Livin' On The Border

Border town - Wikipedia
A border town is a town or city close to the boundary between two countries, states, or regions. Usually the term implies that the nearness to the border is one of the things the place is most famous for.

According to our police department, The Coffin and the dirt it sits on---I call it The Plot---is known as The Border in local law enforcement circles.    You can look it up, but this border does not appear on any map anywhere.
     This street is a horseshoe and The Plot sits dead center (no pun intended).   I had no idea that John Law knew anything about my place and the new knowledge does not give me the Warm Fuzzies.   When law enforcement is so familiar with your place they give it a nickname there is a problem somewhere.  
     It did put me on the hunt for ammo, and I will say that .22 shorts are almost impossible to procure.    I had kept in touch with one scumbag after me and T. split up and if he can't find something it does not exist.

I would have stayed blissfully ignorant if it were not for a tent that suddenly sprouted up one afternoon.    A big orange tent, ragged-out truck, ice chest, and assorted junk thrown everywhere.    Just about six inches on MY side of the property line.   About ten feet from my front door and too damned close for my comfort.
        I had been working in the yard on the other side of my trailer and because I was intent on my work and plugged into an mp3 player I didn't know about the newest neighbor until it was too late.
     I started lookin' for whoever owned the mess and lo and behold, he appeared.    He was tiltin' a cold one back and staggering as he did so.   Clearly not his first beer of the day.    He was barefooted and his dirty jeans were just about to fall to his ankles.   I could see a lot of butt crack and clearly he had no underwear.    He wasn't wearing a shirt and he was covered with tattoos.    He had Crazy White Boy written all over him whether his belly tattoo said it or not.    Goodness only knows when he had last bathed, but I'd bet a days' pay it had been at least a week since his last bath, if then.

I really try not to judge others and to be real, if you run across me on a Saturday afternoon I will look like hammered shit.    As Saturday is Chittlin' Day at the diner I'm gonna smell like....hammered shit.    You can smell me comin' before you see me as the odor reaches about eight feet in all directions.    Yeah, I use a lot of soap and shampoo.

The Tent Guy was a nasty turn of events and I had no intention of confronting a drunk.    I had already been labeled The Neighborhood Racist and Old White Bitch so if I complain about this I will never have a peaceful moment, and I know it.    If I had a man living here I wouldn't have much trouble, but.......  
     My neighbors could tell you exactly how many men had been to my house, because they had paid close attention and the count was accurate.    One Ex-husband, one son, two son-in-laws, and a brief boyfriend that wouldn't even pull into my driveway because the neighbors freaked him completely out.     If you freak a 1% biker out you've done something.
   
I got the racist moniker for using the term "y'all" when I wished the folks across the street a good weekend.    I went to the mailbox about the same time the man across the street was taking his trash to the curb.   We spoke to each other and I said "Y'all have a good weekend!" when we parted.    That's all it took.
     This inflamed the whole block to the point that the neighbor who lived next door where Tent Guy was now living came over and told me he was gonna educate me about "how to talk to Black Folks".    I didn't understand most of what he said because he was so drunk his speech was slurred and he had to hold on to my step railing to keep from falling over.
     I became The Old White Bitch when I wouldn't hand over money, cigarettes, and cold drinks, and refused to drive my neighbors all over the state.    I flat-out LIED when they asked to borrow my jumper cables.   Nope, I ain't go no jumper cables.
     If you really think I'm an Old Racist White Bitch, why would you even try to "borrow" anything from me?    The word "borrow" is a joke because they will promise to pay you back when they get their check at the first of the month but there is no "first of the month" on their calendar.

Not knowing how to deal with this I told Middlest Child about it, hoping for a helpful suggestion.    She did not have one but drove by my house, checked the situation, and drove straight to the police station.

Yep, they knew the place.
   
"Oh!    I know which trailer your mama lives in!    We don't have much trouble with one end of the street, but we call the rest of the street Cracktown, and we call your mamas' place The Border because right past her trailer is where we have the most trouble."    I had driven down that end of the street several times and I didn't know it was all meth and crackheads.    Looking at the yards I just thought a bomb had gone off or there had been a tornado, if the debris was any indication.
     He had a couple of suggestions involving restraining orders and that was just gonna make it worse.    And no, Tent Guy can stay in his tent because of a loophole in the law.    If he was sleeping in his truck or an RV they could run him off, but if he's camped out in a tent there is nothing they can do.    It would have to get completely out of hand before the police would get involved.
     So, not only did I forget about the fact he was over the property line, I abandoned that whole side of my yard.    I started going in and out of the door on the other side of the trailer so I wouldn't have to deal with it and I kept my curtains closed.    I did keep an eye on him when he'd start a campfire by his tent because I didn't want my place burned down by an idiot alcoholic, and no, I don't know if he went in the house to use the bathroom.    I did not want to know exactly where he did his....business.
   
I decided to wait it out.     I figured that sooner or later the situation next door would blow sky-high and he'd pull up his tent stakes and be gone.    I only had to run him out of my yard once and it only took one time for his buddies to get the idea that I really was an Old Bitch.     One of them probably has scars from the ass-chewing he got for knockin' on my door by mistake.

It took several weeks but moving day finally arrived.    Tent Guy asked if I could give him a jump because his battery had died and he was "gettin' the Hell out."    Miraculously, I produced a set of cables---TA-DAAAH!---and I was more than happy to help.

"Of all the yards I've ever stayed in, this one's the worst!    They've screwed (he didn't use the word "screwed") with my truck and stolen half of my tools and I'm leaving here!"
    This wasn't some fella just down on his luck and trying to get his life back together.   This was a lifestyle CHOICE.   He was just driftin' from yard to yard, giving people a little cash for a camping space and doing odd jobs here and there.

Months have passed now and the couple that allowed Tent Guy to crash in the yard have split for parts unknown.    I did the Dance Of Joy when the last truckload of their belongings pulled out of the drive.    I was kinda worried about what was gonna move in next.
 
Well, I've met my new neighbors and all I can say is:

Mr. Trump, if you want to build a border wall, I have a good place for you to start.

Changes

May 16, 2014??   Really?

Yep.   I double-checked, and that's the last time I posted here.   Almost three years have passed and to say that my life has undergone  a few changes is a massive understatement.

To update you as simply as is possible:

1.  Had 25 yr. job working for a dentist.
2.  Practice sold to The New Regime and me with it.
3.  Had an Oh-Hell-No moment.
4.  New job as a grill cook.
5.  Marriage of 25 years implodes.  

On Valentines Day 2016, no less.   There is a scene in Ghostbusters 2 where a talk show guest told the host, played by Bill Murray, that an alien told her that the End Of The World would occur on Valentines Day 2016.   I've seen that scene more times than I can count.   Had no idea it was my own personal prophecy.

I'm working with a new laptop and Youngest informs me that liquids are harmful to the keyboard.   I think she was making reference to my constant coffee drinking so I'm guessing that tears, snot, and liquor are likewise....bad.   That being said, there will be virtually no discussion of the sad, sorry, sick scenario that was the end of my marriage on this blog.
     I had some Hair Pullin', Teeth Gnashin', Weepin'-N-Wailin', Pissin'-N-Moanin', Oh-Lawdy-What-Am-I-A-Gonna-Do-Now?? material, too.   You may consider yourselves spared of The Drama, and you're welcome!

Anyhoo, after a three-day stay with my oldest daughter and her family, I moved into....(insert spooky music here)....The Coffin.

Calling this place The Coffin is not High Drama on my part; my son gave it that dreadful-sounding name when he lived here.    This place deserves the name and it's own post so more on that later.

My children have strongly suggested that I write again, thinking that it would be good therapy for Mama.   One even went so far as to suggest that I write about the things I deal with being single again..... at the tender age of Damned-Near-Sixty.    She thinks it might be helpful for other people dealing with the same things.

I don't think anyone can accuse me of being particularly "helpful".

Blame them.

Session? WHAT "SESSION"?

I have never been so aggravated in my entire LIFE.

Computers may not kill me, but they have just about driven me INSANE.     I was pretty darned close to THAT anyway, and this 8.1....program thingy....could be the tipping point.

Hubs bought me a new computer and it has been a pure nightmare ever since, culminating in a fight between me and the aforementioned husband that I'm pretty sure half of the trailerhood heard. 

Yep, white folks be crazy.

Somehow or another, I managed to scramble up and/or lose every single e-mail addy and password that I.     Ever.     Had. 

I had to call one of my brood to give me my e-mail address, and I had to take a few guesses to get the password right.

Having FINALLY broken into my e-mail, I wrote the info down the old-fashioned way.      ON PAPER.

The next time I tried to check my e-mail, the damned thing said my "session has expired Log in again".       This results in it telling me that my info is incorrect.     I type it all back in to be told yet again that my session has expired.     SESSION?     WHAT SESSION????     I NEVER HAD A FLIPPIN' "SESSION" BEFORE!

*Sorry..........taking deep, calming breaths...in...out....in....out*

T-Bird fixed me up another e-mail account.     Yippee.    Doesn't help me with the other e-mail.     The e-mail that is going to fill up with Facebook notifications to the point that it shuts down HIS e-mail account.
     When THAT happens, HIS e-mail will be shut down until MY e-mail is cleaned out.

If I cannot get in it I cannot clean it out, and this fight will move into Round 2.

I called one of my kids for help.     Fearing for my sanity, and afraid I'll have to move in with HER if me and the old man tie up one more time, she broke into my original e-mail, cleaned it out, and then broke into Facebook, and changed the addy to my new e-mail.     Now all the Facebook stuff goes to the address that has nothing to do with T-Bird's e-mail.     Catastrophe averted.     I'll get Youngest to break into the old e-mail again, and shut it down.

T-Bird insisted that I have a folder in My Documents with all of my addresses and passwords in it.    I pointed out that if I had been doing that all along, that info would be on the old hard drive.     I did it anyway to shut him up.

Considering my previous record with these things I'm going to commit them to paper and glue it to the wall next to the computer.    It's gonna be hard to lose the wall, but I'm sure I'll manage somehow.

Mama

SHERLA JEAN McNEAL WARD

January 18, 1937----February 26, 2012
 

I miss you, Mama.

Rest In Peace

My White Trash Valentine

Ever'body-and-his-dog knows that I don't do Valentine's Day.       Romance continues to baffle me, and T-Bird says I take a lot of the "fun" out of it.      He uses the term "Buzz Kill".

I decided to give The Romance Thing a solid try anyway and shoot for a nice evening with my old man.  Contrary to popular belief, I really do love the S.O.B..

We opted for take-out pizza from Pizza Hut because nothing says "I Love You" quite like pepperoni and cheese.

We cruised to Pizza Hut, and parked on the side of the lot.    It was just gonna be a couple of minutes and we'd be on our way back to the house, so I stayed in the truck.    I'd make a good bird dog.   I sit in the truck an awful lot, but given the options of staring at auto parts and other Boy Toys or People Watching, I opt for the truck every time.

I have a great view of the bar next door, and that could be entertaining as Hell.     I've staggered thru that door a time or two myself (sorry, Mama).

I kicked back in the seat and was thinking that, although there have been so many times I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands, or cheerfully shoot him in the back, there isn't anyone I would rather be with than T-Bird.

Sorry.......that's as Romantic as I get.

Two women exit the bar and shuffle across the bar parking lot to the dumpster.     An older woman and short, chubby, much younger chick who I completely and utterly despise.

I could do an entire post about WHY, but it's the stuff of Springer-type shows.    This is the kind of woman they used to run out of town, and for good reason. 

Suffice to say:   There's an ass-whippin' comin'.

A man steps out from behind the dumpster and joins the two women, and they stroll off together.   

Several minutes later I was beginning to wonder what happened to my husband and my supper, when I saw the two women cross the lots and go inside Pizza Hut.  

When they come out a couple of minutes later, the guy joins them in the Pizza Hut parking lot and words are exchanged.     Judging from the motions they are making, the words are rather.....heated.

I can't hear it all clearly but I hear my husband's first name.     His name simply does not belong in her mouth and I would very much like to slap it out.

The man is obviously pissed off, stompin' his feet, and The Trick (sorry, can't help it) is now saying:   "you met him here last week" and "it's cool".    

Hmmmmmmmm.......oh please, do tell.

The two women are trying to drag Neanderthal Man back to the bar and calm him down when they come to a stop behind my truck.

RIGHT behind my truck.    It's dark in the parking lot and even darker in the truck.     I'm slouched down in the seat.

They have no idea that I am on the place. 

I hear, very clearly, "WELL MAYBE I OUGHT TO GO INTRODUCE MYSELF TO THE BOY".   

He's wrong about that.

(1.)  T-Bird has had more than his share of fights and he has one philosophy:    There Is No Such Thing As A Fair Fight.     Get the bastard down and work him over until he doesn't want any more of you......EVER.

(2.)  He isn't alone.    If he makes a move I'm gonna come out of the truck like a Bitch-In-The-Box, and Jack ain't got shit on me.

I can back-jump him in three strides.

He's mad as Hell and acting like he wants to go inside the Hut, the chicks are holding him back, and I'm hoping that they have screwed up our order and T-Bird does NOT come out of that door.

He's gonna step out into the parking lot with his hands full and he's not going to be expecting a fight with a Squatch.   I can't just sit there and let that happen.

I have no cell phone to call him and warn him.     My gun is in my dresser drawer.     Grandma's blackjack is packed away in my keepsakes.   My  Rapala and baseball bat are in my car.   My pocket knife and Xact-o blade are in my purse.....and my purse is at the house.
     I'm not wearing my shit-kickers and my belt is virtually useless.     Fashion, not function.

There isn't one single thing in the cab of the truck that I can use, and nothing in the truck bed to grab because Hubs is a bit of a Neat Freak.     Unarmed Rednecks.    Un-freakin'-believable.

I do have The Element Of Surprise however.    They don't know that I am just five feet away. 

This is getting more ridiculous by the minute and I desperately want these clowns to go back inside the bar.    
    
I just sit quietly and hold my breath while the older woman is pleading "no no no" and tugging on his arm.

They finally drag The White Trash Hero back into the bar and I breathe a HUGE sigh of relief.    About three minutes later my oblivious Old Man and pizza are out the door and crossing the lot.     I'm too old for this shit and was happy to be gone from there.

I relay the events to Hubs and tell him to watch his back.     He says he doesn't worry about that because the creep just wanted to put on a show to impress the girls.

Come to find out, he had spoken to the two women when they came inside The Hut and all he said was "hey" because he was trying to get to the crowded counter.   

He DID meet The Neanderthal last week because he ran into all three at Pizza Hut the week before.    I knew he hadn't been to the bar but had forgotten about the pizza we snagged the previous Friday.     Oh, the Tantalizing Lure Of Pepperoni Lover's Pizza with extra cheese.

I'm guessing that she told the guy that my husband said something to her when she went inside or he's been bothering her somehow and she's playing some sort of head game here.      Dangerous stuff, that.

Let me post a warning to The Neanderthal and The Trick on a piddly-ass little blog that nobody reads:

What?    It's not FAIR to issue a warning that the the recipient of said warning will never see?    

My bad.

The Tease

"Go ahead......lick it......you know you want to.    No biting."

Those were my words to The Boss's husband Thursday morning after he stuck his nose in my Personal Space.  

 He was leanin' over My Personal Joy and inhaling.     I don't believe in teasing chained animals, particularly chained men, but he makes it too, too easy.

I had wiggled The Goods in his face the day before and got this response:

"Oh yeah!    Why don't you just bend over, drop your drawers, AND SHOW ME SOMETHIN' ELSE I CAN'T HAVE??!??"       He actually yelled at me!

Poor thing.    Chained to the wall.....with Heaven just out of reach.

Sucks to be him...........

He wasn't bent over sniffin' any of my, uhhhhh, Physical Atributes.

He's chained to a diet.

He was lustin' after my breakfast biscuit.

People, you can snoop thru my purse.      Rifle thru my panty drawer if it blows your skirt up.     Read my text messages if you don't have a life.

Cop a cheap feel if you just feel lucky and we'll sort it out after the fact.

Touch that biscuit and you will bleed. 

It's the best part of my day and I will not share.

The Dear Lady at the diner splits a homemade buttermilk biscuit in half, spreads a little mayo and mustard on the halves, and crams pan sausage, scrambled eggs, and a slice of cheese in it with a little salt and pepper.

The biscuit is exactly like my grandmother's biscuits and they are made from scratch fresh every morning.

This concoction has so much grease in it that it soaks thru the wax paper it's wrapped in, soaks the paper bag they put it in, and I have to clean the grease off of the counter when I've finished it!   

IT'S WONDERFUL!     It'll make your tongue slap your brains out!

I wolf mine down at The Big House and it was sittin' in a puddle of sausage grease on the kitchen counter when Bosslady's hubby found it. 

It'll blow his diet all to Hell and all he can do is smell the thing.....and wish.

He's stuck with a bowl of instant grits for breakfast and my biscuit smells better than Chanel No. 5! 

He left the kitchen.

I may never buy cologne again.     Sausage grease dabbed behind the ears is the way to go.

But.......IT AIN'T A TRUCK!

I'm a Truck Chick.       I love pickup trucks.      I don't know diddly about 'em, I just like 'em!
I like to sit on a tailgate and talk to friends.    Tailgates make great seats, dining tables, counters, and work benches.

I LOVE bouncin' down dirt roads and firebreaks.   Daylight or dark, it doesn't matter.    Taking the truck thru the river swamp was some of the best fun I've had.

When I had the Ranger I could actually drive over railroad tracks, sidewalks, and that silly "barricade" (pfffttt!!!) at the post office without a second thought.   
     Puddles or debris?    No real problem.    I could skate over roadkill and never touch it.

I used my truck to haul everything from trash to band equipment.     Sometimes those two things are one and the same.....depending on how long you've been married to a musician.

If it's scratched and dented, well, I'm good with it because when I put another scratch or dent in it, and I will, who gives a damn?

So, the GMC gave it up, and T-Bird gave up riding his motorcycle in freezing weather.     Too Old For The Cold.

That meant we needed to come up with another ride.    I, of course, put in for another truck.      With great enthusiasm, I might add.........

I wanted THIS:

I would have settled for THIS:

THIS is what I ended up with:

Dear Heart, do you see the problem here?

IT AIN'T NO PICKUP TRUUUUUUCK!      I HAVE BEEN DEMOTED!    THE SHAME OF IT ALL!     IT'S A COOKIE-CUUUUUTTERRRRRRRR!     

*whine/off*

When we went to our buddy Hammer's house to get the thing T-Bird said:    "I told you it was rough."

He wasn't Whistlin' Dixie.     Damn....what a P.O.S..

My least favorite color combo---white and rust.     Dented from one end to the other.    Scratched.    Scuffed.    The interior sucks.    Really, kids, if you smoke weed, take the seeds out before you roll or you burn the upholstry in a way that is obvious as Hell when the seed pops.     It's PotHead 101.

The glass was all there, the tires were round, the brakes and starter were new.     Stop and Start.    That's all I really need.

I had to ask if the antennae was standard on that particular model and was gruffly informed that no, it was not.

"Some sumbitch broke off the antennae in a parking lot in Atlanta and I just stuck that on there; that's a piece off of my old t.v. antennae."

In all fairness I must say that the radio plays just fine through the one remaining speaker, and it's welcome to munch on the practice c.d. that T-Bird stuck in there just to find out that the c.d. player does NOT work. 

I asked what in the world happened to the trunk lid?!?

"Tree limb fell on it, but you can still open it."    

I hoped I could, because Hammer wasn't having any luck opening Pandora's Box with the key and of course, the button-thingy inside the car no longer works.    When it finally popped open it revealed a set of jumper cables, homemade lug wrench, spare tire, and trash.    And almost an entire case of water.

"I used to have to pour water in it all the damn time but I fixed that shit."

"It runs great!    Fire that bitch up!"     T-Bird turned the key, the motor turned over, and filled the yard with smoke.      Lots and lots and lots of smoke.

Hubs cocks an eye at Hammer, and the explanation began.

"The thing was on empty and there wasn't enough gas to get to the gas station, so I thought, DAMN, I better put some in it since y'all was comin' out.     That's some year-old chainsaw gas I had in the barn!"

Chain saw gas:    Car gas with two-cycle oil added.    It's for, get this..........CHAIN SAWS.

He handed us nine keys, engine keys and trunk keys, and  the paperwork was signed.

"It'll haul ass when you get it on the road but it hitches to the right when it changes gears."

Got it.     If Hammer owned it, it has two speeds:    Dead Cold in the yard, or Full Throttle All You Can Stand Balls To The Wall YEEEE-HAAAAAAAH.     Those are the only two speeds Hammer has so it would seem to follow that that's all the car ever knew.

I turned out of the driveway and put my foot on the pedal.

It was like kicking a jackrabbit in the ass!     GONE!      OUTTA HERE!

It sits so low that I could almost feel the asphalt scrubbin' my backside and when I ran over a stick in the road I thought it had lodged there.   

"Hitches to the right" my Aunt Fannie!    It LEAPS to the right.

I damn near died when the engine light came on.    But I gotta tell ya, it figures.     I was royally pissed off at Hubs and Hammer when it shut off at the gas pump, right by it's self.    IT DIED.

We put gas in it and the thing cranked right up, check engine light and all.     T-Bird told me to drive it to the house and I did.

I lost him twice and he couldn't keep up.    I got cussed at when he pulled into the driveway.

The engine light went out after I ran by-golly gas through it, and thankfully, it's decent on gas.     I'd be scared to hit anything bigger than a pinecone, and puddles are out of the question.

While it still ain't a truck it did outrun T-Bird's Ranger, and I like that!

I think I'll start puttin' in for a camo paint job and seat covers.

Grandma Goofed Up

I'll cop to the fact that I am NOT the greatest Grandmother there ever was.
     I goof up around the grand kids from time to time but so far, nothing really, really horrible.

Mostly, they just have to un-teach a bad word now and then.

Youngest and my grand daughter, Tater, went with me to Wally World.    While we were there I decided to buy a cat toy for Mullet The Minion.

I found a Nervous Tick.    There is a pull ring in the rear of the toy and you pull the string, set it on the floor, turn loose of the ring, and the tick scurries across the floor for about a foot and a half.     It vibrates and hums like crazy.

I thought Mullet might like it but little Tater thought that was The Greatest Toy In The World.      She pulled the string so much and played with it to the point that I believed I would be paying for a cat toy my grandbaby WORE OUT before I could get the thing to the checkout. 

  And yeah, if we break it, we buy it.

She wasn't real happy that Grandma bought Mullet a toy, and not her, because Mullet is the meanest cat in this world and she terrifies ALL of the grandkids.

Two weeks before, I popped for a play castle for Tater, complete with prince, princess, and a horse-drawn coach for her birthday.     I gave her a fantasy toy, and gave the cat a parasite.

Four year olds just don't understand.    

When I got home I took the tick off the card and pulled the string.     It scittered across the floor.

The cat backed away from it.

She watched it "run" a time or two, but all she'd do was pop it with her paw and back away.     It's clear this toy will sit untouched in Mullets' toy box.

It wasn't expensive; it costs just a couple of bucks.        I could still give it to Tater because it was still clean and the kid LOVED it.

Later that night Mullet was stretched out on the bed with me and Hubs.   I had an idea............

I pulled the ring, held the string close to the body of the tick, laid it on the cats' side, and turned the string loose.      It vibrated across her ribs and ran up her body like A Thing Possessed.

Mullet The Minion evaporated.      *POOF*       It scared the Beejeegers out of her.

I gave it to Tater---she wanted it so the three or four bucks wasn't wasted--- and this is where I accidentally messed up.

Tater has just turned four years old and has a small problem with speech.     She mixes her "D" sounds up with her "T" sounds.

She has told EVERYBODY about her new "dick" (insert speech problem here).      Told her mama she LOVED her new "little dick".     Told her daddy too.     And anybody within earshot, including a next-door neighbor.

Yes indeed............my cell phone blew up with "Do you know what YOUR grand daughter did????"       I get that a lot.

I lost several cell phone minutes apologizing between bursts of laughter.     If you laugh during your apology, the apology no longer counts as much.

Mullet got over the Tick Attack, but little Tater is going thru diction lessons because she starts school next term and her mother KNOWS she's gonna get called.

If they ever have a "GRANDMOTHER OF THE YEAR" award you can bet your boots that Slick won't come close to winning.

One From My Day

I was listening to The Steve Miller Band when a teenager asked me if that was a new country band.

I weep for this nation.

But, it's Saturday night and time to rock it out!

A Glitter Hater

Yesterday, on January the third, I found gold glitter on an envelope I was stamping.

Glitter.       Gold glitter.   

I hate glitter.     And by that, I mean I really, really, reallyreallyreally HATE glitter.

Glitter starts coming thru the office door a week or so before Christmas.    It is stuck to about half of the cards and gifts and goody bags that we are blessed with from patients and other offices that we work with.

It just doesn't STAY stuck on the gift/card/whatever.

Glitter travels.      And it will travel from one end of the office to the other, and it will be EVERYWHERE. 


Stuck in the carpet.    Stuck on lab jackets.   Clinging to paperwork and charts.   Countertops.     Patient chairs and BOTH restrooms.     And all of us who work there.   

If you hold your head at just the right angle and the light is right, the hallway looks like Dorothys' Yellow Brick Road.

Guess who cleans THAT up.

When the receptionist showed me Bossladys' Christmas card---encrusted with a fine, gold glitter---I had to admit that it was a beautiful card........with my hands clasped behind my back so that I didn't bitch-slap her out of her chair.

I tell ya, I can't catch a break.

We have a big table where we keep goodies and such and it was covered with presents and baked delights and candy from just after Thanksgiving until we closed for the holiday.

I cleaned the office On December 23rd when we shut down.   

All the good stuff had been cleaned out and the table was covered in crumbs, sprinkles, candy bits, chopped nuts,................and glitter.

That stuff was all over the place.

It looked like someone had beat the livin' crap out of Tinkerbell.

I swear I cleaned that building and every surface in it, but after a thorough vaccuming, there it was.....winking at me from the just-vacc'd carpet.    I threw up my hands and left.

Did I mention that I hate glitter?

I cleaned up more on December 29th.    I had hoped that it was all gone.   

It wasn't gone.    My nemesis, the receptionist, was gathering the Christmas cards on JANUARY THE SECOND and yes, there was more of the hated substance floating around her desk.

She is hereby found GUILTY of aiding and abetting.

I have cleaned that place TWICE but it's still there.

And it's mocking me.

There Went The Neighborhood

Well, The Big Party is over.      

The record for continual gunfire is still 22 minutes.   People just don't seem to be wasting ammo these days. 
 There was still quite a bit of gunfire and some of that was impressive.

We cannot sit in the yard on N.Y.E. because what goes up......will most assuredly COME DOWN.     My niece had a very close call three or four years ago.    She had been sitting on the hood of her car with friends in downtown Tifton.     She got off the hood and walked around for a minute.    Then she took a seat back on the hood about a foot from where she had been sitting before.

*THUNK*     

They found a .22 bullet stuck between the hood and the body of the car in the groove.    Right where she had been before.       It missed her and her friends by a scant few inches.

It's why we don't shoot anything up in the air.     You could kill someone blocks away and never know it.     We don't fire a round into the ground for fear of a ricocheting bullet.     Most people just don't think.

The fireworks show was somewhat funny.      They shot up three or four nice ones, and waited for a couple of minutes.
     The next time, they shot up a few, and waited.     I had the scanner on and knew why........

In the glow of Christmas lights turned on for The New Years' Eve Festivities, I could make out the lights on top of the squad car.     He turned at the corner and hauled ass down the street to the other side of The Hood.

BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Then silence.

Here comes the deputy back.     More silence.     He turns back down my street and he's off again.

He made it three blocks and the sky lit UP.    He circles around for another pass but it's as quiet as Church.   

They gave him five minutes to clear The Hood and set off The Grand Finale and I must say, The Powers That Be in this town could take lessons from my neighbor, whoever he is.      They need him for the next Fourth Of July throwdown.

Now, a while back I did a post about explosions that had been occuring here and there.      What New Years' Eve lacked in gunfire, it made up for in explosions.    Several of them were close to my house, and the sound would roll, almost like thunder rolls.     My boss had the same thing happening close to her neighborhood across town.

KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE DAMNED I.E.D.'S PEOPLE!!!!!   

Ya know, on second thought.........my husband has just come into possession of an electronic drum kit.   I have a guitar player who is gonna be learning how to play drums.     We will now become The Scourge Of The Neighborhood, and I get to listen to a beginner on a drum kit, up close and personal.

Save me an I.E.D..

NEW YEARS' EVE

Hands down, New Years' Eve is my favorite night!

It gets completely crazy in my little town and most locals rock it hard.

You couldn't blast us out of this trailer.     It ain't safe on the roads, John Law is EVERYWHERE, and I want to see if my neighborhood breaks the record for gunfire this year.

A few years ago we had gunfire for 22 minutes, sustained, when the clock struck midnight.      You cannot stand outside for fear of being hit with lead.   And the gun smoke gets so thick it looks like fog.

Top that off with an illegal fireworks show, compliments of some cagey neighbors, a little booze and rock-n-roll, and you are all set!

Stay safe, My Darlin's, and may 2014 bring you all that you desire!


As for 2013.............A. M. F.!         It was Real.    It was Fun.      It just wasn't REAL FUN!

A Hard Candy Christmas

This Christmas has been a huge bummer for me and T-Bird.

Our truck gave us The Big Kiss-Off the day after Thanksgiving.    Almost $300.00 worth of repairs.
    This was followed by THREE hospital bills and one radiology bill that hit the mailbox before we could get the truck fixed.
     TWO auto insurance payments were also due.    Plus taxes on my "fishcamp" trailer.

After adding all of THAT to the regular monthly bills, there is no HA-HA-HA (MONEY) in my HO-HO-HO this year.

Yep.     A Hard Candy Christmas.       When Bosslady told me I would be working during The Holidays while she went out of town to party, it licked all the red off of my candy.

Caught up in the disappointment, The Reason For The Season passed me by, and that's MY fault.     As a Southern Baptist---yes, I'm one of  THOSE!!!--- I'm supposed to know better.

In an effort to post SOMETHING for Christmas,  I searched YouTube for inspiration and actually found it.

This story,  99 years old and almost forgotten by History, should give a spark of Hope and Joy to anyone.

Have a MERRY CHRISTMAS, y'all!       

    

Sirens And Howls

When you hear sirens, you start lookin'.   Somethin's comin' and you need to get out of the way.

I can't tell one siren from another.    Sound-wise, they all sound the same to me.    I'm not tone deaf;   I don't pay attention.     I just start lookin' for a place to pull over and try to figger out where the squad car/firetruck/ambulance IS.   

I hate those sounds because they always mean somebody somewhere has a BAAAAAD problem of some kind. 

I went to the grocery store one day with my mother.       We were in the checkout line when we heard the sirens, and looked up to see a firetruck whizz by.     Ever The Smartass, I said to Mama:    "Looks like they're headed to YOUR house!"

My mother pointed out that I was NOT funny.

When we came to Mama's block......uh huh.     The downstairs bathroom was in flames, thanks to the water heater.    Had my sister not been home they would have lost it all.     I stopped making those kinds of jokes.

After following a screaming ambulance with my son in it once, I have a real loathing for sirens.    Didn't pay attention to the sound because I was busy praying.

Yesterday, on my way back to work, I ended up behind two ambulances headed out of town and I was relieved to find myself out of their way.

If one is bad, two has GOT to be worse.

I had been back on the job site for about thirty minutes when I heard howls.    Every dog in the boss's neighborhood..............howling.  

Sad, sad sounds.    Like they were crying.....sort of.

It's another one of those sounds that I hate to hear.    It makes my hair stand on end.

About 30 years ago Ex and I lived on the edge of town.    Just beyond our block was farmland, woods and pastures, and almost nothing else.

One evening, at dusk, I heard a dog howl.      It sounded different to me.    I had heard dogs howl before of course, but not like this.

It was........mournful.    Heartbroken.     Long, deep, painful sounds that I cannot describe here.

A few minutes later an ambulance tore past the house.    I remember running outside to see if I could catch a glimpse of whatever it was.

The following day I heard that a farmer, just down the road from us, turned his tractor over, killing him, just before dark.

I always think of that farmer when I hear dogs howl, and I thought about him again yesterday when I heard those hurt-sounding howls.    It gave me a bad feeling that stuck with me for most of the afternoon.

I just found out a little while ago that a man I knew in school died from injuries he sustained in a bad two-vehicle wreck.     That's where the two ambulances were going.

John Donne:  "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

Never mind "the bell";  I've never heard Death Bells.

I'm more worried about for whom the dogs howl.    

THAT I've heard.

Thanksgiving 2013

Thanksgiving.    

S'posed to take time to be Thankful for what ya got, and Thank 'bout all the Thangs y'all is Thankful fo.     I Think......

We will welcome our eighth----oh yeah, we have SEVEN----grandchild into the world in the summer.     I'm Thankful for the little ones they Gladden MY Heart, and fill me with Joy.     Watching their parents, our now-supposedly-grown children, pull their hair out and weep in frustration is pure gravy, My Friends.     Pass me a biscuit.

My Musician Hubby has been in his Musician Cave, working on a new song, and calling me to come listen.    Every.     Thirty.      Minutes.       You don't know how Thankful I am for today's technology when it comes to music equipment.    He uses headphones and has it set up to where I can't hear him usually if he's not doing vocals.    Unless he asks me to come in and put on the headphones.     Every.    Thirty.     Minutes.     I'm Thankful he's home with me, and that he wants to be here.     Nothing worse than sharing space with someone who would rather be elsewhere, and with someone else.     Trust me on this one.

The washroom at the office flooded several days ago, and you know who makes the call, drags everything out of the room for the repairman, lugs the carpet runner out to dry in the barn (in the rain, no less), and mops up the quarter inch of H2O on the floor?     The same slob that's gonna make two trips a day across town for the entire Thanksgiving Holiday----four days----caring for a geriatric retriever.     In freezing weather.     More if it rains.     I ain't gonna bitch too much because I'm Thankful to have a job, and the Brownie Points I'll get for this will come in handy.

Had to plunk down $75.00 for a load of firewood and that had to be hauled to the back yard and stacked.     I'm Thankful they started putting fireplaces in trailers, a Trailer Trash Dream Come True if there ever was one!

I had to go to three different stores to get the ingredients for Slick's Famous Chicken And Dressing for Thanksgiving dinner.      I will be swamped with kids and grandkids, in-laws, and out-laws.    I won't just go to bed Thursday night, I'll fall into it.    This year, my daughter is throwing this gig at HER house, and all I have to cook is one dish?     HER house will be trashed, not MINE?     Thankful?    OH YEAH!!!!


I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.     Laugh too much.     Eat too much.    Love too much,  if you can.   

Hands In Pockets, Mouths CLOSED

A few years ago I heard this on our scanner:

Dispatcher:   "We need a couple of units to go out to the cemetery.    A fight started up at a service at the funeral home and the family is afraid it's gonna start back up at graveside."

Tsk, tsk, tsk.    The one time you'd think a family would pull together......it takes the police department to keep 'em apart.    

That's a lack of Home Trainin' right there.

In my very best Redneck let me say:   "You don't be belongin' to fight at no graveside!"

Translation:    Don't fight at the damned funeral.

Fighting at a funeral is just ignorant.    That's what the viewing is for.   

When my mother passed away, my ex-brother-in-law used the viewing to beg my sister to let him move back into the house.        Had he not been drunk---the very reason for the divorce--- and swaying back and forth on his pins when he made his pitch (beside Mama's coffin) with beer on his breath he might have fared better than he did.     He wouldn't have gotten her back, but he wouldn't have been cussed out quite as badly.
     When she saw him carrying Mama to the hole as pallbearer the following morning it pissed her off to The Highest Point of  Pissitivity and I thought it would come to blows after the last "Amen".     I felt a disturbance in The Force.
     She nailed Daddy at the earliest available moment.....right after the last "Amen".    Daddy explained that he himself had asked the man to be a pallbearer, and that's the only reason he lived to drink another day.
   
The funeral for Sonny's girlfriend's mother was last week, and I knew from the viewing it could go badly.

My son's girlfriend is the mother of my youngest daughter's husband.    Son and Youngest are not particularly well thought of by the family of The Deceased.   Sonny is disliked entirely and Youngest is almost level with her brother in that regard. 


And both of them were going to be at the funeral.

While I was reasonably sure that I had covered all of the basic Thou-Shall-Nots during THEIR Home Trainin', well, you just never know.     

"Please, Lord, keep their hands in their pockets and their mouths closed" was my mantra for the day.    

I posted the following video because sometimes, ya just gotta lighten up.      Even for funerals.

A Story For Halloween

 It happened about forty years ago.

Two young brothers had walked a couple of miles into town to go to the show. That's what we called going to the theater to watch movies back then.

Nobody was coming in the family car to drive them home, so when the movie was over they started the long trek back home. But they were young, and what's a couple of miles when you're a kid?

They didn't fear the dark---they were too old for THAT, only babies were scared of the dark---and they were walking down a road they had walked many, many times before.

The night was clear and crisp. They had left the lights of town behind and were talkin' about the movie they had seen.

During a lull in the conversation, they heard a sound. A kind of swishy sound.

They stopped.

Silence.

Weird.........

They started walking again. The sound started again.

Footsteps????

They looked behind them but couldn't see anything but the road. It was dark and they couldn't see anything in the woods on either side of the road.

Now, when you are way out in the country where there are no city or farm lights, the night is as dark as the inside of a felt hat. It can be black as pitch. The only light is moonlight. If the moon is out.

Was it an animal? Being country boys, they knew what was in the woods around their house. They had hunted and fished there all their young lives.

Deer don't follow you around as a rule. Most other animals would either remain still or run away from man.

Coyotes? Well, maybe, but you can hear a pack of those when you're standing dead still, listening for them.

Could a panther be stalking them?

The only sound was the sound of their own breathing.

They were beginning to feel the fear. Just a little bit.

They began to walk again, a little faster.

The strange sound started again.

A ghost??? Ghosts aren't real...........are they??

Home is still a long ways off. It's still dark, and whatever it is is keeping up with them. Unseen.

The faster they walk, the faster IT walked. If they stopped, IT stopped.

When the last of the bravado failed, they RAN for it. Bravery be damned!

IT, whatever it was, was keeping pace, and IT chased them all the way down the road. They ran faster and faster.

Finally, they saw the lights of their house! But IT was STILL there, chasing them across the yard, and IT was still coming when they ran across the porch and burst through their front door.

They collapsed in the living room floor, gasping for breath and scared to death. Crying.

Their parents had heard them pounding across the porch and it sounded as if they tore the door off of the hinges. They tried to calm them down enough to find out what had happened.

Were they hurt?? Was there an accident of some sort??? An emergency of some kind, maybe? Were they in some sort of trouble?? Was someone after them??

When they finally caught their breath and saw that they were safe, they got up, still shaking.

But...............

THERE IT WAS AGAIN!!! THE SOUND!!!! OH MY GOD, IT WAS IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course it was in the house. It had been with them all day.

It was the brand-new corduroy pants that they had just gotten. Caught up in the excitement of new clothes and going to see a movie---rare treats indeed--- they never noticed the sound that the new, stiff material made when they walked. The sound material makes when your thighs rub together as you walk.

I got that story years ago from one of those two brothers. He said that if the front door had been locked he would have died on the front porch from fear.

Always remember that the worst fright of your life may be the one you create for yourself!

This And That

I could probably get six different posts out of the last several days.    I certainly tried.     But couldn't quiiiiiiite get there.     I shit-canned several attempts, in fact.

Here's the Condensed Week:

I had started a Dead relatives Collection.    Gonna climb the Ol' Family Tree.     I took copious notes on everything I could grab at the time.     I have family names written on a piece of foil-backed paper that was in a cigarette pack.    You can pen an awful lot of garbled info on a used envelope.    Maybe you can decipher it later.    Maybe not.
     It took three afternoons to straighten that out and if I actually find a solid branch on my family tree, I may hang myself from it.

We got smacked when a service truck, driven by a buddy and former biker Brother, backed into our truck at a diner.    You don't realize just how big some of those things are until it's shoving you backwards.    Red lights the size of dinner plates.
     He never knew he hit us and just drove off.     Just a small gash in the thin rubber strip that runs the length of the bumper.    If you have to get hit, that's the place for it.    No real damage to our truck or me.    It isn't worth costing a man his job---and it probably would---and we know he didn't do it on purpose. 

Lots of fun with wildlife since I posted last.    Got to see a King snake try his luck with an Indigo twice his size.    I spotted this little piece of The Circle Of Life in a drainage ditch and we stopped to watch.     He wrapped around the tail of the snake and everything else he could use for leverage, but the Indigo just drug him, debris and all, up the bank of the ditch.
     When the Indigo finally slithered out of the King snakes coils, we went back to the truck and surprised a water moccasin.    That was all of Mother Nature that we needed for the day.

Praying Mantis's took over the plant where T-Bird works.    They were everywhere and I cannot stand the things.    I'll take snakes any day over a Praying Mantis.
     Grandma said that they chew tobacco and if they spit it in your eye YOU'LL GO BLIIIIIND!!!!    A bald-face lie that kept me from killing her mantises (because I didn't know how far one could spit and wouldn't get close), and since the horrible creatures were in her flower bed, I was not.    Two points for Grandma, and a phobia for me.

Hubs had a mouse that insisted on climbing up his pants leg at work.    He felt something on his leg and looked down to see a mouse climbing up to his lap.
    The resulting swearing and stomping fit had the old man that shares the office with my husband almost falling out of his chair laughing.     The mouse got away.
    A couple of days later the mouse goes for it again.    More swearing and stomping.    Score two for Speedy Gonzales and now the older man is crying with laughter.    His wife passed away recently and this has been the most fun he's had in three years.
    When T-Bird caught him in the trash can he thought he was gonna put an end to this trespassing vermin.    Nope.    Mousie: 3....T-Bird: Zip.
    T-Bird scrounged a trap from somewhere and baited it with cheese and peanut butter crackers.    He can bait me up with 'em, why not a rodent?
    He got robbed TWICE.    Vermin: FIVE.    Human: Big fat NOTHIN'.
    He baited it the third time and placed it in the trash can, shut off the lights and went home.
     GAME OVER.    Darn shame too.    Me and the old man were having a ball with this mini war.

Taking Daddy to Warner Robins for an eye surgery was a regular hoot.    To say that I am not the person for this job is a massive understatement.    While I love my father, I hate driving, and I really hate driving anywhere but this One Horse Town.    In all Honesty, there are intersections HERE that scare the starch outta me.
     I did it, but it wasn't pretty, and my apologies to the City Of Warner Robins.....

I accidentally figured out how to cook my stew meat for beef stew.     I have never managed to cook it as tender as I would prefer.    Here's how I finally did it:
      Thursday was a regular Bitch of a day, and after work I bought everything I needed for a big pot of stew.    It's getting cold so it's time for soup, stew and chili.    Break out the big pots.
    I ran home to get it started, but realized that I had forgotten the roast.    It's not beef stew without the beef, so I went BACK to town, and I was not happy with myself. 
    An hour later I had my stew meat bubbling away in the pot, awaiting spices and veggies, but had to pick my husband up at 5:00.    So I turned off the stove and split for town.
    I caught every single stop light on green, and watched the train clear the tracks well before I reached them.     Didn't have to stop the first time, and let me say that THAT NEVER HAPPENS TO ME.
     Hubby was ready to go and when we stopped at the store I was in and out.
     When we got back home I went to turn the stew meat back on and discovered that I had NOT turned the burner OFF.    I had jacked it UP to HIGH!    Snatching off the lid I saw that I still had water in the pot and it wasn't even scorched.     I could have burned my house down.     I ALMOST burned my house down.    This is the third time I've left the stove or oven on and almost lost my home.
    I suggest boiling tough stew meat on high for about a half-hour before you add the rest of the ingredients.     I don't suggest that you drive across town while you do it.    

Today I am in the grasp of allergies due to ragweed, golden rod, and cotton defoliant.     I will spare you the details, but this is the worst bout of this that I have ever had to endure.

I'll surrender my keys and my stove because I cannot handle either of those and have proven it.     I'll ask Mama to release me from my promise to take care of Daddy because my care-taking skills suck and he may not survive.    

As for The Family Tree?    I'm looking for a piece of rope.........

Character Flaws

I seem to have a few potentially fatal character flaws.     Much like mixing prescription meds, a mixture of character flaws can be life-threatening.

Character flaws do not come with a sheet of paper with fine print explainin' the side effects, contraindications, and interactions with other flaws.

It's "Learn As You Go".

I can be terribly sarcastic---that's how I got the nickname "Slick"--- and even worse, I have never known when to just...........shut up.

Those two flaws, working hand in hand, will get me killed yet.

Last night, in an effort to ramp up some romance, my husband was "setting the mood".

I don't have one ounce of romance in my soul so it takes a little work.    Character Flaw #3 maybe?    Valentine's day and our anniversary are two dates I don't look forward to because I can't grasp the whole Romance Thing and find it awkward.  

Well, he's flittin' around the livin' room adjusting the lights, checking the door, and doin' whatever.    He disappeared to the kitchen for a drink, and then disappeared down the hall.
    He came back, checked the door again, and kinda waffled in the living room like he was trying to think of something else.

I was just sitting on the couch watching him go back and forth, wondering when he would land.

I swear, I simply could NOT keep my fat mouth closed, and I tried to bite my tongue, but was overcome.

"Is this some sort of mating dance????     Are you gonna drop your wings and drag 'em on the ground???    Maybe hop back and forth on a limb??"

Needless to say, I thought I might have to fly South for the Winter because the temperature in my trailer dropped DRASTICALLY.

I had recently seen a piece on t.v. about bird's and their mating dances and before I could get a grip on my beak tragedy ensued.    The following is a video of the little bird that nearly got me plucked and deep-fat fried:

Foggy Backroads And Bad Nerves

I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by an Epiphany that could bring about World Pea...........

Pfffft!   As if I were capable of an epiphany.

Having pondered The Mysteries Of The Universe into the small hou.........

That's a lie.

I had been taking care of a sick friend until 3:30 a.m. Sunday mo........

That's a lie, too.

*shrugs*     Okay......    

At 3:30 a.m., Sunday morning, I was scarfing T-Bird's Hershey's Miniatures at the kitchen sink, staring at the stars through the kitchen window.      I can find chocolate in the dark and hadn't turned on any lights.     The blinds were open and I noticed the stars twinkling.       They were stunning!   

Moving quickly and very low, in long, wispy, eerie fingers, the fog was moving in.     Absolutely beautiful!     Kinda spooky lookin', but beautiful all the same.

I love fog when I don't have to be in it.    Driving in it sets my teeth on edge.

T-Bird and I went to a local club that I nicknamed The Opalescent Ass.    I won't put the actual name on this because I still have to live here.    Names will always be changed on this blog to protect.....well.....ME.

We had had a Grand Ol' Time, and somewhere around 1:00 in the A.M., decided to call it quits and go home.     Home was a good twenty miles away.

We realized we had screwed up.     Hubs had been drinking, and was going to be D.U.I. if he drove.
   
 I was sober as a judge because I was under Spousal Supervision for a rather unfortunate Drunken Incident With White Trash Intent (2nd degree), and hadn't had anything alcoholic to funne....drink.    At that time, I was still on Spousal Probation and a damned short leash.

I should have been a Designated Driver, but, no.       You have to let the Designated Driver KNOW that she has been "designated" to drive BEFORE she leaves the house!    I did not get that memo!

Unfortunately, I had left all of my Papers at the house.    No license, no insurance card, no I.D., no nothin'.     Had I worn jeans to the club I would have had all of that in my pocket.
     What I wore was more like a black condom and heels and there was no place for me to carry anything. 

I pointed THAT out.

"If I get pulled over, I go to jail.    If YOU get pulled over, we sit on the side of the road until they find you in the system, and you'll only be charged with a fine for not havin' your license."

The mere fact that he even entertained the thought of letting me drive him ANYWHERE showed that he was, dammit, serious.    I scared the crap out of him when we were in our teens and he has neither forgiven nor forgotten it.    

When we got out of the parking lot it was slightly foggy but the visibility was good.     All I had to do was behave myself behind the wheel and make one turn and we'd get home with no problems.

Less than a mile from the Ass, we had problems.    BIG problems.     The worst fog I had ever seen had rolled in and it sucked to be me.
   
The further I drove, the worse it got.     It was like driving inside a huge, 20 mile long gray tube sock.

I can see the center line.     I can see the line on the right side edge of the road, and three feet ahead of the truck.    To Hell with behind me.    I have to creep along to keep from over-driving my lights.

I asked about our chances of being run over by a big rig, and T. pointed out that if there was one on this road he was creeping along too.   He kept watch behind for any lights that might appear behind our truck.      This is a very rural area and you seldom see much traffic at 1:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, but there were  TWO fools on the road so there could've been more.

T-Bird is talking me thru it in soothing tones to keep me from freaking.

I couldn't tell where I was after a few miles because all of my landmarks have disappeared.   

There is a very small town---it has two redlights---between me and home, but I'll be damned if I know where IT is because I don't know where WE is.

All this time, I've been worried about hitting deer or livestock that might be standing in the road.     That idea alone kept me at a crawl.

I finally saw a few markings on the asphalt that led me to believe I was at least close to town.
    I found the red glow of the only stoplight I had to deal with.   You could see the glow from street lights and store lights, but the fog was too thick to see what was supposed to be lit up.

   I had to stop for for the light, and took a deep breath.         When the light changed we went on, and lost the town within another block.     I am again in that gray tube sock with MILES yet to go.     More fields, farms, and woods.    Full of deer and wild cows.

Did you know there are still places where bovine roam free??    Hit one with a vehicle and try to find out who owns it.     If reparations are due, that's a wild cow, My Friend.

I only have to make one right turn, and if I can make that turn all I have to worry about after that is getting around a hairpin curve, crossing a bridge without going into the guard rail or missing the thing entirely and going into the creek, and finding gray gates in gray fog.

Easy peasy, right?

T-Bird found the turn and I breathed a sigh of relief.    Just a few more miles.     Took the hairpin with no difficulty, missed the guard rail AND the creek, and I promise you this:

The only gates that have ever been more beautiful than my gates were---when I finally located them that awful morning---are The Pearly Gates.
   
I was really trying to avoid those.