Sunday, July 7, 2013


My computer is so old and the shift key sticks on occasion so it's a real chore to edit and spell check my words because, well. You know all about autocorrect. We southerners like to throw abbreviations and contractions around like kids chasing each other into the dusk after fireflies.I'm currently chair dancing and doing a total stream of conscience thing to rival any of the masters. Because you know why? I don't give a shit who you are, you WILL NOT steal my joy. I have a few family members who remind me of that vow ever now and then. We had a great morning meal at (get ready for this) NOT the eggs and doughnut place. It was loud and the food was good and mama was happy. Then we cruised through the Dairy Queen for two weeks worth of Dilly bars.

The market in antiques around here is slim because everybody's busy out buying Halloween decorations I reckon. There is wheat and dust and soot covering every inch of everything in my yard and I'm ready for some rain to rinse it off. The Camry window had a blowout yesterday so it's on shaky ground and due for a new coat of plastic. I can't make this shit up. More later on the life of that engine. It's about to hit 100K. My friend Ro called from the nursing home yesterday where my friend Sandy stays and I got to hear her voice on the phone reminding her of what a wonderful grandweezel she is. She came from a tarpaper shack in Crockett county to D'burg and became my life long friend. Her daddy's name was Ski, I believe. There is a brother that I've never met and a bunch of kids who came claiming her when the money was flowing. Her spirit is one of lightness and joy...always ready to giggle over something stupid. When I first started at the sawmill I had been dumped by a long time b'friend and she took me in as her running buddy. This was AFTER she survived a terrible accident in an MG which made one leg shorter for life. She is also the one who sat on the edge of the Mississippi river bridge to Missouri and didn't let me jump. That's a real friend.

Meanwhile, I'm sifting through the shit stuff and plan to clean the floors before the invited pickers come in. I mean really? And it's been this way for months. Maybe I need to go on one of those hoarder shows???? Nah. I'll just keep the faith until the food stamps come^j^ I am determined that family members get something that was our history even if it's just a little dresser cloth. Or a dining room table. Help!

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