Late Friday afternoon, an old friend from New Mexico called, and I stayed too long on the phone. I’d scheduled an interview at 4:30 with a tomato grower of some repute, who lives near Caledonia. I was running late.
As I hurried down Black Creek Road, I gave a call to the fellow I thought would be the subject of this column to tell him I’d be a few minutes late.
“I’m under a house in Millport,” he said. “Doing some plumbing.”
So much for tomatoes.
Instead of staying home and writing a column, I would be going to “Alice in Wonderland” with the grandkids, after all.
Despite a rainy night, the gym at Annunciation School was packed with parents, grandparents and little brothers and sisters.
Curious the number of grandparents in the audience who were parents the same time we were attending these same school events for our children.
Alice: “How long is forever?” White Rabbit: “Sometimes, just one second.”
The play was delightful. The ever-ebullient Celsie Staggers directed. The set, costumes and staging were far beyond what one would expect from such a production. The lengthy list of parent volunteers named in the program may have had something to do with that.
Even so, the kids, both those on the boards and backstage, put on a remarkably competent — and entertaining — show. Especially notable were the performances of Elizabeth Balzli as the White Rabbit, Lena West as the Caterpillar, Jasper Gray as the Mad Hatter and Cecelia Herbert as the March Hare.
Afterwards, our charges were hungry, and on the way home selected the Burger King near the school. Rather than drive through, we went inside and virtually had the place to ourselves. A tall, taciturn-looking fellow wearing a cowboy hat stood at the counter waiting. The empty neon-lit restaurant looked like a set in a David Lynch film, and he looked like a character in it.
“How is Sid doing?” the cowboy asked. Turns out he was friends with my brother.
The kids chose a corner booth under a large, soundless TV tuned to Fox News. Four attractive and perfectly groomed commentators were having an animated discussion about Donald Trump.
Alice laughed: “There’s no use trying,” she said. “One can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. ” … Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
“Hey Frank,” Beth said.
It was the artist Frank McGuigan, who, as it happens, lives nearby. Hadn’t seen the guy in months, and here we are in an empty Burger King.
You can see Frank and his whimsical paintings at the Cotton District Arts Festival on Saturday, April 16, in Starkville.
That night the kids went to sleep listening to Scarlett Johansson reading an audiobook of Lewis Carroll’s classic.
Everyone settled, I set out for a walk through town toward the soccer park. As I turned off Market onto Second Avenue North near the Elbow Room, what looked to be a quartet of “W” alums here for homecoming, were making their way down the steps by Zachary’s.
Their laughter blended with the scent of wisteria from the huge swath of it across from the lower entrance of the convention center. If there is one fragrance that is Mississippi in springtime, it is wisteria. Put your nose in those cascading purple flowers while you have a chance.
They will be gone soon enough.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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