Sunday, October 10, 2010

Wart Hog Dollar Store and the Clown Motel

Driving up route 95 north of Las Vegas was one of the prettiest rides I had taken in a long time. It sure is nice to have a job where I get paid to tour the country. In the mix of beautiful sights I also see some very interesting things. I saw some signs warning me that there might be cows and bulls crossing the road. Why? Because cows free-range out there, no fences anywhere except around Area 51, the secret government base where they hide aliens or what-ever they do there that we-the-people can't know about. I was in a mini-market standing in line while a tourist asked the clerk some questions. I overheard the clerk telling the tourist that at Area 51 he needed to stay out of the desert because the guards would chase him out with big guns. I guess that's good information to have.. I didn't see any guards or aliens or even an UFO. Darn my luck!

I had been driving for about 500 miles and started thinking about where I wanted to spend the night. I got the map out and decided I would try the town of Toponah, Nevada. Many of those towns along the mountain route were old gold, silver or copper mining towns, maybe I could get a motel and be a tourist for a day.

I drove another 150 miles and entered the little town of Toponah, I knew I was nearing the town because the speed limit signs asked me to slow down, from 70 to 65, from 65 to 45, then 35 and finally 25. I gladly obeyed, there was so much to see..

"Welcome to Toponah" the sign said. "Thank you", I said. I noticed a small sign on the right that beckoned me to 'get my gold weighed here'. No thanks, I don't have any today. I saw a McDonalds. 'Oh, a modern town', I thought. On my left was a block building, no bigger that a two car garage, which is what it probably started out to be before it became the "Wart-Hog Dollar Store". I passed by it, didn't need to spend a dollar at that time.

Moving on, I came into the downtown area. To my right was the tallest building in town, about 5 stories, way up in the sky, and etched into the false front at the top, way up in the sky, were the words 'First Bank of Toponah, 1907'. It was made out of hand-hewn sandstone blocks. Neat. Next block down and across the street was a similar building, only 3 stories high, labeled "Hotel and Saloon". The sign was wood and the paint was fading. The building was empty and boarded up.

A block or so later I left the 'downtown' area and found a motel on the left, named "the Clown Motel". There were gaudy paintings of huge pink clowns all over the building and on the sign. Yikes. I wondered several things about this strange apparition on the outskirts of Toponah.

First: Who the HECK would stay in a Clown Motel? Don't people KNOW that clowns are evil?
Second: I wonder what the decor is inside? Clown sheets and pillow cases? 'Come, my dear, lay your head here'. No Thank You! I would rather sleep leaning on the wall. But wait, they probably had clown wall paper, clowns every where, just waiting for you to get close enough to grab you.

What about the bathroom in the Clown Motel? What kind of motif could they possibly have? Clown towels? Clown noses, hands and eyes for faucets and door knobs? Oh, and the toilet, think about it, a huge clown mouth for a toilet seat. "Come my dear, sit here".

No thank you, I'm really in the mood to go squat under a bush and risk making a scorpion or a rattle snake mad when I pee on them.

I decided that Toponah wasn't a safe town to stay in, clowns could get loose and run amok during the night, then who knows what kind of things could happen.

I left that town, and drove another 100 miles to the next town. I found a safe place to sleep there, hoping the clowns stayed in Toponah!

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Hauntings

I spend a lot of time behind the wheel, riding up and down the road, thinking, about the future, my next exit, the past, and where I can stop to do the potty thing. I was thinking about the guy who wants to buy my house the other day and what kind of 'disclosures' I'm obligated to pass on to him and his wife.

I had gotten an Email from LegalZoom which by strange coincidence contained an article about home sales and disclosures. It explained that it was a good idea to disclose any information about the house possibly being haunted. My house is only three years old, could it be haunted? Surely not! But then again.... nobody died in that house, but, there is a dead body buried in my woods.... Well, I thought, there IS my mother who visited me several times after she died, just bumping around and doing some mischief stuff.. should I tell them? Is she still there?

About a week after she died, I was snoozing away at around 5 in the morning, and my radio came on, full blast, top volume, on a station she liked to listen to. I flew out of bed in great surprise. WHAT THE HECK??? I turned the radio off. Maybe I bumped it. Maybe the cat bumped it. I don't know....

A week or so later the piano came on and started playing. Chopin, Beethoven, I don't know, something classical. Ok, it has an auto-play feature, it's electric, maybe I left it on and the cat stepped on the auto-play button. But the first song on the auto-play list is a children's song, not a classical piece. But the cat was on the bed with me, equally surprised at the sudden music playing. It wasn't playing the first selection, what the heck is this??? I jumped up and ran to look at it. The keys weren't pressing down, nothing spooky like that but it was just music-ing away, I reached out and pressed the 'off' button. It stopped playing. Gee Whiz, what the heck was that all about, I wondered????

My Uncle had given my mother and I a tin of fruit cake the previous Christmas. We ate the fruit cake, washed the tin out and put napkins in it. The tin lived on my kitchen table. After she died I started to find the tin of napkins neatly turned upside down on the floor by my chair. Not a single napkin out of place, just turned over on the floor. Ok, stupid cat, knocking things down, right? I put the tin of napkins in the cupboard. Guess what? I found them upside down in the cupboard, several times. Not the cat this time!

One day I heard some dishes clattering in a cupboard. They were on a half-shelf in the back of the cupboard. They'd been there for a year or more, undisturbed. How did they fall? No earthquake, nobody there to root in the cupboard except me, how and why did they fall? Oddly enough, there were some of HER dishes, not my dishes. Ok, I decided, she's still here. I could hear her bumping around in the kitchen at night, opening and closing cupboard doors, rooting around for, what, coffee? I could hear her cane thumping and bumping into things. It was a noisy house at night.

I went to a psychic. Crazy, I know, I've never gone to one, don't really believe that stuff. Didn't tell the psychic about my Mother, about the possible haunting, I just went and said, read my Tarot, tell me what you think. She told me about someone close to me that didn't want to 'separate' from me. Asked me if I was breaking up with a beau, sending a kid to college, who could this person be that didn't want to be away from me? Good grief, I told her about the stuff going on in my house. She told me to go home and tell my Mother to leave, go to her new place.

I felt foolish talking to what appeared to be an empty house, but I did what the psychic said to do.

I don't think Mom listened, because the 'haunting' stuff continued. Now I'm not there anymore and new people are in, I wonder where the Maternal figure is? I guess is they ask, I'll talk.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Dream about big water and being lost

Every now and then I get a whopper of a dream. Yesterday was one of those times.

In the dream, I was visiting my sister in the Washington D.C area, (we had recently done the tourist thing there in real life), and I took the wrong metro, ending up at the end of the line. Ok, no problem, I thought, I'll just get the return train and get it right when I get back. Just then I heard the announcer say the last train of the day was leaving. I rushed to the platform in time to see two trains pulling away.

I started walking back, but found myself in my pickup driving in an unfamiliar area. The road in front of me came to an intersection, the light was green so I went straight, seeing that the road was going to drop off a steep hill, I slowed down as I crossed the intersection, but as I started the decline, I discovered that the road ended, there was a yellow-plastic-chain crossing the end of the road. After the yellow-plastic-chain thingy, there was just grass, a steep, STEEP slope ending in the river. My truck broke the yellow-plastic-chain thingy and the tires found wet, soggy, grassy ground. I hit the brakes hard, shouting (out loud?) "Stop, STOP" to my truck.

To my left were two people sitting at a picnic bench, eating and watching me slide down the hill. I turned to the left, hoping to stop the awful slide I was in but the truck just slid sideways down into the river, which turned out to be deep enough to swallow up my truck immediately. I had the sense to put my window down and unbuckle my seat belt as the truck sank, and I swam out.

Then I found myself on a very narrow sidewalk high above the river, the river below swollen and angry, rushing by, taunting me. There were two more people sitting on a park bench, eating sandwiches and watching the river. I went to them on this narrow sidewalk and clutched onto the one wearing a polka-dot 50's style dress. I was screaming in pure panic by this time.

They assured me that 'just around the corner you will be away from the river, all will be well by then'. I moved on, around the corner, only to find myself high, HIGH above the city street below, on an even narrower sidewalk. I was in a panic like I'd never experienced, just so sure I would fall to my death at any moment, and the people were so calm, like a sidewalk 50 feet above a raging river with no rails was the norm.

Around the corner I encountered two more women, sitting on a park bench, eating sandwiches and acting like it was so normal to have a sidewalk so skinny that a person had to sidle sideways clutching to old brick buildings.... It was all so weird. I was screaming in raw panic again, they were just munching sandwiches........

Just then my phone rang and saved me from any more skinny-high-in-the-air-open sidewalks.

Guess that's what I get for eating a meatball sub and taking a nap on my back!

Monday, July 5, 2010

There's nerve and there's THE nerve

Last week I bought a new semi-conservative swim suit. Today I spent several hours screwing up enough nerve to prance (feeling half naked) to the pool and get in.
I walk to the pool. I get in. I take a nice swim. There's a few kids there, playing, all's ok.

I go sit in a lounge chair, lean back and read until the sun makes my eyes sleepy. I close my eyes. I realize I have one leg down and one up. Too provocative a pose? I put my leg down. I decide it's ok to sit that way because there's only women and children there and they're all dressed WAY more skimpy than I am.
I doze off. I worry about sunburn on parts that haven't seen sun since I was at least 12. I don't care. I doze some more.

I hear a splashing near the end of the pool I am at.

I open my eyes to see who's drowning. It's a man. Kids and women are A-L-L the way at the other end of the pool. The man is floating on his back on a pool floatie thingy. He glances my way. I ignore him, and pick up my book.

Presently I hear furious splashing, not just a little splish-splash, SPLOOSH! SPLASH! I glance up again, against my will. It's still the man. I wonder, 'what, is he drowning NOW? Do I have to go safe him or something?'

He glances my way again, adjusts his swim trunks, front and center part. I look away. Weigh my options. Stay or go? The women and children are still A-L-L the way at the other end of the pool. The man glances at me again.

I leave. End of story. W. T. F.!

Monday, June 21, 2010

The battle with myself

I've been busy rooting through my mega-piles of schtuff, and trying to figure out how to cram 3 bedrooms, two baths, one barn and one shed into 20 feet of camper trailer. Not an easy feat, lemme tell ya!

"Where to start" Me wonders, wandering around from room to room, poking my nose into closet after closet, a cupboard here and a drawer there. "Ok, start here, in this room" I say. Me says, "Ok, that sounds like a good idea."
So Me and I pull out a box and start digging in stuff that is gold to me, junk to anyone else. Me wonders why in the world I still have this thing? I think, 'I can't throw that out, someone, sometime, somewhere gave it to me'. Me says, "Throw the dumb thing out, it's been wrapped in this paper for... how many years?" Me checks the date on the paper the dumb thing is wrapped in. "Good grief!" Me exclaims, "2004?? Throw the stupid thing out! It's been wrapped for 6 long years!" I close my eyes and toss it. I drag it back out. I throw it away again. I sigh deeply and pull the next wrapped object out of the box, wondering what it might be.
The battle thus rages for several weeks, box after box, I feel like it's Christmas morning, unwrapping things I forgot I had. Me wonders when I became a pack-rat. I feel guilty throwing out things that un-remembered people gave me, sometime, some holiday somewhere.
After several weeks of this guilt-ridden battle, I was happy to note that I managed to cull 20 boxes into 12. Me thinks I didn't do a very good job of getting rid of forgotten junk that who-remembers-who gave me sometime somewhere long, long ago. And Me knows that 12 boxes is way too much to schtuff into a space 20 feet long and 7 feet wide. I sigh heavily, knowing that Me is right. After much guilt-ridden work, many 'yeah-but's' and more sighing, I managed to cull 20 boxes into one admittedly large box of 'very special schtuff' that Me just had to lose the tossing battle and let I keep.
Me doesn't know just what the flock I'm going to do with this large box of very special schtuff, except put it in storage, but for now I won the battle, at least to a degree.
Next I look lovingly at my many, many books. It didn't look like that many until I had 11 boxes neatly packed. Me say's, "No way, you are NOT dragging 11 boxes of books up the road and putting them all in storage!" I went through and culled one bag and one box, "There, I'll donate these." Me thinks, 'uh uh, girly-o, get rid of more'! *Sigh*. My beloved books. "But this is such a good book," I argue. Me says, "How many times have you read it? A dozen? When's the last time you read it? 10 years ago? Put it in the donate box!"

*SIGH*
Ok, I didn't do too good with the book project. I still have 5 boxes. Books are so hard to get rid of.... *sigh*. Me says shut up, Me is so mean!

The final decision that Me and I agree upon is this: I will live under a big leaf in the woods before I ever have this battle again! Pack rat. Shut up, Me.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I was lost but not anymore

Almost two years ago I climbed out of my career and came home to take care of the Maternal Figure. A year ago she left, again, not so surprising, since she had been making her own career of showing up and going AWOL for over 35 years. But this time she actually said 'Good by' and I, for once, knew just where she was going. Never again will I wonder where the hell she is or when she'll show up on my door step without the courtesy of at least 5 minutes notice.

Since she went on her new and permanent adventure, I've been kind of lost. For the first time in many, many moons, I did not have a plan 'B'. No stinking idea what I was going to do next, and what I would do if 'next' didn't work out.

That's not a good feeling. I didn't like it. Oh, I've kept busy, learned the tax code, helped a bunch of people out, worked a few places.... but that wasn't a good answer either, there was no 'tomorrow' to all those things. That wasn't a good feeling. I didn't like it.

I put my house on the market and chewed my nails while the realtor did nothing to advertise it, paced a hole in the floor waiting for the never-to-happen-prospect to ring my phone. That wasn't a good feeling. I didn't like it.

A job offer came up, but not here. Back in Pa, back home. Doing the same thing I did before I moved to Tennessee. They E-mailed an application to me. I filled it out, copied my resume and E-mailed it back. Spoke with the guy on the phone, and started that wait.

South Central Human Resources called me and asked it I would volunteer to do taxes again next year. Next year. "Unless you can hire me and pay me NOW, I can't wait around for next year." was my answer. No job, no pay, nice talking to you lady....

I called the company in York again. Nobody around to talk to. "I'll call next week," I say.
I start thinking about going home. Where will I live? What will I do? I'll look for a camper, I think to myself. Stick it in a year round campground and see what happens.

A friend calls from PA and says, 'Hey, why don't you come to work here? I'll be your reference, they're hiring, I'll get you in." "I'll think about it," I say.

I go look at a few campers. This one is junky, this one is too expensive, this one is too long, this one is too heavy.... I donate a bunch of furniture to the town I live in for the flood victims. Not that I had that much, but any little bit helps. I find someone to babysit the house and mow the yard. I find a nice lady who lives alone and loves my cat. And I find a camper. Right size, not too old, very clean, came with all the stabilizer and weight distribution equipment, nice price.

"I'll think about it," I say. I call the only year round camp ground I know of in PA, it was one the Maternal Figure lived in for a while, you know, one of those times she dropped into my life like pigeon poo on a city street. Surprise, Surprise, as Gomer Pyle would say, I stumble upon the same lady who rented a space to Maternal Figure, "Yes, I remember LaDonna, she was so sweet, how is the dear lady?" she asks. (I swear Maternal Figure had multiple personalities).

I call the guy who has my application and Resume. "Yes, I want to hire you but it will be a few weeks yet," he tells me. THAT'S what I wanted to hear. Now I have a plan. And a plan 'B'.

I'm back on track and it's a good feeling. I like it.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Well it was fun while it lasted

I moved to this podunk little town, thinking I was moving back to my past, a time with only a few red lights, small private-owned stores, population small enough that in a few years I would have met almost everyone here.

It is a nice, small town, it does have a few private-owned stores, a junk store, a jewelry store, a flower shop, a small-time grocery store akin to the IGA Mom used to shop at a hundred years ago. (Or so it seems like a hundred..)

I have seen almost every face that lives in the county, know some by name, even know which 'creek' some of them live on. There are 21 creeks in this area. I live 'on' Cedar Creek. I like it here 'on' Cedar Creek, my 11 1/2 acres is quiet, serene, save for the morning bird that wakes up and screeches WAY before morning is actually here. The 'peeps' in the woods in the evening can't be beat, I love it. Yeah, there are bob cats and coyotes running around after dark, armadillo's that dig holes in my yard, and weird dangerous snakes, but that goes with the territory.

I've spent the last two years looking for decent work here. I've tried a few food joints, deli's, a farm, and now a mini-market. What I've learned is this: Tennessee does not have many laws to protect the employee, I can get fired for simply fixing my hair in a way the boss doesn't like. The boss doesn't have to give me a lunch break. Well, that's not entirely true, there is a lunch break mandate;, after 6 hours you must get a break. Oh, but if you are doing a job that doesn't allow time for a break then you take the break 'when you can' and it has to be at least 15 minutes and you have to get paid for it. In other words, the boss can say there's no time for a lunch break and just pay you for the whole day.

On another note, I see so many people around here that think it's a great accomplishment to be able to 'collect a check', Disability is a big thing here. I saw that when I was doing taxes. Some of the people 'collecting a check' didn't seem disabled to me, but.. what do I know?

So. The places I've worked around here went like this. Not enough people to do the job correctly, punished for not getting it all done, don't you DARE work any overtime... Oh, someone quit today? Ok, you pull a double. You've been working for the last nine days? Well, we're two people short and don't know when we'll hire anyone to help out.

Yesterday it was, "I know you're on time for work but you need to go home and come back in 2 1/2 hours so you can pull a 10 hour shift". I said NO.

Saturday a girl quit, she didn't call, didn't give notice, her boyfriend called and said she wouldn't be in today. Small town gossip came in a few hours later and said she was working at a different mini-market. I called the manager and her answer was, "well, you'll have to close the store tonight." Let's see, that would put me on my feet, no 'break', busy store on a main highway, selling gas, beer, cigs, lottery, soda, candy, and cooking for the deli case for abouuuuut 13 1/2 hours. I said NO. I ended up working 10. Next day, "Hey, can you work 10 again?" NO. What does the manager say? "Well, I"M not working!!" "Close the store when you feel like it then."

I'm leaving this town, I need a real job, with real people, not selling one beer at a time for 10 hours to all the 'collect-a-check-winners' that drag their progressively drunken bods in hour after hour.

More bitchin'. The boss came in to relieve me the other night and didn't do trash, didn't mop, and left my drawer 5 bucks short. Mopping and trash is something she rags about every day. I wish I could dock her pay. More bitchin'. Apparently when someone wins money on the on-line ticket, the ticket has to be run twice through the machine. I did not know that. I run it through, find out how much they won, pay them and throw the ticket in the trash. Seems I'm short 78 bucks the other day, seems it's all on-line winnings I'm short on. Seems my paycheck will be 78 bucks short this week. Seems I just might walk out.

More bitchin'. We can't make people pre-pay their gas. We're the only store in town that does not require pre-pay on gas. We're also the only store in town where the gas pumps are out of sight of the cashiers. People aren't dumb, they know they can get gas and run, who will catch them? Policy says I must call the cops, but what can I tell them? "Someone stole gas, have no idea what they were driving, no sir, there is no camera on the pump they drove off from."

Pay day comes and I see I've been kind enough to treat the thief with free gas. Boss says, "You have to pay attention." Yup. And the aisles are set up in a way that I can't see what people are doing in there and they pocket candy and what ever else they can get. Customers say they saw so and so steal, I call the cops, and say, "No, I didn't see it, someone told me." yeah, that goes a long way!

Enough. House is for sale, I'm dragging my sorry butt back home.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Yankees storm Linden Courthouse

The day was chilly, a brisk wind was blowing out of the north, though the bright sunshine pierced my eyes on that day, May 12, 1863. The Ladies were out bustling about town, some in mourning garb as they had just come from the funeral of a soldier.

The funeral was a sad event, the soldier had also been a doctor in town and he co-owned a mercantile. The widow placed a wreath on the grave and stood aside to watch the 13 gun salute. As the smoke cleared the air and the ladies silently wept, the Chaplin offered a closing prayer. He prayed for safety, closure to the war, and preservation of the Confederate States of America.

The crowd moved into town, across from the court house, where a pot-luck brunch was set up, and the townspeople milled about, chatting about the war, their sons, death and the lifestyle they could lose. There was a doctor's tent and a small camp set up on the courthouse lawn; the Confederate army knew the Yankees were close, and moving in, but they didn't know how close they were, if they would by-pass the town or stop in to ravage things, as they had done in so many towns nearby.

Presently they heard the volley of gun-fire just south-west of town, and the tension in the air increased 10 fold. The soldiers herded the townspeople away from the courthouse, into an alley between two buildings, surely they would be safe there if an attack should come. But, lo, from the very alley that was supposed to be a safe haven, came running a powder boy, about 12 years of age, running like the very devil himself was on his tail, screaming, "THE YANKEES ARE COMIN' THE YANKEES ARE COMIN'!"

Right behind him, (the devil indeed in the eyes of the townspeople) came tearing up the alley the Yankees, whooping and shouting. As soon as they cleared the crowd and got into the street, they knelt and began to fire. It was a small band of Yankees but they were fierce and accurate with their guns.

Having been taken by surprise, the confederate soldiers had no time to load the cannons so they ducked behind the wall surrounding the courthouse and began returning fire. The fight seemed to be an even one until more Yankees arrived from the east side. Confederate soldiers started to fall and it became clear they were going to lose this battle so they ran into the courthouse, opening windows on the second floor and sending shots from inside. Still no Yankees fell.

One young soldier slumped on the window sill of a second floor room, many were dead and wounded on the lawn. The gun fire subsided for a moment, giving the Yankees a chance to storm into the courthouse. Presently the doors opened again, letting out a stream of confederate soldiers, arms in the air, guns held upside down. As they stepped over the dead and wounded, some of them broke to run, and the battle was on again.

Once again, the confederates, feeling the sting of losing more comrades, dove into the courthouse for protection, and once again, the Yankees went in, herded them up and marched them out.

The Yankees decided to burn the courthouse, to flush out any remaining soldiers hiding in there and to prevent any more from ducking back in there. The ladies watched in horror as their soldiers fell and were marched out in shame with a Yankee rifle pointing at their backs.

It was interesting to see that the Yankees left the medical tent alone, and the medics were not harmed as they worked to pick bullets out of a soldiers leg.

After the battle I came back to 2010 and went home, reflecting on what I had just witnessed. As a Yankee myself, in a confederate state, it was strange to hear the Chaplin pray for the preservation of the lifestyle, (slavery) and the preservation of the Confederate States of America. But more so, it was sad to see brother against brother in that battle, such a small slice of the whole war. In such a short time, maybe 20 minutes in all, the town had been turned upside down, the most important building in the town reduced to ashes. Having the advantage of being 'from the future', I knew that the lifestyle that these people had become accustomed to, the riches gained from their huge [labor camp] plantations was soon to be all gone. Life would change dramatically for them, while not so much for the Yankees. Of course, the north lost lives too, cotton, wheat, and other commodities from the south would become dear in the aftermath of the war, but the lifestyle would just go on. Get up in the morning, milk the cow, go to work in a printing press, iron forge, clothing factory...

It was an interesting day, in all. I'm glad I don't live in that time! Yes, there is a war now, soldiers march and die, but we don't see it, it's not in our back yards. In my comfortable lifestyle, that probably won't change as dramatically or as quickly as the southern genteel did, I am grateful.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Protecto-cat awakens owner

The storms had been raging for a full 24 hours, I had been up for at least 20 of those hours, listening to the canned voice on the weather radio drill me on where to hide in the event of a Tornado and by the way, turn around, don't drown.

I went to work the evening before, wondering for 8 hours if (Is that all, sir?) I (Pump 8 is on, Ma'am) would make (15.89 out of 20.00, thank you, sir) it home that night. I did make it home, at midnight, and fell into bed, exhausted. I heard the canned voice of the weather radio interrupt my sleep several times during the night, I think he/it said something about a flood warning, heavy rain and even a tornado warning, and turn around, don't drown, but I was drowning in my own badly needed sleep, so I shut him/it out.

About daybreak, (which was only about 5 hours since Ihad closed the world out hiding under my pillow), the cat started acting goofy. He was up on the window sill, 'rowwwwling' the strangest 'rowl'. "Shut up, Smokey, I'm sleeping, I'll feed you later", I don't know if I said it or thought it but the Cat responded by mountain climbing on my head. I brushed him off, said something like "Git" and rolled over. This scene repeated itself several times, the rowling, mountain climbing on my head, jumping up and down off the window sill, until my protecto-cat decided this was a problem that needed desperate measures.

He bit me. "OW!" I screamed, but he didn't run, he just sat on my chest looking at me, with HUGE green eyes. Ok, I thought, somethings up, so I guess I'll get up too. If all this goof-ball wants is a little crunchy in his dish he's getting his furry tail tossed out into the rain. Grouchy thing, I was!

Protecto-Cat saw I was FINALLY responding so he made a bee-line for the window sill again. I dutifully followed him, and BAM! I saw what his problem was, my entire back yard was under water.
Smokey-protecto-Cat looked at me and ran like his tail was on fire to the front door, so, again, I dutifully followed him, opened the door and looked out, not at my yard, but at a river. Holy Moly!!

Upon further investigation, I discovered that this WAS a pretty big deal, the dirt was washing out from under my house, (would it tip over? I didn't know, still don't know...) Everything that was under the porch (for supposed protection from the weather) was now out in the yard under three feet of water. My Protecto-Cat knew there was something really, really wrong, and he needed to let me know. What a good cat. He makes the treats and litter box all worth it.

I wonder what he would do if a fire broke out? Probably rip my face off instead of a little bite!!

Friday, April 30, 2010

Ok, I'm a prude

Yes, I said 'Prude'. I thought I was pretty 'worldly', you know, I knew a lot about life and what makes the world go around. I have a new job in a convenience store, sells beer, cigs, gas, expensive snacks, lottery tickets and, and, well, condoms.

A young fellow came in the other evening and asked me, "Do y'all sell condoms?" So what does reactive, innocent, shocked lil' ol' me say? I says, " CONDOMS????" There are 1/2 a dozen people in line behind him, they all hear me react like a little old grandma (oh, yeah, I am a little ol' grandma, aren't I?). The poor [horny] young fella shuffles his feet, clears his throat and says, "Yes, Ma am". Ma am. BOY, did I feel like an old crotchety lady then. The line shuffles their feet and look at the floor, ceiling, their groceries in unison.

"Um", I says, looking around desperately, when the other clerk steps up and points the poor embarrassed fellow towards the rack behind the counter. "Which kind do you want, there are three here", she explains. Now I'm dying. I don't want to name the 'flavors' out loud, so I invited the poor [not-so-horny-anymore] fellow behind the counter to pick his own.

He picked out two, a purple box and a red box. Ick. I rang him up and he hurried out.

I've learned several things working at the store: Old ladies spend A LOT of money on lottery tickets. Food stamps buy junk food. Beer sold by the can invites progressively drunken people to cycle in and out the door at least 1/2 a dozen times in a two or three hour period. I have the right (and responsibility) to flag the one who is staggering and slobbering the most, and condoms are a part of life.

I want a job shoveling elephant poop. Elephants don't waste money, drink, play the lottery or need condoms. Hmmm, that would be one big box, huh?

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

There are no jobs out there?

Dumb luck. Sometimes I stumble into it and sometimes it stumbles into me. That's sort of the story of my life. Take driving a truck: I never, ever, ONCE contemplated climbing into something over 70 feet long and pulling 14K miles a month, AND actually enjoying it. But that's where I ended up. From "would you like more coffee" and "May I take your order?" to "Oh, look, I have 7 stops on this load" and "I wonder what my back-haul will be?"

This change took seconds to happen, not weeks of researching, months of training, studying for a test, applying at multiple companies, the job simply dropped into my lap somewhere between "More coffee?" and "Would you like your check now?".

I stayed with that career (not the same company, though) for almost a quarter of a century. In that time I've been moved into supervisor, dispatcher, trainer, customer service, all with no formal training or even a chase on my part. These opportunities just came to me. And I took them and ran with them, as is my way.

A few jobs I've been tossed into, not against my will, mind you, but with a little protest, like the cat spreading himself wide to avoid being stuffed into the crate. But I persevere, and learn new things anyway.

As a tax preparer, I signed up to be a volunteer, so I thought I knew what I was getting into, but, alas, like the wind blows, I found myself blown into a paid position as a site coordinator. Never saw that coming! But I've enjoyed it, and rose to the challenge. It's been fun, but April 15th looms large, and I've been wondering just what will I do next?

I set out this morning intending to spend money I didn't want to spend. The ignition thingy in my truck gets stuck, and, after a few short cuts trying to get it to work, (graphite, spray), I decided to go to the chevy dealer and pay some over-charging mechanic to replace the dumb thing. After all, I'm pretty impatient, when I want to start the truck and go somewhere, I want to do just that, I DON'T want to sit there in a 90 degree truck and play jiggle jiggy with the switch! Next Monday I'll be about 125.00 buckaroos poorer, but at least I can go-go-go at my smallest whim!

On the way back from making some mechanic really happy with the promise of some bucks next week, I decided to console myself with a cup of joe and a newspaper at my favorite mini-market-gas station-deli. I know the lady that runs the place, she's seen my ugly mug in there before.

So: I'm sitting at a booth, slurping coffee and getting my daily chuckle with the funny page when my friend the store manager saunters over to me, saying something about a job babysitting an old lady once a week for 100 bucks. Well, I've done the babysitting-an-old-lady thing before, and 100 bucks is a 100 bucks, so I said yes, I'll do it. She walked all the way to the front of the store, did a U-turn and came back to my table. "Yes?" I said, interrupting Charlie Brown for a moment, upon which she said, "Forget the job watching the old lady, I need someone to close the store, it's 38 to 40 hours a week, are you interested?"

Once again, a job drops into my lap. I didn't ask for it, had no idea she was hiring, and, best of all, I don't have to wonder what I'm going to do for a paycheck after April 15th.

She has to talk to the big boss and will call me in a few days. There, problem solved for the moment! Maybe she'll move to Timbucktoo and I'll get to manage the place? Ok, don't get ahead of yourself!!

Sunday, April 11, 2010

People in a few paragraphs

Hello. I'm a Peep. There are few Peeps in the world, but many People. I don't like people much, I am really good at dealing with People in a business setting, not so good in a personal setting. So this is a short synopsis on People vs. Peeps.

What's the diff, one might ask. Well, I'm here to tell ya. I'll start with People, since I am having a serious attack of I-don't-like-em's. People are, well, people, they emote, so do Peeps, but People emotes are WAY off the charts. I know a people person who gets mad if I don't call her often enough, or have to click out of a conversation to take a business call. Sheesh, must suck to be her, maybe because I'm a Peep and very likable? Correction, I'm very likable until I don't perform up to standards-according-to-People-Laws.

I never liked rules anyway.

I know a People person who likes me only if I am giving my all to please her. I slipped up yesterday, I got down-right SELFISH and went to have fun with someone besides her. I don't feel bad, though, creep that I am, I had a good time and I will relish the memory of that wonderful day in spite of the tsunami it seemed to create in a People's mind.

Funny, I didn't even get wet in the tsunami. Probably because I reject the actuality of the tidal wave.

I don't like waves either, they knock me down and put sand in my pants.

Now on to the the Peeps. I like peeps because even though they might be having their own tsunami, they never throw buckets of waves at other people. They just surf the tide until things calm down. Oh, a tsunami-engulfed Peep might ask for a floaty, or a rope, and I'll gladly throw one, but real Peeps never drag someone under with them.

My Cat is a good Peep. My Sister is a good Peep. I'm a good Peep.

I'm glad I'm not a psychologist. I'd probably go to jail for shaking up a poor-poor-pitiful-me client.

Ok, I'm done blowing off steam. Glass of wine and hot bath sounds like a good ending to a great day in the yard and garden!

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Reading old blogs

I don't know what gets into me sometimes, I miss the Maternal Figure a lot this week, it's so nice out, I've been sitting on the porch with my coffee in the mornings and my book in the evenings, beside Maternal Figures empty chair. Oh, crap, maybe I should throw the chair out and get rid of the wheel chair ramp?

So now it's dark out and I came in to check my other blog, "Are You Mr. Eshelman" to see if anybody commented and ended up reading all my previous blogs that I wrote when MF was here. I told myself not to do it but I read on and on. The end result? I had lots of smiles and chuckles. Maybe this means the grief is over and I can revel in the good memories.

After all, she was a funny ol' thing, when she wasn't mad about something! I laughed out loud at the comments made to my blog about her primping that two men at the nursing home liked to push her wheel chair back from the smoking room. And how about the time she fumbled around and found some matches? She wanted to go outside at 3 in the morning SO bad, actually found the strength to nearly JOG across the room ahead of me!

It was a tough year, having her here, but her presence generated a lot of good memories. Thanks, Mom. I still love you, but I guess you know that.... Hope you're happy with your cello, or maybe you're still making people fetch it and move it for you?

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Are you Mr Eshelman?

I was dreaming that I was moving back into the spooky house, the haunted house I lived in as a kid. The attic was really, REALLY scary, there was a small door at the end of the hallway by the bathroom where the ghost could come into our part of the house, the ghost watched over us as he/it allowed us to go to the bathroom and leave the upstairs immediately.

I had all my stuff moved into the house, but didn't stay there at night. I just didn't feel ready, so I visited it during the day. In the dream there was a bathroom downstairs that had a hole in the wall to the outside, and critters could come in and out at will, so I plugged the hole and closed the door. One day when I was visiting the house, my cat Smokey got spooked and ran out, I went to the room he ran out of to see what was up and found a litter of kittens there. I grabbed one by the scruff of it's neck and, trying to keep if from scratching/biting me, I ran to the bathroom where the hole was, and now it was a door. I flung the door open only to find a drop of about 3 feet, no steps.

I threw the cat out and did the same with two more. My heart was pounding, whew, it was only stray cats, not a ghost!

Next day I was walking home from Parmers store, across the field with another family and my dog Kelita. We were trudging through the snow and had to go past the old house to get to my new one. It would have been easier to go through the old house than to keep plowing through deep snow and the other family questioned me, I told them I forgot about that option.

As soon as I got away from the house and close to my front porch it became summer, the family said goodbye and went on their way. I went into the old house to visit, (I guess, don't remember why I was in there) and I heard *BOOM* *BOOM* coming from above. It didn't sound like kittens, it sounded like someone pounding their feet on the upper floor.

I ran outside and towards my new house, and feeling compelled and frightened at the same time. I turned to look at the attic windows. There, in the window, peering back at me, was a bearded man, looking very angry. "Are you Mr. Eshelman?" I asked. "NO", the voice boomed back at me, "I OWN this house and YOU STAY OUT!"

I said I didn't own the house, I was only renting it and then noticed that is was sitting on MY land, only feet from my house. I was terrified, that I lived so close to that evil house, and couldn't easily move away.

I struggled awake as the bearded face in the window screamed "GET OUT" and "HAHAHA, you DO own it!!".

Monday, February 15, 2010

Tears of frustration equals TICKED OFF

I have a strange quirk surrounding tears, not tears of joy or tears of grief, but tears that are jerked out by the hands of someone who has done something so dark, evil and hurtful that the only thing one can do is cry tears of pure frustration. Those kind of tears tick me off to the core.

It's bad when someone frustrates ME to the point of tears, when that happens I start drawing very clear boundaries. Go away, stay away and never show your mean face again. Don't call, don't write, don't even think about me, because I'll hear your thoughts and mentally rip your face off and feed it to you.

But wait, there's more to my quirky aversion to tears of frustration. So far, in my life, there have been only two people in my life that I feel the personal affects of their tears. My Mother and my sister. For some unknown reason, if a person makes THEM cry, I will rip your face off and feed it to you. Don't ask me why, it just is.

Recently, a person related by biological connection ONLY has made my sister cry. Oh, I'm mad, no, I'm ticked... no, I'm downright PISSED OFF! Why? I guess I just love her, certainly she doesn't need me for protection, she's capable of ripping off faces and feeding them back to the offender, just as I am. Just the same, my claws are out. He made her cry and I'm mad, ticked, pissed off.

For at least an hour today, my fingers hovered over the key board, mentally typing my response to this thing, fingers that were prepared to rip, tear and feed all through cyberspace. I resisted. I won. I didn't type anything to the freak that hurt my sister, it wouldn't solve the problem, it would feed the fire. I'm not interested in feeding a fire.... maybe a face but not a fire.

To my dear sister, at least we came out normal, compassionate, kind, understanding and smart. What more could we ask for? Love ya, Sis.