Georgia Green Stamper – Georgia On Her Mind

  • Georgia on her mind - Jerry Lee Lewis and hymns don’t mix well

    Though I’m a grandmother now, I can slide without warning through Alice’s looking glass, where I catch glimpses of the girl I used to be. When the near forgotten scents of a spring night in May sneak up behind me, when – well, it happened again on Sunday morning, about the time my large congregation of city Methodists hit the chorus of that old gospel hymn, “In the Garden.”

  • Georgia: on her mind - Wisdom, clean closets, and a little heresy

    I got caught in the tailwind of my old friend, Birthday, as he raced through another April. I admit that I lost my balance for an hour or two. “You’re old,” Birthday taunted as he flew past me on his way to outrun next year before I can blink.
    “That’s not nice,” I shouted after him. “And besides, Old is the new New. Old, now that the Baby Boomers are on Medicare, is IN.”

  • Georgia - on her mind: January is just a drama queen

    January in Kentucky reminds me of a difficult relative. You know the kind I mean, the eccentric ones you put up with because you’ve known them all your life, shared the good times and the bad, and so you love them.
    But why oh why can’t they have a better disposition? If she tried harder, couldn’t January learn a thing or two from a Bluegrass May or June?

  • Georgia: On her mind - Always remember the lasting touch a gift can have

    This is a Christmas story. Sort of. Or maybe it’s about grumpy old men. Maybe it’s about the commercialism that we like to rant against at this time of year. I’m pretty sure, though, that it’s about love.

  • Georgia: On her mind - Even ghosts get a seat at our Thanksgiving table

  • Georgia – On her mind: Deciphering modern Morse

    I’m learning the Morse Code. I got the idea from a movie I saw this summer. In one of those light-bulb-flashing-over-my-head moments, I realized this could bridge the communication gap between my young adult children and me. They only communicate by texting now, and with my clumsy old thumbs and last century spelling, I’m left out of the conversation. Re-invent the telegraph, I say, with its finger friendly dashes and dots in plain old English!

  • Georgia: On my mind: Hanging on through the heat

    It hit 103 in our driveway today, and I don’t have the energy left to muster an exclamation point.
    Hot’s novelty, folks, has worn off.
    Here in Kentucky, we’re moving into the 10th consecutive day of a record-breaking heat wave. Our grass has lost its will to live, and Ernie and I spend our days carrying handfuls of water to the ferns on the deck. “Hang on,” we whisper, “hang on.”

  • Georgia: On my mind - My memories of the world’s longest creek

    It was one mile short of being a river, folks said when I was a child, and I believed them. Eagle Creek was our Nile, sustaining our livelihood, nurturing our culture. Its winding path had carved out our place on earth a million years before the mighty Ohio was born, mapping where the hearts of my people would rest. Even the edge of the sky stopped at a wall of tall, boney sycamore trees that grew along its banks.

  • Where have all the Garys, Ronnies and Larrys gone?

    It was a joyful morning at the make-believe circus. The children sang big top songs
    as loud as they could, and on cue, they cackled like monkeys and roared like lions. The 2-year-olds class at our grandson’s nursery school was in rare form for the end
    of the year program.
    Sadly, though, Charles and Donnie missed the show. Roger, Richard, and Jerry
    weren’t there either, and neither was Ed.
    To be honest, they would have felt out of place. All the other little boys had first

  • Stand up and get some respect night owls

    The world is divided into two kinds of people, those who rise with the sun and those who don’t.
    The morning folks cornered the world market on worms centuries ago, and have the best PR staff in the business. Early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise – oh, their press releases go on and on.
    Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sun come up. Oh, maybe in my youth when I pulled colicky babies through the night, but I lived in Ashland then, in a hilly forest cut off from the rest of the natural world by industrial smog.