grew up here in Wetumpka and now lives in NYC, wrote a piece about her life after being adopted. She is a very talented writer and, among many other endeavors, is working on her first novel(at least according to her bio). Some of you may know her parents, Terry and Alice Spiers. Anyway, it is a fascinating read. Click here to read it. It is entitled Alien Baby: Genetics, Adoption, and How I Became Myself.
Here where I work, we have a help-wanted sign in the window. I have several inquiries a day about hours and pay and that sort of thing. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I found myself waxing nostalgic about my younger days and the many jobs I held and applied for. Some I worked at for only a day. I suppose my work ethic wasn’t quite what it should have been.
I Googled various definitions of peckerwood and I didn’t seem to really fit into any of them, at least in my own estimation. Some of you may feel differently. Maybe the guy who called me that meant something else. I don’t know. What I do know is that I can remember two occasions in my life that I’ve been called a peckerwood and neither time was among my prouder moments. Maybe the West Side Wizard can enlighten me on the etymology of the word peckerwood.
Don’t have any clue what this might be in relation to but I though it was worth sharing the link…