About the only boyfriends that I had during my early teenage years were friends of my parents friends who let us loose long enough to run around in the bushes after dark. My first (and only) date to homecoming was with the son of a Jewish family who sold couture clothes and shoes to the rich locals. Times were good back then....money for nothing and chicks for free. My first Valentine came from none other than Jackie himself with whom I had smooched in the bushes a few weeks prior. We were maybe 11 at the most. Tim was the other member or our tribe. Our mamas played bridge together and all the daddies were friends, so why not bring the kids along?
I first met Jim in junior high school. He and his sister Marcie had moved here from Chicago with their family. I should have known that he would be the only one to walk all the way from town to my house just to see my face. My parents were astonished to find this long haired hippie type dude showing up at the front door to our log cabin during strawberry season. He was a drummer in a local band, and invited me to come see his group play over in Lauderdale county. The grands said OK and I survived to lose him to some other hippier chick than myself. Right after that is when I figured that I should probably straighten up and fly right so I could get a high school diploma. Oddly enough, that happened as a result of my friendship with Sisa. She and her sister were both dating stoners when their house burned and they moved out to the motel that their aunt owned. It was nice back then....clean and not full of crackheads like it was before the flood last year. Directly to the right of the former Plaza motel is the shell of a building that was once the Plaza food center. It has been there all of my life, but looks like it needs a good bulldozing and some drainage work. The heirs live in other towns so they're not much interested in preserving the history of Dyer County. Don't own? Can't defend. Some things you just can't argue, no matter how much you want to. I hear corporate is coming sometime in May to see how things look on our farm. Guess I better get busy cleaning up the redneck shit in the yard, huh?
What fascinates me is how I have become friends with so many people by being myself and refusing to accept a label. That is always a personal choice, and one that many folks take to an extreme. Get over it ya'll. All it takes is one look at the new and improved comedy and you just know that it's gonna be alright sooner or later. Laughter is the best medicine because it beats the hell out of crying. Anyone who who has any sort of faith at all will find a way to embrace joy when and where it happens. Some days it's a rainbow....other times it's just a well timed hug or a bake sale just because times are hard. Then again, it can turn up as a smackdown with the devil over the most trivial seeming issues like freedom from tyranny and basic human rights.
I don't have any magic answers, and neither does anybody else. All we can do is keep the faith. Here's hoping you will do the same ^j^
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Saturday, March 05, 2011
random acts of evil
I called yaya this morning to give her a heads up that we need some new makeup around here in the worst way. Everything we've got is staph infested and old as the hills and girls just need to look pretty sometimes. She was online too and began to tell me the horrid tale about one of my co-worker's parents being murdered in a nearby county. If I were a bettin' gal, I'd say it's some sort of addiction behind that but DAMN...why did you have to kill these people?? All over western Tennessee and eastern Missouri and Arkansas, gangs and meth labs do business just for the high. Meth and crack are so addictive that, according to my ex...it only takes one time. After that, you're just chasing a fix. He's been sober for a long time now, thank you Big Ernie.
Compare that to pot use and you can plainly see that nobody on weed has ever done anything more violent than stab your hand with a fork over the last piece of fried chicken or doughnut. It is a chill pill for many folks who are suffering through chronic disease and chemo yet the feds keep chasing the border like it's all about the Mexicans. Eastern Tennessee used to be a hotbed for stills and later, for pot growing. It could be the greatest cash crop in the USA if only Mike Huckabee would quit trying to get us to the Baptist church and leave precious Natalie Portman alone. Get a life dude.
All in all, we have it good here our country, all things considered. I mean gah....we COULD be over there in north Africa gettin' shot at by the dictator. Thirty years of tyranny is enough, umkay. Even in biblical times stuff eventually got solved. I think what is really cool about being a believer is that somehow you just know that there's a God that you totally believe in. It doesn't really matter whether it's a he or she or even what color....just the faith that some spirit with a whole lot more grace and humility is in charge. Some of the meanest catfights I've ever seen in church happened over controversial subjects like homosexuality and abortion. It is not up to a church to make that decision. By golly if somebody gets enough gumption in 'em to get up and get to church , they should be welcomed with open arms. Back in the day, my momma was a greeter. Daddy still sings tenor in the men's choir along with the other guys who range in age from thirtyish to a hundred.
There are so many people who have walked this road with me that I feel like their characters need to be fleshed out and dwelt upon. Everybody at work says that when something really bizarre happens with no explanation other than bad karma, it's a Janie thing. Unfortunately, babygirl got that gene. I reckon all we can do is soldier on and all that. The sun will come up tomorrow!
Compare that to pot use and you can plainly see that nobody on weed has ever done anything more violent than stab your hand with a fork over the last piece of fried chicken or doughnut. It is a chill pill for many folks who are suffering through chronic disease and chemo yet the feds keep chasing the border like it's all about the Mexicans. Eastern Tennessee used to be a hotbed for stills and later, for pot growing. It could be the greatest cash crop in the USA if only Mike Huckabee would quit trying to get us to the Baptist church and leave precious Natalie Portman alone. Get a life dude.
All in all, we have it good here our country, all things considered. I mean gah....we COULD be over there in north Africa gettin' shot at by the dictator. Thirty years of tyranny is enough, umkay. Even in biblical times stuff eventually got solved. I think what is really cool about being a believer is that somehow you just know that there's a God that you totally believe in. It doesn't really matter whether it's a he or she or even what color....just the faith that some spirit with a whole lot more grace and humility is in charge. Some of the meanest catfights I've ever seen in church happened over controversial subjects like homosexuality and abortion. It is not up to a church to make that decision. By golly if somebody gets enough gumption in 'em to get up and get to church , they should be welcomed with open arms. Back in the day, my momma was a greeter. Daddy still sings tenor in the men's choir along with the other guys who range in age from thirtyish to a hundred.
There are so many people who have walked this road with me that I feel like their characters need to be fleshed out and dwelt upon. Everybody at work says that when something really bizarre happens with no explanation other than bad karma, it's a Janie thing. Unfortunately, babygirl got that gene. I reckon all we can do is soldier on and all that. The sun will come up tomorrow!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
prelude to the end
Today was a Monday....pure and simple. The payback for a glorious weekend off playing and forgettin' about real life for brief moments. That may sound easy to ya'll but it's been a loooooong time since I let go of living in struggle mode and began to celebrate the little moments. It may or may not have anything to do with Joyce and Joel. Time will tell, I suppose. All I can say is if they're looking for money I'm the wrong tree to be barking up. Pro-bono inspiration, if you will. The Methodists ceased to think highly of me years ago when I quit teaching Sunday school to spoiled rich brats.
Babygirl and I were sitting at the table talking about life today and I remarked that I feel like the heroine in some wild Janet Evanovich tale set in the south on a farm nestled within the boundaries of the mighty Forked Deer river. Keeping my aging parents at home has been a joint effort amongst she and Bubba and I, a labor of love born from the sense of honor and duty that was instilled into us over the years by the both of 'em. They worked hard all of their lives, raised children and had a lot of fun with their friends who had kids the same age. Daddy retired from the federal government at 55, about ten years after mama walked out on her last "career" just in time to be a grandma who had time to play and make little biscuits with Lauren. Oh...and play nurse. When Daddy retired from the USDA he was so young that he continued to manage the farm that we live on until the dementia began to take its' toll. That's when my brother stepped up and did a nice transition with the owner because....hey. He knows every nook and cranny of this place.
The pecan guy just pulled up in his old blue truck and is on bended elderly knee picking up nuts.He is an inspiration to me of sorts....always coming to our lane in faith that October means some sort of crop and that you better be the first to get there. A lot of money for Christmas presents has been cashed in with the buyers around here over the years. Any traditional southern stocking was stuffed with nuts and candy back in the day. We are a simple people for the most part....supported by agriculture for generations. That was way before the big import frenzy that got us into the mess we're in today. But that's another chapter for another day.
Babygirl and I were sitting at the table talking about life today and I remarked that I feel like the heroine in some wild Janet Evanovich tale set in the south on a farm nestled within the boundaries of the mighty Forked Deer river. Keeping my aging parents at home has been a joint effort amongst she and Bubba and I, a labor of love born from the sense of honor and duty that was instilled into us over the years by the both of 'em. They worked hard all of their lives, raised children and had a lot of fun with their friends who had kids the same age. Daddy retired from the federal government at 55, about ten years after mama walked out on her last "career" just in time to be a grandma who had time to play and make little biscuits with Lauren. Oh...and play nurse. When Daddy retired from the USDA he was so young that he continued to manage the farm that we live on until the dementia began to take its' toll. That's when my brother stepped up and did a nice transition with the owner because....hey. He knows every nook and cranny of this place.
The pecan guy just pulled up in his old blue truck and is on bended elderly knee picking up nuts.He is an inspiration to me of sorts....always coming to our lane in faith that October means some sort of crop and that you better be the first to get there. A lot of money for Christmas presents has been cashed in with the buyers around here over the years. Any traditional southern stocking was stuffed with nuts and candy back in the day. We are a simple people for the most part....supported by agriculture for generations. That was way before the big import frenzy that got us into the mess we're in today. But that's another chapter for another day.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
simple man
I was a married lady for over twenty years, a union that was just about to run its' course and then our daughter came along. He worked third shift and I was kind of a swing shifter between all three. Mostly I was days and he was nights for the years that Babygirl was in school. His company shifted him up to days and that's when the trouble started for our marriage. The economy was hot as a firecracker and the rubber plant was booming with orders. My husband emerged from the darkness of those carbon black filled nights and days and got a shot to play with the big boys as in free meals and drinks with sales people. That's about the time our gig was up. We have accomplished many things together, not the least of which is raising a beautiful daughter who always remembers who she is. Because we remind her on occasion. The door slamming thing I definitely DO NOT miss but other than that, we see each other about as much as before only her stuff is there and mine is here. I have a feeling I'm about to embrace the beauty of texts. Cheaper than minutes, ya know? We are at a place, her Dad and I, where we appreciate who she is and what we had. I know.....slow learners. It has taken eight years and a lot of discipline on the part of all three of us to make it still a family. Show me one that's not dysfunctional as the devil in some way and I'll kiss your ass. Get.Over.It.
I am officially a senior citizen now, therefore I'm looking at options to dying on the concrete floors of my workplace and some corporate babyface stepping over my body. The hunt for Sugardaddy has been rather fruitless thus far so I'm about to settle for a reliable roommate who knows how to fix stuff. Send your applications to the blind box behind the big polk pile out front. No lesbians please.....too much drama. Makes me" tired as if I'd been ironing" as Lee would say. He was one of our pharmacists and his wife Doris worked for the surgery practice across the street from the hospital. Old Dr. Fred took my gallbladder out when I was seventeen, the old fashioned way with a HUGE scar. Still got the stones somewhere! I'll never forget the night in the hospital room with the IVs and such and me dragging the whole getup to the bathroom to smoke because my mama was there. She was like "Please, girl." Let's do this the easy way. So there I sat in my hospital bed smoking a cig with my mother's blessing on what was previously known as 3Main. He also removed a fatty breast tumor that immediately came back because, well. That's what fat does...it pokes out! At that point insurance was still paying for an overnight stay for that procedure and most other minimally invasive exams.
We were all family then.....bonded on a common mission of, if not SAVING lives, treating people with dignity and respect while all of our worlds twirled together. Sometimes it wasn't for long. Other times it was too late and we cried together over something so tragic as a lifeless child or the trauma involved with a horrific accident...lives changed forever by fate and time. For the ones who really care, it is a job not taken lightly. I guess the rest of 'em are just there for a check or something. Our lab had these old Cuban pathologists who grandfathered in from the Castro era. AP was first, the one in charge when I arrived as a new tech in '77. He and his wife traveled extensively on Medicare dollars and the girlfriend hung with him 'til the end. EJ was next and he managed to get some new blood up in there. Sonia followed Elaine as woman power within our ranks. We worshiped together at the local Methodist church and formed a sort of bond at work that was based on empowerment of those who care enough to do the job well even when the bosses suck. She died in her early thirties, the result of a random car wreck with her son on board. He called his dad on the cell begging for help. Daddy was a radiologist at our hospital so it was a double whammy when Sonia died, leaving him with two young sons to raise. Her funeral was one of the oddest yet most comforting services I have ever attended complete with Egyptian and American Christian ministers and lots of smoke and liturgy.
It was shortly after that when the PG moved in with an offer to "help" the old Cuban through his hard times. At that point, there were probably ten of 'em, looking for business to grow their practice based in Memphis. It was a corporate no brainer since they contracted with the company that owned us at the time, a not-for-profit church affiliated organization. Between then and now, they've been bought out by some company on the other side of the world to direct lab activities in the Memphis metro market. The first director that I remember was Barry the Cubs fan. He and the little general could go on for hours about baseball and how bad the Cardinals can suck even in a good year. Bound for me to fall for the little guy, the one who always wears a tie and whistles. We won't go there right now. Maybe later.
Shortly thereafter the church our company changed their vision and became a transplant center. As a teaching facility for UT med students they focused on making a difference in healthcare and throwing glittery fundraising balls for benefactors. I didn't feel the love very much after that epiphany. That is when we got sold, en masse, to one of the most lucrative businesses on Wall Street in the healthcare sector. Seven rural West Tennessee hospitals became a part of a network that spans the entire southeastern United States. They do business by the letter of the law and ask for money up front, which...surprisingly...I don't have a problem with. With 33 years in the business, you learn to know that enough is enough when it comes to a free ride off of your state or federal government tax dollars.
There are so many people with real health issues who get ignored because of abuse by those who really don't know any better than to take up valuable time in beds across the network of hospitals and ERs in our country. Many patients don't understand that home care can save a lot of trips up and down the hallways of our facility. I can't tell you how many times I've made a home visit just to catch up with an ailing friend or relative to get one more hug. It's what we do.....the Stafford kids.
I am officially a senior citizen now, therefore I'm looking at options to dying on the concrete floors of my workplace and some corporate babyface stepping over my body. The hunt for Sugardaddy has been rather fruitless thus far so I'm about to settle for a reliable roommate who knows how to fix stuff. Send your applications to the blind box behind the big polk pile out front. No lesbians please.....too much drama. Makes me" tired as if I'd been ironing" as Lee would say. He was one of our pharmacists and his wife Doris worked for the surgery practice across the street from the hospital. Old Dr. Fred took my gallbladder out when I was seventeen, the old fashioned way with a HUGE scar. Still got the stones somewhere! I'll never forget the night in the hospital room with the IVs and such and me dragging the whole getup to the bathroom to smoke because my mama was there. She was like "Please, girl." Let's do this the easy way. So there I sat in my hospital bed smoking a cig with my mother's blessing on what was previously known as 3Main. He also removed a fatty breast tumor that immediately came back because, well. That's what fat does...it pokes out! At that point insurance was still paying for an overnight stay for that procedure and most other minimally invasive exams.
We were all family then.....bonded on a common mission of, if not SAVING lives, treating people with dignity and respect while all of our worlds twirled together. Sometimes it wasn't for long. Other times it was too late and we cried together over something so tragic as a lifeless child or the trauma involved with a horrific accident...lives changed forever by fate and time. For the ones who really care, it is a job not taken lightly. I guess the rest of 'em are just there for a check or something. Our lab had these old Cuban pathologists who grandfathered in from the Castro era. AP was first, the one in charge when I arrived as a new tech in '77. He and his wife traveled extensively on Medicare dollars and the girlfriend hung with him 'til the end. EJ was next and he managed to get some new blood up in there. Sonia followed Elaine as woman power within our ranks. We worshiped together at the local Methodist church and formed a sort of bond at work that was based on empowerment of those who care enough to do the job well even when the bosses suck. She died in her early thirties, the result of a random car wreck with her son on board. He called his dad on the cell begging for help. Daddy was a radiologist at our hospital so it was a double whammy when Sonia died, leaving him with two young sons to raise. Her funeral was one of the oddest yet most comforting services I have ever attended complete with Egyptian and American Christian ministers and lots of smoke and liturgy.
It was shortly after that when the PG moved in with an offer to "help" the old Cuban through his hard times. At that point, there were probably ten of 'em, looking for business to grow their practice based in Memphis. It was a corporate no brainer since they contracted with the company that owned us at the time, a not-for-profit church affiliated organization. Between then and now, they've been bought out by some company on the other side of the world to direct lab activities in the Memphis metro market. The first director that I remember was Barry the Cubs fan. He and the little general could go on for hours about baseball and how bad the Cardinals can suck even in a good year. Bound for me to fall for the little guy, the one who always wears a tie and whistles. We won't go there right now. Maybe later.
Shortly thereafter the church our company changed their vision and became a transplant center. As a teaching facility for UT med students they focused on making a difference in healthcare and throwing glittery fundraising balls for benefactors. I didn't feel the love very much after that epiphany. That is when we got sold, en masse, to one of the most lucrative businesses on Wall Street in the healthcare sector. Seven rural West Tennessee hospitals became a part of a network that spans the entire southeastern United States. They do business by the letter of the law and ask for money up front, which...surprisingly...I don't have a problem with. With 33 years in the business, you learn to know that enough is enough when it comes to a free ride off of your state or federal government tax dollars.
There are so many people with real health issues who get ignored because of abuse by those who really don't know any better than to take up valuable time in beds across the network of hospitals and ERs in our country. Many patients don't understand that home care can save a lot of trips up and down the hallways of our facility. I can't tell you how many times I've made a home visit just to catch up with an ailing friend or relative to get one more hug. It's what we do.....the Stafford kids.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
procrastination as a virtue
Freud and all the psycho docs would say that I'm passive aggressive and channel my anger toward things that don't pertain to my overall happiness. As soul food, that is not a healthy way of living. That's why I adopted the motto long ago that goes something like live and let live. Period. Don't try smacking me in the head with your money and your prestigious church. Show me some freaking' miracles out in the hood closer to home and I'll jump on with both barrels loaded. I don't see much of that these days. Everybody seems to be blaming everybody else for all the sins ever committed by mankind and there you go. Like my daddy says "It has always been thus and so."
Anyway...back to that P word. It's not that I don't have great IDEAS and such I just don't have the organizational skills to put it all into place. Poops is not a multitasker. If I can focus on something uninterrupted for a period of time, I'll do it well. My problem is I start so many things that never get finished! Reckon that's the dreamer in me. I remember when I learned to sew as a teenager I was all into it until I realized that it was something you had to stick with from beginning to end. Needless to say, I didn't do much of that as an adult. I did, however, spend endless hours over counted cross stitch cloth on a hoop filling in x's and putting my eyes out. I don't care who you are...they're beautiful because they're made by hand.
The entire point of this ramble, if there is one, would be to clarify to myself that I am who I am and those who love me love me warts and all, even when I disappoint them or hurt their feelings. I have never intentionally hurt anybody. Sure I chased Bubba with a butcher knife but that was fifty years ago. Besides..I deserved it because I bet his ass in the barn.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
the shack
As long as I can remember that's where that family stayed when they visited the farm that I call home. There are four kids who jointly own the 1300 acre wildlife preserve...with a parcel to each of their children as well. Wonder who will win out in the end? I know several of them and have little respect for the way they have honored my father and mother. Oh yeah...they're giving them a lifetime dowry at the log cabin, all the while knowing that they'll be gone to glory soon. Not a one of the heirs has said thanks for a job well done.
They were born and raised in Traverse City. Scrub and Betsy and their girls came down often when the kids were younger but I haven't seen them in years. The older brother who has taken charge of the accounting paid us a visit in the fall. That was when I got on bended knee and cleaned out Daddy's home office...fifty plus years worth of faithful servitude to the lay of this land. Dude packed up all the papers and got on a plane back to Michigan as soon as he could. Strictly business.
That spot behind the dairy barn is the best view of the whole place.
Monday, December 14, 2009
searching for the star
The dogs are asleep on the couch and loveseat...that keeps 'em out of my bed until I turn in for the night. Faith is too old to care very much and Sam is injured so they're not in a real mood to mole hunt unless the weather is mild. Today wasn't bad...no jacket necessary nor umbrella. Not that I have those things close at hand when I need them. I never was prepared, even as a girl scout.
It is Christmas season one of the next family chapter...the one where we make amends and agree to stick together 'til death do us part. We all know the history and the coulda shoulda wouldas but that is the past and this is Christmas present. One of my favorite holiday songs is by Adam Sandler about Hannukah and I heard it today on Rock 92.3 while hanging out in the trusty Camry. In the parking lot of the sawmill. Where they love me because I'm such a hard worker and need the insurance. Doesn't that just warm your heart? It certainly does a number on mine. "And smoke your marijuanica". *snort* You go boy.
I haven't seen the news in a week or so which is not a bad thing. I know it's probably snowing like hell somewhere in the US and cold mostly everywhere except Florida, of course. Before I die I'd LOVE to do the Destin in winter thing. Bucket list: added. I think I'd probably enjoy a relaxed conversation with Clyde Edgerton about grandmas and graveyards and his tune "Walking Across Egypt." There's enough Paula Deen on TV to keep me hooked up until the next trip to Tunica. Too much grease just does a number on my middle aged gut, ya know?
Back when I was a kid, I always figured that there would come a time when I just knew when the right time was to make a move or a decision. My parents pretty much let me do my own thinking even though they didn't agree with a lot of it....especially the Vietnam part. Mama took me and several of my idiot hippie friends to see concerts at the Mid South Coliseum when we were pre-teens. Later, I went with others like my college boyfriend John. Linda Ronstandt. Elton John. James Taylor. Allman Brothers. As a semi-grownup with a husband and kid, we went to Mud Island time and time again just to enjoy the music. Most of those venues are gone now, or at least booking people like Brittney Spears or some silly shit. You can bet your ass that's Dubya's fault too.
Not that Obama is all that, by any means. They're a nice family and he has brought some very serious subject matter to the table. My dear and quite hyperactive friend Joe brought to my attention during last year's election that our country seemed to be mesmerized all Hitler like with the vision of something different. Heh. Go figure that one. Healthcare "reform" is major...as a matter of fact the whole damn thing is just broke and if somebody can offer me a plan that fixes it with total respect for human dignity, I'm all for it...sign me up and pick me up to go vote. Historically, in this neck of the woods, Democrats will do that and buy you some whiskey too.
Anyway, back to the star. Sometimes I wonder about the faith of all those folks who wandered around in the night looking to believe in a miracle baby, born out of wedlock PLUS by immaculate conception in some guy's barn on the way to pay taxes to, you guessed it! The government. Same song next verse. As Daddy would say "It has always been thus and so."
I reckon it has Daddy. I reckon it has.
It is Christmas season one of the next family chapter...the one where we make amends and agree to stick together 'til death do us part. We all know the history and the coulda shoulda wouldas but that is the past and this is Christmas present. One of my favorite holiday songs is by Adam Sandler about Hannukah and I heard it today on Rock 92.3 while hanging out in the trusty Camry. In the parking lot of the sawmill. Where they love me because I'm such a hard worker and need the insurance. Doesn't that just warm your heart? It certainly does a number on mine. "And smoke your marijuanica". *snort* You go boy.
I haven't seen the news in a week or so which is not a bad thing. I know it's probably snowing like hell somewhere in the US and cold mostly everywhere except Florida, of course. Before I die I'd LOVE to do the Destin in winter thing. Bucket list: added. I think I'd probably enjoy a relaxed conversation with Clyde Edgerton about grandmas and graveyards and his tune "Walking Across Egypt." There's enough Paula Deen on TV to keep me hooked up until the next trip to Tunica. Too much grease just does a number on my middle aged gut, ya know?
Back when I was a kid, I always figured that there would come a time when I just knew when the right time was to make a move or a decision. My parents pretty much let me do my own thinking even though they didn't agree with a lot of it....especially the Vietnam part. Mama took me and several of my idiot hippie friends to see concerts at the Mid South Coliseum when we were pre-teens. Later, I went with others like my college boyfriend John. Linda Ronstandt. Elton John. James Taylor. Allman Brothers. As a semi-grownup with a husband and kid, we went to Mud Island time and time again just to enjoy the music. Most of those venues are gone now, or at least booking people like Brittney Spears or some silly shit. You can bet your ass that's Dubya's fault too.
Not that Obama is all that, by any means. They're a nice family and he has brought some very serious subject matter to the table. My dear and quite hyperactive friend Joe brought to my attention during last year's election that our country seemed to be mesmerized all Hitler like with the vision of something different. Heh. Go figure that one. Healthcare "reform" is major...as a matter of fact the whole damn thing is just broke and if somebody can offer me a plan that fixes it with total respect for human dignity, I'm all for it...sign me up and pick me up to go vote. Historically, in this neck of the woods, Democrats will do that and buy you some whiskey too.
Anyway, back to the star. Sometimes I wonder about the faith of all those folks who wandered around in the night looking to believe in a miracle baby, born out of wedlock PLUS by immaculate conception in some guy's barn on the way to pay taxes to, you guessed it! The government. Same song next verse. As Daddy would say "It has always been thus and so."
I reckon it has Daddy. I reckon it has.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
all i want to do
This was a personal day of reckoning at the sawmill. For-profit healthcare is big business here in our country, and Obama pajama mama has nothing to do with that. His plan won't work either...you know the "give everything away to the ones who ass off" version. That is how my employer came to find itself unable to deliver to the stockholders. Translated, that means do more with less and hope for the best with the really sick ones. Cut those hours and slash that inventory until they bleed. Thank you Dr. Bill Frist, for that concept. I hope you get MRSA up your ass and then some. Surely Congress will comp your bill. After all...you earned it, right?
Miss Olive got caught smokin' in the bathroom last week and the house supervisor ripped her a new one for breaking the rules. HS threatened to call the cops on that old lady, I swear. She has a few Old Milwaukees every afternoon at cocktail hour with her hubby who is a whiskey man and when he gets out of hand? She hands it right back to him like the smartass that she is. They met in London during WWII when he was stationed there. How in the hell they ever got to our little 'burg is beyond me, but I try not to question big ernie and his plan. All I know is that she's an angel sent straight to me from heaven as a reminder that life is short and true love is not very hard to find but pretty hard to hang on to. I sincerely hope that before I die, I'll know that feeling.
Once upon a time there were people who cared about the oath of "do no harm." They still exist, even in a market that is driven by profit and abuse of the system. The bottom line? Everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity, especially when they're sick. I remember when HIV swept through our town back in the eighties, thanks to a few chosen ones who were careless before they knew better. Me and Denise went to school together at Alice Thurmond Elementary which was just up the hill from my great grandmother Ethel's house and across Pate from Memama's. Mama and Nancy grew up next door to Ethel's where Miss Rosie, with a paper sack on her head, cooked greens and did chores for she and Ockie. As the story goes, he would go marching off to work at the KW Rogers store and she'd be hollering at him from the front porch like a shrew. Ethel answered the old timey dial phone with the greeting "alright!", a throwback to her younger days at the phone exchange a few miles down south in Lauderdale County. She clicked her false teeth when she said it too.
Mr. Bruce was the principal there, a young man from Mississippi who came north with his young bride Peggy, holding their respective degrees in education. At that time, there were three elementary schools in the city system, each of which employed numerous old ladies with blue hair and lots of rulers to spat hands and butts. A few of them even got riled up enough to pitch erasers on occasion. Nannie Jean was one of those who dumped fear upon any young punk who dared to act bored in her math class. How DARE you not love algebra!!
Sometimes I think about what I'd really like to do with the rest of my days here on earth if I didn't have to worry about paying the rent, utility bills and the insurance premiums. What has this world got to anyways??????
Miss Olive got caught smokin' in the bathroom last week and the house supervisor ripped her a new one for breaking the rules. HS threatened to call the cops on that old lady, I swear. She has a few Old Milwaukees every afternoon at cocktail hour with her hubby who is a whiskey man and when he gets out of hand? She hands it right back to him like the smartass that she is. They met in London during WWII when he was stationed there. How in the hell they ever got to our little 'burg is beyond me, but I try not to question big ernie and his plan. All I know is that she's an angel sent straight to me from heaven as a reminder that life is short and true love is not very hard to find but pretty hard to hang on to. I sincerely hope that before I die, I'll know that feeling.
Once upon a time there were people who cared about the oath of "do no harm." They still exist, even in a market that is driven by profit and abuse of the system. The bottom line? Everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity, especially when they're sick. I remember when HIV swept through our town back in the eighties, thanks to a few chosen ones who were careless before they knew better. Me and Denise went to school together at Alice Thurmond Elementary which was just up the hill from my great grandmother Ethel's house and across Pate from Memama's. Mama and Nancy grew up next door to Ethel's where Miss Rosie, with a paper sack on her head, cooked greens and did chores for she and Ockie. As the story goes, he would go marching off to work at the KW Rogers store and she'd be hollering at him from the front porch like a shrew. Ethel answered the old timey dial phone with the greeting "alright!", a throwback to her younger days at the phone exchange a few miles down south in Lauderdale County. She clicked her false teeth when she said it too.
Mr. Bruce was the principal there, a young man from Mississippi who came north with his young bride Peggy, holding their respective degrees in education. At that time, there were three elementary schools in the city system, each of which employed numerous old ladies with blue hair and lots of rulers to spat hands and butts. A few of them even got riled up enough to pitch erasers on occasion. Nannie Jean was one of those who dumped fear upon any young punk who dared to act bored in her math class. How DARE you not love algebra!!
Sometimes I think about what I'd really like to do with the rest of my days here on earth if I didn't have to worry about paying the rent, utility bills and the insurance premiums. What has this world got to anyways??????
Monday, October 12, 2009
the other brother
He's flying south next week to wrap up the loose ends on his daddy's estate, so to speak. I can't say that I'd know the dude if he walked up and tapped me on the shoulder, yet he's in charge of the details that will sometime or another be the future of this farm. Sometimes you're the windshield and sometimes you're just the bug. Way back when, I offered to write a book about the history of the Ferguson Farm but I got lazy and stuck with my day job, hoping that the answer to true happiness was just a smile and a whistle away. There was talk about getting this piece of land on the national historic registry because of that big fat honkin' dairy barn across the road.
Mama and Daddy were both volunteers at the hospital where I work. They were actively involved with the volunteer blood program that supplies our facility with those life saving precious fluids known as leukopoor red cells or single donor platelets and FFP, pheresis style. They pushed wheelchairs and answered phones and generally looked after the sick and dying. We never much discussed the state of things due to HIPPA regulations, but we all knew that Jesus said to do unto others and so we did, without question. Occasionally an imaginary line was crossed, but mostly but we just kept the faith.
Mama and Daddy were both volunteers at the hospital where I work. They were actively involved with the volunteer blood program that supplies our facility with those life saving precious fluids known as leukopoor red cells or single donor platelets and FFP, pheresis style. They pushed wheelchairs and answered phones and generally looked after the sick and dying. We never much discussed the state of things due to HIPPA regulations, but we all knew that Jesus said to do unto others and so we did, without question. Occasionally an imaginary line was crossed, but mostly but we just kept the faith.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
road dog blues
i'm not really sure why he calls me when he does except to perhaps have a kind voice to validate his mood swings. in his mind, he's still 30 and smoking hot. last time i looked, he had a gut and looked tired as hell from all that gypsy style traveling. wearing a carhart jacket that wouldn't meet in the front, ya know? dude runs himself ragged all over the state just trying to stay in touch with his four girls and find time for a heinekin at the next exit.
i hadn't seen him in over thirty years, since high school, when i looked up from ladies night at the kudzu bar and there he was with a big grin. didn't remember me, he said. i thought he had aged well and told him so. yaya got his number and kept it until she got tired of listening to war stories. i can totally relate.
a few years later it was reunion time so i called his mama to try to find him. we're all about rounding up the herd for big ten celebrations here in the 'burg. go trojans and all that! she wouldn't give me his cell number but did give up the address so he was invited, just didn't show. he burned up the cell towers during those next few months, eager to reconnect with people he never knew that remembered he forgot. me? i've been here the whole time so i was the perfect happy reunion guide. or is that the ultimate little co-dependent? hmm.
his personality was hard to get used to...sort of overwhelming and abrasive in a "look at me" sort of way. little man syndrome, we call it at hen parties. laughs too loud and too long at stupid shit. he calls it happy and i suppose it is compared to kicked back and chilled out. adrenaline serves the gypsy well when getting from point a to b is the goal du jour. for a relationship? not so much.
dog said he was a real womanizer back in the day with a rigid set of specs for a woman worthy of his attention. it's what makes the hair on the back of neck stand up, he said. can ya'll believe i listen to this crap, ear clamped down over cellphone in the parking lot of the store chasing loose cans? me neither. live and learn, i say.
he starts calling a week or so before he's due to a visit with mom and tells me he misses me. "hotdamn!" i think! maybe he's for real under all of that noisy bravado and bullshit. so far, nothing to report.
time will tell.
i hadn't seen him in over thirty years, since high school, when i looked up from ladies night at the kudzu bar and there he was with a big grin. didn't remember me, he said. i thought he had aged well and told him so. yaya got his number and kept it until she got tired of listening to war stories. i can totally relate.
a few years later it was reunion time so i called his mama to try to find him. we're all about rounding up the herd for big ten celebrations here in the 'burg. go trojans and all that! she wouldn't give me his cell number but did give up the address so he was invited, just didn't show. he burned up the cell towers during those next few months, eager to reconnect with people he never knew that remembered he forgot. me? i've been here the whole time so i was the perfect happy reunion guide. or is that the ultimate little co-dependent? hmm.
his personality was hard to get used to...sort of overwhelming and abrasive in a "look at me" sort of way. little man syndrome, we call it at hen parties. laughs too loud and too long at stupid shit. he calls it happy and i suppose it is compared to kicked back and chilled out. adrenaline serves the gypsy well when getting from point a to b is the goal du jour. for a relationship? not so much.
dog said he was a real womanizer back in the day with a rigid set of specs for a woman worthy of his attention. it's what makes the hair on the back of neck stand up, he said. can ya'll believe i listen to this crap, ear clamped down over cellphone in the parking lot of the store chasing loose cans? me neither. live and learn, i say.
he starts calling a week or so before he's due to a visit with mom and tells me he misses me. "hotdamn!" i think! maybe he's for real under all of that noisy bravado and bullshit. so far, nothing to report.
time will tell.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Dear Joe.....
You're right about the being scared part, you know? I can't explain it really, except that it's a lifelong habit resulting from having my heart handed squarely back to me whenever I say the magic words "i love you."
"Not that way" they say. You're my buddy and my pal but I never thought of you as anything but a friend. I suppose it's a start and sometimes new chapters are written like that. Truth be told, that was how I got the courage up to end that miserable marriage. I fell in love with Terry Lee and was stupid enough to tell it, even though nothing ever came of my schoolgirl yearnings for a farmboy. Whenever we talked, his parting shot was "later, girl."
He never called me like you do..it was always me punching those numbers into the phone needing to hear his voice so I knew that somebody somewhere was listening to my pain. I reckon he felt obliged since we were friends and had been in the trenches together for so long. I pissed him off one day up at the bar and haven't had a conversation since then. I can't help it..he's worth more than some idiot user chick who gives him a black eye when he hauls her drunk ass out of a ditch in the rain. He always did have a thing for the crazy ass skinny bitches, bless his heart.
I miss you already, but I'm not afraid 'cuz I know you'll be back sooner or later.
"Not that way" they say. You're my buddy and my pal but I never thought of you as anything but a friend. I suppose it's a start and sometimes new chapters are written like that. Truth be told, that was how I got the courage up to end that miserable marriage. I fell in love with Terry Lee and was stupid enough to tell it, even though nothing ever came of my schoolgirl yearnings for a farmboy. Whenever we talked, his parting shot was "later, girl."
He never called me like you do..it was always me punching those numbers into the phone needing to hear his voice so I knew that somebody somewhere was listening to my pain. I reckon he felt obliged since we were friends and had been in the trenches together for so long. I pissed him off one day up at the bar and haven't had a conversation since then. I can't help it..he's worth more than some idiot user chick who gives him a black eye when he hauls her drunk ass out of a ditch in the rain. He always did have a thing for the crazy ass skinny bitches, bless his heart.
I miss you already, but I'm not afraid 'cuz I know you'll be back sooner or later.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
for whom the cell phone ringeth
Sometimes I try to remember what it was like before the days of 24/7 communication via cell and internet. My memory doesn't have to stretch very far back because both of these luxuries are things that I couldn't afford until a few years ago. My daddy, the ultimate cattleman and farmer who could never stand to waste daylight is spending his twilight years in a recliner with a cellphone in his pocket so he won't have to get up and disturb his marathon viewing of old cowboy shows. I have to give him this....he tries to help Mama in the kitchen for the first time ever, serving as her eyes as they work together to prepare their meals. When she tells him to cut the bananas in half twice for frozen salad, she never knows that he only made one slice lengthwise because she can't see what he's doing. It's all good, because the taste is the same.
Daddy's current state of mind can best be described as a mellowing and softening that comes with the return of long lost childlike behavior, and I must say that I adore it in the man who struck fear in my heart for many years. Oh, he never hit me or did anything mean like that. I learned much later on in life that his anger and frustration at the world came from growing up poor as a sharecropper's only son with three sisters tormenting him from sun up to sun down in the fields. All I ever wanted was to settle into his lap and fall asleep but he was too tired from working two jobs to support three kids and a wife. By day he was officially an agent of the plant pest control division of the USDA, tracking the evil Japanese beetle with colored pins stuck on a map of the southeast. The bulk of his time away from government work was spent raising cattle and managing the farm on which we lived. Some of us are still here to tell the story.
Daddy's current state of mind can best be described as a mellowing and softening that comes with the return of long lost childlike behavior, and I must say that I adore it in the man who struck fear in my heart for many years. Oh, he never hit me or did anything mean like that. I learned much later on in life that his anger and frustration at the world came from growing up poor as a sharecropper's only son with three sisters tormenting him from sun up to sun down in the fields. All I ever wanted was to settle into his lap and fall asleep but he was too tired from working two jobs to support three kids and a wife. By day he was officially an agent of the plant pest control division of the USDA, tracking the evil Japanese beetle with colored pins stuck on a map of the southeast. The bulk of his time away from government work was spent raising cattle and managing the farm on which we lived. Some of us are still here to tell the story.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
what goes around.........comes around
As.I.type, presidential election circa 2008 is being tallied for all of posterity to remember as the day that Dubya decided to retire from his war mongerin' ways. It's too early to tell if that colored guy will win, but if I was a betting woman? I'd say we'll be okay if he don't. God promises that to the faithful ones who take care of mother earth.
It's been the damndest thing since 2000. There was a dictator over in Iraq who got caught in a hole by the mighty armed forces of the USA and then we lost a bunch of American citizens at the hands of extremists. Don't ask for the number....I've lost count but it's way too many. Then there was Katrina and the fucked up response to a monster storm that was on everybody's radar for a full week. Don't EVEN get me started on Terri Schiavo and Frist because, frankly? What I have to say might be pretty but it ain't politically correct. That woman will be the one poking him with a pitchfork in hell. I'm just saying that as the truth. Who the heck knows?
If you ask me we should have kicked their asses back in Fallujah when the effigies of contractors went swinging on the bridge. This particular war has been about making more money for the rich folks and diverting attention from our problems at home. I believe that the confidence of the American people at this point in time could be aptly described as at an all time low. Well, since the great depression anyways. My parents grew up during that era so they know of which I write.
It's been the damndest thing since 2000. There was a dictator over in Iraq who got caught in a hole by the mighty armed forces of the USA and then we lost a bunch of American citizens at the hands of extremists. Don't ask for the number....I've lost count but it's way too many. Then there was Katrina and the fucked up response to a monster storm that was on everybody's radar for a full week. Don't EVEN get me started on Terri Schiavo and Frist because, frankly? What I have to say might be pretty but it ain't politically correct. That woman will be the one poking him with a pitchfork in hell. I'm just saying that as the truth. Who the heck knows?
If you ask me we should have kicked their asses back in Fallujah when the effigies of contractors went swinging on the bridge. This particular war has been about making more money for the rich folks and diverting attention from our problems at home. I believe that the confidence of the American people at this point in time could be aptly described as at an all time low. Well, since the great depression anyways. My parents grew up during that era so they know of which I write.
Monday, November 03, 2008
The Virtue of Humility
It's been one of those days like when you get up on your knees from the last hit, determined to soldier on and BAM! somebody smacks you right back down to ground zero. I've been there a hundred times before, but it always feels like the first time. Okay, so I give. You can kill me, but you can't eat me. Not just yet.
Sittin here on the eve of this historic election I have to wonder how the rich and pampered will survive if and when they ever walk a mile in our shoes. You know...we the people who pay for those who have and those who don't. The freakin' middle class that gets no breaks.
I suppose it was just the straw that broke this camel's back, but the online bank statement sent me into a frenzy. DirecTV took my debit card number and ran through 500 bucks worth of unauthorized charges for my "failure" to complete our contract. Gee..I didn't know we had one! That was almost as expensive as the divorce. To this day, I still have two last names because I failed to make it legal in the courtroom that fateful morning. Following a coupla' days of lay down and die sickness, I met the lawyer in court to say "I don't" anymore, and it was a done deal. Giddy from the excitement of being free I set out to reclaim my life and find the new me. Little did I know that the financial constraints of one income would rain on that parade.
Our daughter was graduating from high school that May and we sat on the bleachers in the gym together, grateful to have her in one piece and moving into the next phase. There was no anger at that point, just relief from the constant pressure of living together as roommates. He had his life and I had mine...but we would always be connected by our child and the life that lay precariously in front of her.
It was all good for the first year or two. I worked through the losses as they came, often with my babygirl sitting next to me...both of us in tears. Twenty years is a long time to spend together and walk away from. The truth is, the whole time we were married I felt the burden of his unfinished business hanging around my neck like a damn hundred pound weight. Our family was the fragile rope that kept him from going off the deep end and I felt the noose tightening every day. He had no money for moving expenses so I paid for that with the last credit I had available and that's where the financial trouble began.
Sittin here on the eve of this historic election I have to wonder how the rich and pampered will survive if and when they ever walk a mile in our shoes. You know...we the people who pay for those who have and those who don't. The freakin' middle class that gets no breaks.
I suppose it was just the straw that broke this camel's back, but the online bank statement sent me into a frenzy. DirecTV took my debit card number and ran through 500 bucks worth of unauthorized charges for my "failure" to complete our contract. Gee..I didn't know we had one! That was almost as expensive as the divorce. To this day, I still have two last names because I failed to make it legal in the courtroom that fateful morning. Following a coupla' days of lay down and die sickness, I met the lawyer in court to say "I don't" anymore, and it was a done deal. Giddy from the excitement of being free I set out to reclaim my life and find the new me. Little did I know that the financial constraints of one income would rain on that parade.
Our daughter was graduating from high school that May and we sat on the bleachers in the gym together, grateful to have her in one piece and moving into the next phase. There was no anger at that point, just relief from the constant pressure of living together as roommates. He had his life and I had mine...but we would always be connected by our child and the life that lay precariously in front of her.
It was all good for the first year or two. I worked through the losses as they came, often with my babygirl sitting next to me...both of us in tears. Twenty years is a long time to spend together and walk away from. The truth is, the whole time we were married I felt the burden of his unfinished business hanging around my neck like a damn hundred pound weight. Our family was the fragile rope that kept him from going off the deep end and I felt the noose tightening every day. He had no money for moving expenses so I paid for that with the last credit I had available and that's where the financial trouble began.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Everybody! Mambo!
I don't know what it is about the drummers that always manages to catch my heart. Must be their desire to get jiggy with the rest of the band. My very first boyfriend was a drummer in a rock band, circa 1970 or so. Dude walked all the way from town out to mama's house just to have the pleasure of sittin' on the front steps with my teenage self. Gotta love that sort of devotion, ya know? As I recall, it was late spring and the strawberries were ripe for picking. His hair was down to his shoulders and he wore granny glasses like all good hippies did back in the day. I've still got the jewelry box. These days it's filled with my favorite things.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Feedin' Pride
Since Trapper passed on Pride has been finding his way in this world without his best friend to pass time with. That first day he whinnied like a colt in his grief. Slowly, he began to inch out of the barn back into the pasture where it's not so lonely and dark. I know that feeling, don't ya'll?
I got to thinking about Pride and his standoffish ways and it reminded me a whole lot of the men that I've chased after all of my life...you know, the ones who can't be reached or coaxed into any sort of a relationship other than "Me Tarzan...you Jane!" Untouchable, to the core. Extra fees on the baggage, so to speak. There's a hook there that feels like a catch who might want to fight a little but get landed in my boat in the end. Needless to say, it's been pretty poor fishin' lately even around the sunken cedar trees down in the slough. Most every guy I've ever been friends with sees me as a girl they'd love to call sis but wouldn't take out on a dime. I reckon that's what you get for being a nice girl in this day and time.
My angel twin only comes out when there's trust involved and I always seem to screw it up by caring first and blurtin' it out like a schoolgirl on Valentine's Day with a wild crush on the cute guy who says hey in the hall. Dude says "that's nice" and runs like hell back to the comfort zone of work or other such pastimes. A shrink would probably say I'm sabotaging myself because I'm scared of doing the work that real love requires. And she or he would be dead on right. Never been good at the casual sex thing or even the eyelash batting.
I got to thinking about Pride and his standoffish ways and it reminded me a whole lot of the men that I've chased after all of my life...you know, the ones who can't be reached or coaxed into any sort of a relationship other than "Me Tarzan...you Jane!" Untouchable, to the core. Extra fees on the baggage, so to speak. There's a hook there that feels like a catch who might want to fight a little but get landed in my boat in the end. Needless to say, it's been pretty poor fishin' lately even around the sunken cedar trees down in the slough. Most every guy I've ever been friends with sees me as a girl they'd love to call sis but wouldn't take out on a dime. I reckon that's what you get for being a nice girl in this day and time.
My angel twin only comes out when there's trust involved and I always seem to screw it up by caring first and blurtin' it out like a schoolgirl on Valentine's Day with a wild crush on the cute guy who says hey in the hall. Dude says "that's nice" and runs like hell back to the comfort zone of work or other such pastimes. A shrink would probably say I'm sabotaging myself because I'm scared of doing the work that real love requires. And she or he would be dead on right. Never been good at the casual sex thing or even the eyelash batting.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
PUT ME IN COACH
I don't remember the first time that I actually met Coach Sammons. Through the years and my friendship with his little general, we became sparring partners. As an English teacher/football coach he earned the respect of many a high school student by calling just the right play at just the right time with properly placed punctuation to boot. It probably didn't hurt things that he listened to what they said and treated them as equals. Lord knows you 'gotta meet folks where they're at and respect the journey.
Coach is retiring soon from a career in education that has spanned the decades and counties of western Tennessee and Georgetown Illinois. The little general and their kids threw a party today in his honor and I must say it was a sight to behold what with all the old football players and family cuttin' up even with a slew of little kids in tow. As I watched from the kitchen, one by one, the speakers stood to tell how he had made a difference in their lives at a crucial moment. Family members worked long and hard on pulling together a celebration of his life and it was a success all the way around. Well, except for the water garden thing. Can't win 'em all.
Some time ago I spotted Big John as one who might like to play the fruitcake game. Rules are simple and if the fruitcake starts smelling, you can always buy a new one and it's safe because nobody eats them anyway. The whole thing started with my aunt and uncle back in the day. Both musicians, they taught me to play piano and took me camping over at Big Springs when we were all kids. One Christmas when I was momma and daddy's there was a present for me under the tree from the pair of them which was highly unusual. Inside the box, I found some flannel PJs with one lumpy leg that contained a poorly concealed Claxton fruitcake like the Civitans sell during the holidays. Ya'll know what they say...there's only one of 'em that gets passed around over and over.
That poor little fruitcake ended up in my 40th birthday cake and was accompanied by a loaf of homemade sourdough bread at work. Those Reaves girls tend to be mischievous at times like that. We tried for YEARS after Jimbo died to think of ways to keep the game going in his honor and memory. Eventually I had to give the Civitans three bucks for a new one because the original was beginning to stink to high heaven. Plus, the mice ate off all the Santa Claus paper. That's when I tossed the gauntlet to Big, so to speak. It was on like donkey kong for a few years. I never knew where that stupid fruitcake would turn up. Like on my freakin' front porch. Note to self: Never let a player know where you live.
I watched him today, surrounded by family and friends, and knew without a doubt that he is loved and respected for what he has done with his life so far. That is is the greatest compliment that one can receive when leaving a lifetime profession to enjoy the golden years with a small partner who loves him from here to next football season.
And if I'm not mistaken, the game is upon us very soon.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Raw Courage
Lord, girl. Where in the world has the time gone since I was laying in the labor room trying to change my mind about bein' a momma. Almost 24 years have passed since then! You were one great big pain in the coochie for about forty eight hours, give or take a contraction.
When I watched you leave this afternoon with JW, I knew in my heart that were you safe and happy and enjoying the equal sort of relationship that can be explored and grown into comfortably. That's what gave me the guts to turn his ass back toward Memphis before he ever got to the 'burg. You know...HIM. I can't say that he's ever been mean to me or anything other than totally attentive when there's a chance to get laid. It's been a whole lot of fun with the four-wheelers and dogs and stuff. Something clicked today though. My thoughts were exactly this:" Why the hell would I pass up beer on the porch with my dogs just to be your bootie call?" That was all she wrote.
I think that you and I are looking for the same things in a relationship and I think that they are very realistic expectations for a gal to have at both of our ages. "Drop the baggage at the door or at least give it the old college try." "Pick up your shit." "Pay half the rent." High maintenance, we ain't.
I guess I just wanted to tell you that I love you more than ever and that I'm so proud of who you are that I could bust a gut. You are taking what's been given to you as a gift and using it for the common good. I like that in a kid that I lived with for almost 24 years.
Now. Put on your jammies and go to bed.
"Why???"
Because I said so.
Love ya. Mean it. ^j^
When I watched you leave this afternoon with JW, I knew in my heart that were you safe and happy and enjoying the equal sort of relationship that can be explored and grown into comfortably. That's what gave me the guts to turn his ass back toward Memphis before he ever got to the 'burg. You know...HIM. I can't say that he's ever been mean to me or anything other than totally attentive when there's a chance to get laid. It's been a whole lot of fun with the four-wheelers and dogs and stuff. Something clicked today though. My thoughts were exactly this:" Why the hell would I pass up beer on the porch with my dogs just to be your bootie call?" That was all she wrote.
I think that you and I are looking for the same things in a relationship and I think that they are very realistic expectations for a gal to have at both of our ages. "Drop the baggage at the door or at least give it the old college try." "Pick up your shit." "Pay half the rent." High maintenance, we ain't.
I guess I just wanted to tell you that I love you more than ever and that I'm so proud of who you are that I could bust a gut. You are taking what's been given to you as a gift and using it for the common good. I like that in a kid that I lived with for almost 24 years.
Now. Put on your jammies and go to bed.
"Why???"
Because I said so.
Love ya. Mean it. ^j^
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Girl Power
Today was very special at the day job. Everybody and their brother that we've ever worked with has showed up with a present of some sort to celebrate our special week. I filled in at the front desk for Jo. Her daddy died last week after a long bout with being lost after his wife left him for greener pastures and lots of harps. It's a whole 'nother world up there ya'll. Trust me.
I'm usually the blood bank lady but we rotate jobs and get 'er done when shit happens. Lord knows, everybody hates to see somebody die...especially sick and alone. My ministry started up there on the conrete floors that I walked as a younger woman. I remember walking into Tullos' room and his wife was beside herself because she knew he was gonna leave her. He was struggling hard not to die and cause grief to his wife and kids but it got to be too much for his little smartass self. She told me later I was an angel, and by golly I believed it that day.
My friends Yaya and Pam are in Margaritaville right about now over in St Louis Missouri and enjoying some live parrothead action with Jimmy and company. Redneck Friend is at home shoveling mud out of the back of her house. Me? I'm just ready to go to sleep and eat some more. We're having a cookout at the bosslady's house tomorrow to wrap up the weeklong celebration of OCD folks who work in a lab near the Forked Deer river. Sounds like fun, huh?
Haven't talked to Mama in a few days so I figure all is well. Bubba came by earlier in the week and we talked out in the front yard about the state of our union. It's all up in the air which ain't a good place to be when you're our age. I love that boy, 'ya know? He would drive that John Deer to hell and back just to help a girl out. I'm about to think that this global warming thing might be for real, only I haven't figured out who's lying the most about where the money is. Stay tuned for early updates from the mainstream.
Just now, when I let Butterean in, I heard the train rolling by in Southtown. I thought about my friend the Eagle who has a shop close to the tracks where he makes signs for businesses. DeSoto county, I believe. His momma passed away a year or so ago and he hasn't shed a tear since then. Or so he says..sometimes guys lie about that shit. He's kinda cute but has that Catholic guilt thing going on and I'm way too tired to deal with all of that. Me and him used to ride four wheelers with brown dogs on our heels back in the day when he loved me enough to travel. Gas is expensive now.
Sue came back to work today and brought us lunch. It was heavenly to see her again, especially with great food in tow. She cried and we all hugged a whole bunch. Can't beat that with a stick! She gave me this book one time about porches and how much wisdom gets born there on a swing or in the dirt, diggin' for dear life. Don't ask me for the numbers because I'm not a math person...trust me on that one.
My babygirl is working her ass off to get a break and I so admire that in a woman. Bitch better bring me a Santana t-shirt is all I'm saying about that. Mother's Day is coming up soon :) The reason I know this is that the peonies are about to bloom and Hallmark says so, in no particular order. We're working on the menu for the big dinner early next month. So far the house is lookin' a lot cleaner, thanks be to buckets and mops and a large dose of faith.
There are sooooooooo many other women people who have taught me to be strong. This seems like a good place to tell the story of us.
I'm usually the blood bank lady but we rotate jobs and get 'er done when shit happens. Lord knows, everybody hates to see somebody die...especially sick and alone. My ministry started up there on the conrete floors that I walked as a younger woman. I remember walking into Tullos' room and his wife was beside herself because she knew he was gonna leave her. He was struggling hard not to die and cause grief to his wife and kids but it got to be too much for his little smartass self. She told me later I was an angel, and by golly I believed it that day.
My friends Yaya and Pam are in Margaritaville right about now over in St Louis Missouri and enjoying some live parrothead action with Jimmy and company. Redneck Friend is at home shoveling mud out of the back of her house. Me? I'm just ready to go to sleep and eat some more. We're having a cookout at the bosslady's house tomorrow to wrap up the weeklong celebration of OCD folks who work in a lab near the Forked Deer river. Sounds like fun, huh?
Haven't talked to Mama in a few days so I figure all is well. Bubba came by earlier in the week and we talked out in the front yard about the state of our union. It's all up in the air which ain't a good place to be when you're our age. I love that boy, 'ya know? He would drive that John Deer to hell and back just to help a girl out. I'm about to think that this global warming thing might be for real, only I haven't figured out who's lying the most about where the money is. Stay tuned for early updates from the mainstream.
Just now, when I let Butterean in, I heard the train rolling by in Southtown. I thought about my friend the Eagle who has a shop close to the tracks where he makes signs for businesses. DeSoto county, I believe. His momma passed away a year or so ago and he hasn't shed a tear since then. Or so he says..sometimes guys lie about that shit. He's kinda cute but has that Catholic guilt thing going on and I'm way too tired to deal with all of that. Me and him used to ride four wheelers with brown dogs on our heels back in the day when he loved me enough to travel. Gas is expensive now.
Sue came back to work today and brought us lunch. It was heavenly to see her again, especially with great food in tow. She cried and we all hugged a whole bunch. Can't beat that with a stick! She gave me this book one time about porches and how much wisdom gets born there on a swing or in the dirt, diggin' for dear life. Don't ask me for the numbers because I'm not a math person...trust me on that one.
My babygirl is working her ass off to get a break and I so admire that in a woman. Bitch better bring me a Santana t-shirt is all I'm saying about that. Mother's Day is coming up soon :) The reason I know this is that the peonies are about to bloom and Hallmark says so, in no particular order. We're working on the menu for the big dinner early next month. So far the house is lookin' a lot cleaner, thanks be to buckets and mops and a large dose of faith.
There are sooooooooo many other
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Cotton Patch
The old wooden bar stretched from front door to back, fashioned out of prime Forked Deere river timber that the beavers took down. Sam had sanded and polished the piece until it was smooth as silk. A fitting place to slam down the forbidden product of stills hidden deep in the kudzu. The shack was surrounded by a cotton crop about half of the year, and by floodwater the rest of the time. Belle kept bar for the men who came to play cards and wager on the game. My what a woman! Her unkempt reddish blonde hair, when she dared to let it down, draped over shoulders that supported ample breasts over her curvy hips. Helluva gal, in many ways. Poor thing had a weakness for weak men and this was the place to find 'em. The liquor either made them mad as hell or sad to a fault and she heard it all as she leaned back against the mirrored wall and dreamed of something different for herself and her kids. Their Daddy, Buck, had died from a heart attack behind a mule last year and times were hard for the three of them. Abby was a first grader at the schoolhouse down the road and John Mark had taken on the role as man of the house. His daddy's gun was never far from his side during the long nights while his mama tended to her customers. Their place out back was just one big room with mattresses on the floor and an outhouse. One of them pumped water every morning for face washin' and such and every few days they filled up the clawfoot tub with hot water and got cleaned up. Belle planted a big garden every May and it always did well in the hot and humid climate of West Tennessee just like the cotton that always surrounded them.
Many wealthy landowners came out to the patch just to escape from their nagging wives and spoiled children. This was a place where they could buy rounds for other patrons and feel more important than they were with the ones they supported. Every one of them ladies knew the danger when her man went down by the river into the kudzu. Lots of times whores walked half the night just to get their chance to get drunk with a rich man and give him some pleasure the likes of which he never saw at home with a respectable woman who bore his children and never enjoyed a minute of the planting of those seeds.
One of the most frequent patrons was a bet maker called Carl Smith. When the cards got laid out alongside the whiskey he was always there to collect his share of the pot. Carl didn't have no wife...just a string of floozies who enjoyed spending his money in exchange for their favors. Carl had tried like the dickens to buy a night with Belle but she was adamant about the whole thing. Never take nothing home that you find in a bar, was her motto. CS, as he was known, ran a little loansharking business on the side and wouldn't hesitate to beat the crap out of somebody who was late on payment plus a sizeable interest. Of course, he had a lot of enemies. His volatile temper was well known and respected among his clients in the gambling and loanin' trade. Just as soon shoot ya as look at you if he was pissed off about something not going his way.
I reckon his hatred toward mankind came from the Depression years when he sucked dust behind a plow just to keep his belly halfway full and buy some juice of his own for the weekend. Living that kind of existence will make a man hard and cold. His wife Mary had died during childbirth along with the son that was to be Eli had he lived. Carl took to the bottle heavy then spending hours and days cussin' at God for taking away his joy. When he finally got his wits together enough to figure out he needed some money to survive, that's when he began to prey on others. There's a little bit of the devil in each and every human that thinks he or she can get by without treating people right like the good book says. Carl became on of those folks.
The Patch was full this Friday night, with a full moon reflecting off of the tin roof and spilling onto the river behind it. CS sat in his usual spot by the window, watching the cards being laid down hand by hand and making bets on which poor fool would lose a week's pay to fate. Becky Jean sat to his left, rubbing his thigh and enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling that good whiskey gave her. She had met CS up at the store when he was buying some food for his huntin' dogs. He invited her out to meet him in the cotton patch that Friday evening for some fun. She sure did need some fun, if anybody ever had.
A big old fluffy cloud floated over the moon followed by another one that blacked out the light. Old Hoss had counted on this to give him a chance to sneak off of the kudzu covered riverbank with his gun and creep up for a clear shot. The shouting and music were so loud that nobody heard the sounds of Hoss snaking up through the grass next to window. From his perch on the ground, he saw CS grab Becky's breasts and lean over for a sloppy wet kiss. When he moved back from her mouth, CS never knew what hit him in the back of the head. Glass shattered from the firepower and the women screamed. CS slumped over and took his last breath while Becky watched him die. Her dress was covered in his blood with bits of brain matter trailing down her bare leg and onto the wooden floor. Somebody went to fetch the sheriff. Old Hoss just shimmied back the way he had come down to the kudzu and waited.
Many wealthy landowners came out to the patch just to escape from their nagging wives and spoiled children. This was a place where they could buy rounds for other patrons and feel more important than they were with the ones they supported. Every one of them ladies knew the danger when her man went down by the river into the kudzu. Lots of times whores walked half the night just to get their chance to get drunk with a rich man and give him some pleasure the likes of which he never saw at home with a respectable woman who bore his children and never enjoyed a minute of the planting of those seeds.
One of the most frequent patrons was a bet maker called Carl Smith. When the cards got laid out alongside the whiskey he was always there to collect his share of the pot. Carl didn't have no wife...just a string of floozies who enjoyed spending his money in exchange for their favors. Carl had tried like the dickens to buy a night with Belle but she was adamant about the whole thing. Never take nothing home that you find in a bar, was her motto. CS, as he was known, ran a little loansharking business on the side and wouldn't hesitate to beat the crap out of somebody who was late on payment plus a sizeable interest. Of course, he had a lot of enemies. His volatile temper was well known and respected among his clients in the gambling and loanin' trade. Just as soon shoot ya as look at you if he was pissed off about something not going his way.
I reckon his hatred toward mankind came from the Depression years when he sucked dust behind a plow just to keep his belly halfway full and buy some juice of his own for the weekend. Living that kind of existence will make a man hard and cold. His wife Mary had died during childbirth along with the son that was to be Eli had he lived. Carl took to the bottle heavy then spending hours and days cussin' at God for taking away his joy. When he finally got his wits together enough to figure out he needed some money to survive, that's when he began to prey on others. There's a little bit of the devil in each and every human that thinks he or she can get by without treating people right like the good book says. Carl became on of those folks.
The Patch was full this Friday night, with a full moon reflecting off of the tin roof and spilling onto the river behind it. CS sat in his usual spot by the window, watching the cards being laid down hand by hand and making bets on which poor fool would lose a week's pay to fate. Becky Jean sat to his left, rubbing his thigh and enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling that good whiskey gave her. She had met CS up at the store when he was buying some food for his huntin' dogs. He invited her out to meet him in the cotton patch that Friday evening for some fun. She sure did need some fun, if anybody ever had.
A big old fluffy cloud floated over the moon followed by another one that blacked out the light. Old Hoss had counted on this to give him a chance to sneak off of the kudzu covered riverbank with his gun and creep up for a clear shot. The shouting and music were so loud that nobody heard the sounds of Hoss snaking up through the grass next to window. From his perch on the ground, he saw CS grab Becky's breasts and lean over for a sloppy wet kiss. When he moved back from her mouth, CS never knew what hit him in the back of the head. Glass shattered from the firepower and the women screamed. CS slumped over and took his last breath while Becky watched him die. Her dress was covered in his blood with bits of brain matter trailing down her bare leg and onto the wooden floor. Somebody went to fetch the sheriff. Old Hoss just shimmied back the way he had come down to the kudzu and waited.
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