Thursday, August 29, 2002

And now, for some really bad poetry!

counter-productive, clockwise time,
six years span my seven-year itch,

you are rhythm, I am rhyme
to scratch or not this question’s twitch

belabor, my burdens bear scars of their own
ebb and flow, yes, I know all about your yin and yang

years of wanting, time alone
and how things always/never change

tell you why - don’t need you
So kiss me now and forever too

I am wise and you a fool
I’ll let you go; I won’t be cruel

tempting, taunting fatally be mine
would that Wyrd had twisted time

for you see, Shakespearean Freudian I am not
Jungian, or so I thought but may be Machiavellian
tick, tock, my Hickory Dickory Dock!

Wednesday, August 28, 2002


I felt it—that spark—my drug but she won’t give it to me. She felt it too but she denies it. Just like she denies everything pleasurable. What a lush word pleasurable is. That’s it, say it, slowly. Stretch it out, pleasurable. How very much like a kiss it is. Your lips come together on the “p” and then your mouth spreads a little when your tongue comes up to touch your teeth and lips on the “l’s” teasing just enough but leaving you wanting more. Mmmmm… nice.

“Gotta get up to get down / Gotta get up to get down / Ohh ohh baby baby / What’s there to think about baby / Ohh ohh baby baby” George Michael’s Fastlove, like my mood, like the sky, is dark and perfect. “…I won’t bore you with the details baby, gotta get there in your own sweet time, let’s just say that maybe you could help to ease my mind…but if you’re looking for fastlove if that’s love in your eyes…”.

Today is glorious—much cooler than it has been lately. I stepped outside this morning to feel the slightly chilled but still humid air wrap around me. I felt full as I took my first breath and a breeze came up and curled around my neck using my hair to tickle behind my ear. It’s dark, overcast; there’s a storm threatening to break through. I want to break through, break out, but she won’t let me.

Sometimes I feel like my alter ego is hiding—no lurking—just under the surface. She wants out so badly. I named her Scarlet because most of the time she makes me blush. Maybe she is the real me and the me that everyone else sees is not. How do you deal with the dark side of your personality in contrast and in conjunction to who I think I am, who I want to be, who I should be. Does everybody have a dark side? Am I just faking it? Should my biography be entitled “The Many Faces of …”?

Tuesday, August 27, 2002

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

I was perusing my usual blog reads today and came upon an entry at Danklife; ( quoted was Edward Abbey (whom I am sure I should know but don’t) on the “preparatory” life. It really hit me so hard I actually forgot to breathe for a few seconds. The description of this lifestyle, “. . . enduring present tedium or misery for the sake of something hoped to be better in the future, on which the eye of the mind and the inner eye of the heart are constantly fixed. . .” is such an apt picture of how I have lived it scares me. It really scares me.

What kind of person lives this way? What kind of person is so paralyzed by indecision that they float from day-to-day in body but live for the future in their mind? Why are we so caught up in the future that we don’t enjoy the moment? For me my thoughts have always leaned to the “grass is always greener” syndrome but with a twist. I didn’t necessarily think the grass was greener in someone else’s life I just knew my grass would be greener in the future—always in my future.

I suppose once again I am a walking contradiction in the sense that while I have always lived, in my mind, in the future I did/do not always a plan to get there. Thus I teeter back and forth between the future and the past seldom actually living in the present always caught in indecision.

Ok, I’m lost. I am sure you are too. Let me try to explain. I was brought up with an inordinately healthy sense of consequence. Mother’s mantras were “you reap what you sow” and “if in doubt, don’t do.” I think most of my life has been spent somewhere wondering what will happen if I make a bad decision. How can I avoid bad decisions and the thus the consequences of the bad seed I have sown? I teeter back and forth. “If in doubt. . .” I have “doubted” and double-checked everything in my life so many times that sometimes the “decisions” in my life were simply a lack of decision.

On once such decision-less occasion I remember standing grocery store, frozen foods section, staring at orange juice. Choosing a breakfast beverage would be a seemingly simple task would it not? Holding open the door I could feel the rush of cold air against my face, stinging my eyes. I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights as my eyes zig-zagged across the cardboard cylindrical containers whose outsides were covered in frost and partially frozen to the silvery metal bins in which they sat.

There were so many to choose from. Should I buy Minute Maid or Tropicana or Texas Gold or Indian River? Should I buy pulp free or extra pulp or country style or low acid or extra vitamin C or calcium fortified or enhanced with zinc and vitamin E? Or, maybe I should not buy the frozen kind and instead buy the orange juice that comes already mixed. ARGGHHHH!! CHOOSE DAMMIT! After what must have been 15 minutes I finally I just closed my eyes, grabbed one and left that aisle.

My whole life I walked around so scared of making a bad decision that it even permeated my ability to choose orange juice. I find it odd that my decision-less occurrence took place in a grocery store. Saturday as I was sitting in my den, reading with my cat in my lap and my dog at my feet, when I had an epiphany: I use grocery stores to make decisions about innocuous things when my hands are tied in life. Over the last three weeks I must have gone to the grocery store ten times. Why? Because I can go to the grocery store, wander up and down a few aisles and within an hour I have made as many decisions as there are items in my cart. Decisions equal control. What if the choices I made were bad? I can just throw the item out when I realize I made a mistake. No harm done. No everlasting consequences, except to my hips if I actually eat all the brownies!

So, now what? I suppose I need years of therapy for my issues (Yes, Mr. HMO!) but for now my brain is lacking the seretonin (sp?) it needs to keep me blogging so I must bid Adieu. Perhaps I will pick up tomorrow. But then again,…. maybe that is a bad decision… should I continue on this path….or should I travel another? ……

*Sigh* Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

Thursday, August 22, 2002

GOOD NEWS!!!!! Everything on the ultrasound is normal! WOOOO FREAKIN HOO!

I cannot even begin to tell you how relieved I am. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I can honestly say it is an answer to prayer. And the one I wanted to boot! :-)

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

WHEW! (At least for now)

OK, Had the ultrasound and there are no obvious lumps, tumors, or anything like that. so...... WHEW! on that account. However, the Doctor has to be the one to read it and that can take up to a week and she may see something different or still want to run tests, i.e. a biopsy. But at least last night I slept all the way through with nice pleasant dreams about kicking back at the beach with a tall glass of sweet tea and a good book. Thanks, God.

Tuesday, August 20, 2002

Well. My ultrasound is tonight. I am nervous--very nervous. I have not been able to keep my mind on anything for more than five minutes at a time all day long. It doesn't help that all the networks and thus the network printers at work have been down since like 9 this morning and therefore we can't get much work done. I have not much to occupy my mind except for the obvious. I am sure it is nothing. I just keep thinking over and over again about all the things that could go wrong. Obviously I am not sleeping well. I have twice dreamed about my own funeral. Let me tell you--not a good dream to have. I toss and turn and wake up like five times each night. The only night I slept all the way through was when I had a glass of wine and took a sleeping pill. It was glorious. You never really know how important sleep is until you can't get it. Anyway.... it's 3:51 p.m.; two hours, twenty-four minutes and counting.
Reality: Pertinent or Superfluous?

What is reality? Is reality what I see, taste, hear, and touch? What about the things that you see, taste, hear, and touch? Are they the same? When looking at a coin from two different sides whose side represents reality? Does it then become a question of Perspective V. Reality.

I am generally amazed at how you can walk around in the same house with someone share so much and yet have such different points of view. I have two eyes; you have two eyes. How is it we see different things? I recently had a conversation with my brother about our home. We had totally different ideas of what the “reality of the S family household” was. We are six years apart in age and therefore grew up somewhat differently. However, sometimes I wonder if we had the same parents? Being the elder, I paved the way for him. He got away with murder compared to me. Sometimes I am jealous, other times I am thankful I had such a “Leave It To Beaver” existence. I am not saying my life was perfect, far from it. Every family, no matter how loving, has its own dysfunction. No one is perfect. I had a lot of baggage to deal with and through about a year of therapy in late 1996 and the beginning of 1997 I successfully managed to rid myself of a lot of it. A few pieces of it are still hanging around though and I would just as soon divest myself of the somewhat unlovely valises.

I remember in kindergarten Mrs. Harwood cut up strips of brightly-colored construction paper. She put them the middle of the table and then got out the glue. We then proceeded to make paper chains and had a contest to see who could make the longest in the shortest amount of time. Every thing we do in life, every thought we have, person we meet, action we take, reaction we have, book we read, movie we see, music we hear or kiss we steal is a link in the paper chain of our life.

Well, by the time you hit 30 (and older) you have a hell of a lot of links in your chain and it can become quite cumbersome. Now I have to sit down, look at all my links and decide which are pertinent and which are superfluous. No matter how much you think you know about life, until you are out on your own and living it you never really know what it’s all about—for that matter I think I still don’t. I know I look at my life through the mesh of everything I have ever experienced and I wonder how it colors my perception of reality. What color are the glasses through which I am looking at my life—my reality? I don’t think they are rosy anymore.

I was listening to John Mayer this weekend and today (Yes, again! I just can’t get enough of him!) I feel like he has got my whole life in the CD Room for Squares. I can identify with so many things he sings about.

I am driving up 85 in the
Kind of morning that lasts all afternoon
just stuck inside the gloom
4 more exits to my apartment but
I am tempted to keep the car in drive
And leave it all behind

Cause I wonder sometimes
About the outcome
Of a still verdictless life

Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?

Just yesterday I was driving home on I-85 and I felt just like he did. Am I living it right? In my car the past is behind me and the future is in front of me, what would happen to my reality if I just didn’t stop? One of my favorite quotes comes from the movie Gross Pointe Blank. I will leave you with it.

“Some people say forgive and forget. I say forget about forgiving and accept. And get the hell outta town.” - Grosse Pointe Blank

Thursday, August 15, 2002

Lucy Deux – Pride Goeth Before A Fall

You know it’s going to be a good day when the alarm goes off, you roll over—off the bed—onto the dog and hit your head on the nightstand table knocking the cordless off its base and onto the floor. The dog is yelping and looking at me with hurting questions in her eyes as if I have done this on purpose. UGGH! Well, after that I did manage to make it into work OK. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think it might have to do with yesterday’s post. Hubby is away visiting his brother who is a Jr. in college. He didn’t sleep well either. We are both a bit worried. Well, my mind being on a million other things than the seemingly endless list of tasks I managed to stumble over a huge boulder (wink, wink) someone had placed in the outside hallway of our offices. It just appeared and tripped me up. So, down I go, face first, on my knees, derrière up in the air. As I try to maintain just an iota of composure and decorum while hoisting myself up I look over to see someone from the IT department staring at me through the windows asking if I am OK. I offer a meager smile and give him the thumbs up sign. He smiles back and turns to leave. Oh well; all that and it’s not even noon!

Wednesday, August 14, 2002


God, help! (Yes, that’s a prayer) Here I sit, in front of this monitor—coffee in hand—trying my best to form coherent thoughts on well, the neurotransmitters sending and receiving signals in my brain, so in essence, my thoughts. I have a slightly (yes, I said slightly) obsessive personality and consequently I tend to obsess or as I like to call it, give great thought to various bits of information. Well, this time the information involves me. I had not planned on discussing it here because I wanted to keep it private but I just cannot quit thinking about it so if I get it out in on “paper” maybe I will be able to get on with my life.

I went to the “female” Doctor last week and during our conversation I mentioned something to do with my medical history. Well, as a result of that conversation she wants to run some tests and then more than likely I will need to have a biopsy. Because of this medical condition I have an increased risk of uterine cancer. I was fine for the first 24 hours. I think I was in shock then what she said really sunk in and I freaked out. I keep telling myself that it is nothing that I am fine that she is just being cautious. She is simply keeping my best interest in the forefront and wants to check things out. I have done research online, spoken with my Dr., but there are no “percentages” that will give me probabilities of getting this type of cancer. It has taken me by complete surprise. I mean, why the fuck didn’t some Dr. tell me about this connection years ago? Pardon my French. I am just rather scared and also upset.

Now comes the part where I get obsessive. I can’t get this out of my head. I keep thinking about every possible conclusion good or bad. I am even dreaming about it. No, make that I am having nightmares about it. When I think about the gravity of the situation I get numb. I am walking around in kind of a daze. The activities and duties of work have eluded me and I have just flat out forgotten to do the things I normally perform by rote. My brain is just not on work right now. I keep thinking about life and what it all means. Ten years ago I had it all figured out. I had a set of ideals an ideology and a theology I believed in 110%. Now, I don’t know what to think or believe.

I went to the movies by myself Monday night. I saw Signs (the Mel Gibson movie). There is this scene where the two main characters are talking about the horrific events that are taking place. Mel Gibson’s character says (my paraphrase) that when confronted with the bizarre unknown, and potentially dangerous, deadly, et cetera, people fall into two camps. One group sees the “signs” as pointing to a higher power confirmation of divinity. The other group sees everything in life as the “luck of the draw” left to chance or fate.

I have always fallen into the first camp. I always believed my life was in Gods hands and that everything that comes my way is filtered through him. I suppose I still do but I wonder--could it be that maybe life is just a combination of the two camps? I don’t quite know what I feel anymore. I still believe wholly in the Divine; that belief never faltered. I feel serenity, a calm under the stars, with my toes in the sand watching the ocean’s waves in the moonlight come to briefly kiss the shore and then pull away—teasing—like a lover. I feel God in that tranquility. When I look at the majesty of the mountains the glorious peaks and valleys, the lushness of the evergreens juxtaposed with the reds, yellows, and burnt oranges of the turning leaves in the fall—I know it was God who created such beauty. I see God in the haze of pinks, oranges, purples and yellows of what could only be described as a glorious sunset behind the mesas and buttes in the great southwest.

Confirmation of divinity not withstanding, what is this sign pointing to? I guess I will get another sign next Tuesday—hopefully it will be a good one.

Tuesday, August 13, 2002


Well, it's the end of the day and time to go home--or not. I had a migraine this morning and did not feel well so I came into work late and am staying later to make up some of the time. I had to take half a day unpaid but oh well. So, keeping me company after everyone has gone home is Real Jukebox--I have been listening over and over to Huffamoose "Wait" –awesome song. I don't know too much about them or their music; I just know I love that song. You can download it at (for some reason I cannot get this damn thing to link!)

A lot of things have been running through my mind lately. Forgive the rambling for a moment. At what point do you throw away the "ideals" you were brought up to believe but don't fit you anymore and take on a new "skin" so to speak? I have always been one to say that opinions are sometimes the only things we have that we can call our own. However, lately I have been wondering if perhaps we inherit them. I wish I could write out everything I believe, my creed, on individual pieces of paper and then sift through them. I would need at least two, maybe more, piles. One would be the "inerited' pile for those thoughts that have been passed down from generation to generation. The other pile would be the "MC" pile for those I have formed on my own. I might need a "borrowed" pile too. I don't know. I guess it's just something to think about. When and how do you get to be YOU? Who am I? Why am I here? I guess these are rhetorical questions. Can answers be rhetorical too?

Monday, August 12, 2002

My Life is Murphy's Law

Remember that post where I said I wanted to be Grace Kelly but wound up like Lucille Ball? Well.... just had another Lucy moment. I was looking for R who is my boss’s administrative assistant. She was in his office and so I wandered in. It smelled wonderful and she pointed to a honeydew melon scented candle in the corner. So, I walked over to it and picked it up just as she was saying I just blew it out.

Well...... unfortunately as her words of warning and my picking up the candle to smell occurred at the same time I managed to spill hot Honey Dew Melon scented wax all over me. I had it on my chin, my silver medallion pendant, my white sweater, and my pink linen shirt. So, there I stand, slightly stooped over trying to keep the wax from dripping even more on my clothes, and she is laughing so hard she has to sit down on the floor.

Quite a site I assure you! Anyway, needless to say I spent the next 15 minutes trying to scrape pale green wax off my clothes while they were still on my body. Sigh It's still there but less noticeable. At lest I won't need any perfume for the rest of the day? I smell just like a freshly cut honeydew melon!
Yippie!!! I just found out that John Mayer is going to playing a venue near me on September 9. A group of us from work are planning to go. Hubby can't go because he will be working that night so I am sad about that. But, I still want to go and I can't wait!

I think this his work is amazing. I swear I've got Neon, 83 and 3X5 running through my head all the damn time! Wooooooo Hoooooo!!

Friday, August 09, 2002

My New Clothes

I don’t know about you, maybe it’s just a “woman” thing, but whenever I buy something new, especially clothes, I feel a little bit better. No, I am not materialistic anymore than the next person but I do love the snip, snip, snip sound my scissors make when I am cutting off the tags. I love how another individual has never worn them. Today is the inaugural run for my new “casual Friday” outfit—so far, so good. Last weekend was a “tax free” weekend in honor of it being back-to-school time; it was also sale-of-the-Summer time too. So, being the ever-mindful-of-my-pennies kind of gal I am I decided to partake in the merriment, fight for my right to park close to the front, and purchase a few things for me and also for my husband.

Well, let’s just say spending Saturday afternoon at the mall is not his idea of a good time. However, I have not asked him to go clothes shopping with me in over a year and so I felt well justified requesting his company. He hates shopping. Wait; let me emphasize that again. HE HATES SHOPPING!!!! He would rather spend two hours with me in Wal-Mart (and he hates Wal-Mart too) than time at the mall. Get the picture? However, I did manage to acquire his acquiescence. So off we go (but not without an initial argument).

On the other hand, I love shopping. I enjoy going to the flea market, antique store, fabric store, hardware store, grocery store, Wal-Mart (it’s the best!), Target, Pier 1, Sam’s club, just about anywhere they sell stuff I can find something to look at. You will NEVER, EVER, EVER, hear the words “I’m bored” come out of my mouth. I can find something of interest just about everywhere I go. I also usually travel in tandem with a book of some sort just in case I am stranded somewhere with nothing to stimulate my brain—I do so enjoy cerebral stimulation.

Contrary to my husband’s belief, I do not enjoy hours upon endless hours of shopping. I can’t shop-‘til-I-drop. I like to go for about three hours or so and then take a break—have dinner or something like that—then I can go for another couple of hours or so. About 6 is my absolute limit in a day and I would prefer to spread those out a little bit. I suppose if I am on a mission—must find (insert frivolous, over-priced, meaningless object here) I suppose my concentration level will allow me to go a while longer. But, when I am just kind of strolling I am not interested in more than three or 4 hours.

With vast promises not to walk him all over creation and in and out of every store we made it to the mall and bought him a couple pairs of shorts, some dressy t-shirts and a nice dress button-down shirt. I bought a couple of nice linen outfits, some kakhi cropped pants and the outfit I am wearing today—cropped red, white & blue “bandana” pants and a blue oxford cloth shirt/jacket with a white sleeveless, scooped neck sweater.

So, snip, (a load off my shoulders) snip, (a spring in my step) and snip (woo hoo, it’s casual Friday)—I’m happy and patriotic all at the same time!

Tuesday, August 06, 2002

Jaded Excitement

I remember opening my eyes just after 6 a.m. one Christmas; the house had a slight chill as I stuck my foot out from under the warm snuggly Holly Hobby bedspread. The day was just beginning to open its eyes in that time between night and day when all is quiet and still. As I lay there—absolutely dying to get out of bed to see what Santa had left me—little butterflies danced all around in my tummy even though I knew full well I had to wait a least a couple more hours to open presents? I quietly got up, stole out to the living room and lifted my stocking off the lamp where it hung. No one was awake, even the dog had grudgingly opened one only eye before sighing and curling tighter into a ball. I took my stocking back into my bedroom and then into the bathroom where I sat down on the cold tile floor and proceeded to inspect every single item at least twice. Overcome with the excitement of it all, I then practiced my “surprise” face in the mirror for when I would officially receive my gifts with the rest of the family.

Remember those butterflies at Christmas? Remember the fluttering, somewhat sinking-feeling in the pit of your stomach when you had your very first “date?” Holding his/her hand was the most euphoric experience—not to mention the thought of kissing. Every first day of school was a “butterfly day” for me as was every birthday, Christmas, first snow, family vacation, and generally, anything that might have been construed as out-of-the-ordinary. I can remember being so excited about leaving for our family vacation that I got dressed the night before, slept in my clothes in a sleeping bag on the floor all so that I could shave a little time off of getting ready the next morning. (Wish I could do that now!)

Why, as an adult, are there far fewer times when those proverbial butterflies dance around in your stomach than when you were a child? Once we become adults the little things once thrilling seem to lose the ability to bring us much pleasure. Now it seems those butterflies appear only when we are at the precipice of something edgy, scary or tempting—something not usually in our best interest. Our adult butterflies have become jaded. They have seen many, many Christmases, birthdays, “firsts”, and so now those butterflies lie dormant, their attitude blasé. I guess the question then becomes how do we awaken them without the impending damage?
Texas Friendly

I have made a friend at work whose husband is from Texas—a.k.a. Tortilliaville! He was recently in the land of amazing sunsets and brought back some mesquite logs to use in his smoker. Over the weekend he smoked brisket, ribs, and sausage and today they brought me some along with beans, potato salad and some damn hot BBQ sauce! Ouch, my lips are burning just thinking about it! They are too nice. Just another example of Texas Friendly; I miss it terribly.
Yesterday sucked! I went to the dentist. Uggh. How is it that my brother has perfect—not a filling or even the beginnings of any cavity—teeth and I will need enough work to put my dentist’s children through four years at Harvard! (Yes, I am exaggerating) It’s just not fair! Genetics can be so screwy. He got naturally blonde hair and long eyelashes. I got blonde eyelashes and mousy brown hair; now I pay $100 for my blonde streaks! I guess I lucked out in the melanin department; he is quite fair and burns easily, at least I can get a nice golden tan. I love him though.

Last night was good however. Hubby got up early to watch the beginning of Monday Night Football and I cooked us dinner. I went all out with homemade both eggplant and chicken parmesan but got tired halfway through so there was no salad or spaghetti, just bread. I have decided to cook one maybe two “meals” a week and the rest just cook light and maybe do salad with grilled fish or chicken. It’s summer and I don’t want to spend all of it in the kitchen. Besides I have made a vow to exercise more and eat healthier.

As a perfect way to end the evening I took a long hot bubble bath with rosemary-mint bath salts and read for over an hour. I was still soaking when he came in to kiss me good-bye before going to work. **Sigh** No doubt there is something about a hot bath that is hella relaxing. I slept like a baby. :-)

Friday, August 02, 2002


Well, it’s Friday. I am very, very, excited because my brother is coming into town for the weekend for a wedding and I get to spend Friday night with him! I miss my family terribly. My parents and grandmother are about a 13-hour drive away and my brother is about 7 hours away. Needless to say, I don’t get to see him very often. My Mother just retired from teaching school and I am hoping she will be able to come for a visit in the fall. The last time I was home was for my grandfather’s funeral. Pappa passed away the second week in January.

Officially he was my step-grandfather but he was really the only one I ever knew. My Father’s father passed away before he and my Mother met. My Mother’s parents were divorced and her father, Grandpa, died when I was 6, shortly after my brother was born. I have a few fond memories of being with him. He let me sit on the front-porch swing and pull out my paints and paint brushes and decorate all the acorns I found in the yard. Most of my grandfatherly memories revolve around Pappa though. He was one of those men who simply became more handsome with age. He was so distinguished looking with his snow-white hair and sparkling dark brown eyes.

He and Mema were members of their local country club and when I would stay with them in the summertime she would take me to the pool and Pappa would pick me up after he finished playing golf. I was probably no more than 9 or 10 and had discovered that I could meander up to the snack bar and order whatever I wanted and just say “charge it.” With my newfound freedom, and my love of sugar, I must have eaten like three or four fudge bars that day. I desperately wanted the other kids at the pool to like me so I decided to be generous, and I “charged” Eskimo pies for everyone. We all sat on the side of the pool in the blazing hot sun, eating the chocolate coating off first and licking the sticky, sweet cream as it ran down our fingers and onto our laps all the while listening to Steve Miller’s Abracadabra. Pappa picked me up later that day and about fell over when he saw the bill from the snack bar—but he didn’t get mad. He just wrapped me in a big fluffy terrycloth towel and when we got into his car and I begged to drive by the “dirty ole’ Fulmer’s house.” These people were who Jeff Foxworthy was writing about when he wrote “You might be a redneck if…..”

The “Dirty Ole Fulmers” were the scourge of the little town of 10,000 where my Mema and Pappa lived. They never mowed their grass, watered their lawn, spayed or neutered any animal they had—thus their numbers multiplied. In the front yard you could always find the following: a car up on concrete blocks missing several components necessary to drive, a couple of flamingos, lovely and pink, some type of appliance be it a washer, dryer, refrigerator, or stove. I was always fascinated by their odd behavior. If I were really lucky Mr. Fulmer would be outside puttering around and scratching his head as if wondering how all this got into his yard. He would be in raggedy shorts with the boxers hanging out of the bottom, black socks and tennis shoes, and an old, stained, sleeveless undershirt. In my estimation the Fulmers were better than anything on TV.

Pappa would then drive home down the long driveway where I would hop out of the car and proceed to try and do a balancing act on the skinny railroad ties that made up the parking stop. I then followed him down to his rather delightful garden—and being the inquisitive child that I was would ask him question, after question, after question about potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, chili peppers, and et cetera. Eventually we left with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes in hand and walked back up to the house where Mema would then slice them up and serve them with dinner. I can still taste their garden freshness. Those were happy times.

Ah, family.

Well, it is nearing five o’clock and I am going to shut down for the day and go pick up my brother. I can’t wait to make another memory.