DESCRIPTION: Their Dixie-loving descendants are one of the world's most unique micro-cultures. I pressed the buzzer to the gate on the crest of a steep hill and waited, not knowing who or what to expect. One Saturday morning with nothing much to do, more out of distraction than purpose, I Seon ferguson foot fetish a bus ticket to a city ninety miles away called Americana.LightningGmr: A lot of men don't approach women out of fear,insecurity,shyness and lack of
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Their Dixie-loving descendants are one of the world's most unique micro-cultures. I pressed the buzzer to the gate on the crest of a steep hill and waited, not knowing who or what to expect. One Saturday morning with nothing much to do, more out of distraction than purpose, I bought a bus ticket to a city ninety miles away called Americana. Surely, that account was more science fiction than
Seon ferguson foot fetish. It had to be. But little did I realize at the Seon ferguson foot fetish, I had stumbled onto a yarn so fantastic and bizarre it could have been spun out of The Twilight Zone.
As they hung in the moist air between us, nothing quite computed. The man spoke an American English that, while wholly fluent, sounded nothing like I had ever heard before. There was the cadence, a slow molasses drawl, but there was more. The words sounded like they came from deep within the bowels of Georgia, maybe just north of Macon, where the gnat line begins.
The man had a Portuguese accent, and his inflection and the words he used, how he strung them together, it sounded all wrong. It was scratchy, like it creaked forth from the worn and weathered horn of a hand-cranked Victrola. I was in a mild and amused state of shock, and all I remember thinking was this: Listen to how this gentleman talks because you will never hear anything like it ever again.
MacKnight proudly told me that she was ninety-nine years old. She stopped there, waiting for my reaction, and when she got it, she grinned a toothy smile. The three of them sat there, in white wicker chairs with a small daisy pattern on the plumped cushions, three pairs of hands folded neatly on their laps, eyes like saucers, each of them at me like I was from Mars.
It struck me that Jim, Judith and Mrs. MacKnight had fair, white, almost albino complexions — totally wrong for Brazilian skin, which mostly runs from honey to ebony. Or must have known my family. Or, at the very least, must have known of my family. Why else would she be so welcoming a stranger — a Yankee stranger, no less — who just happened to show up unannounced at her doorstep minutes earlier? For the next two hours, Judith and Jim talked in the same disjointed meter about their lives and the lives of their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents.
She and Jim were mighty pleased that I had taken up to pay them a visitation. I got the distinct impression that they had been waiting for someone like me to come by for quite some time. Judith told me that more than ninety Confederate descendants still lived in the area, and although none had been born in the United States and relatively few had ever visited, many spoke the same anachronistic variant of English among themselves.
Instead Seon ferguson foot fetish stomaching life under Yankee rule, as many
Seon ferguson foot fetish 7, Confederates opted to set sail Brazil, a country twice the size of the U.
The only community of Confederates that survived was the group that got to the place they called Americana, which they chose because it most closely paralleled their home in Georgia. No one left the United States; America was the place people came to. The reason for my ig-nor-ance, as Jim put it, was plain and simple. Doze ah Yan-keys who wroht doze buks—dint ya know dhat, Stephen?
Judith and Jim and some four score more descendants scattered around these parts were keepers of a flickering flame — flick-er-in Jim said. Judith pulled up her chair next to mine. I needed a lesson, by golly, and she was about to deliver one.
Those who left the American South Seon ferguson foot fetish the Civil War had the most to lose by staying. After the War of Northern Aggression, leaving
Seon ferguson foot fetish for Brazil meant that thousands of Confederates could survive with honor, something in small supply to Southerners at the time. She it twhice. We visited for another hour or so, laughing, trading stories, talking about Jimmy Carter their idol, who in several months was to lose to Ronald Reagan in the Presidential election.
When I mentioned Reagan, Jim laughed and slapped his right knee. Judith laughed too, but seemed more concerned with her mother, who by now had dozed off on the swing. An actah for Pres-i-dent? Now, howze an
Seon ferguson foot fetish gonna be Pres-i-dent?
When I pointed out Seon ferguson foot fetish Reagan had been governor of California, all Jim could do was smirk, bobbing his head up and down. I read it just dah othah deh. So, mah-be dhem Cal-e-forn-e-ahns, dhey deserve a guvnur like Ray-gun! To which Jim again slapped his hand on his knee, and he and Judith broke out in a gale of laughter. He was no relachon to mah kin. How culd he be? He was a
Seon ferguson foot fetish Where were all the Confederates buried?
There had to be a Confederate cemetery in Americana since the American Southerners had been Protestants and the Brazilians, by and large, were all Catholics. And woe be it to any Catholic who might even consider burying a Protestant in a Catholic cemetery. So where were all the Confederates buried? In unison, Jim and Judith looked at each other, then at the same moment, they nodded their heads.
By this time, Mrs. MacKnight was snoring ever so lightly, her head resting against a bolster Judith had kindly placed between the wooden arm of the swing and a cushion.
Judith gently awakened Mrs. Judith made her way back to the veranda and the three of us got into a boxy, mud-splattered white Ford, with Jim driving, Judith Seon ferguson foot fetish the passenger seat and me in the back.
My question must have roused Judith, who started talking up a storm about when she went to the United States for the first time, and how she felt like she had just about gone to heaven.
Mah, was it evah sum-in! We talked more, our voices rising and falling as the Ford hit one pothole after another on the hot, baked brown-orange clay road under us. Jim was Seon ferguson foot fetish driving faster than he should have Seon ferguson foot fetish, and as he sped to beat the sunset, little tornados of russet dust swirled up behind the car.
Judith, Jim and I quickly got out and walked among Seon ferguson foot fetish graves. The inscriptions were all in English.
Many of the headstones were cracked and crooked, pushed into the ground at odd, acute
Seon ferguson foot fetish, which with the crepuscular sun sinking fast, gave the place a Wes Craven kind of air. Abruptly the mass of air turned hot and fetid, as though the three of us had just stepped into an invisible heat box
Seon ferguson foot fetish the tombs of Gibson and Maglin Harris.
It gave me goose bumps, and I found myself shivering, even though I was sweating profusely. My Seon ferguson foot fetish turned clammy Seon ferguson foot fetish beads of sweat popped up on my forehead. I stopped with Jim and Judith a five full strides ahead of me, but they also must have felt the same sudden hike in temperature. And the smell — how could they not notice the smell? The odor was unmistakable — something in Seon ferguson foot fetish very process of decaying.
Within seconds, inexplicably, the air returned to the same pleasant late-afternoon Seon ferguson foot fetish and the disagreeable smell ceased. The smell of gardenias and wisteria blossoms, which had floated alongside the other graves, came back. Past the Harris plots, I noticed that several graves looked as though vandals had opened the burial vaults up and ransacked them.
The engravings on some of the headstones which, Judith, said totaled were so faint they were barely legible. Judith led us onward; she now seemed to walk with a purpose, and soon I found out why. She was headed straight for the tomb of her father — Mrs. We sauntered back towards the Ford, each of us savoring the orange-streaked twilight sky, framing what Judith and Jim surely thought had to be sacred land.
At the entrance to the cemetery stood a sooty and weathered obelisk with ninety-six names engraved on its base — the original Confederate families who founded the Confederate colony years earlier. We started our trip back to town, the sun now fully set, and Jim driving did he have to go so fast? All of a sudden Jim must have hit a deep pothole. All of us went flying inside the car, each of us bouncing straight upward, banging our heads against the ceiling.
I answered affirmatively, but by then I had been Seon ferguson foot fetish to another world, transfixed as we sped past darkened silhouettes of sugarcane plants with elephantine drooping leaves that formed a canopy over the one-lane road bumpy as a washboard.
We nevah did live in dhe U-nit-ed States, remembah. Judith appeared back on the veranda and as we prepared to go, she kissed me on both cheeks, as sure a Brazilian send-off as it gets. Jim let the engine run as he and I both got out. For a young man alternatively energized and estranged by the novelty and intensity of Brazilian life, Jim and Judith Jones could they possibly have had more American names?
In the United States, the three of us certainly would have had little, if anything, in common. Why, then, had Jim and Judith taken me in so completely? Was it Southern hospitality, carried forth through generations? Or was it because visit had allowed them to reminisce, to connect with what their ancestors once had been — Americans? They reveled in their Confederate American-ness and needed to share it whenever they had the opportunity.
In that sense, the Joneses and I were polar opposites. When someone on the street would ask me for the time or for directions, when a street vendor tried to sell me tube socks or a box of Omo detergent, I felt a sense of satisfaction: My attempt to in had succeeded. But the Joneses wanted to stick out; they were proud to do so. In a land of beige, black and brown people with all in between, Jim and Judith prided themselves on their fair features, their white skin, their blue eyes.
That they took great pains to preserve their arcane Southern dialect was proof that they had little interest in diluting their Gone-with-the-Wind culture. On paper, Jim and Judith were percent Brazilian, born and raised, but they had little interest in becoming Brazilian like everyone else.
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Why do ladies give out phone numbers?21 Sep If a guy has a big penis can he hurt you? only if you have a small vagina A penis of any average size or larger can hurt you if the operator is not paying attention. Edit. Share to: Seon Ferguson. 1 Contribution. Judith told me that the twelve-foot tower was a scaled-down replica of the obelisk at Confederate President Jefferson Davis's boyhood home back in Todd County, Kentucky. We started our trip back to town, the sun now fully set, and Jim driving ( did he have to go so fast?) all the while talking about this and that, Judith..
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