By way of word of mouth

The one obit to rule them all:

William “Freddie” McCullough

Obituary

William Freddie McCullough – BLOOMINGDALE – The man. The myth. The legend. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. William Freddie McCullough died on September 11, 2013. Freddie loved deep fried Southern food smothered in Cane Syrup, fishing at Santee Cooper Lake, Little Debbie Cakes, Two and a Half Men, beautiful women, Reeses Cups and Jim Beam. Not necessarily in that order. He hated vegetables and hypocrites. Not necessarily in that order. He was a master craftsman who single -handedly built his beautiful house from the ground up. Freddie was also great at growing fruit trees, grilling chicken and ribs, popping wheelies on his Harley at 50 mph, making everyone feel appreciated and hitting Coke bottles at thirty yards with his 45. When it came to floor covering, Freddie was one of the best in the business. And he loved doing it. Freddie loved to tell stories. And you could be sure 50% of every story was true. You just never knew which 50%. Marshall Matt Dillon, Ben Cartwright and Charlie Harper were his TV heroes. And he was the hero for his six children: Mark, Shain, Clint, Brandice, Ashley and Thomas. Freddie adored the ladies. And they adored him. There isn’t enough space here to list all of the women from Freddie’s past. There isn’t enough space in the Bloomingdale phone book. A few of the more colorful ones were Momma Margie, Crazy Pam, Big Tittie Wanda, Spacy Stacy and Sweet Melissa (he explained that nickname had nothing to do with her attitude). He attracted more women than a shoe sale at Macy’s. He got married when he was 18, but it didn’t last. Freddie was no quitter, however, so he gave it a shot two more times. It didn’t work out with any of the wives, but he managed to stay friends with them and their parents. In between his many adventures, Freddie appeared in several films including The Ordeal of Dr. Mudd, A Time for Miracles, The Conspirator, Double Wide Blues and Pretty Fishes. When Freddie took off for that pool party in the sky, he left behind his sons Mark McCullough, Shain McCullough and his wife Amy, Clint McCullough and his wife Desiree, and Thomas McCullough and his wife Candice; and his daughters Brandice Chambers and her husband Michael, Ashley Cooler and her husband Justin; his brothers Jimmie and Eddie McCullough; and his girlfriend Lisa Hopkins; and seven delightful grandkids. Freddie was killed when he rushed into a burning orphanage to save a group of adorable children. Or maybe not. We all know how he liked to tell stories. Savannah Morning News September 14, 2013 Please sign our Obituary Guest Book at savannahnow.com/obituaries.

Published in Savannah Morning News on September 14, 2013
  • “Wow. I can’t believe Freddie’s dead…that’s what I said. …”
  • “Freddie, I never met ya, but I want to be ya! What an…”
    – The Priests
  • “ride on bro.”
    – kiven witmore
  • “Condolences to the McCullough family. Freddie lived a great…”
    – deputy tom
  • ” Freddie, you sir are a legend and may you continue what…”
    – George Mtonga

– See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/savannah/obituary.aspx?pid=166950349#fbLoggedOut

Sweeter than Sweet

The Mad Hatter stuck his head out of a starboard porthole.

“Where are going? It doesn’t look like the way to Wonderland to me!”

Lindbergh turned to Earhart. “You know you might get a reputation for getting lost.”

“No sirree, Chuck.  We’re running straight and true, tacking in the jet stream but on course and on time.”

Lindbergh ran a calloused finger across a weathered map.

Scribbled along the outside was a note in faded ink: “Seek ye the candy land in Olde Bavaria.”

“Are we after the fabled woods filled with Black Forest Cake?”

Amelia gave Charles the thumbs up sign.

The Mad Hatter frowned. “Did someone mention food? I could go with a cup of tea.”

“Brew us some, will ya?”

“Certainly.”

After the Hatter left the bridge, Lindbergh leaned toward Earhart.  “Look, enough with the secrecy.  We’ve got to fight crime, stop a war, make our fortunes and save drowning babies.  Tell me…what are your plans?”

“Of course, of course. We’ve received a distress signal from a stranded traveler who was sent to fight the evil socialistic candy queen and her regime of plaque monsters.”

“No! Not the arbiters of tooth decay!”

“Yes…them!”

“We may not be prepared.”

“Pshaw. I have stashed onboard a large supply of fluoride, said to protect against tooth decay.”

“What about plaque? That stuff is pretty nasty!”

“That’s where the Mad Hatter comes in. I need him to introduce the concept of capitalism.”

“Huh?”

“If he can convince the citizens of Bavaria to trade their sweet stuff for more healthy foods…”

“Healthy? Like boiled pork or a big juicy ribeye…”

An explosion shook the airship.

To be continued…

Why silence is often the best conversation a friend can offer

http://whatever.scalzi.com/2013/09/16/speech-conversation-debate-engagement-communication/:

Some thoughts on each. 1. As a general concept, freedom of speech includes the right to decide how and when to speak, and to whom.2. This freedom of speech also includes the right to choose not to speak, and not to speak to whomever, including to you.3. No one is obliged to have a conversation with you.4. If they are having a conversation with you, they are not obliged to give you the conversation you wanted or expected to have.5. If you challenge someone to a “debate,” they are not obliged to have a debate with you.6. If they do not debate you, this does not mean you win. You can’t win a debate the other party has not agreed to.7. Not all engagement is useful or fruitful, either for the participants or for the observers. Sometimes the best course of action is not to engage.8. If people do not engage you, it is not necessarily because they are afraid to engage you. Maybe they don’t have the time, or interest. Maybe they think you’re too ignorant to engage, either on the specific topic or in matters of rhetoric. Maybe they don’t want to either implicity or explicitly let you share in their credibility. Maybe they think you’re an asshole, and want nothing to do with you. Maybe it’s combination of some or all of the above. They may or may not tell you why.9. Communication is not always confrontation. Confrontation is not always communication. If you see communication as an opportunity to fight, you may find yourself without opponents. No, this doesn’t mean you “win,” either.10. People will communicate as they will. Outside of your own spaces, you have no power to control or compel them. Attempts to dictate the terms of their communication may be ignored. Attempts to demand they comply to your terms for communication will make you look like a child, stamping a foot.That should be enough for a start.

Of all the visual stimuli in this room

Two dance practice videos slowly transfer from the notebook PC to the place called YouTube.

Not content to sit and wait for CPU cycles dedicated solely to blogging, my left forefinger types inefficiently but effectively passing electrochemical signals through me and the smartphone screen to the e-ink splotches here.

As I fell asleep last night, before dreams bestirred me consciousness into confusion, I wondered if dying today would be okay now that my wife’s dream of a financially-secure future is set in motion, my task as a quasiresponsible husband completed.

I have enjoyed rewinding myself 15-20 years lately, participating in activities that my current body finds taxing but my younger body enjoyed just as spastically — dancing about like a flailing two-year old running through the house in pure abandonment.

In a few days, the dance lessons will cease, my wife’s only activity she looks forward to no longer fundable (or fungible?), returning the two of us to our lives over two years ago, back when caring for her mother was more mentally than physically demanding.

Saturday morning I woke up to find the house empty of my wife, taking over an hour to see the note she’d posted on our bathroom mirror that she’d gone to get her toenails repainted.

In that hour I let myself feel the pain, fear and loss of abandonment, wondering what I’d done wrong, what I could have done right to have kept my nearly lifelong companion I call my wife.

For my wife, life next week will feel the same way when she no longer has weekly dance practice to look forward to.

My diversions from waiting to die that I call my creative moments sitting in front of this blog are not providing financial means to alleviate my wife’s pending depression, dampening both our moods.

At this moment I don’t know what to do.

She wants to keep going to see UT football games, which she enjoys and which takes up much of our fall budget; I chose a largely unfunded midlife retirement from corporate life (it was partially funded the first year) that has lasted six years now, thanks to my wife’s reluctant generosity and patience.

What do either one of us have to look forward to after this week is over?

I don’t know.

What hope do we plan to lean upon in our relatively comfortable middle class suburban lifestyle, free from but the most minor of worries?