Like a Rolling Stone

In another lifetime I spent many years in this part of Kentucky, at the state college. It is located in the furthest reaches of the fertile crop lands and coal stripped plains, and it was there that I began my disastrous first attempt at higher education.

Since actively playing around in Facebook I have recently discovered the "gang" from way back then, when I was having the time of my life and flunking out of school, when time was not an enemy, the days were always bright and clear, the lakes were right around the corner, the keg parties were numerous, the joy of youth knew no bounds, I had no direction home, like a Rolling Stone.

I pulled out one of the Yearbooks I kept from that period (because I keep everything) and spent an hour or so Sunday afternoon leisurely turning the pages and recognizing the faces, whispering the first names to myself, or the nick names, then checking and 100% of the time I was correct.

People took getting their pictures for the year book so seriously! Some of them dressed up in suits. I wondered if their mothers requested this, as I do not think I knew anyone who wore a suit then. At least not that kind of suit. Yet, as I turned page after page I noticed some of the shenanigans that was taking place. I laughed at the number of people who had their pictures taken twice, in different clothing. There were many of them!

I especially lingered over this page......

I wouldn't go so far as to say I had a crush on one of them. Let's just say when ever I would see him on campus I would sigh and wish I was the sort of girl he would notice.

Many many years later, in Lexington at a honky tonk I worked, he walked in and sat in my section. I was dumbstruck that out of all the gin joints in the world, he would walk into mine! I came out from behind the bar and approached him and the party he was with, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" I asked. (Originality is my middle name.)

He looked up at me and said, "Isn't that suppose to be my line?"

As it was, he was married but asked me out anyway. I am proud to say, despite my disappointment, I declined or else this would a good story.

Revisiting Memphis

"Where are you all moving to?"

"Memphis!"

"Oh, you poor thing!"

This was the exchange I most encountered several months ago when I thought I was headed to Memphis. My husband had taken a promotion that required him to stay in Memphis and I stayed in Indiana, well because we had just moved there seven months before! Then he receives another promotion and is transferred to Middle Tennessee!

The thing about Memphis is all moot now, but for a city that inspires images of a gaiety on Beale Street, the duck walk at the Peabody, a trip to the most famous mansion on the Mississippi, Graceland, the best BBQ and an annual event in May to prove it, Memphis sure gets a bum rap when it comes to destinations for a vacation....unless you love Elvis.


Yesterday I was talking to a friend who was asking me about Memphis. He was asking me about the various landmarks one finds there, Graceland, Sun Studio, Beale Street, the Lorraine Motel. Had I been there?

Ten minutes later..........I concluded the impressions of my experience with a, "I can't believe that I retained all that!"

Fact of the matter is, both Joe and I were dumbstruck by the Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel. We spent two days immersed in the history that sits so close to downtown Memphis. First we toured the Lorraine Motel and the exhibits on the first day. The second day we crossed the street and entered the Boarding House where James Earl Ray rented a room on the second floor and waited for his moment.

I will not fill this post with the history of the events that unfolded in April of 1968, most of us know it well, but I will encourage anyone who visits Memphis to find the Lorraine and enter into one of most challenging times our nation has ever experienced. And in many ways we still are challenged.

Seeing the Freedom Rider's Greyhound, sitting on a replica of the city bus that Rosa Parks made history in, seeing the jail cell that MLK spent time writing a famous letter while doing his time, to look into the faces of those who gave their lives in the name of freedom just leaves you with a sense of the enormity of injustice and prejudice in this country and how far we have come.

Because if it were not for MLK and his rhetoric of change without violence, who met his end in the worst type of violence, riddled with hatred and controversy and shrouded in speculation and unanswered questions some 40 years later, we might not live in a country who can elect a black President.

When standing at the threshold, looking into the bathroom of the Boarding House and realizing that the window, that small square porthole that James Earl Ray balanced his rifle on the sill, one can feel the sorrow and shame that lingers there. Lingers from all the visitors that look and squint and realize that room 306 of the Lorraine sits across the street and on the April day, some 40 years ago, he squeezed the trigger.

Be Bold - And Mighty Forces Will Come to Your Aid

I awake with the dream still imprinting on my sub-conscious state. I was interviewing with a potential employer of the nontraditional variety. I met him somewhere in Surreal Land, being the altered campus of Murray State University as he left the Sig-Ep house. I caught up with him and began to spill out my best "elevator speech" and his cell phone rang.

He took the call and began to walk away from me. I followed him and the moment he ended his call I began again with the clumsy question, "Are you hiring at your company?" and he then gave me an on the spot skill assessment test.

I had to fill in the "a's" in a sentence and I was handed a large sheet of paper. I was momentarily caught off guard and had not listened to the sentence so that I could repeat it. I turned to my husband (who had materialized behind me and is always telling me I do not listen) and asked for him to repeat the sentence. He just shook his head.

I attempted the beginning and knowing it was useless began to plead my case to the potential employer. Making my excuses....

I awoke and upon opening my eyes this thought rushed into my head.....

"Get out of your comfort zone......"

And so, whatever that dream meant besides pay closer attention, today I embark on getting out of my zone. I have to shake off the longing for someone to call me and offer me a job...any job. I would wait tables as Crackerbarrel if they asked.

And I am going to step away from the computer. If it's on the job/career boards, then everyone and their Grandmothers are applying.

I must be Bold.

I'm Always Home! I'm Uncool.

I am flip flopping with committing to the NANANANABLOGPOOPOO again. Basically, blogging daily for a month.

It will be good because I will become accountable even if to no one but the blog. I am realizing that if I have to report daily on several issues, the most pressing being the JOB QUEST, then I will have to schedule out my plans for the employment search instead of this willy nilly half hearted attempt at securing income intake. (income intake, I like that).

Also, I have determined I am unemployable because I have turned into an uncool old coot and need to shape up. Therefore I am undertaking the 100 day challenge, since the elliptical machine in the garage has thrown down the gauntlet, and I am going to loose this 20 pounds that is causing potential employers to discount me as a middle age old hag who does not take care of herself.

I am 10 days in! I am giving myself a break from the unrealistic goal of doing them consecutively. I have discovered that with the MP3 player I exercise with a lot more enthusiasm and vigor than listening to books on CD's. Those seconds were dragging into hours! With the switch I jumped from 22 minutes to 30 the next day.

As is my nature to allow myself to become totally distracted, I have been following with interest (and amusement) the press' attack on Susan Boyle. Amusement because they never once kicked old Paul Potts around but give them a lady and a middle age woman and they have gone nuts!

As I listened to her sing MEMORY from Cat's I just fell in love with the song. I'm certain I must have heard it before, but I also realize I am probably the only person who had never seen CATS. So, I checked out Elaine Paige singing the song and found myself crying.

For the love of God, what a beautiful song. (I also sobbed out loud when I saw Phantom of the Opera back in the day) and I have downloaded as many versions as I can find. Barbara Streisand is ....well, ..........

I found the original lyrics were changed because they were thought to be suicidal. They are heart wretchedly beautiful.

(Discarded Lyrics)

Touch Me, is there no
one to touch me
It was easy to love me
in my glamorous past
As I leave you a shadow of
the light I once as
May my memory sleep at last

City Cemetery Sepia Style

I find myself always looking for a shot for sepia scenes. Today I saw the cemetery on the hill overlooking the Cumberland River. I found the entrance and stumbled into this very old resting ground with a spectacular view. From the west, a thunder storm approached which gave a surreal feel to the surroundings, softening the light and the air was alive with electricity.

On the corner in the eastern corner stood a smattering of old CSA graves adorned with both the American and Confederate flag. I researched and found out that some 300 odd soldiers were buried behind the Female Academy. A landslide exposed many of the soldiers remains and they were transferred to the City Cemetery and laid to rest.

Sepia Junk Yard

I really like this site Sepia Scenes! I took this picture while living in North Indiana. There were numerous junk yards scattered through out the roads and routes I drove. This made me pull over, a car sticking out of the dumpster! Originally I colored the car yellow, but this time I thought I would just add a light blue sky.

Rolling with the Hoity Toity

The remnants of yesterday haunt me this morning. I have an odd feeling that teeters on despondence. My shoulders are slumped, there is a heavy feeling on my chest. I truly dislike feeling so defeated.

I dropped off an employment application and a resume yesterday. I was not prepared for an impromptu interview. I was wearing the most unflattering outfit. As a matter of fact, I have no business type or "make a great first impression" type clothing for the summer months! And if I do, I no longer fit in them and have probably slipped them into the Goodwill bags I dropped off last month. I'm positive I did. The bright spring blazers .... what was I thinking!!

So, the manager of the retail jewelry store is a beautiful amazon who emerged from the repair section of the store clad in a skin tight black sheath and spike heels. She looked over my resume and application....really looked it over and glancing up at me says, "What have you been doing for two years??"

I should be prepared to answer this question and sometimes I am but I was so caught off guard, wearing the wrinkled white linen pants that I survived Hurricane Wilma in and a skin tight red T with a gossamer blouse over the T to hide my rolls of fat.

I blinked and said, "Farting around...."

She resumed reading and then asked,"Like vending machines..." I nodded. "If I were a club, how would you sell in your beverage?" (I worked for a major beverage corporation in another life, so it seems).

"A Club? Well, you wouldn't want a vending machine, you would need bag in the box."

"Not a club...", (oh boy, I thought) "...but a club that sells video games."

(oh that sort of club, I though to myself) I began to get nervous, how did I do it? It was then that my mind began spinning at a rapid speed trying to find the words to tell her that I did not do that type of selling, that I did business to business sales and would be prepared with a list of questions, several testimonies and more than likely their business was a chain that already had our product...

...but she wanted me to do the old, "Sell me this pencil...."

Shit.

I stumbled through something that sucked.

Could I pass a back ground check?

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Guess what, my husband informs me that we are going to a dinner in two hours! Shit again. I laid on the couch and fell into a hazy semi-consciousness with dancing soda bottles performing the can-can across the living room floor.

At the bottom one of the bags that did not make it to Goodwill I find my old Charo outfit. I slip it on and because of the style and the outrageous colors, it actually makes me look slimmer and it definitely makes me feel better.

Off to meet the Sheriff, the Mayor and one of the Board of Directors of Joe's company at a fancy dinner party on the River.

The wine was flowing and I did feel better.


(May 21 with spy camera)

Project 365 with a Cell Phone

Or....why didn't I think of this before!



Last year I took on this monumental project which requires you to take a picture every day for 365 consecutive days, preferably the calender year. I struggled through about three months. It's hard to carry around a big old Nikon 50 with you every where.

Now I find out my cell phone will work just fine, because after all, it is like a spy camera! If only it did not make that annoying shutter type noise!! I felt the need to cough to cover it up yesterday while at the Career Center filling out an application for employment.

Every day life becomes more adventurous and fun.

Sense of Urgency

Side Trip to Tiny Town Produce (beware, I have learned to send my cell phone pictures to my e-mail then save them! Little crooked, but I like it. Over exposed but it was a very bright afternoon.)


I hear this question from my husband quite often over the past two years, "What do you do all day?"

If I were the honest type I would tell him this....I make coffee then sit in front of the computer for several hours. Sometimes I will attempt the crossword puzzle only if it is Monday because they tend to be easier on Monday, then I will do the SUDOKU puzzle, then I will read the paper, then I will think about what I should be doing, i.e. looking for a job, so I get back on the computer and peruse Career Builder, then I slip over to Bloglines and then I will go to Craigslist. Then I will be startled to see it is closing in on noon and I have yet to brush my teeth. Then I will brush the teeth, wash the face think about taking a shower, but now I have no time and I go to Walmart, ALDI, maybe take a side trip somewhere like Goodwill to see if anything is interesting there, then I will cruise by the Dollar Movie theatre and see if anything good is showing and plan to see it sometime during the week, then I go home, check the computer to see if I have any job offers or interest piqued from the resumes I sent out earlier, I check the snail mail, send out bill payments and maybe a card or two to my mother and others, then I relax and maybe read something from the novel/travel book I am currently reading...blah blah blah. It's a busy day!

Sometimes I do take a shower.

Quest for Job

So I ambled on down to the Career Center in Clarksville because I could not figure out how to apply for their job listings via the website.

And, I found out that you have to show up at the Center to apply!

I filled out the two pages, front and back, application and returned to the line to hand over my papers. Along with SS card and a picture ID. I was again sent back to the tables to read the "job openings" and list up to and only three jobs that I am interested in.

I quickly filled those in, since I had identified them earlier in the day on their web site, and returned to the line to once again, hand in my "application".

I was told to sit down and wait till until my name was called.

With a heavy heart, I sought out a chair that was not attached to one of the round tables that supported the books with the job openings and the desperate people. Myself, being one of them.

A guy sitting at the nearest table smiled at me and raised one of his eyebrows. Isn't that the secret signal for "I am a smart aleck"? I smiled back and as I sat I asked him how long he had been waiting.

"I came in at 1 and signed in, had lunch and came back."

Since I am unemployed I have stopped wearing a watch. Isn't it funny those things that are ritual and second nature are quickly thrown aside and forgotten. So I had no watch to look at to see what time it was and how long he had been waiting. I sighed.

We had a nice chat and I learned a lot of important and relevant things. One being that the local University, Ausin Peay, is offering a special degree for people wanting to gain employment with the MEGA corporation that is building THE MEGA factory on the north side of town. If I understood, you need some sort of Chemical Business degree. He stated that he already had a business degree which made it OK for me to state I had a college degree too! He thought that if you already had a four year degree, getting a two year Associate Degree in their Chemical Business curriculum wouldn't be too difficult.

And so it went until my name was called. In surprise I marched towards the counter...again....and the semi interrogation began.

In the middle of it she says, "I see from your drivers license that you are from Indiana. I am too."

(Not we all know that I am from Kentucky and that because of my husbands job(s) we were transferred to Ft Wayne in 2005 and then to Louisville in 2007, elected to buy a home across the river, and therefore are technically only Hoosier.)

"Where abouts?" I asked.

"Up around Ft. Wayne."

Now here I am, 500 miles from Ft Wayne, the only place in Indiana I truly have lived and meet up with a bureaucrat in the Career Center of Clarksville Tennessee who hails from the same area.

And Indiana is a big state with lots and lots of people.

"You have to be kidding" I gush, "We were living in New Haven!" (a township that is part of Ft Wayne)

"Get out! I had my hair done in New Haven! At Duce."

"No way!!Me too! Who? Not Micheal!"

"Yes! Michael!!!"

I'm telling you, the longer I live, the smaller the world becomes. (I hope it helps me get a job.)

Where did I put that darn Camera?

The camera was dusted off and carried/concealed in my Pink Birthday Purse (which could house an elephant... I love large carry-all's) for the trip to downtown Clarskville last evening for the celebratory anniversary meal.

Since I have been neglecting the camera, the flash did not fire and the pictures are very disappointing, but I am determined to return and click happily away as soon as it stops raining.

In the meantime I submit this offering to the Sepia Scenes website. I took this a long time ago at the Mayberry Train Museum. My daughter and I (back when she was younger) took several rides on this train. The Halloween Train, the Civil War re-enactment when Morgan's Raiders robbed the train to name two off the top of my head.

Screwed Up Big Time

I can not figure out how to upload my old Hippie Gypsy picture from Photobucket. As many times as I try it does not happen. So I am depressed because I want her back. I like Alphawoman and all missed her, but I will be the first to admit I am wishy washy and not that I have AW back, I want Gypsy back.

Such is life, never truly getting what you want.

Oh, by the way, I am back on line. It only took a week and a half. I now have DSL and it is okay, so far I do not see any major differences. I was taking the 15 minute trip to the library in town. I like escapism. Now that it is easy to write an entry, I am void of material.

Why? Queen of the Non-Stop, open the flood gates? Because I just want to bitch bitch bitch. And I realize it is no good. But, I can't help myself.

The SIRIUS does not work. This is bad, because I love SIRIUS and can not stand to listen to it as it stops and starts and searches for the satellite. I almost cried today. But, this is good because I have shifted through my CD's and am now listening to Ashley MacIsaac who I have been neglecting for sometime now. John Prine, Lila Downs (oooohhhhhhhh....I forgot how much I love this genre!)

I am being invaded with ants! No matter what I do, they come back. I have sprayed (which I hate to do because of the cat) cleaned with the vengeance of a scorned lover, and have the house smelling like vinegar because I read somewhere they hate it and will not return. God, I hate invaders!

And today is my anniversary. I am going out tonight and I have nothing to wear.

Toonces the Cat

Yesterday I transported the three legged cat from Louisville to Tiny Town.

I have never traveled any great distance with a cat in the vehicle before. My only experience prior to this was hauling WildThing to the vet after being bit in the butt on several occasions while living in Mayberry or hauling WildThing home from the Human Society when he was picked up for loitering and thrown into the Cat Slammer. WildThing had a habit of madly running around the car and trying to get under my feet and inhibit my driving! I always had a very young Bridget with me back then. She was little help. I imagine WildThing freaked out whenever he found himself in the car because he thought he was on his way to the vet for shots, surgery and stitches. And of course, the neutering, which no way effected his nocturnal and wandering wily ways.

WildThing. What a cat.

The Three Legged Cat is of totally different temperament. I had him in a tiny carry bag and he cried so pitifully and looked at me with such big eyes that I let him out about 20 minutes into the trip. He checked out the car then lay down on his mustard colored blanket that he loves and had claimed as his own. He watched the windshield wipers for a spell, then noticed the moon roof and watched the clouds. When night fell, he too decided to take a nap.

Suddenly he jumped up and crawled into my lap. I rubbed him behind the ears and murmured words of comfort to ease his confusion. Then, he decided he wanted to drive. Toonces the cat immediately came to mind and if my memory serves me correctly, he always wrecked!

But, Three Legged Cat was easily lured back to the passenger seat and endured the rest of the ride with minimal disruptions.

Joe and TLC had a joyful reunion that consisted of wine, turkey and exploration of the garage. The cat was made to feel at home immediately and slept with a smile on his furry face.

Another Road Side Attraction

This morning as I drove down the major connector road to the other main connector road I noticed an old guy walking a tiny dog down the sidewalk in front of the 19th century houses that line the main thoroughfare.

He was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, a black short sleeve t-shirt underneath, a leather cap on his head, Levi's with a chain attaching his wallet to his belt to thwart and discourage theft. Under the black leather cap, his grey hair was pulled back into a pony tail that spilled over his collar and traveled half way down his back.

Damn, I thought to myself, we have landed in the place where old motor cycle gang members retire. As I looked around it became even more evident that this was true. Rail Roaders' and Aging Harley guys.

I have been meeting the locals, one at a time. Since the town's population is slightly over 1400, I should have it completed in no time. Today, after a night of tremendous thunder storms and numerous tornado watch issued, which I gloriously slept through waking only long enough to shout out "DAMN" at the loudest claps of thunder to roll over and resume dreaming.....I ambled over to the the Storage Units where I am once again forced to rent one because I have too much stuff.

The owner is Jr. Johnson, past sheriff of this fine community. A small man who I imagine was no nonsense at one time. He was very nice and now knows everything about me that brought me to have to rent a storage area. He sent me down to the local hardware store to pick up a heavy duty lock from Boogie.

I've yet to go, saving Boogie for later.

Next there was Ed, the BBQ smoker guy who has a small shack by the side of the road. I passed it, famished last Sunday, and quickly found out if it is Sunday in this here parts, not much is open if you do not travel into Clarksville. As I flew by his road side attraction I noticed the Motor Cycle Gang of about eight to twelve bikes lined up in the gravel parking lot (I am always reminded of Pee Wee Herman sashaying out of the Biker Bar only to knock over the row of Harley's lined up)and took note. As I flew back by a little later on I slowed down and pulled in. The neon light was still on flashing "OPEN" and in I went.

He is old. And by old, I mean in his 80's or quite possibly his 90's. He sits behind a make shift drive thru window and seemed surprised that I wandered in. "My waitress is gone for the day" he told me with sorrowful eyes weighed down by enormous purplish bags. "That's fine, I just would like something to go".

I was so hungry I slapped together a sandwich in the parking lot, cold slaw on BBQ with hot sauce served on a hamburger bun.

It was heaven! Sweet and smoked and the best ever pork BBQ I have ever tasted. I went back in to tell him how it was like magic and he talked about UK Basketball, since my accent is not quite right, where am I from? Central Kentucky, outside of Lexington...and so it goes.

The guy who owns the Flea Market, Jimmy C., has put me open a waiting list to rent a booth space. (I thought I would sell my books at the Flea market rather than house them in the storage unit and make some money). I am number 75. "How long do you think I will have to wait?" "Maybe forever. Unless some of those before you die or leave. You see, once they grab ahold of those booths, they hardly ever give them up." "Sounds to me you should expand your flea market." "Lord no honey!! It's too much work right now."

I have yet to venture into the State Line Bar which also sits on the Main Main Drag, a small red shack of a building with a gravel parking lot. The lot is normally filled with pick up trucks and motorcycles. I think I may be fine in there, but Joe just shakes his head and hums the theme to Deliverance.

I can't wait to get in there.

Catholic School Girl Confessions - Part II

HARASSING THE RAT

(Courtesy of spending so much time in the Clarksville Public Library)

One time at Catholic High School, the library was run, maintained and policed by a Nun who went by the nickname of The Rat. My class was not only the largest ever to attend the school, (class of 120+ depending on who was expelled from Catholic or who was expelled from one of the surrounding public schools and had to attend Catholic as the only viable alternative because the other private school was just "too private" ie: expensive)we were also the smartest of any previous or succeeding! This enabled us to come up with very amusing and cunning nicknames for our teachers and staff.

We were a wicked class. Catholic was a coed school but the sexes were separated. It was for our own good, or so we were told. We were able to concentrate on our studies and not on the opposite sex. Or so the theory went. We were mixed for our language classes. French, Spanish and Latin. And my class was the very first ever in the schools history to have a coed home room. Little did we know, we were an experiment. They had decided to separate the classes into the Smart Group and the Dumb Group (I sweat to God, it went on for years) (my brother T. was just reminiscing about it last week, how he was mistakenly put into the dumb class). As I was saying, my homeroom was the smartest of the smart!

And the most wicked of the wicked.

Back to The Rat......

To enter the library you went through two swinging doors that opened out into the hallway. Our high school was built in the shape of the letter E the opened end of the E faced the parking lot and the baseball fields (it's all changed now, with the million dollar donations, the addition of a highly successful football program, the multiple Basketball State Titles and the accusations of recruiting!!). The library was one of the corners of the E. Our Homeroom was next to the library and we liked nothing better to harass The Rat.

And the Rat did not take it laying down. We had something called Conduct Cards (I sweat to God, I may still have one stashed) and she would ask and you would hand over and she would slash away points. Your conduct grade would be what was left over at the end of the quarter.

The students would race by the library door and bang on it. Rat would rush and throw open the door trying to figure out which one of the innocent faces looking back at her was the culprit.

But the major coup was when some genius stuck the broom between the two door handles and banged loudly.

We were doubled over laughing as the Rat's face appeared in the tiny windows trying to see what was holding the doors locked tight! She was red faced angry.

I have many tiny snap shots of those four years spent at Catholic, terrorizing the Nuns, being whipped into shape by the faculty and smoking in the bathrooms, skipping school and having a major crush that lingers slightly today.

Catholic School Girl Confessions- Part I

This morning I finally found a spot in the house that the SIRIUS will receive an uninterrupted signal. As I sifted through all the stuff that seems to multiply whenever I turn my back, as if I have taken the wrong turn and entered the Twilight Zone, Bob Seagers RAMBLIN' GAMBLIN' MAN began to play and transported me back to high school.

I am standing in the girls bathroom, the only girls bathroom if you do not count the one in the gymnasium. I spend a lot of time in the girls there because I am one of the clandestine smokers who pile into the stalls and share a cigarette with the other smokers in between classes. I can feel the butt clamped between my two fingers, the ash about two inches long and glowing red. We pass it around and blow smoke out our nostrils.

Myra throws open the door grabs the community fag and takes a deep drag. As she exhales the smoke, which is mysteriously also red, she begins to belt out,

" I was born lonely
down by the riverside
learned to spin fortune wheel
and throw dice
I was just 13 when I had to leave home
knew I couldn't stick around
had to roam"

We wore the typical Catholic School Girl Uniform, blue sweater, blue pleated skirt, white blouse with "peter pan" collar (whatever that was but that is what we called it)either white socks with saddle shoes or blue knee highs with Bass Weejuns (you never mixed the two!!). Our skirts were rolled at the waist to give the effect of a mini skirt. We were made to kneel to ensure that our hems brushed the floor. We spent a lot of time rolling and unrolling those hems while puff puff passing in the girls bathroom at the end of the hall way at the ready to rush out as some duty bound Nun would rush in trying to catch us.

We were all on the road to "never gonna slow" down for that "funky world".

See ya round.

Phase II

...and so I moved the big house from Jeffersonville Indiana to the smallest town ever (from now on when ever referred to as STE..not to be confused with STD) and then jumped into a car and headed to Memphis to move that apartment to STE. This has been labeled Phase II.

Upon arrival we knew that the sofa, lawn mower, refrigerator, washer and dryer and this acoustical guitar would not fit into the vehicle with all the clothes, pots and pans, clothes (did I mention clothes already!) exercise machine, pictures, vacuum cleaner...well, you get the picture.

So, we did what everyone is doing now, we used Craigslist. And we were very successful. My husband would be annoyed that his phone did not start ringing the moment he would exited Criagslist.

By the time he received the 100th phone call about the $50 Toro lawn mower, he was totally crazy.

Out biggest problem was the refrigerator. It may have had something to do with the fact it was raining relentlessly all day Saturday and Sunday. People said they were coming and then did not show. Our first price on Friday was $150. Saturday it was $100. On Sunday "LAST CHANCE" price was $75.

We cleaned the carpet and I spent over an hour in the bathroom scrubbing away at the caulking as if we made that hundred year old stuff look that bad! All I wanted at this point was to not let Louise, my landlord down. She said to me, "I know you are going to leave that apartment better than you found it." That is an understatement as I spent the first months desperately trying to eliminate the odor left behind by the trio of five pack a day smokers.

Then I posted her Kreepy Krawly on Craiglist - $150, paid $375 and only used two months!

"I am on the list at the library to learn how to use the computer", she confided to me, "I'm number 25 in line. I was number 37, so I am getting there. Lord, I'm 79 years old, they better hurry!"

We rode over to her house with the car loaded up with the last of it and handed over the keys.

"Do you still have that refrigerator?" she asked and we nodded that yes, unfortunately we did. "Well, I can't give you $150 for it, but I'll give you $125. I need to look at it first."

So we climb into the car and head back over for the inspection.

As she climbed out of her 2006 pale yellow Lincoln (watch out any body who happens to be driving south of Memphis!) she waved her readers at the half acre of lawn, "Did that grass need cutting when you all moved in?"

You have to imagine her southern accent dripping with those syrupy elongated vowels. Joe, peering at the enormous lawn as the torrential rains caused the neon green grass to appear to grow right in front of our eyes, said, "Why yes, I mowed it as soon as I moved in."

We proceeded into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator and looked it over and nodded her approval that the deal was sealed. Then her attention turned to the stove, "Did this stove need cleaning when y'all moved in?"

I shrugged and mentally kicked myself for not scrubbing the pans under the burners as she lifted them up in disgust. "Well, I normally replace them anyway." As she moved out of the kitchen and into the living room to continue with the once over.

Once it was over and we had our deposit back and a second check for the refrigerator we were giddy with joy! Joe more so because Louise had not checked the windows. Joe, late one evening had the scare of his life. As he took out his small pistol for some absurd reason (I am not a gun person) and it went off (this is why I am not a gun person) and he shot through the curtain, the blinds, the glass, and the screen.

I can hear Louise now, "Was this bullet hole here when you moved in?"

Come and Find Me Suckers

The first week of April I signed up to (try) and write an entry a day for a month. I knew it was risky but I thought that I could do it. I am in the middle of moving and I thought it would be a healthy distraction as well as help me focus on the interesting aspects of pulling up roots and relocating.

I began to miss days in the midst of crisis' looming and the overwhelming feeling of pressures. Yet, here I sit in an empty family room on a freshly cleaned carpet banging away on the keyboard and watching old episodes of South Park. I have the garage to sweep out, garbage to dispose of, the kitchen to clean, and the bathrooms, odds and ends to throw into the car and I am out of here!

The cat sits in the door way to the kitchen lounging on the mustard colored blanket he has taken to. I feel his confusion. Joe says I assign too many human qualities to him, but I do believe he is also concerned about things. All will end well for him. The past several days have been extremely exciting for him. He has been finding himself allowed outside albeit under supervision. He loved it under the ramp of the moving truck and swatted at all who happened to walk by. As it my nature to always have to know exactly when he is at all times, since he has the annoying habit of running out when no one is looking, he has developed another annoying habit called "Come and Find Me Suckers!". I assign this quality to him, he loves to play and has turned into the all time hide and seek champion. When our voices begin to take on that panicked pitch he will materialize like an apparition, in a nonchalant poise looking at you with slowly blinking green eyes and the touch of a smirk around his mouth.

I am going to unplug the machine and transport it to ....where is this part of Kentucky exactly? That area of Tennessee is called Middle Tennessee and we are a hairs breath from the Tennessee border, but it is West Kentucky. So, it is to the west I go.

And I am going to upgrade to the new Blogger templates so the Header may change. And I may go back to Alphawoman's Blog.

Why? Because I miss her.

All's cool. All's good.

(A Several minutes later! Wow! What a change! But, Ilike it. I will have to work on it. Alpha'a back Baby!!)

Ode To Kentucky Derby Past

Some people think it is attending the 7th game of the World Series. Others think it is being among the many at the Super Bowl. Some poor souls think it is attending the Masters. And then some will argue it is a front row seat at Wimbledon, the Indy 500, NASCAR, or the World Cup, or the Stanley Cup final game, or the NCAA championship final. Wrong wrong wrong. I am here to tell you it is a breath taking two minutes held on the first Saturday in May in a little old town called "Louavull" on a horse track known as Churchill Downs for a race called The Kentucky Derby.

I attended the 1973 race that is, without doubt, the greatest Horse Race in recent history where Secretariat blasted the mile and a quarter in under two minutes. Over 35 years later, his record stands.

In 1974 I attended the 100th running when Cannonade received the blanket of roses. I was one of a crowd of 165,000 + spectators. We were packed into the infield like the wild animals we were (back then) and no fence could restrain us! At the first turn, we knocked down the fence and rushed the rail. (if you watch to about the 40 second mark you can see me, I am the one with the sunburn).


JUMPING JESUS! Watching the entire race I realized you can see the guys climbing the infamous flag pole!! Whoever - some one, only they know - climbed the pole and "streaked" (flashed/mooned) the entire infield

It was many many years later I returned to the Derby. I thought that the incident at the 100th running would have been forgotten by that time. I believe it was 1987 and I got to see the great horse Alysheba, son of Alydar, who was always a bridesmaid and never the Bride finishing second every single race to the Triple Crown Winner Affirmed!!

People wonder why? Some people do not get horse racing. All I have to say is get to a Derby once (preferably in Millionaire Row) and you will forever understand.

Go With The Flow

As we pulled up to the Budget Rent A Truck -NOT! Center I accepted the glaring realization that the place was closed up tighter than a drum. It was several minutes after noon and maybe I was misinformed or not informed that I had to be there before noon!

A quick phone call informed me that I was at the incorrect Budget center and happily we took off for another part of the city.

"I am not going to let myself freak out", I said to my young friend and companion, "I told myself that I am going to have to go with the flow and do what I can, concentrate on one thing at a time.The whole is overwhelming."

"This is what I admire about you, how you can keep it together! I have to have it all planned out and running smoothly. If something goes wrong, I fall to pieces. I think of you when I am in situations...."

I smiled and sat a little straighter knowing that I am a positive influence on this wonderful, successful young adult!

We arrive at the true rental place and survey the several trucks lined up at the front of the parking lot facing the major artery. They did not look too bad and something inside of me relaxed. I felt relieved that the trucks were all 16 footers and not the 24 footer that I had ordered. For the past 24 hours I had dreaded having to drive the Monster Of My Imagination. But, if they did not have a 24 footer I would once again roll with the punches.

The Monster of My Imagination was parked out back.

We discretely waited for the manager to return to the store as I climbed up into the cab and turned on the diesel engine and acted like I was examining all the gages and gear shifters, the brakes.

"Shall I go get the car?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, please. That would be lovely."

As soon as that guy was long gone and my car was humming in wait, we exchanged seats and high tailed it down the road to Project get The Hell Out Of Here!

We arrived at the soon to be Old Homestead Now Rental Property, and immediately realized it was going to be a bitch to maneuver the truck around the residential street and back the Monster into the drive way. A mail box and a lone utility pole were obstacles that posed a major problem.

As I was on the phone giving directions to a hopelessly lost Step Son who was creeping along the streets in the bowels of West Louisville searching for an escape over the River into Indiana perhaps reacting to the panic in his voice, I hysterically scream at the fast approaching 24 foot rental truck (IT WILL COST $50,000 TO REPLACE ONE OF OUR TRUCKS IF YOU DO NOT HAVE IT INSURED!!)

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TELEPHONE POLE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

So much for my Step Son's ear drums.

So much for my cool under pressure persona. It was a nice illusion while it lasted.

Truckin' Got My Chips Cashed In

I awake at the literal crack of dawn by the lone wisp of the first song from the bird choir. It is still dark as before the dawn, yet there is no mistaking the day is breaking as the silly cat makes a trip over my chest. He is heavy, as I have fattened him up over the past six months. He plants himself in the open window, laying down to listen to the warm up for the symphony.

This is every morning, my life, and this is the next to the last day this perfect spring water color morning will unfold just this way.

I will meet a friend for breakfast. One of my longest long time friends. One from those very first days of college. One that has lasted through the upheavals, the change of course, the husbands, the boyfriends, the fights, the break-up, the coming back together. The friendship is rare as a fine wine. When it resumed, after a long long silence, I thought "why is this woman my friend? Would I be drawn to her now?"

Yet, she knows things about me, the "other" me. That other "me" that I think no longer exists until I am with her. She is still there, maybe not exactly hiding, but just shoved back. Back behind responsibility, behind the pain, behind the growth, behind the maturity. She use to be very skinny, smoke a lot of dope, and drink cheap Boones Farm Strawberry Wine. She was so much fun!

I also got to see my High School BFF this week. Separated by four states it is difficult to see each other often enough. I was hesitant to see her because I have gained 20 pounds. Have you heard anything more ridiculous? Seeing her, picking back up over a bottle of wine, is like going home.

The watercolor day is really beginning. Must go. Bloody Mary's are calling me!

I'm Just Not That In To Me

I gave up trying to write a post a day for a month. I just do not have that much happening that is interesting. Well, that is not the truth, it's just that I can not share a lot of stuff that is very interesting. Since I am not as anonymous as I would like. Or, I just do not have the guts.

Life is falling apart. I have a truck rented for tomorrow and no one to help fill it up and/or drive it to the destination. It appears that Joe's new immediate boss, knowing that Joe is "moving" this week-end decided to take some vacation days leaving Joe in charge of not one, but two locations!!

I like Joe's immediate boss, but not today. And I may remain angry for sometime. I am in a tight spot. Yet, I am not going to freak out and fought back tears all day long.

My friend is going to help me get the truck and load the furniture. Then, Joe's son will arrive to help later in the day. And hopefully, drive the truck to the final destination.

I have been drinking heavily all day.

Funk 49

or....I need a Wife!

I vacillate from feelings of dread to a state of apathy. From rage to fear. From disbelief to surrender. The monstrous amount of responsibilities that sits on my shoulders will crush me if I allow it. Instead, I make lists, revise them, tear them up, begin anew.

Time is running out. Everything is settled in the other new place of residence. I am ashamed to say that I had a hissy fit of sorts at the Water Company, aka City hall. Did I mention I am moving into a town on the outskirts of Clarksville, and the entire population is under 1500? When they told me I could not write a check for the deposit, that I had to present them a Cashiers Check, a Money Order or Cash, or a combination of the three, I just lost it. $150 deposit!!!!! "What kind of water do you all have here? Ponce de Leon water?" she looked at me blankly, "The fountain of youth? That would explain the outrageous deposit! Can't you do a credit check or something?"

And from behind a partition came this voice, "You're in small town now".

I wanted to smack her face. What did that have to do with anything?

It got worse. At the electric company they told me my husbands social security number did not match his name, "That will be $240 please". He raged, not at them at me! I Must have given them the wrong number, they must have key punched it in wrong. This once happened with a credit card. It's the most embarrassing thing ever!!!

Well, I just hope the Social Security office can straighten it out.

Then I argued with the people at AT&T. My Razr is obsolete. Replacing the battery would maybe work for a while, but odds are it would just resume the problem I am having now. No matter how many times I told them it was not the original battery, that I had traded with my husband because he had problems with the battery and that he depended on his cell phone for his work so I traded...they only wanted to sell me a new phone. IE, one not obsolete, one that had a key board and no, they no longer carried flip phones. Obviously, technology has left me behind. I do not text all day and I do not check my e-mail all day, I do not live and die by a PDA.

Two years out of the work force and I am truly a dinosaur. Me and my cell phone.

Angst at the Yard Sale

I have spent the prior three nights tossing and turning in angst laced dreams, anxiety and worries about the Yard Sales. I only advertised on Craigslist, no "Mayberry Sun" the weekly newspaper from the Idyllic Hometown, to drop off the announcement of impending sale that everyone in town would read, and if interested, attend.

I jumped out of bed at 5am after trying to sleep with little success. I ran to Kroger to pick up supplies. I found a helium balloon, bright red that proclaimed the announcement "SALE". Since thy used them throughout the store, I thought I could just get it for nothing! No way, $2.99 to purchase their advertising! Nuts! I posted the "YARD SALE" signs in eye grabbing electricfying colors. This was the source of my anxiety the previous night, the placement of the signs. My eyes opened and I sat up in bed and realized we have not a single telephone pole in the area as our lines (cable etc) are all under ground! How am I to advertise and lure people to my house???

Then I calmed myself with my Nine Year Beverage Career training and found plastic straps and a hole puncher and TA-DA my signs were strapped to the street sign's at both ends of the street.

Next, I began to set up. It was approximately 645am and that was when they began to come.

Post it and they will come!

I am sun burnt, exhausted, and so relieved it is over. Now, I just have the move itself to worry about. That should be worse, huh?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe.

Where did all the good men go?

Yesterday and today I have advertised my "Moving Sale" on Craigslist. I have listed some of the items that I want to sell, such as the eclectic coffee table and matching end tables, the Elvis first day issues, the electric saw, stuff like that.

I also included this patio Coca Cola umbrella I have. My thinking is this, if I have not used it or looked at it or even forgotten I owned it, it goes into the yard sale. The umbrella falls into the last category. It's brand new, never out of the box.

I received an e-mail, "How much are you asking for the umbrella?"

I thought about it and e-mailed back, "$10".

She e-mailed me back, "Is it a patio umbrella!!"

Oh my, I was not asking enough, so I e-mailed back, "From your reaction, I guess I am not asking enough! It is a patio umbrella and I am going to ask $25!"

She e-mailed me back and offered $20 and since I was feeling like a weird sort of two faced Indian Giver person, I said OK. She wrote she was sending her husband over around 8pm.

A little after 8 o'clock here he comes in a little blue pick up truck. He ambles up to the door wearing overalls and a John Deere hat, his face as weathered as an old apple.

"You must be Barb's husband" I said in greeting as he opened his wallet as I opened the door. He stood on the door step, I thought he would come in as I held the door open wide, but he stopped and gave me a charming smile and handed me the $20 as I handed him the umbrella.

"It's brand new" I explained as my fingers tightened around the bill, my first sale!

He began to walk down the step, gave me a wave and said, "Just doing what I'm told" and turns and walks away.

"I wish I had one like you", I said to his retreating back.

My daughter came up behind me and said, "Just like Grandpa. Where did all the good men go? Where are they? Where can I find one?"

I just shook my head, "1940 I guess."

But, my karma for the day was in peril. I had`advertised the maple bed in Memphis, just to get rid of it because it is a king size and just too heavy, too big, just too much for $100. I got a fish on the hook immediately and she met Joe tonight.

"Now she wanted $75 for it..............??????"

So Joe thought it was $75!! Man, she got me good!!

What goes around comes around, never forget it.

Get in that Kitchen, WOMAN, and Fix me a Baloney Sammich!

I knew there would be days when I did not feel like writing an entry. When I knew I was going to be without a computer and had to rely on the kindness of libraries in a strange city I thought ahead and uploaded some pictures to help keep the juices flowing. Now that I am at home again and have full access to ...well everything, I'm just blank!

So, I'm going to do WHAT'S FOR DINNER MOMMIE or better known as I'M HUNGRY WOMAN!This is my husbands favorite. Granted, he picks out the chicken and usually leaves the veggies behind so that when I go to warm it up the next day looking forward to some great left over action....it's all veggies! Ha!

This recipe was passed down to me from my good friend Barry in Florida, He was visiting one time and came over and cooked dinner. This was his dish and over the 20 years since, I have perfected it. Perfected it!!

First off, take about one pound (or two if you have a Joe type person lurking about) of chicken breasts and cut them up into big bite size pieces and place them in a bowl or plastic bag and marinate in soy sauce and some minced garlic. You can also toss in some flavored olive oil, Worchesire sauce etc. You can go as wild as you want. I usually marinate for a couple of hours.

Chop up a ton of veggies. I usually chop up...

one onion
two medium size zucchinis,
two yellow squash,
one green pepper,
a package of sliced mushrooms (whole if you want to slice them yourself)
a second clove of garlic minced up.
Sometimes I'll throw in broccoli if I have it.

Also have on hand -

one sliced tomato
Swiss cheese, sliced or shredded does not matter. About four slices or 1/2 cup

Salt and pepper to season to taste.

And the magic ingredient Kentucky Kernel Seasoned Flour...any seasoned flour will do.


Ain't Vegetable's Grand.

Take the marinated chicken and coat it with the Seasoned flour by throwing it all in a bag and shake shake shake.

Take a wok and heat about 1/3 cup of oil until it sizzles. I usually will test it by tossing in a piece of the chicken. When it's hot enough toss in the rest and wok it!! Wok it good!!

It will look like this at first.


Then they will turn a beautiful golden brown as you toss them around to cook evenly.


Add all the veggies except the tomatoes. It will look like a lot, but it cooks down and then it will.......


Cook about five minutes or until the veggies are crunchy not limp....


........look like this! Season to taste with salt and pepper or whatever you like. Maybe hot maybe not.

Add the tomatoes. Isn't that color beautiful!


Then the cheese


Cover and allow cheese to melt. It will look like this when finished!


I serve it over rice. Every so often I will put it over angel hair pasta.

I call it.....I don't have a name for it!! Any suggestions?

First Memories

When my parents married they lived somewhere up from New York City where the picture from yesterday was taken. The little house was in a cul-de-sac that was perched up on a hill that sloped down to the main highway. Across the Highway was the Lake.

I have many memories of the first house I lived in. I believe I was four years old when we moved to Kentucky. The house backed up to a forest, I think. I have a vivid memory of a deer hung over our sand box in the back yard during hunting season. It was not my fathers hobby. My father never handled a gun again after WWII. It was maybe the landlords or someone else who lived in the small grouping of homes.

Several years ago, while driving in the wild back country of Ohio/Indiana I saw the the same image that is seared in my mind from Jefferson Valley. A deer hanging from a tree.

I wonder what they were thinking to expose children to such a horror. I suppose they did not even think about it.

I fell down the stairs, those long concrete stairs that led to the front door. I remember rolling and rolling. I still have a scar at the corner of my right eye from the experience.

My brothers were always fighting, being Irish twins and all. The youngest one, T., was somewhat of a drama-kid even back then. He would run into the house crying and complaining of this or that and my Dad would say, "Let me see the blood. No blood? Hmmmm, you can't be that hurt!"

My mother was busy in the kitchen when T. approached her, hiding his head behind two small hands, sneaked up behind her and yelled, "Look Mom!!BLOOD!!" and exposed the side of his head that had been whacked by a brick thrown by N.!!He was so proud of the blood that no tears were shed.

Other memories are stories that at times I wonder if they are just the tales handed down and told over and over, or if they are memories. I do remember being falsely accused of knocking over a horse jockey, the kind that holds your house number. My other brother N. was the favorite golden child to the family that lived in the house and even though he knocked the jockey over (man that kid must have been stong!)I was the one banished from their house, never to be able to go in the yard again.

A memory or just the story retold and retold?

The Lake would freeze and we would go ice skating on its surface. I do not remember this, but there are pictures of me in a snow suit with mittens and matching hat standing in the drive way balanced on skates. I do remember those skates, they were two blades instead of the regular grown up one blade. I do not remember the actual skating part, but I'm certain we did because my Dad liked to skate.

It snowed a lot up there.

When we left my two brothers and my Mom took the train to Kentucky. I made the trip with my Dad in the car. I was wearing a hat, like all good little girls did back in the day, and I stuck my head out the window and the hat blew off.

Lost forever. Like most of my very early childhood memories.

But not all.

You say Facebook, I say Craigslist

(My families first Home in Jefferson Valley - circa 1957. My brother T. running out of control down the steep hill that crosses a main highway and then the Lake. Funny the things the mind holds like a snap shot).

I am searching all over the Clarksville area for a house/home to rent. Today I looked at a house very close to Ft. Campbell (which I did not realize was also in Tennessee. Have you ever heard of Ft. Campbell Tennessee?? No, it's Ft. Campbell Kentucky!). I had a difficult time finding the house, as my Garmin was totally off the mark. Thank God I had ripped out the area map with street assignments from the phone book...don't tell anyone. I pulled into the driveway and I immediately knew this house had an unloved look. Not that it was run down or dirty, just it had not a single shrub, tree or flower in the front yard. It looked unadorned and plain. I knew I would not rent it immediately. Walking into the house I knew for certain I would not rent it.

I told the guy that it had very steep stairs to the basement and my husband was a sleep walker and would kill himself.

It was the truth.

I am back at the public library checking out Craigslist...again. The houses I found yesterday are either rented and/or they did not respond to my inquires.

The housing market is tight here with the Army base and all. I need to find the church and go light a candle.

Endless Summer - Second Job

When I turned 16 I was eligible to apply for one of the coveted life guard positions at the Woodemere Pool, the local "watering hole" of the Baby Boomer set. I got the job!! I was thrilled beyond description. It was the best job ever! Not only did I get to tan all day, I also got to blow the whistle at anyone I wanted and yell at them. When it was the top of the hour, the two guards on duty stood and blew their whistles at the same time and everyone cleared the pool. As the last kid shimmied out of the pool and everyone was safely sitting on the side waiting for the ten minute break to end, we (the two lifeguards) would jump or do a magnificent swan dive, into the now empty crystal clear pool.

The more I think about the three years I spent life guarding at Woodemere and the Country Club, I think it warrants more than one post/entry.

After all, this is the place that I suffered through my first crush, Kit, who taught me how to dive. I was terrible. No talent, but because I was 12 and in love, I did what ever dangerous dive he demanded. A back flip and a half gainer where as exotic a dive as I was able to execute. And for the most part I landed on my back, on my face, or some contorted position smacking the water with excruciating force, all in the name of love.

The worst was the back dive off the high dive. But, I loved trying the back dive because he would hold me at the waist as I bent over backwards and then he would ....let go. Down I would plunge, holding my breath as my legs ever so uncooperative would, in slow motion, break the line and sail over my head causing me to do a monumental belly flop. I'm certain it looked as comical as it sounds. And I am double certain it hurt as much as it sounds. And I did it over and over again until I finally did it right.

All for love.

Kit, at 17, also was the manager of the pool and the Coach of the swimming team. I was his star back stroker, because he learned that I was not cut out for diving. I believe to this day that the reason I excelled in swimming for the next five years was I secretly thought winning the Olympic Gold Medal would also win Kit's heart.

By the time I was a lifeguard, he was long gone. Gone to college somewhere, probably married. I had lost interest and moved on. But, he was my first major crush. A living and breathing, blond haired babe with a hot tanned body and the mysterious missing finger to the second knuckle. That imperfection was enough to drive my 12 year old heart to burst with the flush of love and desire.

Forty (40) years later, at my fathers funeral, a gray haired, slightly short, slightly stout, wearing spec's a man in a tan jacket took my hand looked deep into my eyes and said, "I'm Kit H.".

I almost fainted. My heart began to beat wildly and my face flushed to the shade of my red, as red as my back after the high dive disaster incident.

At my age. My my.

Girl For Hire

Advertures in Baby Sitting

My first form of employment was babysitting, which was the way for most of us Baby Boomers. I worked for fifty cents an hour! I suppose this was fair. A pack of cigarettes cost 25 cents at the machine in Wilson Drugs. It was positioned discretely by the front door so us kids could slip our quarters in the slot, pull the knob and be out the door unapprehended and unseen. So, fifty cents and hour = two packs of ciggies at today's (Kentucky rates) = $10.00/hour, so it was all good back then.

The important things for a 12 year old making fifty cents an hour were modest and worth saving for. Coupled with my allowance, which was also fifty cents a week, I was able to save and purchase record albums (The Beatles, Motown, Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Monkees)which were about $3.50 back then. A 45 single was 99 cents. A 16 magazine was 25 cents, Tiger Beat about the same!

So, if I worked two nights on the week-ends, I was rolling in the dough on Monday.

Less the dime I would put in the offering envelopes for the collection at church on Sundays. And more than likely, less the money I could spend at the local store at the end of the street next to ours, Giles Grocery. The Pepsi machine at the front of the store sold soda's for one thin dime.

I baby sat a lot of the local kids, besides my own brothers and sisters (which I was not paid for, included in my allowance) and remain very friendly with their families all these years later. I did not realize how young these couples actually were! Newly graduated from college and beginning a family in "Mayberry". I recently went to a funeral for one of them and confided to one of the sons that I babysat for them and he replied, "And you came back?? I hear we were the holy terror of the town!" and I blurted out, "No body was as bad as WH!!" I realized where I was and very likely he could be standing behind me!! Time has a way of changing a four year old into a late 40 year old! But after a stunned silence (for my part) we laughed.

I think WH was a hand full at school also. I think he may have been expelled. If I also remember correctly, I was their only baby sitter! I was requested by this little demon! Maybe I was the only one who could tolerate, I mean handle him.

He was a handsome cuss, even then.

My babysitting ended when I began to go out with my friends who had cars and we began "Riding around". I had no time for baby sitting then. And fifty cents an hour was not cutting it any longer.

I graduated to other things.

Update

Or..Why I am moving (again)

As you may or may not know, my husband works for the Rail Road industry. Before, he worked for one of the major carries. His job was eliminated and he was forced to leave his cushy desk job and try something else with the company he had been with for over 30 years. And it happened, but we had to relocate to Ft. Wayne while he trained for the position as an Assistant. We were there for two years. At first I hated FW, mainly because it was not home and I missed my family. It grew on me after awhile and I have very fond memories of our brief time there. There was a job opening in Louisville and Joe applied. Holy Moly!! He got the job! We were going home!

Unfortunately, he hated the job. He was working 60 - 72 hours a week. He was being forced to preform his job and also cover for the Yardmaster and he absolutely hated that!! He hated his supervisor and he just hated everything.

Not one to sit around and wait for something to happen, Joe jumped companies! He left the class A carrier and joined a regional Rail Road and immediately (I mean immediately) began to run the line in Memphis.

It was so fast that my head could not take it in. Sell our house? Move? Again?? In less than one year. So we decided to take six months and see what happens.

Six months came and went and I stalled around not really wanting to move to Memphis. Memphis is .... really far away. Six hours. Joe was flying home, I was driving down, we made it work for the past year, but things were being to fall apart. I could not find a job up here, so it made sense to just rent out our house and for me to move down there.

Well, great plans sometime go astray. Life has a way of not cooperating.

Joe was asked to take over the yard in an area much closer to Kentucky. As a matter of fact, a lot of the line is in Kentucky.

So, tomorrow I go with him to Clarksville Tennessee and scope things out, find a house/apartment and move...all in 21 days.

Not only move from here, not I have to move from Memphis too. Since we have two residences (God Help Me!!)

So, that's where it is. It is what it is.

Missing you Already

Before I say farewell to the Louisville area I thought I would go around and visit the places I am going to have a hard time leaving behind. As you well know by now, I am a book reader, lover, collector, being my mother’s daughter (as all kids in my family are, we all read, we all have books coming out the wazoo). My very favorite place to find books is the Goodwill Store located on Brownsboro Rd. Why does this store stand head and shoulders above the others? It is the Hoity Toity area of town, that's why.

The books are placed in these huge plastic bins and sit outside the store for lots of good elbow room to sort and dig. I love to get to the bottom of the container, as I am certain there lies the one precious gem I have been looking for.

All the Goodwill’s in the area, on the South side of the River, sell their books for 50 cents! That is fifty cents! I love it. I once pulled out a 1st Edition Steinbeck. The dust jacket is missing (making it almost worthless), but still. I was looking every where for the April 1969 National Geographic magazine. Guess where I found it? Unbelievable. Magical. My last journey found me pawing through the offering when one of the attendants ambled over with a large box of recently donated bounty and let me have first peek.

OMG!! Cookbooks! You almost never get to find a good cook book of any caliber in the bins. They are in high demand and coveted by us thrifters. I scored two much needed local recipe books! (not....I must have 25 books by now!)

I also grabbed up three National Audubon Society Field Guides; Birds, North American Wildflowers, and North American Reptiles & Amphibians! They are bound in various shades of green leather and in mint condition. All First Printing, 1979. $1.50.

I am really going to miss the book bins at Brownsboro Rd.

What's For Dinner?

Or - Look Out Pioneer Woman!!


Check out Thematic Photographic #44 - Edible

Because I fancy myself somewhat of a cook I decided to tell you what I had for dinner last night.

First of all, it's only me. If Joe were home, I'm certain he would indulge me and eat this dish, complaining that it's too rich, too many calories, not diet food etc. etc. etc. In the morning I would find the remains of the dish almost empty in the refrigerator, with the Rubbermaid top not sealed properly a casualty of "sleep eating" (which accompanies sleep walking).

We wonder why we can not loose weight.

I love watching The Food Channel and I love Paula Dean. She was cooking up an Etouffee with her BIL and I thought to myself, "That looks damn good!" I have been tweaking the recipe a little and I must say, last night I licked the bowl.

First off, I made my own fish stock. Yuck you say, and I say yuck too, but man oh man, did it make a difference. I bought a lb. bag of raw shrimp (de-headed and de-veined) at ALDI for under $4, boiled it with some Shrimp Seasoning from Kroger,drained and retained the water (and seasoning mix) and then pulled the tails and shells off and tossed them back into the brine with 1/2 cup onion, 1/2 cup celery, a squirt of lemon juice, a bay leaf and simmered it for about 45 minutes. When I finished that, I strained the fish stock and had about 2 1/2 cups (I did add water to the stock after cooking the Shrimp to make sure I had enough stock).


MARY'S ETOUFFEE

Take 1/2 stick of butter (Paula uses 1 whole stick y'all) and melt in a heavy pot and add 1/2 cup to 3/4 cup Kentucky Kernal season flour to make a roux (since I only used 1/2 stick of butter I only used about 1/2 cup of flour and later on found I had to make more roux with stock from the pot because I thought the Etouffee was not thick enough, but it was actually just right after I added the extra thickening roux). Stir constantly over a low heat until it turns a butterscotch color - maybe 30 minutes.



Chop up the following:
1/2 cup red pepper
1/2 cup green pepper
1 cup celery
1/2 cup chopped bacon
1 cup yellow onion
3/4 cup fresh tomatoes
1/2 cup fresh parsley
1 clove garlic minced

Roux should look like this at the beginning -

And like this at the end of 30 to 45 minutes -

When it looks beautiful like the above, stir in the veggies and bacon.

Then add the following:
1 cup beer
1 cup Half and Half
2 - 2 1/2 cups fish stock
1 bay leaf
a little salt
1 tablespoon Cajun seasoning
1 good splash of Red Hot sauce
1 got shot of Worcestershire


Let simmer for 20 - 30 minutes


It will will look like this!!



Almost ready to eat! Now make rice your favorite way - instant, brown, or traditional maybe you should not wait until the end, because you know how long it takes you to make rice, about 30 minutes if not instant.

I cooked the shrimp before so I do not throw it in the pot. I do not like my shrimp to shrivel up. So when it is all finished and done, smells Divine and a taste test tells me it's time, I put the rice on the bottom of the bowl, add the shrimp from my refrigerator and pour the hot Etouffee over all - the shrimp heats up fast!

And TA-DA Plate Licking Good



(disclaimer - Pioneer Woman I am not, my pots are OLD and look like it!)
(You can sub. bottles of Calm Juice, I think Paula used 4 bottles, and Cajun seasoning is red pepper, onion salt, garlic salt, black pepper etc..)

Portholes of Evil

I awoke with a violent jerk, my heart was pounding, I gasped and opened my eyes not knowing where I was. The evil lay heavy on my chest as I adjusted my eyes to the grainy dark room. My breathing calmed slightly as I recalled the struggle for the note book, the gun going off and the body laying in a crumpled heap against the wall. I searched frantically under him for the notebook, the map to where the money was hidden, an accomplice who was actually just another me, two of us…..the body was not dead and began to come to life, we ran to the convent across the street pounded on the door…it opened and …..there he was!!!!!!

My heart began to pound again, my eye lids heavy luring me back to sleep, quickly back to the evil. I forced myself to start praying…”Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee….”, then the Our Father, how did it go about any two people praying together. The cat was laying against my legs (in the center of the bed as always) and I inducted him as the number two, “Our Father who art in Heaven….”

What seemed like an eternity, maybe five minutes, the panic and dread began to abate. The evilness that followed me out of the dream faded until I could turn on the light and check the time.

Midnight.

My mind began to race as I searched for an answer, some soothing ointment to smear over my frantic electrified fears. Why did I feel the presence of evil breathing down my neck?

Last year, after my Dad passed away, I read many books about the afterlife seeking answers and assurances that he was in the arms of God. It lead me to read many books concentrating on paranormal theory and communicating with the decreased. What to do, what not to do. If goodness exists, an after life that hovers just beyond our consciousness, just beyond our touch, so does evil.

My mind quickly recalled the warnings concerning the Ouija board and the dangers of communicating with demons because they are likely to be the ones “passing by” looking for a door. I remembered the day the old Jesuit priest had to leave after noon mass to conduct an exorcism. The examples he gave us of previous exorcisms he had been involved with.

Evil was on my mind as I was reading Thomas H. Cook’s latest book, Master of the Delta. The main character is teaching a class to High School students about the inherent evils that have threaded its way through out our history. Tiberius, the Spanish Horse, the prison ship Minsk, Jack the Ripper, the Jukes lineage which has been blamed for populating the world with the scourge of poisonous, demented, dangerous, criminal personalities, the Salem Witch trials, the Spanish Inquisition. My mind was ablaze with examples of evil people who committed unspeakable crimes against mankind.

No wonder I was having night mares and visions releasing Evil into my bedroom!

Once I was calmed down enough to read, I picked up the book and studied the cover wondering if it should be returned unfinished to the library?

Heavens no! I cracked it open to where I had left off, the demons and evil spirits now faded away, and resumed reading.

Minding My Own Business

After approximately 30 years I found myself back in the Printers Alley area of Nashville. Me, the Hubs and Step Daughter were taking in the sights which include shopping for them and for me…looking for a bar so I could watch the Michigan State UConn basketball game.

We walked by a bar that looked promising, small with a smattering of customers seated at the bar watching the game. It beckoned me to belly up to the bar. I ordered a Blue Moon. The bartender warned me he did not have orange slices, but he had poured a touch of OJ in … and he nodded towards the gentleman sitting to my left….his, he could do the same for me.

Well okay. I’m actually not picky about fruit in my beer.

I moved over next to the fellow Blue Moon drinker to get a better view of the game on the TV behind the bar…....Just Minding My Own Business….

“Who are you pulling for?” Mr. Blue Moon asked.

“UofL…unfortunately” (I must be one of the few people, outside of Louisville, who refers to the University of Louisville as UofL)…

He frowned and shook his head, “Louisiana?” (LSU!!!!!!!!!!!!!Hell NO!!!) “Oh, Louisville!”

For the next hour or so I learned everything there is to know about Mr. Blue Moon. The most important thing is that his wife was sitting right next to him! Along with his SIL and maybe his wife’s brother. They drive a Chinook, class B vehicle, they travel every week end, they are from Michigan, he searches for wild flowers, and rocks, they go everywhere, they are going to Memphis next, they married in 1975, he was a social worker first got into education after 10 years, wish he’d done it sooner, wife retired two years ago, he could have too if he’d done it sooner….

Joe comes in with Step Daughter, drinks the end of my Blue Moon introduce him to “Jerry” and they leave to shop some more.

……going to the Grand Canyon, have grand kids, love micro breweries, going to write a coffee table book when retire, Coach Calipari will be good for Kentucky, did his post-graduate studying at Michigan State, go to Canada not Mexico though he heard you can live like a king for $1000 a month, the stock market is killing him, they love karaoke, his BIL is a musician and plays the up right bass, they got right on the Ryman Auditorium and sang, stood right where Johnnie Cash stood, got others to come up on stage and sing with them …….

Michigan State wins!!! They stood up and shouted out the Michigan State Fight Song, then a hardy cheer followed by more shouts. It was great!

“Was that too much? He asked me.

“ Hell no, I’m a Kentucky fan.” I had a brief flash back of running wild in the streets of Lexington one night after a monumental win. I recalled waiting at the Blue Grass Airport late at night to welcome the team home AFTER THEY LOST in 1992 (the famous Duke buzzer beater, damn that Christian Laettner). So the four of them shouting singing and prancing around in a Nashville bar in Printers Alley after their team earned a spot in the Last Dance was not a breach of etiquette but fully expected. In Tennessee, we all understood.

They left, to go to a Karaoke bar.

Joe and Step Daughter arrive to collect me.

“He was a trip”, I commented to Joe, “You know, if we lived closer to each other we could be best friends! Too bad.”

“Life is a bitch.”

(Jerry, sorry that UNC squashed you last night, like y'all squashed Louisville. I know how much it sucks).

If it Walks like a Duck Quacks like a Duck...

I have not had a lot to say lately. I feel like I could be depressed. I have been living with one foot in Memphis and one foot here, I see my husband only on weekends, I have to move for the second time in two years, the third time in four years, I have rented the house and need to be out by the 1st, I have no job anymore, I have my daughter living with me with and I hate her boyfriend and love her old one, and two of my rose bushes have kicked the bucket. The cat may be sick. Louisville lost to Michigan State. My Mom said it did not look like my diet was working.

It's official, I'm depressed, listless, lethargic,uninterested in the things that normally I'm all over, apathetic. And on top of all that, they are talking and making overtures to transfer Joe again!! So, I am in limbo.

Today I tackled the cupboards in the kitchen. Wow! The stuff you unearth that you had no idea you bought...or why?? I imagine I could eat for the rest of the month and not make a single trip to the grocery store!

What can you do with Artichoke & Hearts of Palm Bruschetta? Artichoke Antipasto? Mango Chutney? I found a jar of Grande Reserve Kentucky Extremely Hot Smoking Grill Spiced honey mustard! Yum. Also a lost jug of Caribbean Jerk marinade!I found the box of Irish bar-b-q turf! That stuff rocks. You put it in the grill close to the fire but not on the fire!! Several times I have reached into the cupboard searching around for the box of Kentucky Kernel Seasoned Flour (since 1810) and cursed because I did not have any! Ta-Da! I did, it was hidden in the pantry along with a long list of other things I forgot about.


I've been cleaning like a woman possessed. For my tenets for the love of God!! I even cleaned out the refrigerator shelf by shelf. Then the oven. It was hopeless. I even took a wire brush and could not remove all the gunk. The self cleaning feature is useless. I committed to buying a new stove.... for the tenets, Jesus Mary and Joseph!

I have about a million books and it makes me want to cry thinking I am going to haul them across country....again!

My yard sale is going to be awesome. Write for details.....