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Monday, January 15, 2018

Stand Tall!

Although I was a normal size baby, by first grade I had a head start on everyone.

And by that, I mean I was a head taller.

Exhibit A: Here I am eight years old. My Yankee cousin, the dark headed one to my left is five. Texas Cousin, the blonde is four and the baby I am holding, a second cousin is, um, a baby. None of these cousins ever caught up to me. We discussed this last summer, but there is no explanation. I am a freak.



Next, as we go to Exhibit B: You will see, that at age seven it is no better. And we ain't that old fashioned or in a cult, it's a Wagon Train thang. Ramona, to my far right is less than a year younger than me. Her sister, clad in the diaper, is always photographed in a diaper. I've seen another photo of the three of us, and she's near naked there, too. I don't know if she refused clothes, or what. That's not the point.

I was the tallest student in seventh grade. Not the tallest girl, mind  you, but the tallest student. I was even taller than one of my BFFs, who grew to six feet. But not in seventh grade. She was still a shrimp, I guess.
I remember my best friend in first grade was Trish. She came to my shoulder. This is a photo of Trish and me at our 45th (!) class reunion, a few months ago:
As you can see, some things never change.

The only question I have is this: How did I survive without a complex? I don't even remember thinking I was taller than everyone else. 

The only explanation is I have also always been very nearsighted.

Friday, January 5, 2018

Cold Enough Fer Ye?

I don't know about ya'll, but I feel like someone moved the South when I wasn't looking.

I've had on so many clothes, the inside of my arms haven't made contact with my body in days.

Hasn't seemed to help much, I'm still freezing to death.

Late yesterday evening, after five p.m. Daughter and I finished a meal at a local restaurant. And she couldn't find her keys. Well, she actually found them. Inside the car, where they were all locked up and safe.

Now, this restaurant was crowded and people were waiting to be seated, but we drug out sitting there as long as we possibly could. I called Brother of Many  Surgeries and ask that he call someone to HELP us, which he did. He even called back and said they'd be, and I quote, "a few minutes." 

We got up and stood at the door, a mighty cold place to stand. After twenty-five few  minutes, a feller showed up. We went outside, although he was already peering in the window of the car. He commenced to use all sorts of tools, and after standing outside just before six p. m. in waaaaay too cold air for twenty dang minutes, he got the door opened.

Like I said, I had on lots of layers. I managed to get my arms bent enough that I put my hands in my armpits, but I could barely breathe.

I guess you could say I have been froze and squoze. 

And not one flake of snow. 

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Oh, the Pain!

All marriages have their ups and downs. Fortunately, Husband and I have had more ups than downs.

But there is one day that stands out from all our nearly 33 years of marriage as a great big old down.

The day before Daughter's fifth birthday. 

The day we put a swing set together.

It came in about 30 pieces, or more. 

And on a good day, Husband nor myself knows a monkey wrench from a real live monkey.

It wasn't pretty.

We got to talking about this at Christmas when everyone was reminiscing about years past when they had spent Christmas Eve putting tricycles, bicycles, and what have you together and staying up until it was time for the little ones to get up, desperate to finish whatever it was they'd started at 9:00 p.m. the night before.

Husband says he remembers struggling with a little wooden scooter thing Daughter sat on and scooted across the rooms. (sort of like a bike without wheels). I vaguely remember the scooter, but he must have gone through that alone, as I don't remember anything about it. 

Poor man.

I noticed that most of the reminiscing was done with a lot of smiling.

I guess we do forget the pain as time goes on.

Monday, December 25, 2017

Bittersweet

My mother is an only child. Growing up, she was close to her cousins, especially one first cousin.

He was born on her fourth birthday. I suppose that bonded them in a special way. She tells the tale of them being at their grandparents house (his daddy and her mama were siblings) and being sent to get the mail.

Now, this was in the 1930's. They had to walk a piece then cross a foot log to get to the mailbox. My mother was (and still is) afraid of water, so she refused to do this. Instead, she made her four year old cousin (she was eight and bossy) do it.

Once, he'd been watching Superman and decided he could fly, too. So he snuck one of his baby sister's cloth diapers out, tied it around his neck, climbed up the bank on the back of the house, scrambled to the roof - and jumped.

Broke his arm.

There are many stories like that, some of them told about each other, some of them told about stuff they did together.

After their grandparents passed away, they weren't very close for a while. There was some hurt feelings in the family about "stuff", which is a shame.

But the last twenty-five years or more, things have been okay. They wrote each other goofy birthday cards, talked on the phone and he stopped by and visited a lot. Occasionally I'd take Mother to visit. He had birthday parties for one of his sisters who had some brain damage from a high fever as a little child, and never lived alone. Every Christmas he had a huge box of expensive nuts dressed up in a beautiful tin delivered to Mother.

Last year Mother didn't get a birthday card. She was worried. He finally called a few days later. He'd fallen and been in the hospital.

He started falling a lot. Part of it was due to his vision, which was getting worse all the time. He became very frail and feeble, looking older than his years.

A few weeks ago, he fell twice. Turns out he hadn't been able to eat solid foods in several days. They hospitalized him. I'm not sure about why he couldn't eat, but they decided to put a feeding tube in. When the doctor started talking about the procedure, he adamantly refused to have it done. "I'm weak and tired. I've been tired for a long time. I want to go Home. I  know my Lord is waiting on me."

A few days later he died.  The family looked exhausted at the funeral home. They were sad, but knew he had been right. He went very peacefully.

Early this week the UPS truck pulled up in Mother's yard. They delivered the beautiful tin full of candy coated nuts from him, just like clockwork.

Mother called me. She was in tears. Apparently he'd made all his preparation for this Christmas in advance. 

Bittersweet: the perfect definition.

Friday, December 15, 2017

NEW POST FROM BONNIE! Woof!

Hey Everybody!!

I usually don't talk on here 'less I got something to say about my  WHEELIE. But it is safe and sound now that the SNOW is melted off it. It was way up under all that stuff,  I tell you!

Don't tell, but for the first few seconds I was AFRAID of the snow. Daddy said I had seen it last year, but I don't 'member. Anyway, I found out snow is FUN! 

And guess what? I have a FRIEND! He is a boy dog, so I guess he is my BOYFRIEND.

Mama and Daddy are afraid he is breaking the RULES, because he gets out on his own every morning and goes WALKIE all alone! He likes to come to our house. He would come INSIDE but my mama says, "No, doggie!"

But I know when he is outside and I run back and forth to the door and cry and cry for my daddy to let us go out!

My BOYFRIEND is a good dog. He plays and plays and doesn't hurt me, so I am careful not to hurt him, 'cause he is kinda little. 

Mama laughed and said big woman, little man, that's the Appalachian way. What does that even MEAN?

I think he is CUTE! What do you think?
I hope he doesn't get in trouble for breaking the RULES. But you know what I think?
I think it is his Mama and Daddy who are breaking the rules. So, my BOYFRIEND should get to COME IN THE HOUSE and live with us.

That's what I think.

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Howdy

So, I know I haven't blogged in two weeks, which is unusual for me. 

There's been a lot going on, some of it not fun, so I won't focus on that.

But we had a great Thanksgiving, we have the Christmas decorations up and most of the  Christmas shopping done.

And, for the first time in my long life, I've been in a recording studio.

My next book, "Poetry, Prose and Music: Life of an Appalachian Woman" will have a little CD tucked in the back. Daughter does a solo and she and I did two duets on it. There are seven other songs on there, three of which yours truly wrote lyrics and  melody. 

Now it has to be "mixed", and I have to get busy unmixing the book. It's a real  mess, but at least it's contained between two pages of a notebook and in four folders on the computer. 

The notebook is sort of like scrambled eggs, though, and I have to devote a chunk of time putting it together.

This is a new endeavor for me, so it's taking up a bunch more time than a straight forward novel. 

Husband has set up a table for me to work off of, right next to the computer, so that will help. 

I hope.

Pardon me if I don't blog much for the next few weeks, but I'll keep ya posted. 

Friday, November 17, 2017

I Don't Understand

Many years ago, when I was a workin' woman, I drove a Mercedes Benz circa 1985. We bought her when Daughter was about 9 months old, so the car was already five years old.

But it was a Mercedes. Well, I loved that car. I still do, but I can't drive it because the foot feed is extremely hard to push and the seats are tilted in a way that makes me feel like I'm undergoing torture.

Anyway, I was in town for something, and when I turned the ignition key to off, the car kept running. No matter how many times I tried, the car would not turn off.

So, somewhat alarmed, I pulled into the nearest garage. I told the feller the problem. He got in, got out, and said, "Ma'am, your car is cut off."

Very funny, I thought. "Then explain to me how it is I drove it here, and can still hear it running, even as we speak."

There. Take that.

He launched into a rather long speech about how a diesel doesn't have to have electricity to operate, and as long as it has fuel, it will run. then he said, "Blah, blah, celluloid injection pump blah, blah, blah."

It sounded pretty much the same as every time my car has ever torn up. 

Anyway, he showed me how to push a button or turn a lever or something that would turn the engine off until some sort of part could be ordered re-connecting the engine to the rest of the car.

Doesn't it seem to you (if you are a mechanic, stay out of this) that the car should have stopped working completely, instead of continuing to run if something was broken?

Just askin'.