Field of Dreams is probably the last movie besides westerns that Mom and Daddy watched together. It has everything he loved like sports and agriculture and dreaming big. When he left home for the last time, it was in an ambulance...never to return. The flowers remained watered that he planted and will remain in his honor, though we may have to turn the light off that flag. It's burned 24/7 since he left. We met early this morning to pack and transport and Mama is already settled into her new place and holding court. As moving jobs go, it was flawless. She has TV and her phone and everything she packed so meticulously in the days prior to her move. Clothes in the closet and earrings sorted on the dresser. Toothbrush in place. We seriously should do this for a living.
I was totally unprepared for the emotional tidal wave that hit when we left the house behind that truck. Bubba and I both got pretty tore up crying over the whole deal and we agreed that this was worse than the funeral. It is an ending to a chapter that lasted 60 years as they raised three children who were each "challenging" in their own ways. My eyes have been almost swollen shut for days and there's not any place to stand at any of the urgent cares so um. Crying doesn't help, ya' know? I stopped by to see Ms Faye one last time and we lusted over the cute little cast iron cornbread things which will remain for the September viewing when otha' brother and his tribe arrive. I.Can't.Wait.
The view down there is changing, opening up a bit more than when Daddy kept it dark and cavelike. There's a hurricane headed for Florida which is, as they say, "to be expected" at this time of year. It's when coastal dwellers wonder what they were thinking. The heat here is stifling but not too much humidity so it's tolerable. Still, I stay inside when I can because GEEZ the ragweed is blooming or something. I've considered robbing a pharmacy for prednisone. I know a guy who crawled in through the drive in window of a local pharmacy and got busted bigger than shit.
One of my oldest friends is in town for her cousin's funeral, once again with Kay in charge. I got a card from Claudia yesterday reminding me of the 3-M company, a Jr. High club we made up. We were mid teens and exploring everything we were big enough to get into. Karla Jean lived out at Viar and became the toughest broad you ever saw on the basketball court. As an advocate for her son Kyle, Claude has tirelessly pursued healthcare options for his mitochondrial disorder. The last time I saw her was at a funeral, Aunt Becky's I think. ~
Either the NRA and Trump have been swallowed up by an earthquake or it's a slow news day for murder. Once again, let me claim Alison's dad as one who should be listened to because he is a moderate sort of man who's constitutional in his request for more oversight. You never know who's bi-polar and about to blow like a powder keg. Enough already. That kind of crap makes me want to watch the Kardashians for escape.