Happy New Year

We await our friends and family, who come to join us on this New Year's Eve. Ours is not a big, festive party. We eat some chili, we drink coffee, tea, hot chocolate and Cokes. We turn on the TV and watch the ball drop in Times Square. At the stroke of midnight, we run outside and make some noise. We blow the horns. Our neighbors, far off across the pasture, might shoot some fireworks. We drink a toast to the New Year, of champagne or wine coolers, for the really wild and daring; of sparkling white grape juice for the tame. We play some games or watch an old movie. We catch up on what's going on in the rest of the world, what happened during the year. My nieces, one by one, will drop off to sleep. Or this year, it might be the old folks who can't stay up all night. Ours is a quiet New Year's Eve, but nice and cozy. Tomorrow, we shall eat black-eyed peas with ham hocks, and greens. It is our tradition, and portends prosperity for the New Year. Though I'm not quite sure how well it has worked in the past. Perhaps if we had stuck to collards! For turnip greens are our greens of choice. Happy New Year!

Perdue's Rain

We got our rain! Yesterday was so dry, our grandfather cactus picked up a suitcase and headed for Arizona, looking for water. He was plumb parched. Said he hadn't seen a drought like that since he shaved his first peach fuzz. Tuesday, Governor Sonny Perdue prayed for rain, and last night we got a deluge that filled our hearts and our rain barrel. Now, I haven't seen an ark floating down Muskrat Creek, but at least the crawdads aren't begging for sarsaparilla. Can't say for sure that Perdue's prayer brought us rain, but we're willing to thank Sonny Perdue along with the Almighty. Lots of Georgians have said prayers about rain lately. Rainy days are welcome in our neck of the woods.