I close my eyes and hear the surf today beneath the tall pines and white oaks of West Georgia where the acorns fell like rain last fall. Waves lap at my toes that are scrunching somewhat bewildered into the red clay but that’s ok. Eyes closed, still at the beach. Darn these ole crows. It they would just learn to speak some sea-gull it would sure help.


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Happy Easter!

Jingeorgia's Blog

It was a simple but profound question. I rocked back on my heals a moment. Grabbing the stubble on my chin for balance, I squinted a well honed cynics eye at the questioner.

The early spring day was effervescing color from every nook and cranny. A kaleidoscope of blooms shouted joyfully at every turn. Alive! Alive again!

Who was this inquisitor with such a provocative question? Couldn’t there be another time, another place to ponder the question raised. Actually the debate has occurred for centuries among learned men. Some say yes. Some say no. What say you Papa?

A simple yes should be sufficient. That’s it! Yes, and let it go. Do church, family dinner, egg hunt and enjoy a beautiful spring afternoon. I’ve answered other questions simply. Why not this one? Of course there is a Santa Claus! Ho, Ho, Ho! Yes, there is a tooth fairy! You found…

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Give us Barabbas

Spring is such a wonderfully fickle season! The bud swells, the flower fades and the seed falls to the earth. In seven days it’s hardly recognizable! One minute it’s “hosannas to the King” and the next it’s  “give us Barabbas”.



“Give us Barabbas!”, from The Bible and its Story Taught by One Thousand Picture Lessons, 1910

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light the lamps…

light the lamps nero tune the fiddle too 

say what’s on your mind

anything new

there is the question

that haunts me now and then

when the flames of things that matter least

flicker to the coals briefly I am free to think but nothing is there.

Washed clean with relativity

I struggle to engage the correctness, the significance

or the non such of such things

the theology of Isms and the finer doctrinal points thereof

like some enema of academia shoved firmly to where

the sun never sets or for that matter rises

every generation produces a fine crop of elites

the men of Athens want nothing more that to sit at Mars Hill

discussing some new thing

And on capitol hill the talk continues

seems i’ve heard there is nothing new under the sun

well there you have it balaam

straight from the asses mouth



Painting in the public domain by Henryk Siemiradzki “Nero’s Torches”

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Ring, ring!

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Ring, Ring! Hello! What a cheerful word. That was the standard in telephone etiquette when receiving a call in my childhood days. Some may not remember those old phone rings. A simple bell resounding for a couple of seconds and … Continue reading

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After the fireworks

Sleeping Beauby Beauty.


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Super Sunday

In my lifetime men playing with their balls has progressed to a place of national preeminence. I am unsure what to make of it actually but. I do really like the buffalo wings. Pass the Ranch and celery please.


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Not yet 30%

That’s right folks. Especially you tender Georgia peaches. Breaks, bruises and lacerations filled the ER centers the last few days. Injuries from playing in the snow and ice were more numerous and serious, can you believe it, than auto accidents. Seems the slow speed fender bender variety auto wrecks produced less carnage than the novice ice worshipers, hey watch this move I’ve seen on the winter olympics, bravado.
If I am not mistaken, I mean just ask any horoscoper who really knows what day it is, around January 20 we’ll be one-third through winter. Will Atlanta survive? Will there be enough bandages, splints and plaster of paris? And, most definately (google it for real, amazing fact for that word or not, definitely, will there be enough milk and bread? Will the mail be delivered or will the mounds of garbage block that trusty civil servant’s whole-hearted one for the Gipper effort at delivering one more introductory offer for Broke Americard?
All the many questions that winter has forced upon the Peach State are causing many fuzzy legged Georgians to reconsider their previous ballot selections. Hang ’em all boyz and load the salt trucks vigilantism is brewing. Watch out Tennessee. We’re eyeballing yo’ trucks and salt piles.
Brewing! Ah yes, I think I’ll have a hot tea and fire off a note or two to my local commissioner. Rascal. The nerve of him setting around in his PJs for four days when he could have been out shoveling my street.
Honey! That’s the pot whistling. Can you get that for me, I’m busy. You know how I like it sweetie. What are you doing? I’m talking tea darlin’!
‘Skews me folks. This won’t take long. NO BATTERIES!
Dear Commis, You better get this road cleared ASAP.

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Derailed at Skint Chestnut

In 1881 the Georgia Western Railroad was finally begun. In the post civil war reconstruction of Georgia  it brought a boom to a dusty West Georgia town formerly known as Skint Chestnut. On a natural rise in the topography of the area a large chestnut tree was stripped of its bark to stand as a  marker of Indian trails that converged there. The railroad saw the rise as a minor obstacle to progress and so they cut their track right through it. Where the grade cut begins and ends is probably less than a thousand feet. That trench is what saved a good part of historic downtown Douglasville, Georgia early Tuesday morning. A west bound freight train derailed and piled it’s contents into that grade cut at around 1 am January 4th. Thirty six double stacked freight containers piled like flotsam washed ashore. Hauling consumer products from A to Z the cleanup and salvage is still ongoing. The good news is no one was injured!

This shot was taken a little over a year ago looking west through the grade cut.


At lunch time Tuesday these shots were taken after the 1am derailment. This was the only derailed car that stayed upright. I always thought these stacks looked a little top-heavy. 


piled above grade cut on W. Strickland

I would guess these folks had a rude awakening Tuesday morning. Some of these containers could have gone right through their front door on a grade level track. A row of residential homes on the North side of the tracks were as close as 100 feet from the embankment where the containers rested.







Cleanup crews had the first trains through by noon Wednesday. This shot was taken Friday on my way home from work. There is a lot of cleanup left to do but the Georgia Western is rolling again through Skint Chestnut.


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Deja vu all over again

Seeing Bill Clinton on the news this week with the current pres almost brought back fond memories. Here is one from the 1996 campaign year.


I want to be your President
elect me and I’ll lead                                                               
on to the Twenty first Century
and I do aim to please                
I’m gonna cut yo taxes
I’m gonna build a bridge
I’m gonna teach yo young folks
on them figgurin’ thang-ma-jigs                                     
I’m gonna feed the poor folks
and doctor everyone
and keep yo old folks rockin
in a fine retirement home
Listen up my fellow Americans
I’m gonna do it all
I want to be you’re president
and I have heard the call
Your taxes are too high
and the deficit is a shame
the rich are gettin’ richer
I know, I feel yo pain
I can be yo president
I know, I’m here to tell
I ain’t no cheatin’ husband
and I never did inhale

jrw ©09/12/1996

I shot that picture at a flea market just after the election in 2008. It was around Christmas time and the heady exuberance of this vendors booth was almost as if Santa had sprinkled joy dust without measure. What a season!

I came away with a couple of other flea market shots about that time. One we’ll call workaday Santa and the other we’ll call Santa Claus. Gee, I wonder which one is real?


Ah, make believe! It kinda makes one long for the good ole days of Clinton. Naw.

Merry Christmas everyone and just remember, Uncle Sam ain’t Santa and President Obama is a one term president!


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