Mr. Sullivan

We all have certain things our minds just won't do. For example, I cannot, under any circumstances, spell "scene" and "screen" right without looking them up first. (If they're spelled right it's because I looked them up.) I also can't be sure of my own mother's birthday between two possible dates. And, for some reason, I can't remember Mr. Sullivan's name most of the time.

Marvin Sullivan is one of the constellations of my local system. He's a board member of the library where I work, a member of the church I go to, a near-neighbor. He knows my kids and my husband. He used to be an English teacher in the local school system before he retired, and has written a book about the county. He can be seen most days driving around town in a carriage drawn by one of his two horses. Just last week, I saw him driving up Mark Haley Rd in his little cart pulled behind his skittish rose-gray gelding. In the cart with his was "Aussie," a little dog whom I guess to be part Aussie Cattle Dog. "Your dog and your horse match," I told him, and he laughed. The man is that familiar, and yet somehow, half the times that I see him, my addled brain wants to call him, "August Something-or-other." What is that about?

I'm taking home Marvin's book tonight. Back Yonder, it's called. I'll let you know...