My dreams have been multi-faceted, richly textured, incredibly entertaining, all in living color as of late. My mother is young and handing my younger sister (who is a baby of about two) a Pez candy dispenser in the form of Bozo the Clown. My father, also young, is smiling from a passing car. There is my old grammar school friend, Flea, running down a dark street that is pocked with spectacular glass shards as he calls to me to wait for him. I run on pain free knees. I run very fast! I am weaving my way through a bistro, people gathered and laughing, waving interesting cocktails in shades of chartreuse and ruby. I carry a shopping bag. My cell rings and I step out onto a back patio to answer and enter a zoo with swimming dinosaurs and toothy snakes!
I awake, feeling the comfort of my hot-dog bun mattress bed, with my three legged cat lifting his head to gaze lovingly and beseechingly at me (because he knows its about chow time) and I think....
I finally understand! Mid-life crisis!
Since I can put a name on it everything falls into place. Only, I am well past mid-life! So, it's post mid-life crisis. Autumn of my life crisis. Maybe I can accept the condition I find myself in, the circumstances so appalling and so embarrassing...maybe it's time I just close my mind to the "what-ifs" and the "I should haves" to the peace of just being where I am and not fighting it.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Break it to me gently - The End
Part IV
After four interviews and spending $25 at Fed-Ex Kinko's, putting together a killer proposal, day dreaming for two and a half months, mentally putting together sales proposals for partnership solicitation for the children's center, making a list of the organizations I would join and the publications I would subscribe to, putting together my resignation letter to HeatherBeThyName and visualizing her begging me to stay ...after asking my Mother to have her prayer circle pray for me(!) and even taking a talisman with me the last two meeting. After having three "off the record" interview encounters at the Biscuit Bucket...I did not get the job.
Because it would not be doing me a favour to offer me a position when I had minimal exposure to managing a Mall. The learning curve is too large, too something or another (I was zoned out at this time realizing I was OUT) and would I consider taking the Assistant job.
Certainly. I had also contemplated this offer. It had to pay better than slightly above minimum wage at less than 30 hours a week.
I could be Robin to her Batman.
I should have realized that I was too - overqualified - for the second banana job. Under experienced for the first, too much for the second.
But, in some half assed way they offered it to me. That was last week. Last Monday. Almost two weeks ago. I had to "interview" with the girl/woman they gave the job to to make certain we jelled. ("The temp we have really wants the job and I told her to go back to school! That she would have plenty of opportunities in time.")She was to email him and let him know we hit it off okay.
Still, nothing from him.
I call - "I've been out of town, as you know, and have your paperwork her in front of me. I will get it together and hand it over to HR by tomorrow or the next day."
"OK, I will not panic until Wednesday after noon."
He laughs.
It's Saturday afternoon and I have not heard from them. Hope evaporates and I have not ever known the depths of depression and frustration as I feel now. Calling him again is out of the question.
It feels like ashes in my mouth. I never knew what that meant before, but I feel like I have ashes in my mouth.
What a terrible place this is to be. Maybe they will call. I feel like the teenage girl sitting by the telephone waiting for the call that never comes.
After four interviews and spending $25 at Fed-Ex Kinko's, putting together a killer proposal, day dreaming for two and a half months, mentally putting together sales proposals for partnership solicitation for the children's center, making a list of the organizations I would join and the publications I would subscribe to, putting together my resignation letter to HeatherBeThyName and visualizing her begging me to stay ...after asking my Mother to have her prayer circle pray for me(!) and even taking a talisman with me the last two meeting. After having three "off the record" interview encounters at the Biscuit Bucket...I did not get the job.
Because it would not be doing me a favour to offer me a position when I had minimal exposure to managing a Mall. The learning curve is too large, too something or another (I was zoned out at this time realizing I was OUT) and would I consider taking the Assistant job.
Certainly. I had also contemplated this offer. It had to pay better than slightly above minimum wage at less than 30 hours a week.
I could be Robin to her Batman.
I should have realized that I was too - overqualified - for the second banana job. Under experienced for the first, too much for the second.
But, in some half assed way they offered it to me. That was last week. Last Monday. Almost two weeks ago. I had to "interview" with the girl/woman they gave the job to to make certain we jelled. ("The temp we have really wants the job and I told her to go back to school! That she would have plenty of opportunities in time.")She was to email him and let him know we hit it off okay.
Still, nothing from him.
I call - "I've been out of town, as you know, and have your paperwork her in front of me. I will get it together and hand it over to HR by tomorrow or the next day."
"OK, I will not panic until Wednesday after noon."
He laughs.
It's Saturday afternoon and I have not heard from them. Hope evaporates and I have not ever known the depths of depression and frustration as I feel now. Calling him again is out of the question.
It feels like ashes in my mouth. I never knew what that meant before, but I feel like I have ashes in my mouth.
What a terrible place this is to be. Maybe they will call. I feel like the teenage girl sitting by the telephone waiting for the call that never comes.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Break it to me Gently - Part III
Today I was called into the back of the office - again - and told that one of the area VP's, the head bitch of the Retail Department in this area, had entered our Biscuit Bucket and "observed". One of the things she "observed" was that when I came out of the bathroom and squirted some hand lotion onto my raw chemically seared hands, I just sashayed off and did not "greet" her and Great Heaven to Betsy, did not try and sell her any hand lotion.
"Don't freak out" my Amazon manager told me, "But later she stated that she saw you again in the "clearance" area and once again you did not greet her or acknowledge her in any way."
"Great!" I thought to myself, "I'm going to get canned from the dag gone Biscuit Bucket."
Truth of the matter is I was selling my ass off all morning! I had it going with this particular display, which was 40% off. Anyone came near that display, I was on them and showing them "my favorite" thing, a basket that is the perfect size to put in a pie or a casserole dish. Dazzle everyone at those family gatherings or pot lucks!
Feature and benefit, baby. I sold about eight of them. I only had about two people who could resist me!
I had it going yesterday too. I sold the Hell out of our Halloween merchandise. No one could resist my powers yesterday. And today.
I am a selling machine.
But...always the big BUT....I can not do it for six straight hours. It's torture. People every where, blocking the aisles, lugging along babies in carriers, some people pissed off because the wait is 35 to 40 minutes, talking on cell phones, giving you the "I don't respond to sales people" cold stare as they brush by you ...
....(and I hum the Rolling Stones song in my head at these moments...
Who would believe you were a beauty indeed
When the days get shorter and the nights get long
Lie awake when the rain comes
Nobody will know, when you're old
When you're old, nobody will know
that you was a beauty, a sweet sweet beauty
A sweet sweet booty, but stone stone cold) ..........
Because 9.9999 out of 10 they are a young woman who sneers at you.
Because I do not talk to everybody. I just can not. Will not. I do not have the emotional energy.
Anyway. This comes after another set back last week when another VP came into the store (are they any other Biscuit Buckets in the area!!) and was not "greeted" for 30 minutes. The manager on duty took me aside that day and began his spiel to me, "You have great potential........." The kiss of death when someone begins a "pep talk" that way.
Man, Retail sales is not Rocket science! It's harder!
(P.S. we have been breaking sales records and setting new ones for the area. You'd think they would have something positive to say, wouldn't you?)
"Don't freak out" my Amazon manager told me, "But later she stated that she saw you again in the "clearance" area and once again you did not greet her or acknowledge her in any way."
"Great!" I thought to myself, "I'm going to get canned from the dag gone Biscuit Bucket."
Truth of the matter is I was selling my ass off all morning! I had it going with this particular display, which was 40% off. Anyone came near that display, I was on them and showing them "my favorite" thing, a basket that is the perfect size to put in a pie or a casserole dish. Dazzle everyone at those family gatherings or pot lucks!
Feature and benefit, baby. I sold about eight of them. I only had about two people who could resist me!
I had it going yesterday too. I sold the Hell out of our Halloween merchandise. No one could resist my powers yesterday. And today.
I am a selling machine.
But...always the big BUT....I can not do it for six straight hours. It's torture. People every where, blocking the aisles, lugging along babies in carriers, some people pissed off because the wait is 35 to 40 minutes, talking on cell phones, giving you the "I don't respond to sales people" cold stare as they brush by you ...
....(and I hum the Rolling Stones song in my head at these moments...
Who would believe you were a beauty indeed
When the days get shorter and the nights get long
Lie awake when the rain comes
Nobody will know, when you're old
When you're old, nobody will know
that you was a beauty, a sweet sweet beauty
A sweet sweet booty, but stone stone cold) ..........
Because 9.9999 out of 10 they are a young woman who sneers at you.
Because I do not talk to everybody. I just can not. Will not. I do not have the emotional energy.
Anyway. This comes after another set back last week when another VP came into the store (are they any other Biscuit Buckets in the area!!) and was not "greeted" for 30 minutes. The manager on duty took me aside that day and began his spiel to me, "You have great potential........." The kiss of death when someone begins a "pep talk" that way.
Man, Retail sales is not Rocket science! It's harder!
(P.S. we have been breaking sales records and setting new ones for the area. You'd think they would have something positive to say, wouldn't you?)
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Break it to me gently - Part II
I dragged out the two containers of coffee I use every morning to make my one pot of the delicious nectar of life and discovered I barely had enough to last the week.
Running out of coffee is not something that is easily remedied. I do not run to the local Walmart, Kroger or even ALDI to pick up a new pound of freshly ground. No, I must plan my escape - I mean my trip to Nashville to visit Trader Joe and grab another canister of New Mexico Pinon Coffee which is only the best coffee ever!
I practically smile all day long knowing that not only will I grab some fine coffee, but I will also grab some Cranberry Oatmeal cookies. Yum Yum.
I'm showered and out of the house before 9am. I am in Trader Joe an hour later and happily munching cookies ten minutes after that wondering what to do with myself now - the whole town at my beck and call.
I make a run to the farmers market and find a 44 ounce jar of Wildflower honey made in Tennessee. I am a honey convert. A fine supplement to the sweet nectar of life is the sticky nectar of life.
After that I ponder my options and decide to find the Goodwill. I wander around town quite a bit, finding the hole in the ground where it use to be and a large sign telling me where it now resides. So I head off in that direction and after a couple of erroneous starts and backtracks I find the Mack Daddy of Goodwill stores all but hidden in a maze of back streets, clearly visible from the expressway, but difficult to maneuver.
As I stand in front the wall of hard back books I know all the trouble has been worth it! I begin on the left and work my way to the right.
I find treasure right off the bat. A first edition of an American translation.
Two rows down another find, 1st edition of The Fabric of Memory by an Eleanor Robson Belmont. I have not a clue who she is, but it was published in 1959, the book is pristine and the pictures reveal a magnificent woman in old turn of the century garb. I realize she is the Belmont of The Belmont race track. Yes indeed!
I find a lot of 1st editions and my arm becomes strained trying to hold them as I continue to read through the titles. I decide to park them on an end table positioned behind me. I keep my eye on them as I feel another person begin to study the books to my left, going through the titles just as I was doing.
I pull out a cook book or two and set it on my pile becoming more and more wary of the guy next to me with his long yellowish white hair, pulled back in a foot long pony tale. Obviously well dressed in pressed jeans and a corduroy jacket. "A dealer?" I think to myself.
As he gives up his search he walks behind me and toward the doors. He leans sideways and reads the titles I have set aside.
"Do you like John Updike?" he asks me.
I hesitate a moment and then say, "Sure, I like him."
He returns to the book case, pulls a book that I have already passed and hands it to me.
Rabbit at Rest.
"I see you enjoy good literature" he says, bows slightly and walks away.
As is my habit these days, I flip it open and look at the copyright page.
A first edition. Unread, perfect condition.
I place it on my pile and turn to repeat the thank you. He has vanished.
I was stunned when I researched the value of that book.
All because I needed coffee.
Running out of coffee is not something that is easily remedied. I do not run to the local Walmart, Kroger or even ALDI to pick up a new pound of freshly ground. No, I must plan my escape - I mean my trip to Nashville to visit Trader Joe and grab another canister of New Mexico Pinon Coffee which is only the best coffee ever!
I practically smile all day long knowing that not only will I grab some fine coffee, but I will also grab some Cranberry Oatmeal cookies. Yum Yum.
I'm showered and out of the house before 9am. I am in Trader Joe an hour later and happily munching cookies ten minutes after that wondering what to do with myself now - the whole town at my beck and call.
I make a run to the farmers market and find a 44 ounce jar of Wildflower honey made in Tennessee. I am a honey convert. A fine supplement to the sweet nectar of life is the sticky nectar of life.
After that I ponder my options and decide to find the Goodwill. I wander around town quite a bit, finding the hole in the ground where it use to be and a large sign telling me where it now resides. So I head off in that direction and after a couple of erroneous starts and backtracks I find the Mack Daddy of Goodwill stores all but hidden in a maze of back streets, clearly visible from the expressway, but difficult to maneuver.
As I stand in front the wall of hard back books I know all the trouble has been worth it! I begin on the left and work my way to the right.
I find treasure right off the bat. A first edition of an American translation.
Two rows down another find, 1st edition of The Fabric of Memory by an Eleanor Robson Belmont. I have not a clue who she is, but it was published in 1959, the book is pristine and the pictures reveal a magnificent woman in old turn of the century garb. I realize she is the Belmont of The Belmont race track. Yes indeed!
I find a lot of 1st editions and my arm becomes strained trying to hold them as I continue to read through the titles. I decide to park them on an end table positioned behind me. I keep my eye on them as I feel another person begin to study the books to my left, going through the titles just as I was doing.
I pull out a cook book or two and set it on my pile becoming more and more wary of the guy next to me with his long yellowish white hair, pulled back in a foot long pony tale. Obviously well dressed in pressed jeans and a corduroy jacket. "A dealer?" I think to myself.
As he gives up his search he walks behind me and toward the doors. He leans sideways and reads the titles I have set aside.
"Do you like John Updike?" he asks me.
I hesitate a moment and then say, "Sure, I like him."
He returns to the book case, pulls a book that I have already passed and hands it to me.
Rabbit at Rest.
"I see you enjoy good literature" he says, bows slightly and walks away.
As is my habit these days, I flip it open and look at the copyright page.
A first edition. Unread, perfect condition.
I place it on my pile and turn to repeat the thank you. He has vanished.
I was stunned when I researched the value of that book.
All because I needed coffee.
Break it to me gently - Part 1
I think no one cares why I don't write anymore. Yet when I come across the thoughts from someone else concerning why they no longer write (blog/journal on line) I find myself reading it, no devouring it with an obsessive curiosity. I try and find the similarities between us and usually they are there.
I miss writing down the hum-drum threads that make up the drama's of my life. I do not live with high expectations that I will ever be among the lucky ones discovered in the Blogosphere. Not now, not with the millions and millions of bloggers out here. Maybe when I started, over six years ago, it might have been possible. Maybe if I had not hitched my wagon to AOL...??
Anyway, I will never get my book deal.
I am a little fish in a big pond that gets bigger every single day. Just yesterday I was browsing and killing time at Borders and saw a book about Tweeter. Tweeter for God's sake! Blog creates writers who become celebrities, as does You Tube and I suspect Tweeter is not far behind.
So, I concede. I will ramble on about the boring aspects of my boring life and years from now when I am wondering what I was doing the first of October 2009 all I have to do is flip over here and....there I am.
I miss writing down the hum-drum threads that make up the drama's of my life. I do not live with high expectations that I will ever be among the lucky ones discovered in the Blogosphere. Not now, not with the millions and millions of bloggers out here. Maybe when I started, over six years ago, it might have been possible. Maybe if I had not hitched my wagon to AOL...??
Anyway, I will never get my book deal.
I am a little fish in a big pond that gets bigger every single day. Just yesterday I was browsing and killing time at Borders and saw a book about Tweeter. Tweeter for God's sake! Blog creates writers who become celebrities, as does You Tube and I suspect Tweeter is not far behind.
So, I concede. I will ramble on about the boring aspects of my boring life and years from now when I am wondering what I was doing the first of October 2009 all I have to do is flip over here and....there I am.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Oeufs en Gelée
From his usual spot at the foot of the bed, in the left corner, the cat lifted his head made eye contact with me and blinked twice. I laid my book down (Julia and Julie, turning out to be quite a disappointment after a wonderful movie and a marvelous "My life in France" read) and listened.
A strong wind is blowing in from the west. At first I thought it was my husband, fallen asleep watching the UK-Florida game (as equally disappointing as the Julie/Julia book) stumbling around seeking the bath room in a semi-conscious state. "Joe!" I called out then remembering the last time catching him only moments before he confused the front door with the door to the bathroom, the cat and I rushed to the living room.
He was safely and peacefully sleeping through the trouncing.
I opened the front door and the cat and I stepped outside. A brilliant half moon lit up half the sky, the other half shrouded with the hastening rain clouds. The wind bringing dry brittle leaves to dance at our feet, the weeping willow tree across the street throwing her long arms up in and down, around and around in a frenzied gyration.
The humidity that I have been living with for months and months blown away to the east. Autumn is making her entrance.
The cat refuses to come back in.
I sit down at the computer and write this post and think about Julia Child and the horrible description of aspic and wonder why anyone would want to eat cold jellied chicken when you can have luscious pan fried chicken with white gravy......
The dishes call, the cat remains outside, the book lies on the bed waiting to be taken back up and Joe talks in his sleep.......
A strong wind is blowing in from the west. At first I thought it was my husband, fallen asleep watching the UK-Florida game (as equally disappointing as the Julie/Julia book) stumbling around seeking the bath room in a semi-conscious state. "Joe!" I called out then remembering the last time catching him only moments before he confused the front door with the door to the bathroom, the cat and I rushed to the living room.
He was safely and peacefully sleeping through the trouncing.
I opened the front door and the cat and I stepped outside. A brilliant half moon lit up half the sky, the other half shrouded with the hastening rain clouds. The wind bringing dry brittle leaves to dance at our feet, the weeping willow tree across the street throwing her long arms up in and down, around and around in a frenzied gyration.
The humidity that I have been living with for months and months blown away to the east. Autumn is making her entrance.
The cat refuses to come back in.
I sit down at the computer and write this post and think about Julia Child and the horrible description of aspic and wonder why anyone would want to eat cold jellied chicken when you can have luscious pan fried chicken with white gravy......
The dishes call, the cat remains outside, the book lies on the bed waiting to be taken back up and Joe talks in his sleep.......
Friday, September 25, 2009
Suckers!
The bookcase hugged the whole wall with the aisles holding several more. Ah, the wonderful aroma of old musty books at the Goodwill. I began to touch the spines while quickly reading the titles and moving down the row when my fingers found "Kentucky Hospitality". My interest was piqued and I pulled it down. Pay dirt! A 1976 recipe book, sans cover, but filled with stories about making hooch in the "hills" and Mint Juleps in the parlor. $2.99 - a bargain!
Further down the same bookshelf I found another discarded jewel, the Farm Journal's Country Cooking, 1959 - also sans cover, but at $2.99 I had to have it.
I was distracted by a couple in one of the aisles with a baby nestled in one of those carriers. I smiled as I heard them laughing softly and as I turned to get a better look at the baby my smile froze.
That couple were working together, one pulling books from the shelves and the other hitting them with one of those ISBN scanner guns. The hair on my neck practically stood on end.
My impression is that these are not book lovers seeking treasure, but treasure seekers only. I shuddered and began to quickly scan the books working diligently before they hit that wall.
Christ, I don't know why it aggravated me so. They are only trying to make a living off of true book collectors. Maybe beginning a college fund for the baby. Yet, something is so wrong about that picture!
Later on I picked up a book, The Golden Key, published in 1976 - a reissue from the 1967 first edition with new reproductions of the pictures. It was small and appeared as if it had sat unattended and unread, untouched for a very long time ending up as junk at the Goodwill. The spine was a dingy color, different from the dust jacket. I liked the illustrations and I especially like the words of J.R.R. Tolkien on the inside book jacket. No ISBN. 50 cents. I added it to the small pile in my arms.
When I got home I felt compelled to look up the value of the book on Abe's Books.
$75.
I chuckled when I imagined them picking it up and putting it down unexamined because it did not have a visable ISBN.
Suckers! That smile returned to my face.
Further down the same bookshelf I found another discarded jewel, the Farm Journal's Country Cooking, 1959 - also sans cover, but at $2.99 I had to have it.
I was distracted by a couple in one of the aisles with a baby nestled in one of those carriers. I smiled as I heard them laughing softly and as I turned to get a better look at the baby my smile froze.
That couple were working together, one pulling books from the shelves and the other hitting them with one of those ISBN scanner guns. The hair on my neck practically stood on end.
My impression is that these are not book lovers seeking treasure, but treasure seekers only. I shuddered and began to quickly scan the books working diligently before they hit that wall.
Christ, I don't know why it aggravated me so. They are only trying to make a living off of true book collectors. Maybe beginning a college fund for the baby. Yet, something is so wrong about that picture!
Later on I picked up a book, The Golden Key, published in 1976 - a reissue from the 1967 first edition with new reproductions of the pictures. It was small and appeared as if it had sat unattended and unread, untouched for a very long time ending up as junk at the Goodwill. The spine was a dingy color, different from the dust jacket. I liked the illustrations and I especially like the words of J.R.R. Tolkien on the inside book jacket. No ISBN. 50 cents. I added it to the small pile in my arms.
When I got home I felt compelled to look up the value of the book on Abe's Books.
$75.
I chuckled when I imagined them picking it up and putting it down unexamined because it did not have a visable ISBN.
Suckers! That smile returned to my face.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Just a Chance Encounter
I stand in the corner away from the lights of the displays, my nose in a regional cook book trying to memorize the ingredients to a Peach's & Cream recipe when I look up and lock eyes with him.
He begins to amble towards me, holding out a slip of paper with a single word scrawled on it "Sha kon o hey". He begins speaking to me as if we had just resumed a conversation - "...means blue smoke in the mountains Sha-kon-o-hey, it's Indian. It's how they saw the Smoky mountains. It's a Dolly Parton album and I have been looking and can not seem to find it."
I pulled our special and exclusive Dolly album from the carousel and began to run down the list of songs, "Nope not on this one, you may have to jump on the Internet to find it."
He was at least 75 years old and I was tempted to suggest one of his children or grand kids find it on Amazon. Something about his wispy raspy voice made me lean closer in to him to understand his soft words.
"Where are you from?"
"I'm from central Kentucky. Where are you from?"
"I'm from West Virginia, I have an Uncle who practiced medicine in Lexington, a GYN guy, his son too".
For some reason - I do have this effect on men - he took out his wallet and began to show me photographs. "This was me in 1950", a very good looking young man with an "I know it all" smirk on his face, dressed in a military uniform. "Korea?" I asked, "Yes, both Korea and Viet Nam."
More pictures of a striking young man leaning against a spiffy old car! All in chrome. "I bet you wish you had that car now!" I exclaimed. "It was my Aunt's. Know how much she paid for it? 1800 dollars. People thought she was crazy. But it was loaded with chrome.
"Ever see a tin type?" He pulled out a small two inches by two inches and handed it to me. It had some wear and tear to it, I flipped it over and there was the date, some time around 1850.
"Your Grandparents?" I asked trying to do the math quickly in my head - "Yes, Grad Dad fought in the Civil War. He was in the Calvary. Fought in Gettysburg. Old Jeb Stuart(!!!!!) finally arrived and he brought my Grand father with him. Grandpa was captured and spent the rest of the war in a prison. Treated him real bad, those Yankees didn't feed them much. He got scurry. Got out two days after the war was over. He didn't care too much for Lincoln."
The door to the front area flew open and his wife came in and collected him. I followed him to the door.
"Be on the look out for that album" he said he was lead away.
Wow! You never know what stories reside within people.
He begins to amble towards me, holding out a slip of paper with a single word scrawled on it "Sha kon o hey". He begins speaking to me as if we had just resumed a conversation - "...means blue smoke in the mountains Sha-kon-o-hey, it's Indian. It's how they saw the Smoky mountains. It's a Dolly Parton album and I have been looking and can not seem to find it."
I pulled our special and exclusive Dolly album from the carousel and began to run down the list of songs, "Nope not on this one, you may have to jump on the Internet to find it."
He was at least 75 years old and I was tempted to suggest one of his children or grand kids find it on Amazon. Something about his wispy raspy voice made me lean closer in to him to understand his soft words.
"Where are you from?"
"I'm from central Kentucky. Where are you from?"
"I'm from West Virginia, I have an Uncle who practiced medicine in Lexington, a GYN guy, his son too".
For some reason - I do have this effect on men - he took out his wallet and began to show me photographs. "This was me in 1950", a very good looking young man with an "I know it all" smirk on his face, dressed in a military uniform. "Korea?" I asked, "Yes, both Korea and Viet Nam."
More pictures of a striking young man leaning against a spiffy old car! All in chrome. "I bet you wish you had that car now!" I exclaimed. "It was my Aunt's. Know how much she paid for it? 1800 dollars. People thought she was crazy. But it was loaded with chrome.
"Ever see a tin type?" He pulled out a small two inches by two inches and handed it to me. It had some wear and tear to it, I flipped it over and there was the date, some time around 1850.
"Your Grandparents?" I asked trying to do the math quickly in my head - "Yes, Grad Dad fought in the Civil War. He was in the Calvary. Fought in Gettysburg. Old Jeb Stuart(!!!!!) finally arrived and he brought my Grand father with him. Grandpa was captured and spent the rest of the war in a prison. Treated him real bad, those Yankees didn't feed them much. He got scurry. Got out two days after the war was over. He didn't care too much for Lincoln."
The door to the front area flew open and his wife came in and collected him. I followed him to the door.
"Be on the look out for that album" he said he was lead away.
Wow! You never know what stories reside within people.
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