butterbean...a love story

Once upon a time I was gettin' my hair did up at Headlines where my favorite people do their magic. Miss Rhonda was trimming and we were looking at the paper and there was just the CUTEST pup featured in the weekly humane society deal. Faith was grown and I needed a puppy for Christmas. Being the poor gal that I am, I posted that baby's picture on the bulletin board at work, asking for donations to go toward the adoption fee of $40. Alas, there were no takers except for my good friend, the little general. She forked over the money and away I went to check out the cages. For the life of me, I can't remember that puppy's name, but he or she was smooth gone when I showed up with cash in hand. They're all so damn cute when they're little, but one in particular caught my eye...a tiny little brindle rat terrier mix. She peered at me with those really sad eyes that say "pick me!" and so I did. She wore a red plaid ribbon around her neck for Christmas that year, a gift to me from Big Ernie and little Sharry. Faith, who was also a Miss Rhonda pick, didn't take kindly to having a younger sister. At some point, Hope fell got pushed off the steps and broke her leg right smack in the middle of our brokest times as recently divorced mother and daughter on the lam. Baby Hope slept with me for many months until she regained her doggie legs and began to hold her own with Faith, the runaway chocolate lab. This was way before Sam came to live with us, by the way. That's a whole 'nother story.

Terriers are notorious for being nervous and Hope was no exception. She shivered constantly when the temp dipped below 60 and barked at the moon and the critters and just because she could. That was when BG changed her name to Butterbean and it stuck. When I picked her up from the vet's office Friday, some guy in the waiting room remarked about that name being unusual. Not in the south, ya'll.

Faith and Butterbean LOVE to ride in the car. Faith hangs her head out the back window lappin' up the breeze and Butters mounts the console, looking straight ahead at life whizzing by in the trusty old Camry with her mama at the wheel. Three hubcaps, no driver's side door handle, lots of bumps and scratches and almost paid for after eight years of hard labor with only 60K miles and a new engine thanks to cousin Kenny and the big fat honking oil gel settlement against Toyota. Yes, that is a run-on sentence, thank you very much. Sue me.

Anyway, I'm rambling. A few days ago, Butterbean began to look "funny" which is a red flag to a pet's best friend. I kicked the other two to the curb, and focused on her. She slept next to me on the pillow, breathing in my ear like when she was a pup. And then she couldn't get up.

That's when we started the journey to the vet's office where they run all sorts of tests and make a clinical diagnosis. Cassie Rae drew her blood for free and we ran the labs on instruments designed for human blood to save a buck. Two hundred thirty dollars later, she was diagnosed with a ruptured thoracic disc. BG had dropped her off and I picked her up several hours later in the pouring rain to come home for a few more days. We have puppy drugs that seem to keep her out of pain, but she still can't get up. Her sister and brother are keeping watch on the couch beside her, giving her kisses and not the least bit jealous anymore. They know, according to C.

It's almost med time.

^j^

outside of the box

Our lives here in this old house have consisted of lots of going through and pitching onto the fire pile. The heirlooms are safe and either displayed in china cabinets that were passed on or packed in tissue paper for the next generation. Being the non-organized person that I am, it's been just lately that I've begun to make piles and sift through things. When you live in one place for fifty plus years, things tend to get helter skelter. Daddy and I did the remodel of my house, circa 1918, over a six month period after Mr. Council moved out but it took about fifteen more years to clean up his mess in the attic and basement, bless his heart. There were rabbit feed bags on every floor and little bits of history everywhere. Slowly but surely, they have been touched and archived. Except for the wood burning stove in the basement. It's way too heavy to move so I might as well load it up with wood. They say that heat rises.

The intent of my writing and photography from day one has been to patch together the stories in some form or fashion for a book about the history of this farm and my life. All of that is in boxes that include mounds of paper and one dead hard drive, thanks to a computer geek in upstate New York who cared enough to keep this old PC going back in the day. Thats where blogging became more than just what-poopie-ate, as Gilda would say.

As funerals go, Mr.Bruce's was a great one. No rain, not too hot and a nice breeze. There was a small but faithful crowd, and thankfully the message was not real preachy. Allen did a superb job of telling the history of Dick and Peg and their entire family. At the cemetery, two young marines flanked the flag draped casket as another played taps in the distance. The flag bearer kneeled before their only son and spoke on behalf of the president and our country, presenting him with the stars and stripes that his purple heart decorated dad defended at Iwo Jima as a 19 year old marine.

There are boxes of fabric, waiting to be cut into quilt pieces for Annie to work her magic. A ladder sit propped against the ancient window in the living room where there are two offices...one for me and the other for Conner. Mary Engelbreit's calenders remind me where to be and whose birthday is coming up. And God bless Butch...there is propane in the tank and he hasn't even given the first courtesy call for payment. Dude knows that when it gets cold, I'll pay him what I owe and then some.

Just another day in paradise ^j^

ode to oscar

We've had a lot to handle here on the lane this week what with the visitor and Mr. Bruce's passing yesterday. I cried off and on yesterday, not for him but for all of the good times our families shared together. There were three of us kids in the same grade. On holidays and sometimes just for the heck of it we'd all get together at somebody's house and celebrate our lives.

Mr. Bruce was the principal of one of our elementary schools, the one that my brothers and I and his son attended. He once told my mother that I had an exceptional IQ but he often caught me staring out the window. Go figure that one! I never really studied hard the entire 12 years, and did it ending up as average in a pool of over and underachievers. Over the seasons, my parents' other friends have taught me as well. Many of the ladies play bridge together and some attend the same church. Mostly, they've been drawn together through work or getting to know their kids' parents. Ms. Peggy Bruce, his wife, died a couple of years ago. After recovering from that, he set his sights on taking care of my ailing parents with meals and visits. He was a godsend, and he knew he was dying. That's true love folks.

He and Peggy have made me who I am today along with many other parents who weren't my "blood kin" and I think I've done that with BG's friends as well. They are fine people who will live on in our hearts forever because of what they teach us to be as adults, even if the process is sometimes a bumpy road. Hey..I'm used to that. I'm a country girl, remember?

We'll be at the cemetary if you need us.

^j^

transitionally speaking

The unanswered questions that have been swirling through the family's collective head got some answers this week. My parents will be able to live where they are, as long as they wish. The rest is just details. I feel blessed, to say the least. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of my daddy's home office, I marveled at the mess that had grown from a once highly organized ag business into a huge pile of papers. We hauled it all up the hill and sat down at my Ethel's kitchen table to sort through. The cleaning ladies warned me to watch out for spiders and I ran across one soon after spreading it all out at my house. He's dead.

Colors are peakin' here now, a gorgeous array of autumn hues strutting their stuff while the opportunity is there to shine. Mother nature always makes me smile, even when it's gloomy . Because, ya know? Sometimes there's a rainbow on the other side.

^j^

pride and arrogance

I remember watching this Brad Pitt movie called "Seven" where all the people who sinned got punished with a quadruple dose of what they sold their souls for. Pride stands out in my mind as a biggie, unless one gives Big Ernie the credit for the state of what's happening right now in your life. Must be the methodist coming out in me, I dunno. It's been a typical day off here on the lane...lots of errands and covert chats about the state of our union. Right now, it all looks iffy. All I can say is "til death do us part." After that, I'm outta here.

Daddy bought Pride when the renter's girlfriend couldn't pay for his pasture. He and Trapper got chased by many of my dogs over the years, always kindly not kickin' the shit out of their stupid little barking heads. I probably missed my chance at sugardaddy right then and there. They were an odd couple, one a mississippi boy and the other from east tennessee. The sawmill hired them to come do anesthesia at our place and somehow they ended up as my neighbors for a few years. I think Toni was responsible for that :)

There are so many of my friends out there who need prayers right now. Let's just call it faith and name it "unspoken."

^j^

the other place

Like I said, I'm trying to gather up the gumption to be an honest to goodness NanoWrimo participant this year. There's another side of me that writes with abandon (um, sometimes ) over here Now, before anybody I work or drink beer with gets all huffy about recognizing their character, just remember that it's a novel meaning it's FICTION. Names are changed to protect the innocent, umkay? So don't do anything mean like they did to Doose. I promise, when the royalties start rolling in, you'll be the first one I take out for a drink.

My plate is full with work and family just like everybody else. Right now, they come first.

Peace out kids.

^j^

desperate housewives country girls

Praise the lord and pass the cheap sunglasses....the sun shone brightly here on Pecan Lane today! Me and my parents passed on Perkins and went to Mel's Diner instead. A whole lot cheaper and better too :) Daddy recited his savings all the way home. We talked about Mr. B and his homecoming in a couple of days. Dick and Peg were their best friends over the years. She died a couple of years ago, and now he's on the way to see her real soon. After they became homebound, he took up cooking and delivered meals on wheels...good stuff too! I think he knew then that he was sick, but he did it anyway because it made all of them happy. The last lengthy conversation that he and mama had was about religion and such. That's a natural for a COC preacher and a lifelong Methodist, don't you think?

I've been busy caulking windows and vacuuming the ceiling with mama's brand new super dooper electrolux. Have to keep moving to stay warm because the heat is out. Again. That's where the three dogs come in mighty handy at bedtime, if you know what I mean. Sam crawls up under the covers and Faith lays on my feet. Butterbean can't ever seem to find a comfortable spot so I end up opening the door for her at the buttcrack of midnight so she can bark at the moon. Or the squirrels. Or the raccoon family across the road up in the pecan tree. Terriers are high strung like that, I've been told.

Still undecided on my Halloween costume. In high school I did a kickass impersonation of Janis Joplin singing Mercedes Benz for stunt night. Over the years I've been a cotton bale, an angel and a stealth news reporter up at the kudzu bar. Those gals at the gas station wouldn't even turn the pump on when I stepped out to fuel up, and they know me by heart. I've heard through the grapevine that we will be burning "the pile" on all hallows eve. I certainly hope so because I'm tired of looking at it and can't be trusted with matches and gas.

I'll be mostly absent in November, working on a novel over at Nanowrimo. More than one person has told me that I've got stories to tell and now seems like a good time. Hell, I might get hit by a bus tomorrow and then what would the world do?

^j^