I was sitting at the computer staring at the keyboard. I didn’t realize that I was singing until my wife asked me what I said. In fact I didn’t know she was in the room with me. When I am thinking of things that happened way back then, my mind goes back there. I pull up a picture of something that happened and it forms a picture in my mind. I then put it on paper as I see it.
“Lonie, are you deaf?” I realized she was talking to me. “You talking to me?” I asked. She looked at me and said “There is no one in the room but you and me, and I was not talking to myself.”
My face must have been blank for I had no idea what I was saying that she had heard. I must have been talking to myself.
Shaking her head and smiling, she left the room. As she left the room I realized she had heard me singing to myself. Do I talk to myself? Maybe. Do I sing to myself? Yes.
Let me go back a few years ago. On Sundays we would fill up the old Hudson and hunt something to do. Most of the time we would find a skating rink and spend the day there. On this Sunday everywhere we went everything was closed. Most towns had what was called a blue law that didn’t let but certain things open up. Rome had no Sunday movies, but Lindale did.
We started out headed for Pennville. When we got there the skating rink was closed. We had never seen Pennville closed before. We then went to lake Howard. It was the same there. That only left Chattanooga. We loaded up and headed out. The sign on door said closed, so we rode around Chattanooga for a while then headed back to Rome.
We were almost back to Rome when one of the girls suggested that we go by her uncle’s house. He had a field of watermelons and maybe he would give us some. We agreed since we had nothing any better ... the only thing that is clear is the road we turned off onto. I noticed that the road was called Farmer Road.
We rode that road for miles but could not find her uncle’s house. We stopped and asked several people but no one had heard of any one by that name. We were about ready to give up and head back to Rome. The people cooped up inside of a car as long as we had been began to get irritated. We had had nothing to eat since breakfast. We pulled over on the side of the road to stretch and talk this situation over. We could see a church with a lot of people down the road from us. We loaded up and headed for it.
A man came out to the car. He introduced himself as the preacher. We explained to him that we were looking for a family who was supposed to live on that road. He motioned for us to come with him. The church yard was full of tables filled with food. Some people were eating and others was in line. I don’t know how the others felt but the smell from the fried chicken almost made me pass out.
The preacher had escorted her to the right table for her people. They gathered around her. The odor from the food got next to me and I began to feel weak in the knees.
“Here, here,” the preacher said, “You young people come with me.” We followed him to where the tables of food was. He pointed to the food and said “dig in, there is plenty for everyone.”
I think back and there is only one other time that I can remember eating that much fried chicken.
We sat around the tables eating and having a good time. I remember that the preacher talked to the gathering while we were eating. That was when I found out why everything was closed. It was Easter Sunday. They kept putting the chicken on my plate and I kept making it disappear. We stayed for the evening service.
We left there that evening with an invitation to come back any time, we were welcome. I don’t think I ever went back but always remember them as the nicest people that I ever met. One other thing, the chicken cooker. I believed back then, still do, that he was the best chicken cooker in the world, or that this was the second time I was that hungry.
I often wondered, do I talk to myself? Maybe I don’t know. What I do know is that I do sing to myself. It sounds horrible but it keeps me awake.