"Buy land.  They're not making any more of it."  Attributed to Mark Twain and Will Rogers.  They had something there.  

My great grandparents had 150 acres in a small township, Jackson, buried deep in Nevada County, Arkansas.  They were farmers and raised food for their family and cotton to sell for profit.  About 40 years after they moved from this area "to town" to Camden, their land was divided, spearheaded by my grandmother, into 25 acre plots and gifted to each of the 8 children.  After the family moved away in 1941, this property was never touched aside from dismantling the 10 room house and selling the lumber.  

As time marched on and my grandmothers generation left us, their children inherited the parcels and somewhere along the way my grandparents purchased an odd 20 acre parcel in the same area.  My grandfather had the idea that they would build a home there and move back to the place where they both grew up.  On the face this sounded like a good idea and on 99% of everything he wanted to do my grandmother went along with.  This wasn't one of those things.  Virginia said to Raleigh; "You'd be living there alone.  I'm not moving back to where they have to pipe in sunshine and wipe the owl shit off the clock every morning."  The parcel is still vacant of a homestead.  

These parcels are now mine.  Where I'm not a timber heiress like my family liked to refer to my mother as, which is really a kind of snide thing to say (IMHO), I do have the opportunity to buy my great-uncle's 25 acres that abuts mine that was part of the original home place.  I've contacted a timber management company that my family has used in the past for evaluation and also maintenance on the others.  With some guidance from a dearest friend, Mrs. Sally Graves, I'm forging ahead on a venture that is the slowest moving process I've ever had.  Now days the physical labor has pretty much been all replaced by large machinery and a little 25 or so acres is not desirable for a company to maintain or even clear cut.  They like to start with 100+ acres so I'm learning to be patient even though I'm standing here with product and money in hand to make a transaction.  

This has started from my great uncle, Venis, who lives in Nyack, NY, and recently moved to a nursing facility at 94.  His son has put his estate in a trust and was advised to get a value on every piece of real property and if able, sell these large assets that are so far away.  I was so touched that he asked me to buy the land.  Around 2000 there was a huge uprising when a cousin had most of this property clear cut and divided the proceeds in a very - unfair - manner.  It divided most of the family and Venis/Jimmy (his son) wanting me to have the first opportunity to have this parcel really does mean the world to me.  Anyone can buy land but buying land that has been in the family for over 100 years is a big deal, at least to me. 

The other day when I was going through parcel maps and paperwork, I found $7 tucked in.  This was my mom's money.  She was notorious for having things scattered about and then scooping things up on a quick clean up.  You never knew what you'd find and where.  This made me laugh.  If she were still alive and I were to tell her I'd found this she would have wanted me to send it back to her.  Her things were hers and that's just how it was.  So, I put this in my savings account and it'll be part of what I buy this land from my uncle with.  

I view living in this area the same way my grandmother did - not going to happen.  Also, the timber market is in the toilet and has beed since the housing crash of 2007.  Owning what has belonged to 3 generations before me though, that is a sentiment worth far more than anything else.  

 Buy a car.  Sell a car...uh, TRY to sell a car.

I've bought and sold several cars in my lifetime and each time managed to make a little coin in the end.  These have all be what you'd consider cash cars and a little advice I can share is if you don't want to take a bath on resale, stick to vehicles under $5,000.  Now, I didn't buy this 2017 E300 with the intent to flip it but when I found a car I liked better for way less it never occurred to me that I'd have zero luck selling the newer of the two.  For the first time I find myself 4 months into trying to sell this thing with nothing but offers $10,000 less than my asking price that is already $5,000 less than dealer retail AND it has a transferable CPO warranty.  I'm dumbfounded.  I'm over trying to be nice to people who insult me.  I'm ready to be rid of this extremely nice machine! 

I'm crazy for cars and always have been but the older I get the more I want to own and drive older examples.  Maybe one day I can be like Jay Leno but I don't think I'll ever own more than I could drive on a regular basis.  When I was a kid I'd get collector cars from my grandmother for my birthday and Christmas but I'd always tear them up because I'd play with them and they were meant to just sit on a shelf.  In the car collector world, I'd be called a 40 footer collector.  These are cars that look great, have been and continue to be driven, and are maintained as daily drivers by their owners.  I've tried being a new car owner but it's just not for me - it's not who I am.  

 2015 - the first short film I had a speaking role in was Five Star Dinner Club.  It squeaked into the Louisiana Film Prize festival as a top 10 contender.  Per the contest guidelines, it was shot entirely in Louisiana and offered me one day on set with an overnight stay.  The experience of being on set was not what I was expecting but the only thing I had to compare it to was being on set of Dallas during their 3 year run in Dallas.  A TNT TV series was not the same thing as an independent short film.  Good lesson in itself!  

After the film was selected to be in the festival, we campaigned hard for it to win - of course.  Part of the scheme was to get as many people to choose to view the film and the winners were based 50% on audience participation.  I baked over 500 cookies with a label of the film logo on the back.  The weeks leading up to the event, everyone blasted over social media about the contest and I'd talked my cousin Diane and her husband as well as my mother into driving to Shreveport to participate.  I sent out explicit instructions on where to be and when and they would stay with me in my room at the El Dorado casino hotel.  The day finally came to travel down, on the 10th of October - the day before the screenings started. I packed a full bar in my black Cadillac and arrived in Shreveport around 1pm and proceeded to get everything ready.  I reached out to my family to let them know I'd arrived and left messages that I looked forward to seeing them early the next morning.  The entire crew came to my room around 4:30 and we had some cocktails then packed a roadie and headed down to the first venue for interviews and conversation.  On the way to the first bar my phone rang and it was Diane and I let it go to voicemail.  I felt my phone ringing a few more times and when I finally checked it I had 8 missed calls and a text message from Diane to call her.  Mind you, Diane and her husband George, they both a a PhD in their respected fields of study and all I could think was "how the fuck hard is it to understand simple instructions that they needed to call so many times for confirmation on where to be and when?"  I'd already had enough to drink that I was what you'd call "in my cup".  So I called her back on a break between venues and was just about to have an interview for my participation in the movie.  When I called her back George answered the phone.  "J.R., you need to come home".  What the hell?  "George, I'm in the middle of...", "J.R., your mother has passed away."  "I'll be there in 2 hours."

Game over.  I've never sobered up so fast in my life.  I told the director and her husband and he followed me back to the hotel where I packed up and got swiftly on the road.  It took about an hour before reality settled in.  This is why she didn't answer the phone.  Then I thought about the presence my mother, Doll Baby, was in the universe.  Ask anyone, she took up all the air, space, and ability in the room.  So, on this my most important day in my early film career she took the show once again.  I don't mean to be crass or sound malevolent, it was just how her life was.  I had a good laugh at the fact her final act overshadowed my most important achievement to that date.  

When I got to Camden I first stopped at her house.  It was 9PM and the street was quiet, there were no lights on, her car was in the garage.  I sat and cried for a while then left and went to Diane and George's house across town.  I didn't sleep that night.  I got up the next morning and started the process of final arrangements and Diane went with me.  On the way to the funeral home she said "well, she trumped your big day today" and we both laughed.  I wasn't mad and at that moment I wasn't sad.  It's hard to see a parent lying in front of you with no life left in their body but it does help you to understand what is important in your life.  For me it's letting people around me know that I love them - forgiving when its hard and enjoying each day when its easy.  

 1990. 

The last decade of the 20th century - I was in 5th grade.

This was the first year that I went to Fairview middle school in Camden, Arkansas.  My mother and I moved towns the summer before I started 3rd grade so there were two years of elementary school and at this point I was going to be changing classes for the first time and would be able to walk to and from school which had been a treat when we lived in El Dorado but things change.  

It was hard moving away from everything I'd known at 8 years old - leaving friends, familiar surroundings, and Aunt Bobbye.  My grandmother was ill for so long after surviving colon cancer and my mother uprooted us to move in with her and take care of her.  This was a transition that I was thrown into and for the most part didn't understand because the severity of the situation was kept from me.  Looking back I understand why a child isn't told too much but at the time it was very confusing and I was not well received by new classmates.

I'd gotten all worked up that middle school would be a great new experience.  Changing classes and not being around the same people all day long would be a better experience.  I got to choose my own back to school clothes and I got a new pair of shoes and I practiced operating my combination lock for my locker all summer so I could be the fastest in the hall.  I was determined that all the name calling and physical bullying from elementary school would be a thing of the past.  What is more grown up than 5th grade?  I had the right outlook but on the first day of school, in my brand new Levi's and a sweatshirt with a '56 Thunderbird on the front, my brand new white Reebok tennis shoes, and may grey Member's Only jacket, I walked onto the playground/holding area and looked around for someone to meet up with.  I was early - SO EARLY, school started at 8:00 and I got there at 7:00 - habitually early for everything.  Nobody was there yet.  I saw teachers pull up and walk down the huge concrete steps built into the embankment from the parking lot.  I waved at each one as they passed into the side doors as I sat on the curb next to the student drop-off.  As kids started arriving from the buss queue I looked at each one of them and smiled as they walked by and gathered in small groups, then as cars started pulling up and parents dropped off their kids I watched noticing all the cars and the kids getting out of them.  I called to several of them and waved but they just kept walking - they all just kept walking.  Nobody acknowledged me.  At first I felt like a toad, why are they ignoring me?  Then after about 20 minutes I thought "well, at least they're not making fun of me".  I didn't have any books yet so there wasn't anything to distract me from just sitting there like a smirking Judas and staring at my class schedule so I just sat and waited for the bell to ring.  After the bell rang I was one of the first ones in the door since I'd been sitting so close to it for an hour and I walked straight to my locker and pulled out my combination lock - I twirled it super fast and as it opened I put it in my locker and the guy who's locker was next to mine, remarked "New lock?"  I said yes and was bout to make convo and he just replied "faggot".  So, that went well.  

The first class was study hall with Mrs. Beaver.  This was in the rec hall and we sat on picnic benches and the far west side was open to the lockers for the high school.  She called the role and called my name "John Brown" and at her instruction if you wanted to go by something else I told her "J.R."  She then asked what the R stood for and I told her "Raleigh" then someone remarked "why don't you have a girls name"?  The whole class laughed and I felt like I was about to wet my pants from embarrassment.  Mrs. Beaver didn't say anything and just moved on to the next name on the list.  All the other classes that day I didn't say anything when my name was called except for "here."  I was John to all my teachers for the rest of the year.  By the time the lunch bell rang I had worked up a knot the size of a Buick in my gut about where I was going to sit.  I got my tray and there was a salad bar!  I didn't like salad but that was where the ketchup and other condiments were and DO NOT ASK me why I did this but I put a big scoop of croutons on my mashed potatoes and some asshole upperclassman saw me and said "look at this little dick with crunchy potatoes".  Then he flipped my tray with his gestures and the entire cafeteria was staring at me.  I just wanted to run out of there but the cafeteria supervisor came over and looked straight at me and said "clean up your mess".  So, I did and then I left to head back to the waiting area I'd spent an hour in sitting on the curb earlier that morning for another 45 minutes until lunch was over.  I just made lines in the dirt with my shoe and didn't look up until the bell rang.  

Except for not having my tray flipped again, this was my usual day during 5th grade.  I didn't talk to many people and I only answered direct questions during class - God forbid one of the teachers asked me to read something in class.  My game was to see how long I could go during the day without saying anything and not drinking anything all day so I wouldn't have to go to the bathroom.  

I tried explaining to my mom and my grandmother how hard it was going to school everyday but they didn't understand.  My grandmother was the valedictorian and senior beauty of her class.  My mother was in every club and an officer in most as well as having a wardrobe that was the envy of every girl in school.  I was just a dorky kid with no male role models to help teach me and concerns for my grandmothers health was top priority at our home, and I don't begrudge her that at all, so by the time it was my turn for concern, the well had run dry.  I would hide some days during my second semester after I learned how to skip school with a note.  I had my mom write several things down, like "There is no excuse for being sick if there is medicine", " Please explain the following circumstances", "J.R. is my son", and so on.  Then I took out a bank statement and got a check with her signature - Poof!  I would trace the words I need for an excuse and her signature and I was excused without anyone knowing.  Well, nobody knew until my report card came out and there were multiple absences and my mother demanded to know how I was excused back into class.  The punishment still wasn't as bad as having to go to school everyday but I lost a lot of trust from my parents in the process.

My middle school years were not the happiest time in my life and I didn't have many opportunities to make friends along the way but I did start observing people and how they acted and interacted with each other.  I began to find this fascinating and would act out these observations after school - good and bad.

I would pray at night for just ONE person to extend the token of friendship and please make it a popular person so I could be seen as a worthy instead of someone to ridicule and ignore.  This never happened.  So, I stopped dreaming something would be better and I accepted that this was my life.  It wasn't really sad at that point - just the facts.  If you stop begging for something to happen then you're not disappointed when it doesn't happen.  I'm going to drop off of this 4 year period now and reflect.

The storming of the Capital yesterday by mentally fragile people was heinous at its core.  I don't agree with one single second of any of it.  I heard about this as I was driving back from Houston yesterday and listed to the events unfold on NPR.  I was outraged and hurt.  After about an hour the President came on with his address of "we love you, you're special" and I turned the radio off and just drove with my thoughts.  Millions of people support Trump, thousands gathered and raided the most sacred temple of our democracy yesterday at the sedition of our country's leader.  A group of undereducated followers that would, and have, done anything to belong to a person that tapped into their need for affirmation and validity.  I understand where they're coming from.  I DO NOT agree with them or their actions but I was slapped in the face with these memories of my childhood and pondered for several hours about my own past hurts and past perceived failures.  If ONE person would have reached out to me and offered me a kind word or friendship in 5th grade, I would have stolen candy from the store for them, I would have cheated on a test for them, I would have incited a fight in their honor.  I would have been the south Arkansas 1990's version of a domestic terrorist.  

By my own willingness to survive - wherever that came from - and to be the person I am today, experiencing everything I have, is why I am who I am.  Some are not that lucky or persistent.  We can't hate them for what they are because that never solves anything.  We have to understand the problem and move forward with a solution and in the case of our country, I know it's not too late.  

 My friend Chris told me to watch Body Guard on Netflix.  It took me about 3 seconds to realize why he watched this series, Richard Madden is absolutely dreamy.

I've enjoyed so many Netflix series that are Based in Great Britain over the course of the pandemic.  Their acting seems so much better than the cranked out American ones - the cinematography is so real and pleasing.  I do find myself paying more attention to camera angles and how the scenes are shot rather than the acting at first then have to go back and watch again for the acting.  It's all brilliant.

This is about a cop that turns secret security agent to protect their Secretary of State and a scandal that spins his life into numerous disasters.  It's all very believable and after this is done I know I'll be wanting more.  If you have a hankering for a crime drama, check it out!  Turn on the subtitles.