pecans and poop

Mama played hooky from church this morning so I checked in on her sleeping self after I counted pills. She had not slept well because of the incoming cold front and arthritis. After eggs and doughnuts, Daddy and I hit up the drug store for a giant heating pad and some naproxen. We also got her a Hoops and YoYo singing card and candy for her birthday. The pajamas will come later, before the 20th when she turns 78. Her bed is an antique high rise model with the legs cut off ( I kid you not ) so that she doesn't need a ladder to get in it. I sat on the side of her bed in the dark and we talked like we rarely get the chance to do, catching up on her state of mind and theirs collectively. So far, so good. She just hates getting up early and I figure she's been a loyal Methodist all these years and that's good enough. Besides, they don't even like the preacher.

The wind is quite gusty which is knocking off a few more pecans from the old trees. The little ones are everyfreakin' where but the big ones haven't fallen really well yet. That takes a hard freeze to snap 'em out of the hull. There are two places locally where pecans are cracked. One just cracks and bags and is downtown. Those willing to drive a few more miles to the Lowrance place can enjoyed cracked AND blown nuts. Much easier to pick out!

I find myself in a place where, honestly...I don't know what the hell to do but punt. Two of the most important people in my life have chosen not to support me right now and that really hurts. All my girlfriends can say is "bless your heart." My friend Sue mentioned one time when some catastrophe or another hit that I "had a black cloud over me." Snake bit, for sure! I was telling someone the tale again the other day about the Nigerian con man who had a bunch of shit shipped to my house to use as a drop off and mail point. That deputy honestly didn't know what to think when he saw it all laid out in the living room like dinner on the grounds. He told me to keep it. Like a dumbass, I sent it all back on my dime. I'm STILL waiting for the karma on that one. Prince Fred, as he was known, got really pissed and threatened me at work over the phone. I told him his stuff got sent back and deal with it.

Then there was the time that Old Hoss came to visit and we got stuck in the mud and I left him there to die with a bottle of Jack Daniels. Actually, I hiked two miles to call a wrecker. Dude who could "barely walk" was angrily hoofing it toward my house when we returned. Then my late precious puppy Butterbean got sprayed by a skunk in the field and Hoss wanted her to ride in the cab. I hung onto the outside of the truck and up the hill we went. He paid for the wrecker, BTW. Always a gentleman, that guy. I'll spare you the narrative about his emergency oxygen fix in Covington at Sue's tearoom.

My mother's favorite story is about how, as an infant, I decided to get artistic with the contents of my diaper on the wall. That, is where the nickname came from ya'll. What a legacy! My first blog was all about the poop and there was plenty of it. Shit is my favorite cuss word, followed closely by freakin'. Mama would die if I came out with the F word. That was my auntie's favorite guilty pleasure, coming out with it and to hell with you if you can't take it.

That's about it. Life on the lane is pretty much rinse,lather and repeat these days. And you know what? I love every second of it, drama and all because it's my life and the choice is my own whether to throw my hands up in despair or laugh about it and move on. I choose to move on.

^j^