How would you improve your community?
I could be more involved in my community. I live very quietly. I should get more involved in local and regional events.
Author: lbeth1950
Weather Madness
I live in a biome of extreme Northwest Louisiana. Ten months of the year, the weather is reasonably moderate. Winter assails us with a few frosty days, tantalizes the kiddies with an occasional impotent attempt at snow, and a rare, unwelcome ice event that deprives us of power, schools, and the robs the public of its ability to drive.
One memorable winter, we got six inches of ice. Bud drove the two of us to work in his Jeep, so we weren’t too much disfurnished. Mother is terrified of ice, so she moved in for the duration. The power and internet were off as expected. School was canceled so my kids were iced in with Mother. None of them were happy. Mother occupied herself by supervising them in the constant fetching of firewood and futilely trying to make the unmotivated kids do chores., reasoning it would be a nice surprise for us to come home to a spotless house. Indeed, it would have but not surprisingly, the lazy lumps didn’t share her vision. Her disappointment and their resistance grew each passing day.
Mother is cold-natured, so her firewood needs were extreme. She kept the temperature above eighty as much as possible. Frustrated at her demands, the unhappy, overheated kids escaped to their rooms where they threw the windows open. When not obsessing with keeping the home fires burning, Mother busied herself with cooking, though the kids were perfectly willing and capable of fending for themselves. Mother was confused by the variety and scope of my well-stocked pantry and gravitated toward combining multiple unrelated, easy choices. Her bizarre menu one lunch consisted of chili, fish sticks, and a tomato and okra combo she dubbed “gumbo,” despite the fact it contained no spices, chicken, sausage, or shrimp. The kids were repulsed and Mother judged them.
Time dragged for the prisoners. One the evening of day four, the street was slushy but well-trafficked. The kids suggested Mother could make it home. Irately, she refused. “I’d slide in the ditch. Besides, l’m out of firewood!” On day five, though the street was totally dry, Mother’s car tires were still encased in six inches of pristine ice. It wasn’t going anywhere.
Day six was balmy. As I pulled in the driveway, I was amused to see the kids industriously breaking up the ice behind Mother’s tires. I pitched in to help free it. I backed it out for her so she could head home. Coincidentally, Bud met her driving toward her house about twenty mph at the head of a long line of frustrated drivers.
Adaptation
How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?
I don’t think a lot about Covid anymore. I do notice that I still keep the six foot space between myself and others. I strictly avoid anyone I know who is sick and crowds.
Just Desserts
Billy was a good eater. He was over six feet tall by the time he was twelve, worked hard every day and was always hungry. Since Daddy had known real hunger growing up during the depression, he encouraged him to “eat well.” Billy liked to drink his milk from a quart jar to cut down on troublesome refills, and he would hurt a kid over a piece of leftover fried Continue reading
The Honorable Bacon Boy and Puppy Love PGA
American Eskimo dogs stole our hearts many years ago when George showed up at our house and adopted us. No matter that we already had a Dalmatian and weren’t in the market for another dog. Unfortunately, George left us far too soon. It wasn’t long before another puppy baby puddled up our floors. I gave Bubba a fuzzy white plush toy to comfort him leaving his mom and siblings. He dragged it till it was nothing but dirty body parts. Just before it bit the dust, the UPS man showed up at the door with this plush toy we ordered from Beggin’ Strips. Bubba, like all dogs, believed that UPS man showed up only to steal our stuff, so was frenzied as always. He was overjoyed when we opened the box and he pulled Bacon Boy from the box. It was just as he’d expected, the UPS guy almost got away with the good stuff.
Sissy, a female Eskie joined us when Bubba as about six. Though she had her own fuzzy white crib toy! she coveted Bubba’s treasure, but was rarely fortunate enough to snag it for more than a minute. I think her finest moments were when Bubba was outdoors, asleep or best of all, had to journey to the vet leaving her to savor an unmolested moment with Bacon Boy. Had Bubba only suspected the raw emotions she shared with Bacon Boy, there would have been Hell to pay.
Sadly, after Bubba went to his reward, Sissy grieved, but comforted herself with her darling Bacon Boy. Sometimes she got so cozy with him, we had to hide him when we had guests. Before too long, we got Buzzy to be her companion. Like the others, he got his own baby, but quickly realized what a prize Sissy had in Bacon Boy, and occasionally got to play with him. Those moments were few and far between.
The saga continues today with Buzzy’s devotion as Sissy’s sad demise. He can’t sleep without Bacon Boy. As often as he is able, he slips Bacon Boy out to the yard, but we hustle him in as soon as possible after a game of keep away. Bacon Boy is showing his age. He’s lost the bacon strip he was holding on his arrival. I fear his is deaf because of his missing ears, mute and without a sense of smell since his nose and mouth are worn off and blind since his eyes are white with cataracts. I’m sure he has gastric distress as a result of numerous surgeries to replace his tattered innards. His fur is dirty and battered beyond what any washing can handle. I wish human elders were cherished the way Buzzy’s Bacon Boy is. Dogs can teach us something about unconditional love.
Career Path
When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
My mother shot down my career path early. When I expressed my intention of being a cowgirl, Mother stomped that out immediately. “No, you’re not going to be a cowgirl.”
She gave my needs no consideration. It never occurred to me to argue. She was my mother, after all. She was “the boss.” Fortunately, I had a backup plan. “Then I’ll be a ballerina.” I’d recently admired a tutu.
“No, you can’t be a ballerina. Dancing makes you have big legs.”
I don’t know where she got that.
“You’ll probably do just like I did and get married and have kids.”
“That’s stupid! I’m not doing that!”
She didn’t like that smart alec answer. so smacked my bottom and sent me on my way. Just so you know, I never became a cowboy or ballerina but I did get big legs.
More
What do you wish you could do more every day?
I wish I could take a nap every afternoon. I have restless legs so I can’t sleep without medication.
Nope
What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?
I do not want a tattoo now or ever.
One word?
What is one word that describes you?
Possibly flibbergibbit. My first grade teacher labeled me with that. I thought it was a compliment till I reported it at home.
Nutsrok 