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, July 5, 2010
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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!!
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?
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?
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