In the words of Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that. The Lorenzo isn't supposed to be about just Britt. On to other things...

I feel as if I should explain the title of the Lorenzo to those who are not aware of what the sweltering land of the living dead is. Simply put, it is what I like to call the place I presently live: Sarasota, Fla. I think the "sweltering" is self explanatory. Florida is hot. Disgustingly hot for a native Wisconsinite like myself. My hot weather/cold weather theory has always been this: If you're cold, you can always put more clothes on. But if you're hot, there is only so much you can take off and guess what? You're still sweating buckets. I once got into an argument about this with a native Floridian. After I told her my theory, our conversation went something like this:

Her: But when it's really hot you just go to beach.

Me: But sometimes it's too hot to do anything. You don't even want to go outside.

Her: Then you just go to the beach.

Me: But let's say it's too hot.

Her: Then you go to the beach. You're wearing your swimsuit.

Me: That doesn't change anything. You could be running around naked and it would still feel disgustingly hot. The Midwest has all four seasons.

Her: But it gets cold.

Me: Exactly, it's a refreshing break. The summers still get really hot and humid.

Her: But it gets cold.

You get the idea. We just weren't seeing eye to eye. That covers the "sweltering."

As for the "living dead" part, if you're not familiar with the social demographics of Sarasota, then you need to know that it's old. Rich and old. Rich and old and constantly consumed with matters of little importance outside their gated community bubbles.

So, there you go. Dispatches from the sweltering land of the living dead. I don't want to sound like a cynic. I do like living in Sarasota. There are just moments sometimes. More about being a 24-year-old minority and the victim of ageism later...

Gisteren was het dus mijn vrijgezellenavond! Rond een uur of vijf kwam een delegatie mij ophalen. Ik kreeg een soort ketting aan waar twee badeendjes aanhingen (een bruid en een bruidegom) en een aantal envelopjes met nummertjes. Ook kreeg ik een grote dobbelsteen.

We trokken naar de stad, waar ik moest dobbelen om een café te kiezen. Alle aanwezigen linkten een nummer aan een café. Het werd de muze. Dan moest ik dobbelen voor een drankje. Eerst werd het aarbeienmix (de keuze van Marie) en daarna Vodka (of is het Wodka?) (Hannah). Dat was wat minder, want dat vond bijna niemand echt lekker (sorry, Hannah!). Ondertussen moest ik dobbelen en het envelopje openmaken dat erbij pastte.

Daar zat een vraag in van één van de meisjes die ik moest beantwoorden. De eerste vraag/opdracht was van Lilith: schrijf een liefdesgedichtje voor Kurt (Frans dus), bel hem op en draag het voor. Als de vraag/opdracht juist was beantwoord/uitgevoerd kreeg ik een puzzelstukje. Ik zag een stukje arm...hmm.

Daarna trokken we richting restaurant Wok en Tandoor, waar we a volonté mochten wokken en Indische gerechten mochten eten. Het was erg lekker en gezellig. Een paar vragen verder zag ik al een arm, een hand en een stukje been...

Toen kwam de vraag van Joke: wat heeft Kurt ooit gedaan om niet te moeten gaan werken? Die had ik fout (ik gokte op '5 pakjes sigaretten achter elkaar opgerookt' omdat dat het enige was dat me bekend voorkwam, maar dat was om onder de legerdienst uit te geraken; hij heeft blijkbaar ooit bijna zijn pols verbrijzeld met een rol aluminiumfolie - de verdikking zie je nog). Toen moest Joke iets verzinnen dat ik moest doen om toch mijn puzzelstukje te verdienen. Dat werd een tequilashot (compleet met zout en citroen). Normaal zijn dat zo van die kleine glaasjes, maar in de Wok en Tandoor krijg je dus direct een dubbele dosis. Ik heb het dus in twee keer leeggedronken (het moest eigenlijk ad fundum, maar kom).

Toen alle vragen beantwoord waren, lag er dus een grote foto van Kurt op tafel. Met als enige bedekking een vlindertje. Ik vraag me nog altijd af hoe Britt hem zo ver heeft gekregen. :-)

Een deel van de groep vertrok dan richting huis, en de achterblijvers trokken nog naar de Dageraadplaats (onderweg kwamen we trouwens Kurt en Yoeri tegen - die waren naar de film geweest), waar we een heerlijke Mojito voorgeschoteld kregen (meer info daarover volgt op het kooklabo). De mannen gingen ergens biljarten, en wij trokken een reeks bizarre foto's...

Rond half 4 (gok ik) lagen we in ons bed. Marie en Els bleven bij ons logeren, Yoeri speelde Bob voor Britt, dus die gingen nog richting Bergen op Zoom. En ondertussen is het haar beurt om te Boppen, want Yoeri is op stap met Kurt op zijn vrijgezellenavond...

Bedankt Britt, voor de organisatie!

En bedankt, Niniane, Els, Marie, Joke, Silvie, Hannah, Lilith en An, dat jullie er bij waren en er een leuke avond van gemaakt hebben!

De zenuwen voor dat event werden gelukkig teniet gedaan door het feit dat ik eerst mijn trouwjurk moest gaan ophalen. Nog eens gepast (zit nog steeds als gegoten) en ik mocht hem meenemen!

Daarna dus richting Meir. Mijn fashionistagehalte lag ver onder nul, ik had een gewone blauwe jeans met zwarte top en laarzen aan. Geen make-up en haar in een staartje. Ik was dus gewoon mezelf. :-) Britt had nog een tweede trendy jeans bij en een tweede paar ballerina's, maar uiteindelijk bleef zij ook bij 'gewone jeans' en gemakkelijke sandaaltjes. Toen we aankwamen stonden er behalve een grote groep meisjes ook cameramannen, fotografen en journalistes. Er lage een roze loper uit en we kregen felroze polsbandjes. Rond ons liep de meerderheid van de dames in de laatste mode rond, inclusief hoge hakken. Ik heb niet veel jeansbroeken gezien, wel veel rokken en jurkjes. Ik heb me ook nergens zo slecht op mijn plaats gevoeld.

Maar we besloten ons te amuseren. Eenmaal binnen doken we met gekregen cola light en kledingbon (we kregen een bon van 70 euro) de kelder in. In de daar gelegen schoenenafdeling was het nog lekker rustig. Ik had mij voorgenomen alle camera's en fotografen te vermijden, maar dat is moeilijk als je net je voet in een schoen aan het wringen bent. En die cameraman zoomt natuurlijk in op die lelijke scheve tenen van mij. Ik zei nog tegen hem dat hij dat niet moest doen, maar ja... Dus nu is het hopen dat de close-up van mijn blote voeten gesneuveld is op de montagetafel. De schoenen die ik aan het passen was, heb ik trouwens wel meegenomen.

Daarna heb ik microfoons, camera's en fotografen gemeden als de pest. Terwijl Britt haar haar liet opsteken, werd ik aangeklampt door een dame voor een paar vraagjes. Ik zag geen camera, dus had ik geen bezwaar. Ze vroeg mij eerst of ik wist wie de sponsor van dit event was. Dankzij de google-sessie kon ik triomfantelijk aantwoorden (Tampax!). Daarna vroeg ze of ik wist dat dit voor een TMF-programma was en wat ik ervan vond. Mja, ik kan op zo'n moment niet gewoon zeggen dat ik het helemaal geweldig vind als het niet zo is, dus zei ik dat het leuk was, maar toch niet echt mijn ding. Ondertussen was Britt veranderd in een promqueen (qua kapsel dan toch) en zei ze: "Nu is het jouw beurt, hé". Voor ik het wist zat ik in de kapperstoel en mompelde de kapster wat zeurderig dat mijn haar maar op één lengte geknipt was. Maar 4 elastiekjes en 27 haarspeldjes later zag ik eruit als het perfecte voorbeeld van hoe ik er niet wil uitzien op 16 augustus:

Ondertussen was ik Britt kwijtgeraakt, en een kleine zoektocht later krijg ik telefoon: Britt was tegen een franstalige styliste aangebotst, en stond in een pashokje, terwijl de styliste de ene outfit na de andere binnengooide. Toen ik arriveerde, kwam ze net aanzetten met een stuk of vier paar killerheels. Het genre 'hier kan je iemand de hersens mee inslaan'. Ontelbare pasbeurten later, liet de styliste Britt met rust en was de laatste een paar stilleto's (onder andere) rijker.

Na nog wat rondwandelen nog een grijs vestje voor mij gevonden (ik hou nu eenmaal van basics) en even overwogen ons op te laten maken. Maar de wachtrij was lang, en het was ondertussen 21u. Een paar uur later moet je alles weer van je gezicht boenen, dus wat heb je daar dan aan? Bovendien moest Britt nog helemaal naar Bergen op Zoom rijden, dus we besloten te vertrekken.

Ondertussen kun je op de site van Fashion Rox al foto's bekijken. Ik heb ze bekeken, en ik sta er nergens op (hoera!), dus je hoeft niet te zoeken... Het programma (waar je dus misschien een close-up van mijn tenen kunt opvangen) wordt in totaal vier keer uitgezonden. De data vind je ook op de site, moest je interesse hebben - ik raad het niet aan. Naar het schijnt stond het ook in de krant, maar dat heb ik nog niet gezien.

Verder was het vandaag de laatste werkdag van Frans! Vanaf nu kunnen we ons heelder dagen samen bezighouden met het aftellen naar de trouwdag. We hadden net een afspraak met de fotograaf, en dat komt helemaal in orde!

Alweer een stapje dichterbij...

Nip

PS.: wij zijn een muzieklijst aan het samenstellen. Alle tips zijn welkom, dus laat ons in een reactie weten wat jullie favoriete dans- en feestliedjes zijn, zodat we er een leuk feest van kunnen maken...

Het feesten is dus nog niet afgelopen, want vóór het Grote Feest, hebben we ook nog een vrijgezellenfeest tegoed. Ik vraag me af wat dat gaat worden. U krijgt natuurlijk het verslag als eerste hier te lezen. :-)

De laatste weken draait bijna alles rond die trouwdag. Pas daarna kunnen we ons weer toeleggen op andere dingen. Heel vreemd, dat gevoel. Alsof er geen plaats meer is in je hoofd. Als mensen me vragen hoe het gaat, begin ik over de trouwvoorbereidingen. De vakantie die we gepland hebben na de trouw, zal nodig zijn. Even ons hoofd leegmaken.

Ondertussen heeft Britt voor een geweldige zenuwbliksemafleider gezorgd: ze heeft een prijs gewonnen. Een duoticket voor het Fashion Rox Event. Dat is morgenavond met als locatie de winkel New Look op de Meir. Mode, visagisten en kappers. En wij, dus. In mijn geval een niet zo voor de hand liggende combi, maar we lachen graag, dus we gaan er naartoe. Alleen is de grote vraag: wat trek je aan naar zo'n fashionista-habitat als je zelf geen fashionista bent? Ik heb geen torenhoge hakken (kan en mag ik niet op lopen met die scheve tenen van me), dure zonnebrillen of tassen van een bekend merk. Nu ik erover nadenk, ik heb een tasje van New Look. Kan niet slecht zijn. Enfin, donderdag krijgt u een verslag van mijn fashion-avondje...

Nina

I love brocade corsets. This halterneck item looks very good on blonde Britt when worn with a tight fitting white blouse. If only she'd worn a tie with it the vision would have been complete. Looking forward to seeing more corset pictures from Britt in the future.

See more of Britt at Flickr  here

"Squeal like a pig." I don't remember why that was written in this draft.

All of us waiting in line:

Casey: "I've never seen people dress like this before". (Ahh Casey, your naivety is refreshing.)

Virgins! We had several, including Casey, my sister, and her boyfriend:

devirginifation: Casey & Chris sticks their hands in/on guy's pants to try to guess what was in them:

Casey survived:
[flickr video=2506469281]

devirginification: Britt paticipates in a group-thrusting:

Britt's boyfriend Chris was whisked away to become a temporary addition to the crew -- I'd never seen that done before:

There was a talent show, and it turns out some of the people up front were strippers from a West Virginia strip club:

For their talent, they made out:

They would have won if I were the judge, but the hot girl who played Janet last time we were there won instead by doing jumping jacks:
[flickr video=2507238262]

I was flabbergasted. Making out is far cooler than jumping jacks!

By the way, FUCK the rules!:
[flickr video=2506415851]

Because this was a special anniversary for the Tranny Concubines - the group that runs this - they had a special "Rocky Horror Hip-Hop Show". This was NOT standard, and was really just a bonus dance routine for the people involved to perform.

By the way, despite opening a midnight, the movie didn't even start until 1:20AM! The whole event went on until 3AM!

I got a brief lap dance of my own:

And around 1:20, as I mentioned before -- the movie finally started:
[flickr video=2506407169]

THE FOLLOWING YEAR

Since I took so long to post this, I may as well add stuff from the 5/17/2008 showing we went to as well. I'll be quick.

It was packed:

There were hot chicks:

Some of them made out:

Some wore a collar and leash:

Some wore a collar and leash AND made out:

And, most importantly, Jesse fucked an inflatable cow:

As always, there were may virgins:

(That's a diptych so it's deceptive.)

All-in-all, a good time. I feel sorry for the friends who are still too scared to attend. They'll die with less experience. Their loss. Seriously though... Not trying out Rocky Horror is like not trying out... Well... Lots of things that you should try out! It's like never going camping, or never drinking a beer. Sheesh.

SORRY!! THE BLACK ONE SOLD OUT!!

THE WHITE ONE ONLY 1 LEFT !! ( stock updated at 4.50am malaysia time )

 Gucci Lady Bag in monogrammed canvas and leather trim
- Brown leather handle with d ring detail
- Classic Gucci print with signature logo on leather trim
- Zip closure with internal pocket and twin mobile phone pocket
- Red, white and forest green stripe internal lining
- Centre 16H cm x 27.5L x 6D CM (handle height 20cm) Approx 400g
- Dust bag included
- Made in Italy
- HURRY! STOCK IS VERY VERY LIMITED!! OFER VALID UNTIL 17/07/08 ONLY!
- For Price: Please mail me at ukgoodies@gmail.com

Aber jetzt sind sie fertig und gar nicht mal so übel:

Mit 2er Nadeln verstrickt, gibt die Wolle ein schönes Maschenbild. Aber wer mag schon mit 2er Nadeln stricken?! ICH NICHT!

Jeg var mye på biblioteket da jeg var liten. Jeg pleide å lese over 100 bøker i året, og jeg vant klassens bokormkonkurranse. Jeg hadde en bok der jeg skrev ned alle titlene jeg hadde lest, samt forfatter og sideantall. Det sier seg selv at når bøker glir ned på høykant, så er det ganske greit å slippe å oppbevare alle bøkene etterpå! Biblioteket er miljøvennlig og sparer mange trær!

Da jeg gikk på videregående og da jeg var student i Trondheim gikk antall bøker og bibliotekbesøk drastisk ned. Det var så mye annet å lese på at jeg fikk dårlig samvittighet om jeg åpnet noe annet enn pensum. Det var bare "lov" i feriene. Jeg merket at jeg savnet det: En "vanlig bok" på alt fra 150 - 600 sider ble lest fra A til Å bare på noen timer, men en pensumbok, den snublet jeg meg igjennom time for time - selv om det bare var 100 sider. Jeg var vel kanskje en av de få som gledet meg til særemnet og leste mer enn de obligatoriske bøkene, nettopp fordi jeg hadde en unnskyldning for å lese "vanlige bøker" som pensum!

Det tror jeg er en av de aller beste tingene med å jobbe. Jeg kan lese på fritiden uten å ha dårlig samvittighet for pensum og eksamenslesing! Derfor har jeg blitt en hyppig biblioteksgjest. Jeg liker stillheten, lukten og de store historiene som finnes i en enkelt bok. Forrige uke fant jeg fram til Berlinerpoplene av Anne B. Ragde. Leste den ut med en gang, og dro raskt tilbake for å låne de resterende to bøkene i trilogien. Men det var bare Eremittkrepsene som sto i hylla. Den nyeste boka, Ligge i grønne enger, var selvsagt utlånt - med 200 mennesker i venteliste før meg...Og hva nå - når Eremittkrepsene slutter midt i en historie, og jeg bare "må" vite hva som skjer videre, og det er 200 mennesker som skal lese denne boka før jeg får svar???

The Wisconsin in Scotland Blog chronicles the experiences and adventures of students studying abroad through the Wisconsin in Scotland program, based just outside of Edinburgh, Scotland. 

This blog is designed for participating students to reflect on their study abroad and travel experiences and for prospective students to learn more about the personal and social aspects of the WIS program from a peer perspective.

The Wisconsin in Scotland program, now in its 22nd year, provides an unparalleled opportunity for educational and personal growth.  Students live and take classes together in the Dalkeith Palace, a 300 year old manor, with faculty and staff members from the U.S. and the U.K.  You can find out more information about the program here!

Ich habe Euch jetzt als "Autoren" eingestuft. Ich hoffe, dass Ihr so selbst Euere Beiträge veröffentlichen könnt.

lieben Gruß

Info:
Wolle: Lang "Super Soxx Color"
Größe: 42-44
64M - 2,5er Nd
Verbrauch: ca.80g
Begonnen: 01.05.08
Beendet: 12.05.08

Especially after writing the tribute column posted here Friday night, I really wanted to indulge my sentimental side and spend Sunday in a type of constructive tribute. Fortunately, I had the perfect material and plenty of it.

Settling into a new apartment is rarely easy, even more so when you are single and relegated to doing the work around a 42- to 44-hour work schedule. On Sunday, however, I was at the point of being ready to put up a few shelves and bring out the bunnies. The poor things have been neglected too long now and it’s high time these assorted figurines, these power symbols of the Rabbit Goddess herself, were brought out to be admired and cherished once more.

So, that work has begun. What I have with me is a sumptuous collection, yet it’s only a small percentage of all that my mom had acquired over a 10-year period. Thank God for two younger brothers when it comes to suddenly having to split up a literal rabbit figurine and collectibles museum.

I think what I miss most about Mother’s Day is the previously mentioned quest for a new rabbit item to present her. Without fail, a big smile spread across her face and her eyes reverted to those of a young child every Mother’s Day, Christmas, Easter, and birthday. I liked making her happy on special days, not that she was unhappy the rest of the year, but it was a wonderful scene as she would ask where I found the gift and, later, show it off to all of her friends in the neighborhood.

There were certain gift shops I could usually count on, both here in North Texas and in Memphis, but I soon learned to scope out other stores. Garden centers, for instance, usually carried rabbit ornaments of some description for the yard or flowerbed. The great thing about Mom is she didn’t care what it was, as long as it had a rabbit prominently depicted.

I’m not a gardener (well, not since I was a child and my maternal grandparents kept a huge vegetable garden), so when it came to divesting the inherited “outdoor” rabbit items, I made a suggestion to my two brothers, who readily agreed.

The morning before we all went our separate ways again, our mom’s four best friends on the block awoke to find a garden rabbit and a Tiki torch sitting in the front yard of their respective homes. It was a way to leave them with a special memory of our mom and the awesome block parties, knowing the likes of neither would ever be seen again in that neighborhood.

Sunday evening, I decided to partake in another tribute to my mom. She enjoyed the regular box of blush or Grenache wine and I can’t remember how many times I would trot off to the nearby liquor store for her. Sometimes I didn’t even have to have any money with me; in yet another example of the high regard the neighborhood held for her, she was the only person anyone knew or remembered being given standing credit at that liquor store.

Well, in honor of her, I went over to Savannah Winery and Bistro and settled on a glass of Messina Hof’s Mama Rosé (how appropriately named), which is actually a white cabernet but with enough characteristics similar to my mom’s favorites. For me, it was just right for raising a very special toast.

The only difference is that I was sipping the wine from a proper wine glass. Mom would have had it in a red Solo Cup.

Next year, I’ll have to think of something else to do to remember her.

I’m not worried, though. Some people just give you plenty of material to work with.

In a perfect world, Terry Britt would open a place called the Ella Faye Britt Memorial Rabbit Museum and Wine Bar. You can reach him at terrybritt@hotmail.com.

]]> http://terrybritt.wordpress.com/?p=24 Sat, 10 May 2008 02:17:44 +0000 terrybritt http://terrybritt.wordpress.com/?p=24 It’s usually not a good idea for individuals to make guarantees, but I feel very safe with this one: This Mother’s Day column will be unlike any other you’ve ever read.

A mother’s love for her child is unending and without parallel, and that is the main reason each of us think our mom is really special. They all are and always will be.

But what if you discovered your mom was like something you had only read about in ancient mythologies, scriptures, folk legends or tales of the Old West?

With that, let me offer you a posthumous introduction to the one and only Ella Faye Britt.

The Rabbit Goddess: Anglo-Saxon mythology included a certain spring-associated female deity named Eostre, who was generally depicted with rabbits by her side (and, yes, this is the pagan origin for the name of our modern Easter).

I’m convinced my mother was a late 20th-century emanation of her, although it didn’t become apparent until about the last decade of her life. I can’t pinpoint exactly when all the rabbit figurines started taking over the duplex my parents had in the Cooper-Young section of Memphis, or exactly when the real rabbits – her “second set of children” – began showing up.

It wasn’t long, though, before a virtual “Bunny Republic” had sprung up within the confines of a white picket fence, with my mom as its energetic, happy ruler. If that sounds a little exaggerated, consider that she had a full-color Peter Cottontail flag hanging outside the main window, embassy-style.

The collection of rabbit items eventually grew to about 3,000 pieces, by an estimate from me and my two brothers, and included not just a lighted display case filled with rabbit figurines, but boxes more of those, coffee mugs, stuffed toys, magnets, pictures and oil paintings, and a handcrafted lamp presented to her as a surprise birthday gift by employees at the custom lighting studio where she worked as a cleaning lady.

She really did love her pet rabbits like children, not just providing food, water, and shelter, but spending time in the yard with them. Needless to say, she was a hit with kids and adults alike in the neighborhood, and more than once she was given a new rabbit when one eventually died.

I’m not sure I’ll ever face a tougher challenge in life than the years I spent trying to find a rabbit item for her birthday, Easter or Christmas that she didn’t already have. Amazingly, I succeeded every time.

I often liked to think she was giving me divine guidance in my shopping.

My Mom Was A Real Clown: No, seriously, my mom was a real clown.

For a few years, she donned the full makeup, wig, big red nose, silly overalls and big shoes and became “Bubbles” – a name she picked to match her signature prop, a handheld liquid bubble blower. “Bubbles” usually made an appearance during special promotions at the gourmet popcorn shop my mom managed for a time, or at birthday parties for children of friends, if requested.

And that wasn’t even the most unusual job she ever held.

After dropping out of school soon after the beginning of her ninth grade term, she took on a myriad of odd jobs to earn money, including a stint as a gravedigger.

I don’t mean backhoe operator, either. I mean old-fashioned gravedigger with a shovel.

If that’s not enough to give you the spinal shivers, try this: While a gravedigger assisting her father (who was the town cemetery’s chief caretaker), she helped exhume and relocate coffins when the town established a new cemetery.

I once asked her if doing that ever gave her the creeps at any point. She looked me straight in the eye and replied, “No, not in the least. Because you know what was in those coffins? Nothing but dust.”

That woman was far wiser than any ninth grade dropout.

But to go back to the clown for a moment, she had a wicked sense of humor that would leap out at the least expected times. My youngest brother discovered that for himself one year during a Christmas visit.

As I and his two children watched, our mother gave him a small rectangular wrapped gift, which he opened to find a stylish silver-plated office pen. He loves those, something she knew, and can’t wait to try out a new one, which she also knew.

Sure enough, he clicked the top and the rest of us in the room got the laugh of our lives when the poor man leapt about a half-foot off the ground from the voltage going through his thumb.

God’s Fountain of Benevolence...: I don’t think I’ll ever know another person – man or woman – who made so certain not to just give pious lip service to charity, sharing, and kindness.

Growing up, I remember a lot of months she opened our home to someone, whether friend or family member, who needed a place to stay for a while. Later on in her life, that generosity didn’t wane.

One day, she and a friend were inside the Cooper-Young duplex getting something together for lunch while holding a yard sale. Looking through the front window, her friend suddenly spotted a strange man rummaging through one of the tables, so she got my mom’s attention.

Apparently realizing he had been spotted, the man jumped the picket fence and started to run, but my mom poked her head outside the door and yelled for him to stop and answer a question. It turned out the man was homeless, and wasn’t trying to steal any of the sale items, but thought there might be a bit of food somewhere on the table.

She didn’t call the police or tell him to go away. She invited him into the house and had him sit while she made him a stack of tuna fish sandwiches. When he had finished eating, she gave him three dollars, which was enough to buy a night’s stay at one of the local shelters.

In summer 2003, the midtown section of Memphis was heavily damaged by a straight-line windstorm that knocked down trees, damaged homes and left people without power for days. By chance of being on a different circuit than the rest of the block, her duplex was one of the few in the neighborhood that still had electricity after the storm, so she made an open invitation to anyone in the dark to come in and cook their food.

A few days later, a utility crew finally made it to her block to repair lines, replace transformers and deal with the removal of a huge oak tree that had been uprooted. She fed the entire crew, some of whom were on a 24-hour shift.

It wasn’t quite the miracle of the loaves and fishes, but I have a feeling they were just as grateful.

Faith and a sense of doing the right thing was of the utmost importance to her, and despite her lack of formal education, she was so deceptively eloquent and convincing as to gain audience with congressmen and newspaper editors to get across her point.

One of the best stories about her was the day she unexpectedly found herself in an impromptu religious debate with a local Muslim man while visiting a friend. According to the friend, she held forth so completely and convincingly on her spiritual convictions that by the end of it, the man proclaimed her to be the most fascinating woman he had ever met.

…And His Terrible Sword of Vengeance: Then again, my mom – 5-8 and a stout build – could just as quickly introduce a person to the true meaning of the fear of God.

There are witnesses to at least two incidents where a man was being helped off the floor of a neighborhood bar after saying the wrong thing to my mom. And those are just the cases I’ve been told about.

People used to think I was joking about my mom walking alone to and from work in Memphis, sometimes leaving the house before sunrise. She told me there was one day when she realized a man was trying to sneak up behind her, but instead of panicking or quickening her pace, she whirled around and growled “You got a problem, MISTER?”

The guy quickly decided he did not want his ass carted to the local trauma center that day, and chose a different direction to start walking.

She would be the first to tell you she had a mean streak that would equal any gunslinger of 150 years ago. I listened to her talk with glee about, as a child, picking up snakes – and half the time not bothering to see what kind she was grabbing by the head – and mercilessly chasing her two older sisters, screaming bloody murder, through the neighborhood.

She also told me about a day at school when a boy thought it would be funny to make her cry by spitting chewing tobacco juice on her shoes. He did, and then stood frozen with horror when my mom jerked the bag of tobacco out of his pocket, dumped a huge chaw in her mouth and then nailed him right between the eyes with it.

At a professional wrestling show she attended as a teenager, she sent one of the wrestlers sprawling to the floor by purposely tripping him as he passed by – just because she didn’t like him.

On the final day of cleaning out the Cooper-Young duplex after her death, I found one of those collectable cigarette tins that had somehow been overlooked with my brothers and other people helping the week of the funeral.

What was inside the box? A switchblade, two pocket knives, two hand daggers, a bootstrap dagger, a six-inch unhandled Bowie blade and one functional stun gun.

I have no idea if the Memphis Police Department was looking for any of those.

Toast Life, Celebrate, Dance: In her final years, my mom and I did a lot of this together and with friends in her neighborhood.

She loved living among friends, conversing, joking, cooking with them and sharing a few drinks. More than anyone else I’ve ever known, my mom understood that you don’t have to have a lot of money to live a wealthy life.

At age 60, the woman was still throwing block parties that would make a grown man cry out of sheer admiration: chicken, catfish, soul food, chips, dips, her own special hush puppies, plenty of beer, margaritas that could have been sold as prescription narcotics, tiki torches and a boombox helping us rock the night away.

Of all the things I never imagined as a kid, dancing with my mom in the front yard at 3 a.m. to Booker T and the MGs is pretty much top of the list.

Other days, she and I just enjoyed sitting together on the front porch, drinking a beer or some wine, and just talking about whatever crossed our minds.

One February afternoon, I had just packed up to return home to Arkansas for the workweek ahead. My only assistant at the newspaper there had left for a better job in Florida, and I was unsure how long it would take to find another.

Before I drove off, I turned back to my mom, still sitting on the porch, and said, “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I just want you to know how much I love you and always will.”

It was the last time I saw her.

But like any true legend, not even death itself could completely end her story. The evening after a funeral no one there will ever forget, I was standing on the back porch with one of her best friends, both of us having a beer in commemoration of her.

She turned to me and said, “Terry, I have to tell you a true story that I’ve never told anyone else, because your mom and I were sure people would think we were crazy.”

And that’s when I found out my mom had been involved in an unreported UFO sighting.

The two of them, along with my mom’s duplex neighbor, were on the front porch one night talking when one of them suddenly noticed an eerie set of red lights in the sky to the west, seemingly rotating in a circular pattern. Being in a neighborhood that is beneath one of the flight patterns into Memphis International Airport, they knew it probably wasn’t an aircraft they were staring at.

No one said a word for several minutes. Finally, the friend whispered to my mom, “Faye, what do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are we seeing a flying saucer?”

“Maybe.”

More total silence. Then, the friend told me, she and the duplex neighbor suddenly felt a sensation as if their blood had frozen solid in their veins.

But it wasn’t from some ray or force field that had come down from the object off in the western sky. It was because my mom, who had been sitting behind the other two, quietly arose to the top of the steps, and in a voice I’m sure could have been heard three blocks away, yelled “Beam me up, Scotty! I’m ready to go!”

Wherever you are in the cosmos, Mom, I hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day.

Terry Britt has never seen a flying saucer, although some people seem to think he was dropped off by one. You can reach him at terrybritt@hotmail.com.

This column is lovingly dedicated to the memory of Ella Faye Britt (1941-2005).

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