When Nature Comes Calling

Our cat Jackie on the windowsill, transfixed, this morning.



The object of his attention, sitting on the corner of the deck.





My friend Alex, a genius of birds, says he's probably a juvenile red-shouldered hawk.

Whose World?

Probably you've wondered, given all the chaos and discord, whose world is this? Who is in charge of this mess? Conspiracy theorists assert variously it's the Illuminati, or the Freemasons, or the Bilderberg Group, or the Trilateral Commission.

Even the Godfather of Soul James Brown weighed in on the subject. It's A Man's Man's Man's World, he cried. And really, how often was he wrong, about anything? Gladys Knight begged to differ: "My world, his world, our world, mine and his alone, ooh y'all."

Well, I'm sorry. They're all wrong. Today, faithful readers, I reveal and share with you the truth. The world is Fredda Lee's. I have the evidence to prove it, a Fleetwood Globe Transistor Six radio, with an engraved brass plaque glued to the base.

Fredda Lee

Miss East Point 1963

Talent Presentation

"The World is Mine"

Mentored By

Sunny Young

Now you know.

The Help

I probably should save this one for Labor Day, but I'm ready to show it now. This is a maid's uniform worn by an employee of the historic Henry Grady Hotel, which was a popular place for travelers to stay in Atlanta. It also served as the home away from home for politicians while the state legislature was in session, so whoever wore this dress patiently served the lower classes as well.

Dress sizes are not something I estimate well, but this is small and was worn by a petite woman or a teenage girl. I bought it as you see it, complete with the pinned paper tag and the little cloth crown that tied with ribbon around her head.

The hotel operated between 1924 and 1972. The paper tag shows the address as Atlanta 1, Georgia. That zone identification was used between 1942 and 1963, when zip codes came into being, so my guess is that it dates to sometime in those years.

Here's to the invisible folks who keep things clean and tidy. And one more thing about those who clean up after you: they know your secrets. Be glad for their discretion, because there's nothing menial in that.

Confession

I confess. I stole this note from a table of viewers' comments at the exit area of a history museum exhibit. But as Governor Eugene Talmadge once said, "Sure I stole it! But I stole it for you."

Text: Hi. This plece rokes. and it is so prfit for ajcashon.

Translation: Hi. This place rocks. and it is so perfect for education.

To everything...

...there is a season...

No? Not funny? Okay.

An Unlikely Survivor

I recently found this slate tablet, which was used by a school child about 100 years ago. The slate surface is slightly recessed from the wooden frame, which enabled the survival of the lightly-drawn plump fellow in his top hat and double-breasted coat. I know that it's safe to handle, because it's clearly labeled "Germ-Proof." The owner's name is written in pencil along one border, maybe Milly or Miller.

Show of Hand

Felix Bonfils

Albumen Photograph

c. 1875

Museum of Giza, Statue of Wood