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.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
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.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
somebody loan me a dime
Shortly after we got back together we went to bankruptcy court over in Jackson. The total was around 40K, give or take some change....most of it credit card debt. I reaffirmed on my car and several other loans granted by personal friends. The ex was facing court on possible felony drug charges so I borrowed what I could from the credit union for the legal fees. The cop that brought him in said to save the money and trust the judge to be fair with his justice. That was an expensive lesson, if you ask me.
The next four years went by in a blur with the Babygirl into all sorts of drama as teenagers tend to do just because they can. The marriage was coming unraveled about as quickly as a bad tire on the Daytona track. I worked. He worked. We both drank just enough to forget why we were there. It was a finishing/up/of/ business in a way...the rest of the raisin' of the girl. Her graduation night was hot as hell up in that Dyersburg High School gym. Kristen was in the choir, along with lots of other classmates that she adored and we had helped raise. We had separated the end of March at my insistence. I was desparately in love with a guy who didn't feel the same way about me but, what the hell. At least I knew what real love was about. You win some and you lose some.
The next four years went by in a blur with the Babygirl into all sorts of drama as teenagers tend to do just because they can. The marriage was coming unraveled about as quickly as a bad tire on the Daytona track. I worked. He worked. We both drank just enough to forget why we were there. It was a finishing/up/of/ business in a way...the rest of the raisin' of the girl. Her graduation night was hot as hell up in that Dyersburg High School gym. Kristen was in the choir, along with lots of other classmates that she adored and we had helped raise. We had separated the end of March at my insistence. I was desparately in love with a guy who didn't feel the same way about me but, what the hell. At least I knew what real love was about. You win some and you lose some.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Like the First Time
"Load up, girls". Them dogs love nothing better than a ride in the Camry and they jumped in quickly when Liza gave the order and threw the doors open. Those dogs love their Momma better than pigs' ears. Pets, unlike kids and men, never bite the hand that feeds 'em and adore you just because you love them. Of course they could have walked to the sunset spot, but this is their solemn ritual. Besides, sunset comes quickly in November when you're hoofing it.
She eases the car onto the field road that borders the cotton field across the lane. Faith and Butterbean are eager to explore whatever Momma has on her mind, and they hang out the windows with the breeze blowing those puppy ears every which a way. They've been running and playing in the yard like kids, pickin' at each other and chasing away the day. Butterbean has this funny little gangster limp from a broken leg as a puppy, but she can keep up with her big chocolate lab sister any day of the week. Liza's special spot is about midway around the periphery of the cotton field , where the sun shines just so through the little forest that is home to those cows her Daddy raises. The dogs pile out into the woods, and she clears the dead wood out of her path.
Lumpy is in jail now, for thirty days this time. Last time she saw him, if she didn't recognize the truck, she wouldn't have known he was the man she was married to for twenty years. Ravaged by crack and meth, he had shown up one day to give back the furniture her family had donated to his home away from home after the divorce. He always was a prideful sort like that, which probably explains why the marriage died a slow and painful death. Lacey puts on a brave front, but when the subject of her daddy comes up she usually cries. Who wouldn't be sad about that kind of thrown away life?
Liza stops to examine a tree she's never noticed before. The limbs resemble the branches of a Christmas cactus, like segments on one of those worms she studied in college and couldn't identify now if her life depended on it. The rays of the setting sun are gentle and lazy. Full of shine that bounces off of the reds and golds of the leaves in a way that makes her feel full of...what, exactly? Awe, perhaps. Peace. Gratitude for the luxury of a lifetime in a paradise that others only dream about.
Something catches her eye moving across the still lucious green pasture down below. At first she thinks it is a hawk on the wing, but it seems to be lower to the ground and the dogs are standing at attention. Smiling to herself, she realizes that it is the deer spot and of course, it is a fawn scampering back to its' mama. Tis the season...there will be more of that in the coming months for those faithful enough to come and watch in the stillness. Across the bean field and through the next thicket is Bubba's duck blind, skillfully camoflaged and waiting for the perfect moment when the water is right and the birds fly back home. He is the middle child, and the older of the two boys that have grown up with her, alternately delighting her and pissing her off. This farm is their legacy, and one that they don't take lightly. The younger boy, Harold, has moved away to Virginia. Lord have mercy! What a pain them little brothers were when she was growing up in their midst.
She makes her way back to the car for a bit of mood music. Hmmm...what shall it be to commemorate this beautiful occasion? The console is full of CD's fit for an eclectic music lover. She shuffles through them and spots the one she wants... Josh Groban and his beautiful voice. This particular disc is one of the few that she has been able to afford to buy, but he has never disappointed her. Neither have James Taylor or Carlos Santana or John Mayer. She likes the bluesy girls too, like Kathy Mattea and Pearl and the Dixie Chicks. Joni Mitchell and Carole King. Patsy Cline. Music always has made her step a little lighter.
Popping Josh into the player, she settles back into the seat and watches the day melt away into a giant fusion of autumn vibrancy mixed with pink, blue and orange. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks and she doesn't know why, exactly. She must be having a moment, like she's prone to do. Like when it all seems too good to be true and too bad to believe and she whispers "Amen" as he croons You Lift Me Up.
She eases the car onto the field road that borders the cotton field across the lane. Faith and Butterbean are eager to explore whatever Momma has on her mind, and they hang out the windows with the breeze blowing those puppy ears every which a way. They've been running and playing in the yard like kids, pickin' at each other and chasing away the day. Butterbean has this funny little gangster limp from a broken leg as a puppy, but she can keep up with her big chocolate lab sister any day of the week. Liza's special spot is about midway around the periphery of the cotton field , where the sun shines just so through the little forest that is home to those cows her Daddy raises. The dogs pile out into the woods, and she clears the dead wood out of her path.
Lumpy is in jail now, for thirty days this time. Last time she saw him, if she didn't recognize the truck, she wouldn't have known he was the man she was married to for twenty years. Ravaged by crack and meth, he had shown up one day to give back the furniture her family had donated to his home away from home after the divorce. He always was a prideful sort like that, which probably explains why the marriage died a slow and painful death. Lacey puts on a brave front, but when the subject of her daddy comes up she usually cries. Who wouldn't be sad about that kind of thrown away life?
Liza stops to examine a tree she's never noticed before. The limbs resemble the branches of a Christmas cactus, like segments on one of those worms she studied in college and couldn't identify now if her life depended on it. The rays of the setting sun are gentle and lazy. Full of shine that bounces off of the reds and golds of the leaves in a way that makes her feel full of...what, exactly? Awe, perhaps. Peace. Gratitude for the luxury of a lifetime in a paradise that others only dream about.
Something catches her eye moving across the still lucious green pasture down below. At first she thinks it is a hawk on the wing, but it seems to be lower to the ground and the dogs are standing at attention. Smiling to herself, she realizes that it is the deer spot and of course, it is a fawn scampering back to its' mama. Tis the season...there will be more of that in the coming months for those faithful enough to come and watch in the stillness. Across the bean field and through the next thicket is Bubba's duck blind, skillfully camoflaged and waiting for the perfect moment when the water is right and the birds fly back home. He is the middle child, and the older of the two boys that have grown up with her, alternately delighting her and pissing her off. This farm is their legacy, and one that they don't take lightly. The younger boy, Harold, has moved away to Virginia. Lord have mercy! What a pain them little brothers were when she was growing up in their midst.
She makes her way back to the car for a bit of mood music. Hmmm...what shall it be to commemorate this beautiful occasion? The console is full of CD's fit for an eclectic music lover. She shuffles through them and spots the one she wants... Josh Groban and his beautiful voice. This particular disc is one of the few that she has been able to afford to buy, but he has never disappointed her. Neither have James Taylor or Carlos Santana or John Mayer. She likes the bluesy girls too, like Kathy Mattea and Pearl and the Dixie Chicks. Joni Mitchell and Carole King. Patsy Cline. Music always has made her step a little lighter.
Popping Josh into the player, she settles back into the seat and watches the day melt away into a giant fusion of autumn vibrancy mixed with pink, blue and orange. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks and she doesn't know why, exactly. She must be having a moment, like she's prone to do. Like when it all seems too good to be true and too bad to believe and she whispers "Amen" as he croons You Lift Me Up.
Monday, June 13, 2005
A Letter to my Creditors
To Whom It May Concern:
I cannot and will not pay you as long as your company continues to charge me late fees and illegal interest and harass me with calls from India. My loyalty and dollars will go to those who have helped me during the hard times. Go ahead and sue me. I have no assets, like most of the victims of your promises of easy money.
First and foremost I will pay the following:
The local drugstore which allows me to charge co-pays for a couple of months so that I can take the meds that I need. 1.5% interest.
The neighborhood grocer, who still believes in credit for folks with a job who are trying very hard to survive. No interest.
My ex-dentist who charges 8% interest so that his children can remain spoiled rotten.
10% tithe. Not to a big organized religion, but to the work of the Lord as I feel led to contribute.
My family and friends who have loaned me cash and goods since my divorce to keep me solvent and comfy. Too many to list. When I hit the lottery, I’ll pay them all back. Plus interest and homemade cookies.
Should you decide to take legal action, I will gladly take you on. My attorney loves the little people. He doesn’t charge interest either.
Yours truly,
Poopie
I cannot and will not pay you as long as your company continues to charge me late fees and illegal interest and harass me with calls from India. My loyalty and dollars will go to those who have helped me during the hard times. Go ahead and sue me. I have no assets, like most of the victims of your promises of easy money.
First and foremost I will pay the following:
The local drugstore which allows me to charge co-pays for a couple of months so that I can take the meds that I need. 1.5% interest.
The neighborhood grocer, who still believes in credit for folks with a job who are trying very hard to survive. No interest.
My ex-dentist who charges 8% interest so that his children can remain spoiled rotten.
10% tithe. Not to a big organized religion, but to the work of the Lord as I feel led to contribute.
My family and friends who have loaned me cash and goods since my divorce to keep me solvent and comfy. Too many to list. When I hit the lottery, I’ll pay them all back. Plus interest and homemade cookies.
Should you decide to take legal action, I will gladly take you on. My attorney loves the little people. He doesn’t charge interest either.
Yours truly,
Poopie
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Hey sugar
I'm totally zoom impaired so I can't send you a pic of today's birds, but I can tell you about it. Does that count? The small sanctuary out by the front porch is still attracting cardinals and goldfinches. A chickadee took a bath there today, but usually it's a big old bowl of water for the dawgs. Hummers are gearing up for the battle of the sugar water.
I look forward to hearing from you...is that sad or what? I suppose I should just get some ambition and take a contract to the farthest town that pays well for an MT. Any sensible girl would do that.
I tend to be quite unsensible, as you well know. Listening to the heart is my hallmark and it's usually followed by the opening of my big fat mouth speaking the truth. My fear of love is well founded, and so I cry when I feel vulnerable enough to trust and say what I feel. No man has ever felt that way about me. Most days, I'm okay with that. Sometimes though...umm.
Sometimes I just wait for a letter.
I look forward to hearing from you...is that sad or what? I suppose I should just get some ambition and take a contract to the farthest town that pays well for an MT. Any sensible girl would do that.
I tend to be quite unsensible, as you well know. Listening to the heart is my hallmark and it's usually followed by the opening of my big fat mouth speaking the truth. My fear of love is well founded, and so I cry when I feel vulnerable enough to trust and say what I feel. No man has ever felt that way about me. Most days, I'm okay with that. Sometimes though...umm.
Sometimes I just wait for a letter.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Special Fried Rice
I can create the damndest good things in the kitchen when I'm in the mood. Tonight it was fried rice Chinese style with pre-cooked ingredients from the freezer plus a few fresh thihngs like cold rice and soy sauce and eggs and onions.
From the freezer I found Italian carrots and chicken and some green onions: Here's the recipe:
Brown a cup of onions in one T of oil. Stir in 4 slightly beaten eggs until almost set. Put aside.
In 2 T oil, brown chicken ( or pork or shrimp ) and some cashews plus carrots. Add soy sauce til it simmers just right.
Pour in 4 cups of COOKED cold rice and stir it good. Then add the egg'n'onion stuff. Stir some more. It there are chives around, chop 'em up and sprinkle on top. It'll work without them.
Eat. Pat self on back. Eat some more.
Take leftovers to work for the hungry bunch.
Plus Sister Schubert's :)
From the freezer I found Italian carrots and chicken and some green onions: Here's the recipe:
Brown a cup of onions in one T of oil. Stir in 4 slightly beaten eggs until almost set. Put aside.
In 2 T oil, brown chicken ( or pork or shrimp ) and some cashews plus carrots. Add soy sauce til it simmers just right.
Pour in 4 cups of COOKED cold rice and stir it good. Then add the egg'n'onion stuff. Stir some more. It there are chives around, chop 'em up and sprinkle on top. It'll work without them.
Eat. Pat self on back. Eat some more.
Take leftovers to work for the hungry bunch.
Plus Sister Schubert's :)
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Happy Anniversary McVeigh
I'd Love to Change the World
Ten Years After
Everywhere is
freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies, tell me where is sanity?
Tax the rich, feed the poor
Till there are no rich no more?
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do...
So I'll leave it up to you.
Population keeps on breeding
Nation bleedin, still more feeding economy
Life is funny, skies are sunny
Bees make honey, who needs money, Monopoly ?
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you.
World pollution, there's no solution
Institution, electrocution
Just black and white, rich or poor
Them and us, stop the war
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you
Ten Years After
Everywhere is
freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies, tell me where is sanity?
Tax the rich, feed the poor
Till there are no rich no more?
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do...
So I'll leave it up to you.
Population keeps on breeding
Nation bleedin, still more feeding economy
Life is funny, skies are sunny
Bees make honey, who needs money, Monopoly ?
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you.
World pollution, there's no solution
Institution, electrocution
Just black and white, rich or poor
Them and us, stop the war
I'd love to change the world
But I don't know what to do
So I'll leave it up to you
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Frog
According to his babygirl, Mr. Frog had no peripheral vision. If it wasn't straight in front of his windshield, he couldn't see it. That particular winter day it was cloudy and rainy as he took off down the hill and over to the crossover on that busy highway in his truck. His wife and grandson were behind him on the mission to town.
The truck loaded with logs came out of nowhere on the road to somewhere important and Mr. Frog never knew what hit him. There's a blessing in everything and that was a big one for all concerned. When tragedy strikes that quick, you gotta look for those blessings real hard.
His girl was hanging out at work when her husband called with the news. They took off like a shot to the scene of the accident 20 miles south. What they found was a cleanup effort on a major highway with her Daddy's life in question. Rescue workers pried him out of the truck and loaded his limp body into the ambulance to head for the nearest hospital. By the time Lynn and Mike got there they were ambulance chasers to the next town.
The ER doc begged Lynn not to put herself through the torture of seeing her lifeless Daddy. She was already hysterical and didn't even know he was dead. Daddy's girl picked up his flannel shirt and held it for years every time she missed him.
"Help us", said Mike when he called. Liza knew what he meant and tracked down the doc for some drugs to ease the shock. Liza and the Little General piled up and drove to the scene of horror. They found Lynn standing on the edge of the highway in shock. Slowly, the story unfolded.
Frog's wifey Fran had been buggin' him to get the car worked on. Fran is a high strung kinda woman who doesn't give up easy on what she wants. She and her grandboy Brad piled up in the car to follow Frog to the shop and get that thing done. They saw the huge truck mow him down in the middle of the highway while they waited to cross over.
It rained all day on funeral day.... not just a trickle but a damn downpour that made the tents and umbrellas imperative for the faithful. There were family members from all over and church members galore. Liza and Joe followed all the way to the burial in the mud.
The truck loaded with logs came out of nowhere on the road to somewhere important and Mr. Frog never knew what hit him. There's a blessing in everything and that was a big one for all concerned. When tragedy strikes that quick, you gotta look for those blessings real hard.
His girl was hanging out at work when her husband called with the news. They took off like a shot to the scene of the accident 20 miles south. What they found was a cleanup effort on a major highway with her Daddy's life in question. Rescue workers pried him out of the truck and loaded his limp body into the ambulance to head for the nearest hospital. By the time Lynn and Mike got there they were ambulance chasers to the next town.
The ER doc begged Lynn not to put herself through the torture of seeing her lifeless Daddy. She was already hysterical and didn't even know he was dead. Daddy's girl picked up his flannel shirt and held it for years every time she missed him.
"Help us", said Mike when he called. Liza knew what he meant and tracked down the doc for some drugs to ease the shock. Liza and the Little General piled up and drove to the scene of horror. They found Lynn standing on the edge of the highway in shock. Slowly, the story unfolded.
Frog's wifey Fran had been buggin' him to get the car worked on. Fran is a high strung kinda woman who doesn't give up easy on what she wants. She and her grandboy Brad piled up in the car to follow Frog to the shop and get that thing done. They saw the huge truck mow him down in the middle of the highway while they waited to cross over.
It rained all day on funeral day.... not just a trickle but a damn downpour that made the tents and umbrellas imperative for the faithful. There were family members from all over and church members galore. Liza and Joe followed all the way to the burial in the mud.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
P.S. I'm Sorry
This time of year always makes me think about "heart attack day". Remember? It was cold like now but almost spring. If you'd given me a clue the night before, well. I never knew. You slept on the couch while I went to bed and drifted off to face another day in paradise.
That particular day, I went to work and you called in. Not unusual, really. You didn't feel good and had a bit of chest discomfort. About an hour into the day I called to check on you and things seemed worse. I talked to one of the ER nurses and she said for me to go get your ass.
By the time I got home you were layin' on the bed in terrible pain. Once we got in the car, you seemed intent on living, kickin' the dash and screaming at me the whole wild 10 minute ride. "RUN that mother fucker!". I was stopping for red lights while you were dyin'. Go figure.
They did all the right things at the hospital. EKG...tombstones. Cardiac markers, negative. Morphine for the pain and chopper on the way with Activase doing its' magic. You were the poster boy at 39 for modern medical miracles, including the follow-up 3 months later for early closure w/o stenting. Doc was in a hurry that first time, okay? We watched NCAA ball from the top floor of Methodist North and I slept in the window.
It began to unravel quickly after that. We both knew that our "reunion" was about $$$$ and our Babygirl and not at all about us. I think that there at the end of it, you finally DID care about me. I reckon that's why you cried so when I told you I couldn't do it anymore.
I'm happy most of the time now. I walk outta work and look ahead to what's at home with my dawgs and the seasons on the farm. The asparagus is about to come up. I still like beer and cooking.
Thanks for never mistreating me. Thanks for being a terrific Dad and not such a terrific husband. I accept my part in the whole deal and I'm just grateful that you're still around when I say "Hey You...I just needed to hear your voice."
That particular day, I went to work and you called in. Not unusual, really. You didn't feel good and had a bit of chest discomfort. About an hour into the day I called to check on you and things seemed worse. I talked to one of the ER nurses and she said for me to go get your ass.
By the time I got home you were layin' on the bed in terrible pain. Once we got in the car, you seemed intent on living, kickin' the dash and screaming at me the whole wild 10 minute ride. "RUN that mother fucker!". I was stopping for red lights while you were dyin'. Go figure.
They did all the right things at the hospital. EKG...tombstones. Cardiac markers, negative. Morphine for the pain and chopper on the way with Activase doing its' magic. You were the poster boy at 39 for modern medical miracles, including the follow-up 3 months later for early closure w/o stenting. Doc was in a hurry that first time, okay? We watched NCAA ball from the top floor of Methodist North and I slept in the window.
It began to unravel quickly after that. We both knew that our "reunion" was about $$$$ and our Babygirl and not at all about us. I think that there at the end of it, you finally DID care about me. I reckon that's why you cried so when I told you I couldn't do it anymore.
I'm happy most of the time now. I walk outta work and look ahead to what's at home with my dawgs and the seasons on the farm. The asparagus is about to come up. I still like beer and cooking.
Thanks for never mistreating me. Thanks for being a terrific Dad and not such a terrific husband. I accept my part in the whole deal and I'm just grateful that you're still around when I say "Hey You...I just needed to hear your voice."
Monday, March 07, 2005
Notes from a Pity Party
The darkness comes upon me in fatigue, and usually when I least expect it. Today's cue for melancholy was an answered e-mail from weeks gone by. Full of the condescending attitude that permeates corporate America, it was one of those "I'm sorry you feel that way" type of things where the writer/speaker accepts no responsibility for any part of it but shifts the action back to the "feeler".
I'm always the feeler, it seems.....and when I feel it, I usually say it. One of these days I will learn ( probably from my nursing home bed ) to keep my trap shut and expect nothing. Perhaps by then, it won't matter to me and I will expect no validation other than a periodic visit from some good old church soul or a distant cousin wanting to relive the past that is ours.
One who is made differently from myself could have, and certainly WOULD have given much less to a career and much more to self gratification. I often wonder why I have felt the need to get back up and try it again after being knocked flat on my face so many times. The only way to live that life is to rationalize that faith and hope are the keys to successful living. Many times, I feel that I will go to my grave holding onto those things with good intentions and dreams as my companions in the end.
Sitting through Lacey's orientation on the "benefits" today sort of threw cold water on my face. She is young, and much smarter than myself. Her childhood was filled with my quest to be everything to everybody and my miserable failure to everyone.....including myself. I see a wisdom and independence in her soul that I lacked at her age. It's one of the few things that gives me comfort these days, knowing that she will not tolerate the crap that she saw her Momma live.
I guess that means I've done my most important job well.
Now, bring on Prince Charming!
I'm always the feeler, it seems.....and when I feel it, I usually say it. One of these days I will learn ( probably from my nursing home bed ) to keep my trap shut and expect nothing. Perhaps by then, it won't matter to me and I will expect no validation other than a periodic visit from some good old church soul or a distant cousin wanting to relive the past that is ours.
One who is made differently from myself could have, and certainly WOULD have given much less to a career and much more to self gratification. I often wonder why I have felt the need to get back up and try it again after being knocked flat on my face so many times. The only way to live that life is to rationalize that faith and hope are the keys to successful living. Many times, I feel that I will go to my grave holding onto those things with good intentions and dreams as my companions in the end.
Sitting through Lacey's orientation on the "benefits" today sort of threw cold water on my face. She is young, and much smarter than myself. Her childhood was filled with my quest to be everything to everybody and my miserable failure to everyone.....including myself. I see a wisdom and independence in her soul that I lacked at her age. It's one of the few things that gives me comfort these days, knowing that she will not tolerate the crap that she saw her Momma live.
I guess that means I've done my most important job well.
Now, bring on Prince Charming!
Friday, March 04, 2005
Present tense
I realized today how very long I've been living in the past. Part of that is the grief process but part of it is just plain old stubborness...a failure on my part to give up the ghost and accept responsibility for my own care and happiness.
Heard through the grapevine that Fred's dad died. He was elderly and it was "expected". He chose not to talk about it....not to me anyway. Why would he? I'm just a gal at work. That's pretty much a contrast to Tim and his very present wife and daughter(s). PENNY. KATIE BETH. RYAN MCKENZIE soon to be born.
Fred's family is a big mystery, except for the babygirl who seems to be on his mind 24/7. He has spoken of a sister by name, but the wife is nameless. She's just "my wife...the homemaker."
That strikes me as very sad. Even in the past tense, my husband has a name. We spent 20 years together and half as many gettin' apart so there's some shared territory there. We have a child....we will share grandchildren someday.
It's March and the grass is growin' again. My lawnmowers are in the shop. I have one and a half dawgs, two cats, one Babygirl, and a family complete with brothers and parents and cousins. My job is not bad most days and I live in paradise.
It's all good.
Heard through the grapevine that Fred's dad died. He was elderly and it was "expected". He chose not to talk about it....not to me anyway. Why would he? I'm just a gal at work. That's pretty much a contrast to Tim and his very present wife and daughter(s). PENNY. KATIE BETH. RYAN MCKENZIE soon to be born.
Fred's family is a big mystery, except for the babygirl who seems to be on his mind 24/7. He has spoken of a sister by name, but the wife is nameless. She's just "my wife...the homemaker."
That strikes me as very sad. Even in the past tense, my husband has a name. We spent 20 years together and half as many gettin' apart so there's some shared territory there. We have a child....we will share grandchildren someday.
It's March and the grass is growin' again. My lawnmowers are in the shop. I have one and a half dawgs, two cats, one Babygirl, and a family complete with brothers and parents and cousins. My job is not bad most days and I live in paradise.
It's all good.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Ending the war...by Ms Doris
Just had to write you to tell you of my plan. There has been a young girl on CNN all day playing and singing a song that she wrote. It is entitled YES WE CAN. Her playing leaves much to be desired, her voice is terrible and the piano is out of tune. I don't think that i can stand another repeat performance. So, the last time I heard it, I decided that we could drive the
Taliban and leaders of Afganistan crazy if only we would make a million tapes of her performance and play it over really loudspeakers constrantly and in no time i feel sure they would vow and declare they would never attack us again if only we would destroy all of the tapes. If you have not heard her you can not appreciate my suggestion but if you have heard her i feel sure you will agree to my plan! It sort of reminded me of the time the mayor used JJ to sing his commercials. I was not surprised when his business made a turn for the wrose!!!! Then, I can not imagine anyone in their right mind requesting Jesse Jackson's presence to solve any problem. I know now that the taliban has to be made up of a group of crazies. Maybe they want him to come over so they can have him for the entertainment at their soccer field that money fromthis country helped to build. Afterall, they have been using women who have commited adultry for the entertainment as they shot them so why not use Jesse - is there a difference. They could put him in a robe and a long veil and no one would know the difference unless he opened his mouth and they would hear the lisp when he said "dont shshshshshoot me"!! Glad to have news of Lacey. No, you have not repeated yourself. So glad she has a steady - surprised she has not had many by now. Give her a hug for me. I still remember her Easter present to me. Tell her to be sure to include me on her graduation list. Not that i will be there but i want to send a present. Glad you mentioned peggy. I had wondered about her and it seems this has been going; on forever. Give her my love. Going to walk at the family life center. so must go now. Oh, thanks ;for the news of the Yarbro house. I bet there was nothing left in that old house but a bunch of absolute junk . You know that family would not have left anything valuable. I wonder what happened to the rats that Cube told mother years ago lived ;in the house. She told Mother that they were larger than cats. I think that was when Frankie Ann and Chucky lived in the house and you know how many years ago that was!! Gotta go. Love Doris
Taliban and leaders of Afganistan crazy if only we would make a million tapes of her performance and play it over really loudspeakers constrantly and in no time i feel sure they would vow and declare they would never attack us again if only we would destroy all of the tapes. If you have not heard her you can not appreciate my suggestion but if you have heard her i feel sure you will agree to my plan! It sort of reminded me of the time the mayor used JJ to sing his commercials. I was not surprised when his business made a turn for the wrose!!!! Then, I can not imagine anyone in their right mind requesting Jesse Jackson's presence to solve any problem. I know now that the taliban has to be made up of a group of crazies. Maybe they want him to come over so they can have him for the entertainment at their soccer field that money fromthis country helped to build. Afterall, they have been using women who have commited adultry for the entertainment as they shot them so why not use Jesse - is there a difference. They could put him in a robe and a long veil and no one would know the difference unless he opened his mouth and they would hear the lisp when he said "dont shshshshshoot me"!! Glad to have news of Lacey. No, you have not repeated yourself. So glad she has a steady - surprised she has not had many by now. Give her a hug for me. I still remember her Easter present to me. Tell her to be sure to include me on her graduation list. Not that i will be there but i want to send a present. Glad you mentioned peggy. I had wondered about her and it seems this has been going; on forever. Give her my love. Going to walk at the family life center. so must go now. Oh, thanks ;for the news of the Yarbro house. I bet there was nothing left in that old house but a bunch of absolute junk . You know that family would not have left anything valuable. I wonder what happened to the rats that Cube told mother years ago lived ;in the house. She told Mother that they were larger than cats. I think that was when Frankie Ann and Chucky lived in the house and you know how many years ago that was!! Gotta go. Love Doris
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Way deep down in her soul, Liza had always wanted to be a Daddy's girl. When she was little her momma kept things covered up on the girl front and her Dad Willy just ignored the whole female element in his houseshold. He worked two jobs and grabbed a little fun here and there bowlin' and playing penny ante poker. An ex-Southern Baptist, he threw himself into Methodism as a servant. Liza and the boys went to that Methodist church every Sunday 'til they were old enough to say no. Willy sang in the choir and was generally everybody's upstanding go-to fella for anything and everything concerning service.
Poverty and hard times during childhood can do a number on a man...and that happened to Willy. His Daddy was a sharecropper who drank a bit too much to suit his wife, but who could blame him. Sharecroppin' is a hard life. In today's lingo, he'd probably be known as co-dependent.
Liza knew that her Dad was everybody's favorite clown and friend when he was in high school. Her momma and the faded black and white pictures told her so. He worked his way through college and came out with a degree before going into the Air Force as a supply man in the Azores.
This was all great stuff for a depression era boy making good. It was also emotional disaster for a fella with a family who needed him to care and show it. Poor Willy just didn't know how.
He's an angry man, to this day. About what, nobody's sure. Maybe it's the childhood poverty or the way he was treated himself. Who the hell knows. All Liza ever knew was that he made her feel stupid. It took a coupla years of therapy and alots of tears for her to realize that who she was didn't have a damn thing to do with what he said to her.
"What are you thinking??? You're an idiot for doing that." It was never quite so much the words as it was the tone of voice that he used that could cut her down to the nub in an instant. Never "I love you" or "I'm proud of you". The absence of the put downs was replaced with total avoidance by reading the newspaper or watching football.
As an adult, Liza found herself still looking for that support. She "loved" many men who weren't capable of loving back and always...always played right into Willy's anger and came out feeling like shit. Emotional unavailability in a man was like a magnet for her.
Poverty and hard times during childhood can do a number on a man...and that happened to Willy. His Daddy was a sharecropper who drank a bit too much to suit his wife, but who could blame him. Sharecroppin' is a hard life. In today's lingo, he'd probably be known as co-dependent.
Liza knew that her Dad was everybody's favorite clown and friend when he was in high school. Her momma and the faded black and white pictures told her so. He worked his way through college and came out with a degree before going into the Air Force as a supply man in the Azores.
This was all great stuff for a depression era boy making good. It was also emotional disaster for a fella with a family who needed him to care and show it. Poor Willy just didn't know how.
He's an angry man, to this day. About what, nobody's sure. Maybe it's the childhood poverty or the way he was treated himself. Who the hell knows. All Liza ever knew was that he made her feel stupid. It took a coupla years of therapy and alots of tears for her to realize that who she was didn't have a damn thing to do with what he said to her.
"What are you thinking??? You're an idiot for doing that." It was never quite so much the words as it was the tone of voice that he used that could cut her down to the nub in an instant. Never "I love you" or "I'm proud of you". The absence of the put downs was replaced with total avoidance by reading the newspaper or watching football.
As an adult, Liza found herself still looking for that support. She "loved" many men who weren't capable of loving back and always...always played right into Willy's anger and came out feeling like shit. Emotional unavailability in a man was like a magnet for her.
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