Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Confession is Good for the Soul, Right?

I won't be able to blog again until Saturday (maybe) because I will be pretty overwhelmed for the next few days. 

So I wanted to blog about something really important; a really good blog.

Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with anything even close. So, you'll have to settle for this little story.

When I was but a mere lass many, many years ago, I had a boyfriend. He had borrowed our pastor's car to take us on a date to the dance. We were fortunate enough to have a "teen canteen" with a live (sort of) band. Their repertoire was limited, but what they lacked in talent they  made up for in volume. 

The dance was always well chaperoned by parents, church members, pastors and the like.

So generally speaking there was no hanky panky nor hard drink unless a certain someone (who shall remain nameless) managed to slip in alcohol into the punch when the server's back was turned.

We were always warned of this victory, so those of us who were teetotalers could abstain from the punch until an adult caught on.

Anyway, my date picked me up a little early and we decided, since we had about fifteen minutes, we would go parking.

I don't know what the youth of today call parking to smooch, or if they even do that anymore, since most of them seem to have so much more freedom than I ever had.

There was a building under construction up on a hill, which seemed like a good, private place to smooch, so that's where he drove to.  We did, indeed "park". But in a few minutes it became obvious that we were not alone, that in fact there were two young men who had also parked to drink - and drink. 

They were having a jolly old time and came over to chat. 

We decided to make a hasty retreat to the dance. So my date cranked up and went - no where. The tires had sunk down in the mud of the newly scraped parking lot. It had become a pigpen after a good rain that morning. 

I began to panic. If I didn't show up at the dance, would someone call my home to inquire of my whereabouts? What if we had to walk out? How would I explain mud covered ankles? 

But the two drunken boys came to our rescue. They said they'd push from the rear while my date applied gas.

Sure enough, that worked. For us.

They, however; were encased in mud from drunken head to drunken toes. 

We waved a merry and grateful goodbye, leaving them standing there, a bit stunned.

My date drove by the local gas station that had a water hose outside and rinsed the car off.

We got to the dance no more than ten minutes late; and no one was ever the wiser.

Until today.

Monday, September 28, 2015

Wanna Get Married?

When my  mother was the age I am now, she had been widowed two years.

I knew at the time that she was widowed at a fairly young age. Of course now, looking from this side of it, I understand it even more.

I remember about a year after Daddy died, I brought up the subject of her dating and possibly remarrying.

She set me straight right quick. She said that although she'd bring my daddy back in a heartbeat if he could be healthy, she had no intentions of getting involved with a man, ever again.

My parents' marriage was somewhat rocky at times, what with Daddy  not ever wanting to grow up and take responsibility.

And she didn't seem to mind living alone after Daddy died, and then her mother dying, either. 

I've wondered about myself. Would I want to get married again? I don't know. I can't imagine living without Husband, much less living with some other feller.

Besides, who the heck would put up with living with  me?

I have seen people get married in their geriatric years. I had a great-aunt (by marriage) who remarried in her seventies. They traveled and seemed to have a pretty good old time. She outlived him, too. I think she was ninety-six when she died. She never had children, so maybe that was one reason she wanted someone to share more of her life.

It certainly would have been strange for me to have a "step-father". I was thirty-four when Daddy died, not in much need of a new daddy.

And I have found amazing resistance from grown children who fought for the parent to  not remarry.

Is that any of their business? Sheesh.

Anyway, food for thought today. 

I hope for most of us, it is only thought and never a reality that we have to face - to live alone - or chose another.



Friday, September 25, 2015

The Way a Man Wears His Clothes

Husband ran a lot of errands the other day. One was to pick up some special vitamins I take. He does this every couple of months, so he's quite chummy with the receptionist.

He informed her he'd purchased a new flannel shirt for walking in the woods, and was sure it made him look very masculine. He always jokes with her this way, since he's old enough to be her pa.

He brought the shirt home and it does, indeed, look 'masculine'. It's that dark, bold black and red checked number that hunters wear. Husband is a hunter, all right. He hunts for keys, glasses, important papers, and anything else he just laid down. 

He says he bought this shirt for walking in the woods with the dog so he doesn't get shot, which is a good idea.

So, he puts the shirt on this morning. "This is an extra large," he says, "It fits okay, but I just have a massive upper body."

Later: "I haven't worked out in a while, but the sleeves are really tight across my biceps."

Later: "I'm having trouble buttoning this shirt. They have put the buttons on the wrong side of this shirt!"

Turns out it's a woman's shirt.

You  just can't make this stuff up.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Zzzzzzipcode

As I mentioned earlier, our newspaper is featuring a page of articles written many years ago.

They are now up to the year 1964, and mentioned that zip codes were being implemented.

Boy, did that bring back memories!

I was 9 or 10 and I remember being so excited! (I have no idea why, looking back..)

I remember adults grumbling that it was just one more thing to keep up with, one more number to memorize (little did they know!)

I also remember them raising Cain over having to dial an extra number on the phone when the telephone company implemented a rule that one must dial a 5 before the other 4 digits. (little did they know, again!)

I began practicing the zip code numbers over and over until I was sure I knew them by heart.

I saw it as the ever expanding world I lived in, a part of growing up.

The adults saw it as an aggravation.

I think I am beginning to understand their side of the whole thing.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Supper Time Activities

Supper last night was a bit of this and tad of that.

I had a small serving of the last of the green beans out of the garden.

I had less than that of a spinach/feta mess that Daughter brought home from a restaurant.

I had about a forth of a hamburger steak, once again from Daughter's leftovers.

Half a cup of soup - Daughter, again.

A biscuit - you guessed it: leftover.

I know I've had worse suppers, I just can't remember when.

Husband ate some leftover soup beans along with a baked sweet potato.

Now, you women know exactly what all that was about.

Supper?

Nah.

I was cleaning out the fridge.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

How the Heck Did THAT Happen?

Is it just me? I mean, I have had some really weird stuff happen, and wondered if you have, too.

For instance: (and where do I begin?) One night I was walking right at dusk. I used to do this every evening that I could, because I sat a lot at my desk and walking made me feel better. Anyway, it was snowing, and the ground was covered, maybe a quarter inch. This was long before the road was paved, so I made no sound when I walked. As I topped the hill above our house, I came face to face with about a dozen deer - a buck and his does. They were as startled as I, and all were staring at me, frozen. I froze too. Deer are pretty big up close, and I suddenly realized they could run toward me and trample me. I ain't never been scared of deer before. But instead, the buck snorted, stomped his feet and they took off away from me, down the road. My heart was beating so fast I didn't figure I needed any more aerobic exercise for the day and I went back to the house.

One morning I was sitting in the kitchen at the bay window and watched a Red Tail Hawk land on a limb in the tree in my yard. This is unusual, they usually stay away from the yard. I realized he was keeping his eye on the blue bird house. Mama and Papa blue bird got really anxious, in fact they were in a frenzy, as the hawk began to swoop around their house. He was trying to figure out how to get the babies.

Incensed, I ran through the house onto the porch. I leaned over the banisters, yelling at the hawk to get lost. Next thing I knew he was flying toward me. He sailed right by my nose and if looks could kill, I'd be graveyard dead. 

Coming home from the lake a few years ago, we decided to unload the car, regardless of our tired state. All three of us made a few loads. I glanced back toward my family. Daughter walked down the sidewalk toward the  house as we had done half a dozen times. But this time I noticed a silhouette of a snake's head. He was coiled up in the V of the tree, inches from where our legs had been walking back and forth. Husband shot it because it was a Copperhead.

And the last thing for today doesn't involve animals - at least the woodland kind.

I was at a  high school football game and we were playing our most hated rival. (Yes, I was still in high school. They had to keep running the dinosaurs off the field.) Lots of the boys in the bleachers were drunk, there was a lot of murmuring about after game fights, etc.

One of the inebriated boys was sitting on the bleacher right above me. Suddenly he was pushing me and yelling at me. When I could finally understand what he was saying, I tried to get away, but it was sorta too late. 

Someone had thrown a fire cracker from behind the bleachers and it had landed under my cushion. It exploded, blistering my butt (pardon my French) and leaving me deaf for a few days in my right ear. Didn't do much for the cushion, either. 

There's more where that came from, too. But you'll be glad to know I'm finished for the day.  

Monday, September 21, 2015

Home Sweet Home

I was thinking today how, if I ever had to, except to go Home, home, how I'd ever leave this place.

Oh, I know houses can be rebuilt, and it's not the  house, exactly I'm talking about. Even though I took a Queen Anne floor plan, wiped it out and did my own floor plan - one that we could afford in size - it still isn't the house itself.

It's what's made it a home during the last twenty-eight years.

For instances we have my great-great- (and maybe one more great) grandmother's rosebush in the yard. My grandmother passed it on down to me. We also have a variety of bushes from my mother's, Husband's mother's and grandmother's yards.

Husband sketched a blue bird nest with babies in it, nestled in a tree branch, with mama bird flying in to feed them, right above the door coming into our bedroom.

Some of the tiles above my cook stove were sketched and fired by Husband, depicting my favorite childhood story. I have Br'er Rabbit, Br'er Fox and the Tar Baby. My granddaddy used to tell me that story while I followed him in the garden: sunlight filtering through the high corn stalks with early morning light while he picked beans.

Each stair on the staircase is slightly worn and of a different color as we have traipsed up and down them a zillion times. For if I need something and I was downstairs, it was upstairs, and if I was upstairs it was, of course, downstairs.

The window blinds in our bedroom have a slight bend and tiny holes at the bottom of one of the slats. That's where I caught Daughter standing, biting on it, when she was trying to cut a tooth.

And inside the pantry wall are marks. Daughter was "this tall" at two, "this tall" at six, "this tall" at nine, "this tall" at thirteen, "this tall" at seventeen, "this tall" at twenty-one and now, "this tall" - the same as me.

How could I say good-bye that all that?

I am a rich woman, who doesn't wish to lose her treasures.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Saturday Slow News Day

Well, I cooked dinner. That's a first in several days, but (thank you, Lord!) my 'extra' back pain has lessened for the past two days, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

I cooked the last of the green beans from the garden. Husband and I picked them last evening. They were a surprise, because we figured we'd already seen the last of them.

One lone tomato and one lone cucumber were left, which we ate, too.

The only reason I feel sad that fall is a'comin', is because I won't have good, fresh tomatoes from the garden. Ain't much better eatin' than that.

Other news: Eli caught a baby blue tail lizard in the sun room. Husband said it looked about done for, but he caught it and took it out to the rose garden. Hope it revives.

Daughter ain't happy. Don't know why, but say a little prayer for her.

Husband did a lot of yard work early this morning. This is BIG news! Ha!

Okay, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel in the news department.

Over and out.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Mooving Target

Daughter was coming home around midnight several months ago. She was on a very dark, curvy country road. I know this because the phone woke me up.

"Mama? I don't know what to do. I've pulled over on the side of the road because when I rounded a curve just a second ago a black cow was standing in the middle of the road. I don't know how I missed it, but I did. I reckon the Good Lord was watchin' after me. But, what do I do now?"

Me: "Call 911."

Daughter: "For a cow?"

Me: "It's very dark. It's on a dangerous curve. Some fool will be goin' fastern you and them and the cow will wake up dead. Call 911."

Daughter: "Okay. But if they think I'm nuts and put me in jail, you can come bail me out."

Click.

Of course, she didn't get locked up, and as far as I know  Farmer 911 came and got the cow out of the road.

Also, a few weeks ago as Daughter and I rounded another curve, a red tail hawk happened to be swooping down to catch a mouse in the ditch. He was intent on his journey and didn't see our car as he started back up. He barely missed our windshield by back peddling (or in this case back winging) as we zoomed past him. He had his dinner in his claws.

After girl screams and ewwwwing at the lunch, we had to stop and let our hearts slow down. I mean, he came this close to dining in.

Then a few days ago Daughter and I were coming home and a gigantic turkey decided to fly up and barely missed the windshield.

Do you have any idea how big a turkey hen is when she is right in your face?

BIG

So far, we've no deer jump in front of us off the bank - yet.

Now, why did I go and say that?

Monday, September 14, 2015

Big news!

Cows that commit suicide.
Mummified body of woman on display at the town square.
Woman wrestling bear event.
Triplets born to family and article brags on the father...the mother is never mentioned.
Someone stole a person's lunch at the courthouse and is kindly asked to step forth and confess.
A terrible flood that washes away homes and businesses and kills several people in one family.
Miss So and So is visiting Mr. So and So and it could lead to something serious!
Mr. Jones is ailing and the county wishes him full recovery.
Moonshine, dirt roads, big snows, bigger politicians.

These are some of the interests written about in our local paper, published anywhere from the late 1800's to the 1920's.

They just don't make newspapers like they used to.

Friday, September 11, 2015

Crow

A few years back, we had quite a murder of crow that lived in our yard. They convened their meetings in the road, they watched us through the windows in the sun room, avidly taking an interest in whatever it was we were doing at the time. 

When Husband threw out stuff for them - bread, chips, popcorn - we could almost immediately hear the watchman caw out and then somewhere around a dozen would fly in. Some would eat there, some would fill their cheeks (do birds have cheeks?) to bulging and fly low and away. 

One of the crows in this murder was one legged. The others made him eat last, but always made sure he ate. Daughter named him Hoppy, because obviously that is what he had to do when he was traveling on the ground. 

That was the winter we had a snow, then another one two days later and then another one a day or so later. It amounted to eight or nine inches at our house, and did not melt quickly.

One morning we had not a dozen crows but at least two dozen and more coming in. Apparently one murder member had spilled the beans or a scout had been sent out. 

The next day Hoppy did not show up for breakfast.

I assume he was (ahem) murdered.

Daughter was pretty upset. I didn't like it much  myself.

The snow melted, the strangers went back to wherever they came from, and we were left with our original murder, sans one.

Now we only have three crows. And they are much smaller than the ones we have always had. 

I've watched them grow this summer, though, so I assume they were the youngsters from last years batch.

I don't know how long crows live, but it seems they all died out at the same time, and only three took nearly a dozens place.

They are smart but more trusting. They  land for food as soon as Husband gets back up the hill, not waiting for him to go inside, much less giving it a few to make sure he's not up to no good.

That's why I think they are the children of a previous generation. They grew up watching what Mama and Papa Crow did and think it's a-okay to eat here, without question.

If Mama and Papa did it, it must be the thing to do right?

Right?

Thursday, September 10, 2015

The Unexpected

The husband of an older couple we know asked me the other day if I liked to read. I said I was an avid reader. 

He told me he is getting rid of almost all his books, and if I wanted to come pick out some, let him know.

Husband and I went to their home today and brought back to our home two big boxes full of all sorts of books, and his book shelves were still full.

He says they are cleaning out stuff they don't need so it won't be a burden on their daughters.

The couple happen to be in their eighties.

He started showing me all the "stuff" they  have that no one will want, and just shook his head. 

I spied something that made my  heart skip a beat. "You've got a typewriter!" I exclaimed.

"Yep. Want it?"

Want it? WANT it? 

"Seriously?" I asked. This was too good to be true.

But he was serious. Husband carried it out to the car for me. 

Here are two of my innermost fears: If we were to go "off the grid", how would I be able to get to the library to steal   borrow books? And secondly, if computers and word processors no longer worked, how could I write books? My hands are in too bad a shape to write longhand.

Stop laughing at me!  I know we need food and stuff, too.

But now, I am the proud owner of a Royal manual typewriter. I'm going to Google ribbons for it and buy a bunch. Clean it up and  maybe even type on it a little.

Very little, because it's going to take a lot of arm strength to use it, but boy, oh, boy, what a surprise.

Felt a lot like  Christmas morning. 

Monday, September 7, 2015

We Got Aints Agin!

I think I have mentioned previously, that if you are from around these here parts, you pronounce ain't, aunt and ant all like the word ain't. 

Or, at least  you would have twenty years ago. You may have cleaned up your English to be more in step with modern, social media English, which is to say less accent of any kind.

Sobs

I have even done it myself, not meaning to, mind you, it just happened.

Anyway, we have aints: the crawling kind, the teeny, tiny aints, the pardon-my-french, piss aint kind of aint.

Also gnats. Pronounced Nats. (Ha! You thought I was gonna say pronounced aints, didn't you!)

They are both driving me cra-cra - which is a fine example of the new, improved English I'm talkin about. Before, I would have said they are driving me crazy.

I go around smacking, slamming, whacking, killing everything in sight.

Eli, my Maine Coon got in on the action this morning. He was sitting at his food bowl, when suddenly his head started zooming around, then he sat up on his haunches, and, making a full 360 pivot without losing his balance, smacked a gnat four or five times in mid-air. He finished with a "There!" look on his face and resumed eating.

So, I was just wondering if any of ya'll out there in blog land have 'em too. And if so, do you know why? We got rid of all fruits and such, but that didn't seem to faze the gnats. They seem to be more after driving us cra-cra.

And the aints? They are in the upstairs bathroom, climbing all over the sink, counter, etc., for no particular reason I can figure.

I may wind up being cra-cra with a capital C if I don't get these critters kilt off.

More later, I reckon.

Friday, September 4, 2015

Sleeping with the Enemy And Missing Tomatoes

How the heck do two tomatoes disappear? Husband is adamant that he did not eat them. Although, interestingly enough, I had mentioned to him only an hour or so before that those particular two tomatoes needed to be eaten today.  Hmmmmm....draw your own conclusions.

I just read an article about how sleep deprived so many people are because they let their dogs sleep with them. I ain't talking about little fluff dogs. I'm talking about Labs, bulldogs, GREAT DANES, and the like. 

When we rescued our Boxer, Buster, from the dump, the first thing he did (after he got home from the vet to make sure he wouldn't give our Boxer, Sam, any diseases or parasites) was to make a beeline for the foot of our bed. And he wouldn't budge. It took both Husband and myself to push and grunt until he got down. Then he did it again, repeatedly for several days.

Obviously, at some point, before he was tied with a rope and nearly starved to death, he had been treated quite well. In fact, the vet said he had been by several evident things when he examined him.

Anyway, it was hard to break him from bounding on the bed and curling up, but we did it.

When we got Molly, our American Bulldog, the first night she (and I ain't making this up) levitated from the bathroom to the foot of our bed. At the time, Daughter and I were watching a DVD and were quite surprised to find a 95 pound visitor in our midst. 

Took several nights to break her from this, convincing her she had a nice soft bed of her own, right by ours.

No offense, but I don't see how anyone in their right mind could possibly sleep with a dog. I mean, who has room in the bed for a dog with all those cats taking up every spare inch?

Anyway, back to the tomatoes: Don't think for a  minute Daughter ate them, she HATES tomatoes with the passion of a thousand burning suns. But she loves tomato soup, tomato sauce, ketchup...you get the picture.

I've looked in the garbage, I looked off the back porch where we throw peelings, I've looked everywhere. Where oh where did they go?

Film at eleven. Unless we are in the bed trying to sleep with fifty pounds of cat.