Filed under: I feel so smart!
I know exactly what they should do with him. He and his wife should be made to live in a single wide housetrailer, one that’s 50 years old and unairconditioned, in South Georgia, at the edge of a peanut field. If he wants a snack he can glean some peanuts. There’s one at the intersection of Mud Road and Big Curve Road near Cordele. That would be justice;
To follow our road trip, click on Welcome to Paradise: Terry and Peggy Go For a Ride
Considering I hate sleeping in hotels, even in 5 star fancy ones (which this one is NOT), I slept well. Thank you Pharmaceutical Industries, I do not think you’re evil. Thank you also, Mr State Patrolman, for parking your car next to mine. I was assured that no one would slip into our room in the middle of the night, slit our throats and steal my camera. I’m not paranoid, I just play one on YouTube.
So Michael Jackson died of a heart attack. I’m sorry for that, because he didn’t have a chance (much) to get his life straightened out (to the liking of the public) before he died. A tragedy? I don’t know, I doubt it, he was, to my unenlightened eyes, a confused little man who needed a bit of anonymity and some gentle tough love. Oh well. Frankly, my life isn’t going to be radically altered in any way by his demise. RIP Mr Jackson. I could, however badly and very much in private, do the Thriller dance. Betcha didn’t know that, Bro. Scott!
Sweet Daddio figured out how to resize pictures, so maybe while we’re in an egregiously boring part of Arkansas (we’re in the Southern region, all rice paddies and churches) I’ll resize a few and post them on Welcome to Paradise, if I can find a wifi signal. Maybe it will be tonight.
For now, I am in seach of another cup of coffee. It’s very good here at the Ashley Inn, but in rawther inadequate cups.
Filed under: Dewicate feewings, family, friends IRL, God Stuff, He'p meh He'p meh Oh Lawzy He'p meh, home and hearth, Hooray!, Rest and Relaxation
You all know I am not the most religious person in the world. I don’t raise my hands publically in prayer, I don’t even go to church (much to my friend El’s dismay, she’s trying so hard to convince me to go! I love her for that). But, I do believe in a loving Father God who wants the very best for me, even when it hurts. I believe in God Who allows me to make my own sorry decisions and learn from my mistakes. He can take my twisted ways and turn them toward the good, if I let Him, and I do try to let Him.
I believe in a very real and present God, not one who sits up there and watches down like a 10 yr old stirring up an ant bed to see what happens. While I don’t believe he interferes egregiously, I do believe in nudges and hints from time to time, guidances of a sort,like a sign pointing this way or that but it’s still up to me to read the sign and decide which way to go.
Sweet Daddio and I have had attacks of the nerves about this trip for the past day or two. Not so much *us* taking the trip, but us *leaving* 2 people in the house who’s sense of responsibility has yet to be entirely tested. David, we’re not so worried about. He’s not really the partying type. W’eve given him permission to have a particular friend over, who’s eaten with us and spent the night before and we trust. CJ…well, therein lies the rub. Basically a decent kid, prone to fits of stupidity and easily swayed by his friends, we are concerned that there will be Mayhem and Nonsense here while we’re gone. The neighbors have been asked to Keep An Eye, and George the Greek is quite willing to do so. Eagerly, in fact. SD talked to him last night, and we are comfortable knowing that GtG will call the sheriff if there’s any cars here that don’t belong to us or David’s friend. We also informed CJ that GtG would be watching and has the sheriff on speed dial. There was a noticable amount of wind removed from CJ sails when that was told to him. Oh well. If he wants to party I can’t stop him, but he’ll have to do it elsewhere.
So, SD and I are a bit easier with the situation, but there’s no guarentee that CJ won’t try *something* foolish. The liquor is locked up, and the key hidden. The shed with SD’s tools is locked up as well. SD’s truck will be here, but the keys are, yes, locked up. We are tempted to leave a couple bottles of beer available, just so he can do something and feel like he’s getting away with it. I haven’t decided about that yet.
There is a point and a connection between the first 2 paragraphs and the rest of this. I’m working on it. I guess it’s this: that God is giving us nudges and signs that it’s ok to go on this trip. Things like George and resignation from CJ and being able to find everything, little things that are falling into place with ease. Ok, (probably TMI, but this is my blog and I’ll TMI if I want to) even my period is over with, 3 days earlier and 2 days shorter than normal. I won’t have to deal with it whilst traveling. I take that as a sign. I *even* found my iPod headphones. Is that crazy or what?
Last night we were talking to the boys about what to do if something happens to us, how if the car breaks down we’re still under AAA and warranty, and how if we get hit by a Mack truck and both die, that #4 is taken care of and they’ll all have our life insurance to see them through college. CJ was horrified, but I told him if we both die, we won’t really care what they do with the money. He said he’d take #4 in the woods and they’d live like those dudes from Deliverance. I told him I’d be dead and wouldn’t be concerned with it. He continued to be horrified and asked that we please change the subject.
So, I’m feeling pretty good, aside from the small knot in my stomach that is just pre-trip jitters. I am seeing no loose ends. The worst thing that could happen while we’re gone is an outbreak of fleas, but even that I am going to show David what to do (dip the dogs, powder the cats and there’s 2 bombs in the utility room) They’ll be fresh sheets on the bed for when we get home, and I’ll call David a couple hours before we get there and ask him to make a pitcher of iced green tea with lemon.
God is good, life is good. My friends are doing well, and I am READY.
I believe in Signs. Not the great big kind, like a finger coming down from the sky and poking you in the eye, but the little ones. I think they are a nudge from God, something that says “ok this is where I want you to go” or “nope, try again.” The first sort of thing(ok, this sounds really silly, but I’m going to own it anyway) we’ve noticed whenever considering moving to a new town/job is the (sigh…sounds so silly when I say it out loud) the ease in finding a parking place at Walmart. Especially on a Saturday. Anyone who has ever been to Walmart on a Saturday knows that a whole bunch of people get there at 8 am and stay until midnight, so there’s never EVER a parking place close to the door. However, every single time we’ve considered moving to a new town, we’ve gone to Walmart, just to see. If the move is The Right Thing, we’ve gotten a parking place right by the Handicapped spots. If it’s Not, the only spots are way back in the nosebleed section. In the 3 times we’ve moved, this has been true. The 4 places we’ve looked that we were unable to get a spot close to the door, it turned out later that we were very, very wise not to take make that change. Strange but true.
Now, because I am a closet pessimist, I have been somewhat concerned about this trip. There are so many things that could go wrong. There are a bazillion things, stuff like CJ accidently removing a leg with his blowtorch, or the house blowing up because someone left the stove on, or the entire Class of ’11 Statesboro High School showing up with kegs and trucks and turning our front yard into a mudbog and God knows how many girls get pregnant. Parents worry about this stuff anyway and when you’re 1500 miles away it’s even worse. Fortunately we have nosy neighbors and George The Greek looks like a hit man with his new haircut, and will crack heads and take names if he has to. I’ll bake him a cake when we get home. HOWEVER… the planets are seeming to align. The moon, she smiles on me. CJ *seems* to understad our stern admonition that if he has One Single Person over to the house while we’re gone he will be moving out again. Since being on his own will mean he won’t have time to go to school, which means none of the girls he’s interested in will want to date him, naturally it is in his best interest to obey. Also, (how to put this delicately…) The Moon, she smiles at me. Yes. Aunt Flo came for a visit 3 days early, and I won’t have her riding along as a passenger for the first half of the trip. Is that a sign or WHAT? It was meant to happen. I believe this. It means I can pack my white linen pants, that pretty white skirt, white white white. The woman, she is please. I never thought I’d be so happy to have cramps.
So, barring one of use being run over with a Mack truck today, everything is going as planned. Now, to make it through this 42 hour day without chewing a face off. Why is the day before a trip so darned long, anyway?
Just shy of 4 years ago we moved here to Statesboro. Sweet Daddio had been living here for 3 months, in a hotel, eating Taco Bell and Sonic. We would come for a weekend, and a week or two, once school was out, and eat Taco Bell and Sonic. At first the boys loved it, I mean, fast food every day! Bliss! At home, I wasn’t cooking because the realtors would call from the driveway, wanting to show the house, and I didn’t want the kitchen to be a mess. We ate a lot of Waffle House during that spell. By the end of it all I was dying for a decent home cooked meal. Meat, vegetables, a salad, some lemonade. I swore silently that I would do whatever I could to keep someone else from enduring yet another meal out.
And so, there is a new dye house manager. His family moved down this past weekend, and I am taking them dinner. Roast chicken, baked potato casserole, a green salad and a jug of lemonade. Call it my mission, or a ministry, whatever. I see it as doing a kindness to some people who are heartily sick of Taco Bell and Sonic, even the kids. No one did it for me, and I intend to correct that shortcoming.
This is an insular town. People act excited that you’re here and don’t do a thing about it. I intend to change that. They are sweet people, these folks that just moved here. They’ve moved from the town they were both born in, left behind families and friends of 35 years. It was a huge leap of faith. I don’t want it to go sour in their mouths. If it does, it won’t be because I didn’t do anything.
I’m not trying to pat myself on the back for this, it’s just that…no one did this for me. It felt crappy even though I didn’t expect anyone to do anything for me. People made noises like “oh, come to the Newcomer’s Club” then they’d forget to tell me when and where. Or they’d say “join us at church” and forget to tell me which one. It’s as if the water supply has something hinky in it. Well.
I’m meeting her in town shortly. She wants to get a few boxes unpacked before visitors come over. I totally get that. I’ll see her after vacation. There’s a box of warm food and cold drink waiting. I hope it makes them feel more welcome than a vague invitation to a dubious club meeting.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Jerseychick reminded me of wills and powers of attorneys and things that need to be checked on before a long trip, in case we are hit by a train or gunned down in St Louis, our desires for our children will be met. Must dig those papers up and make sure they get to the right place. I also went to the lab for a kidney check, a student stuck me, with admonitions from the extremely competent lab technician (I swear I never feel it when she sticks me) that he be sure to get a vein and not the leader tendon. He did fine, I just closed my eyes and thought about the beach.
When I am nervous and excited I become clumsy. I mean, I’m never Ginger Rogers, but my word, my feet forget where they are, one arm becomes 6 inches long than it should be, and I have extra fingers. This may be why we never took trips when the boys were babies. Not because traveling with babies is a pain in the butt, but because if we did I’d drop them on their little heads. I have been throwing things across the room, knocking stuff over, driving on the wrong side…ooh..just kidding, Sweet Daddio, I just said that to give you a thrill. My head is so full of lists and every time I turn around there’s another thing to remember (like my iPod. I need the music for the inevitable 1 night I can’t sleep in the hotel). I fully realize as long as I have my medication and clean undies I’ll be fine, and I also know that we aren’t exactly going to Deepest Amazonia, but rather to Amarillo Texas, where I know for a fact there’s a Walmart, and I even know where it is. If I forget to pack shampoo We Will Be Fine.
I swear I do not know HOW SD’s friend can possibly jump on his motocycle and disappear for 2 weeks with a clean concience. He’s married, with kids and still he can do this.
I’m trying, really I am. I am trying not to leave too many instructions for the boys. They’re big enough to feed themselves. There’s food in the house. I even bought a couple of boxes of Hamburger Helper, and some chicken breasts. What’s the worst that could happen? They could leave the stove on and blow up the house. Ok, yeah, that would be bad. Brain,. Stop it NOW. The 10 yr old is well cared for. I suppose if David and CJ blow up the house they can stay with Will at his apartment until we get home. If they DO blow up the house I don’t want to hear about it. Actually, I do, but I’d like to think they won’t go that far.
*sigh*
Mondays are the best of days, right there next to Fridays. Everything in between is just so much waiting and preparation for Monday and Friday. Monday is recovering from the weekend, cleaning the schmutz off the floor that’s been tracked in all weekend, doing laundry and having all those clean, sweet smelling clothes for the rest of the week, tending to biz-ness and going about my Merrye Olde Housewifery Ways.
Mondays are the days I work off a list, because there’s so much to do if I don’t have a list I’ll just stop in a chair and watch that Pretty Boy Mark Harmon solve difficult cases with his Goth-girl lab technician. Lists are my go-juice. I make them first thing as the coffee hits the bloodstream and immediately after shooshing everyone out the door to work. They are what enables me. Even as a child I’d make a list when Mom told me to clean my room. “pick up dirty clothes. Put dirty clothes in laundry basket. put stuffed animals on shelf. Make the bed.” you get the idea. The longer the list, the more satisfying it was to cross the last thing off of it.
Now, when I make a list, I do it by priority, so if I run out of steam before the list is finished, the unfinished deeds can wait until tomorrow, where they’ll get put at the top.
Today’s list:
Wash, dry and fold the laundry
Sweep and mop the downstairs floors
clean the bathrooms
check the garden for tomato worms and other nasties.
double check the trip list to see if anything is forgotten.
Tomorrow is the BIG DAY where trip planning is concerned. So many things have to wait until tomorrow, due to logistics of being gone 10 days. Stuff like, cleaning the fridge, because the trash will need to go to the dump late Tuesday, as we can not reasonably expect the boys to even take the trash from the kitchen to the outside can, let alone get it to the dump. If we don’t take it, it will fester for 10 days in the 100 degree Southern oven and well…you can well imagine what THAT will be like to come home to. Oh sure, we can TELL the boys to take out the trash, etc, but I know them well enough to know that it probably won’t happen. At this point I will be content with being reasonably comfortable that they won’t be having huge parties and trashing the place. I’m not even sure about that. Actually, as long as the place looks the same when we get home as it did when we leave, I’m good.
Today, tho, it’s Monday. It’s full of predictable and comforting activities. I can watch Mark Harmon drink his coffee whilst folding clothes, admire my new manicure (self- administerd, like I’m going to pay someone $20 to put laquer on my fingers!) and get all twitchy and excited because the trip is just (looking at the clock) 2 days and 5 hours away!
Ok, we actually celebrated Father’s Day 2 weeks ago, when I could get then entire family together all at the same time. BBQ ribs, corn on the cob, a boz of fancy cigars, and Will brought his new girlfriend.
Anyway, Terry became a father 21-1/2 years ago at the tender age of 23. He’s been really good at it, since he loves children and especially loves his own. He is able to relax and play when I am not. He understands the need boys have for Tonka trucks and noisy plastic guns and being able to run through the woods and hunt snakes. He understands froot loops and buffalo wings and the pride a boy takes in a huge and stinky poop.
He knows the need a teenager has for personal space, that a young man is better off with this own private teeny bedroom than sharing a huge and palatial room with his brothers.
He understands carhartt overalls and camo pants and t-shirts with the sleeves torn out. And Georgia boots and the need a young man has for modifying his personal possessions, whether it’s adding neon blue lights to his computer case, or removing the muffler and catalytic converter from his truck.
He sometimes suffers from angst and insecurity, especially when a boy goes off in a direction he didn’t foresee, but that’s just being a parent. He lets them go, lets them make mistakes, doesn’t hold a grudge or say “I told you so”.
He knows that boys don’t hug, once they get past a certain age, so when they were little he cultivated the ‘head butt’. It’s his version of a hug, publically acceptable and used liberally by the boys.
Happy Father’s Day, Sweet Daddio. I think I picked the right man to be the father of my babies, and I look forward to seeing what kind of Grandaddy you’ll be.
Almost exactly 4 days to go before we leave on our trip! Not that I’m counting or anything. We put the top down on Carmina and blew to Savannah, so Sweet Daddio could try out the GPS whatsit, and it works. Very good! Then we bought delicious snacks at Brighter Day so we could feel virtuous (well, ok, maybe not virtuous, but at least ‘not so wicked’) about our BBQ gluttony that is sure to happen when we cross into Texas. After that, we determined that we were both feeling quite peckish, and proceeded to Carey Hilliard’s (review on Welcome to Paradise ) where our tummies and palates were satisifed to the point that even the Hot Doughnuts Sign at the Krispy Kreme failed to catch our eye. How often does that happen? Not very, let me tell you what.
Now it’s Saturday after noon and blazingly hot outside, never mind the humidity. Sweet Daddio is watching golf, shouting at Tiger how he should just hang up his golf gloves and get a real job, since he missed that putt. CJ is staggering around with the most egregious case of morning breath I think I’ve never had the pleasure of witnessing (it’s 3, he’s still in his underpants and looking groggy. Methinks he was drinking more than koolaid last night). David has gone to the gym (probably to escape the dragon breath), my parents have apparently picked up #4 from SD’s parents, without incident other than #4 being slightly blue because “Gran makes me get up at 3 am and I have to eat whatever she fixes for breakfast.” I believe there is a bit of hyperbole there, as she’s never made anyone get up before 4, as far as I can remember.
Which reminds me of an incident when I was 13 or 14.. Gramps had this bad habit of not allowing me to sleep late (“late” being defined as “after 7 am”). Now, anyone who has been 13 or 14 knows that to sleep until noon is in order, especially on the weekend. But Gramps would have no part of that until I Did What I Did. His method of waking me was to flick on the lights, throw back the curtains, and toss the bed covers off. Well. I was tired of that, so one night I slept naked. He flicked on the lights, threw back the curtains, tossed the bed covers off, and died. He turned around and walked out and never again entered my bedroom without first politely knocking and making sure I was properly attired. This was about the time his hair started to grey. I’d forgotten about that until just now.
