Your roving reporter reports, and having reported, moves on.

We cannot speak too loudly, as we are reporting from behind enemy lines in Alabamistan once again, and one never knows who might be listening in these parts. Just today we have seen crows and squirrels and geese (oh, my!) but not one banjo has reared its ugly head. We have it on good report, though, that they are all about us and may not be completely enthralled with our presence in their midst.

In addition, one must remain vigilant at all times here, as two major powers continue to vie for the affections of the populace. For example, one could suddenly find oneself in great difficulty if one happened to display or even speak in friendly tones concerning the color crimson in an area dominated by supporters of orange and blue. In a neighboring county recently, so our spies tell us, two fishermen who had intended to spend a quiet afternoon fishing in the shallows of Lake Logan Martin were set upon by an orange-clad group shouting "War Eagle!" and have not been seen or heard from since. Families along the shore said the men had been laughing and exchanging jokes just before the band of marauders swept in and overwhelmed them. According to one witness who assured this reporter that he had no reason to lie, the last words one of the fishermen had said to the other were either "Droll, Clyde" or "Troll, Clyde."

Perhaps one day peace will come to Alabamistan, but for now, sadly, the war continues.

I’m no longer Alabamy bound

[Update: Because of a rare malady called bloggerus idioticus, yours truly neglected to include the link to the video clip at the place in this post where it should be possible to link to a video clip. This oversight has now been corrected, yours truly has been severely reprimanded, and the link is working properly. --RWP, May 26th, 1600 hours EDT]

We drove over to Alabamistan on Sunday afternoon. As usual, we first threw a couple of loads of laundry into the washing machine (one at a time, of course) and then into the dryer (ditto), turned up the thermostat on the air conditioner (because north Georgia has already had temperatures above 90 degrees Fahrenheit), bought two new toothbrushes, packed our suitcases, dropped off Jethro at his favorite doggie dude ranch, and we were on our way.

I wanted to include at this point in this post a video clip of someone singing “I’m Alabamy Bound” and accompanying him- or herself on the banjo, but the clips I found that included banjos had no singing and the clips I found that included singing had no banjos. The nearest thing I found was a man who accompanied his singing (I use the term loosely) on something called an Autoharp, but it is my goal to keep you wonderful folks out there in Blogland coming back to my blog, not running from the room with your hands over your ears.

Having just missed last week’s 31st annual Do Dah Day parade in Birmingham, Mrs. RWP and I have consoled ourselves on this trip by attending (a) the birthday party of one grandson and (b) the presentation of honors by their school to two grandsons.

Today we have returned to our beloved Cherokee County, Georgia, where accompanying oneself on an Autoharp while singing “I’m Alabamy Bound” is considered a crime against humanity.

What the heck, I’m going to go ahead and throw in the video clip anyway just to get your reactions. It may help, while watching and listening to it, to try to picture the original manuscript of the poem “Kubla Khan” ten seconds after poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge had penned the words “A damsel with a dulcimer...”

On second thought, no, it won’t.