The Many Faces of Hank

Meet Hank. The dog that ruined me. I never was a "dog" person until he came along. It wasn't that I disliked dogs, in fact, I liked dogs but I just wasn't ga ga over any dog. I even laughed at people who treated their dog like it was a part of the family. Like I said, the damn dog ruined me.

See, Hank started out being Hubby's dog but the boy bonded with Hank right off the bat and Hank loved him the best. Then the last few years he's my buddy.... follows Momma around (and, God yes, I call myself Momma to him) and doesn't want me out of his sight. He's just a big sweet baby. MY BABY.

My baby... just like one of my kids...minded extremely well, unless I wasn't around then he did what he damn well wanted. Like "stay in the yard"...yeah, he stayed in the yard until I left and then he was up at the school ground before I was a block away.

What a character. He loved to play fight but wouldn't allow two people to. He would get mad and bark until you stopped for fear of being attacked. But he never bit anyone. He did like to terrorized strangers and the mailman but it was really a game. He would grin all over himself when someone started freaking out.

Brat took these pics when she was up in the summer. Playing dead was a great way to get your attention because it was so funny. You couldn't help but laugh at him.

What a ham!!!!

When I first moved back to Kentucky to take care of Poppa I was worried about taking Hank. Poppa wasn't dog crazy and ran off any that stepped foot in his yard. But I needn't have worried. Old Hank won Poppa over quite easily. From the time I stepped out of the car, let Hank out and told him to stay in the yard, Poppa was impressed: said Hank was the smartest dog he had ever met.

Then Poppa decided that 70 pounds was "skin an bones" and set about fattening Hank up. Oatmeal cream pies, doughnuts, vanilla cookies, and what Poppa said was Hank's favorite, fried hot dog with mustard. I tried to get Poppa to feed Hank doggie treats but Poppa said they were nasty (Good God, did he try one?) and continued to feed him fattening foods regardless of how much I protested.

Before Poppa got real sick Hank weighed in at nearly 95 pounds. And Poppa was pleased.

Hank died yesterday.

But now old Hank is with Poppa eating fried hot dogs with mustard ("Why mustard, Poppa?" "Because Hank likes mustard best." Ask a dumb question...

And this non "dog" person cried so hard you would have thought she lost a family member. Kept going outside to the truck and just holding him and crying. He just fell over and died, Hubby said it only took a couple of minutes. I kept telling him I was sorry I wasn't there when he died. I know it was me he was wanting at the end...Best damn dog I ever knew. Fuck it hurts.

But Poppa is pleased.

Rambling

Of all the things Brat and I did together I'm drawing a blank right now. Well, actually, there's several things I could relate if I could just figure out how to keep the Feds off our backs . . . Big Brother's watching, don't you know.

But there's a couple of things on my mind. New Year's resolutions for one . . . I don't make any. I break them anyway, so why the hell bother. I'll just keep on keeping on.

Besides Pat Robertson says God told him a million of us our gonna die by the end of the year. A terrorist attack on the good old US of A. I hope it hits DC and the winds are blowing east. But that doesn't add up to a million so I guess some of us our screwed. I'll probably be included. It's just my damn luck.

And Hubby and I were planning on building a house in a couple of years. Don't have the money all together yet and we're too old for a huge mortgage. The plan was to wait a few years so we could build what we wanted. And I wanted an all solar home, a well, and a cellar for fruits and veggies I'm going to grow myself. Now I need to make that a bomb shelter also. But what's the use on planning? We won't get it done in time.

Fuck a duck. I'm always a day late and a dollar short. More like a year late and several thousand dollars short.

Speaking of "fuck a duck" . . . that's one of my favorite expression. Did you hear what Saddam's executioners were yelling at him right before he bit the big one? I swear they were screaming "Fuck a duck! Fuck a duck!"

Well, on to meet the day and see what mischief I can get into . . .

HoFuckingHO

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a good little capitalist puppet this year. I've spent too much money, listened to the media propaganda, supported my government whole heartedly, anyone who complained about the direction our country was headed I told them to "love it or leave it," and if the complaint concerned our fearless leader I berated with "Right or wrong, he’s ours and we must support him." I’ve paid my fair share of taxes (maybe even MORE than my fair share), fees for everything under the sun, filled out more forms than I can count, and broke very few laws (and I can explain that, Santa).

I’ve followed the crowd. If we are to be a free nation we must wear seat belts, not smoke in public, get a permit for everything imaginable, not except gays as equals, stick our elderly in a hell hole somewhere and forget them (shit, they’ve outlived their usefulness in our grand capitalist society anyway), educated my children in a half-ass fashion while giving them every material want and need. And Santa, I never spank or raise my voice to my children so has not to bruise their little egos. I do want them to grown up feeling as if the world owes them everything so the will saturate themselves with bobbles and keep our economy strong.

I’ve conformed to the norm and wear what I’m told is the right thing, live in the right neighborhoods, drive the right car, worship the right way, think the right thoughts and speak the right words . . . Well, almost Santa, and that is my wish . . .

To be able to speak the way I want and be accepted . . . so if you can get the "crowd" to follow along with this then I will never ask for another thing. So please listen to this little lesson before reading the rest of my letter. Push the little button down on the lower left.









So what say you, Santa?
Think you can sway the people?
I just want this added to the list of freedoms . . .
And you know there has to be a list we all agree on.


You say no, Santa?
But that’s all I ask for!
Please, Santa!

Still no?

Well, I’ve only got one thing to say then . . .


Fuck you in your fat-fucking-ass, you reindeer fucking bastard. I hope Mrs. Clause fucking leaves you for her lady lover Candi and fucks the hell of you in divorce court. I also hope you are gang fucked by all the little fucking elves until you fucking cry like the fucking bitch that you are.

Yours very fucking truly,
Critter

P.S. My whole damned letter was a fucking lie anyway. Fucker.

In the beginning & At the end...

Of school... proof in pictures that we really have been friends for a life time.

Critter told the story of first grade, and here is the picture to go with that story. Mrs. H in all her glory! Just look at that smile, isn't she sweet!

The older woman to the left of Critter is Mrs. G. The extremely sweet soul that Critter also talked about. She was principle of that school, I guess from the time it was a school. Cause she was there when my two MUCH older sisters went there.

This picture was taken graduation night... bet you guessed that didn't ya!

This is Critter not paying any attention to the very important issue of where the party was and how to get there.

We don't need any comments on her butch hair cut, or my CURLS. I don't know about her hair cut, but I did everything my crazy mother wanted (for picture purposes, of course), in order to not have to listen to anything she said when I said "we will NOT be home tonight"! Yeah, it was a trade, but a good one.

The party was held by Ray, who we both knew by 5th grade at the latest, at his girlfriends farm house. I don't remember much. We rode in with a 5th of Jack, walked into the barn, were the crowd was gathered. Frankie P said something stupid like "girls can't drink Whiskey". So in our infinite wisdom, she opened the bottle and handed it to me, I guzzled exactly 1/2 of the bottle and handed it back to her. She guzzled the other half and I think smashed it somewhere... *Critter, do you remember doing that?*

The party was fun, even if it was the people we had gone to school with forever, yet never hung out with.

Poppa... into the last days

I so want to write this. To me its golden.

If you have read any of the posts from my summer in Kentucky with Critter and Poppa, you know what kind of state he was in. Lucid days were not there when I came to town. Good days meant he wasn't worried about something, or wasn't scared of something, or didn't think he needed to be doing something, or we weren't walking around and around the yard going nowhere, yet everywhere.

He knew who he was, he knew what he did, he knew Critter was his daughter (even if she had to act a little crazy to get him to admit it). That pretty much covered it. He liked me being there, that felt SO good. He didn't like dirty dishes in the sink, didn't want hospice to help with his bath. He liked his hair combed. He liked to hold hands. I can not describe how innocent his light blue eyes were on a good day. Or how confused they would be on a off day. I can not describe how much I wanted to help.

I don't want to tell you that I cry just thinking about these days.

One Sunday Poppas brother came to visit, brought fresh green beans, corn on the cob, tomatoes and new potatoes from his garden. Plus a couple if double fist sized peaches so sweet and juicy Critter and I'd eat them sitting on the edge of the porch, juice dripping down our arms and off our elbows.

I cooked breakfast while everyone sat on the back porch enjoying the beautiful summer day. Poppa and his brother snapped all the beans, shucked the corn and talked as best they could. I had a horrid headache that kept me from enjoying the food I'd cooked. But Poppa ate, made his brother eat breakfast again. He was in a good mood.

Monday morning he didn't want to get up, it took some pressure from Critter and I. The rest of the day was pretty good, other than he opted to sit in his chair in the bedroom. Rather than sit outside with us.

Tuesday he got up that morning, still quiet. Afternoon nap came around and we tried everything, but he didn't want to get out of bed. A call to his little brother and sister-in-law brought them over and Alan talked him into getting up. He was weak, we'd had the wheel chair there the whole time. That night was the only time we used it.

The next morning everything was worse. He would hardly open his eyes, tho he was listening to us. We went from a straw to a sippy cup. "Alan IceCream" was all we could get him to eat.

We changed his bed every morning, watching for bed sores. We had even gotten pretty good at it, could get it all done before he became tired of us. We'd fuss over him, making sure the pillows were just so. Told him he was King. He would lift one hand and "dismiss" us. Which was always just to funny.

I was holding his hand one evening, massaging his fingers and palms. I told him how beautiful his hands were. He shook his hand loose, I thought he didn't want me to do it anymore. But he took my hand, and ever so slowly started massaging my fingers. This was something different, it was very deliberate. It took about 15 or so minutes to do my one hand. Then he let my hand go, and put his back in mine. I did as I was instructed, trying to get the pressure I applied even, paid close attention to how slow I went. When I finished the one hand, he gave me the other, and as I finished the last finger he was fast asleep.

I went to the back porch and told Critter what had happened. I said, its not the same. She shook her head, worry filled her face.

The next morning, we changed the bed as usual. I started the sheets on my side and pushed them as far towards the middle as I could, then we rolled Poppa over toward me. He would have my right arm tight in his left hand, and his right hand would grip my leg as I sat on the side of the bed. My left hand behind his back, he knew he wasn't going to fall out of the bed.

Critter on the other side of the bed, would pull the sheet from the middle and finish up the making of the bed. Then check on any sores in the making, and look for any new ones that might be coming up. She was sitting on the other side of the bed when she kinda squeals and says "what the fuck!". I was hanging on to Poppa and talking to him. I didn't have a clue what her problem was, until she said "the bed the bed!". Somehow I had managed to get the control pad for the bed under my ass and the bed was raising up. Critters ass was pinned between the mattress and the guard rail, she couldn't move.

I got Poppa to let go of my one arm so I could get to the controls. Critter and I were laughing so hard, and Poppa had a smirk on his face. I finally got Critters ass out of the jam it was in. Leaned it close to Poppa, both of us still laughing, and said "aren't you the luckiest man on earth, to have two complete idiots taking care of you?". One single good hard squeeze on my leg... ?? was that a "yes"? "Pop, are you telling me you'd rather have us two clowns here taking care of you, wouldn't you rather have two long legged, big busted, beautiful brunettes taking care of you?". Two good hard squeezes on my leg.. ?? no... did he just tell me NO? I went on.. just to make sure. Every time, either a single yes or a double no. He understood everything I said and was answering me. Critter and I are looking at one another in total disbelief.

We finished up, got his pillows all straightened out and as I was putting the dirty laundry in the wash, Critter was sitting beside her Poppa, talking with him, and he was talking back. She sensed he was getting tired and asked if it was about time to dismiss us. One good hard squeeze, she looks at me and said, "One good hard squeeze". Poppa didn't realize that she was relaying the message, he thought she was asking him to give her 'one good hard squeeze'... So he did a SQUEEZE pause SQUEEZE pause SQUEEZE. Critter said "Poppa, I was just telling Brat what you had said!" Then one gentle squeeze. It was Poppa, annoyed that we couldn't even get the "one squeeze two squeeze" down correctly! He came back and he stayed back until he left us completely for better places.

Some pictures that Critter took... of an Old House

This is the front, taken from the street. I told you I had a big yard!








This is taken at the bottom of the big hill. See my bedroom? Its the round one, if you can look real hard, you might even see Timmy waving at you!





This is the back side of the house. It looks different now, but not by much.






This is the western side of the house, and the other side of my bedroom.







This is one of the dirt walls in the basement... looks like the old furnace is still in the same place! See those scratches and holes? Those were dug by little Brat and Critter hands and fingers. I forgot to ask Critter... did you look to see if you could find anything that we put in there?

A Old House... pt.3

Timmy wasn't the only one in the house. There was another, that I only saw once (that I remember). But Daddy was ahummm the one with that priveledge.

As I said in the first post of "A Old House", the interior door to the basement had a glass pane in it. A curtain was promptly placed on that window. I didn't know until I was well into my 20's that that was the first place Daddy saw "him". I don't have a name for him, I suppose because I didn't know him, but I always felt that Timmy kept "him" away from me. I asked Daddy what he looked like, his answer was very plain. He said "he looked very dead".

Daddy worked 2nd shift most of the time. "Him" loved fuckin with Daddy. Daddy didn't so much enjoy it! But you'd have to know my dad. He didn't get flustered very easily and had the patience of a Saint (as you can see, he allowed me to live) I'm not sure I would/could be so good with a child as challenging as I was. Things "Him" liked to do? Well, lets see. He liked waiting until Daddy got into bed, then he would stand over him. Daddy, being Daddy always fell for this trick. It wasn't like you couldn't feel "Him", he was very cold. Dad would open his eyes, see him and swing. Daddy didn't swing without the thought of doing damage and that fist cutting through pure air not connecting with anything solid would always land him on the floor. Mom thought this was great fun. Somehow I always felt like she enjoyed telling the tale of Daddy ending up on the floor, again (like some how it was a joke). Or he was just dreaming and ended up doing something stupid. Daddy wasn't stupid.

Daddy's tinker shop was in the basement, right on the other side of the coal storage bin. I said it was always cool down there... in the winter, cool isn't exactly a good word for it. It was FUCKIN COLD. laughing Daddy decided one year that he would section off the small area he used. He did this without purchasing anything... my god, mother would have bitched forever about money ill spent. He did use heavy black plastic sheeting, that was left over from some roof work that had been done. Then with his little corner all closed in, the small space heater made a HUGE difference in his little place. I believe that plastic stayed up about 2 days, probably minus a few hours. Of course the basement was drafty, the furnace was down there and just it coming on and off would make the plastic bellow in and out. That didn't bother Daddy. What bothered Daddy was the knocking.. yeah I know. How the hell do you knock on plastic. Well it was just that, he could see and hear a fist hitting lightly about chest high, up and down the side of the plastic. He told me the first time it happened he thought it was me, and was going to promptly scold me for making him get up, when I knew darn well that I was welcome and could just come in. He looks out the slit that was used as a doorway and all he saw was a shadow cutting around the corner of short side of his little space. He's standing half in and half out of the split, looking inside his area... knock knock knock all the way down the short side. This is when he realizes that it couldn't be me, cause I wasn't tall enough to be knocking chest high. He walks around the outside corner (still thinking it must be a physical person, annoying him) and nothing. No live person or dead person or shadow. Nothing, zip.

He goes back to doing what he was doing and it starts up again. This time he just sits still and watches. Knock knock knock all the way down one side, around the corner and down the short side. Then starting from the short side and knock knock knock up the longer side... then knock knock knock back down.. well you get the picture. I think he must have sensed it wasn't Timmy either, Timmy wasn't much taller than me (from what I had told them). Also, had he thought it was Timmy I think he would have gotten on to him just like he did in the middle of the night when Timmy was raising hell. He sat and watched, decided that he'd rather freeze his ass off and get something done than to sit and watch the knocking. Plastic down, gone.. done with. Daddy was so funny sometimes.

I asked him once why he didn't just ask him to stop it... Daddy says "I didn't like him". LOL thats my Daddy.

Critter in Tennessee

This is a pic of Signal Mountain where my oldest lives. This picture doesn't do the mountains justice, granted it's not the Smokies so no bullshit comments about REAL mountains please.

The change of season has nearly been completed here, I missed that by a few weeks...

Today, while J slept I drove up the W Road. It's one of several roads that lead to the top of the mountain and is a challenge for even the best driver. It's a narrow two lane that winds up the mountain with unbelievable hair pin turns. There is one spot where you have four turns that are so sharp that you take turns going around them with drivers coming from the other way. They are that sharp! And the locals expect you to stop, go, gun it to the next curve thirty yards away, stop, go, gun, stop, go, gun in a rhythm that doesn't impede anymore than is already necessary. And all the while there is a sheer drop off five feet away. The challenge is exhilarating!

Momma and her little girl are enjoying are time together. . . and working through some issues (don't we all have those?) that she has...

Brat will posting soon on pics I sent her of the house she grew up in...and I will be back in Indiana by the weekend.

On The Road again

Meet Hank, my boxer and traveling companion. He's blind in one eye and can't see well out of the other so I don't get many complaints about my driving from him.

He doesn't mind me leaving him at home until he sees that suitcase and then he bullies his way out the door and will stand by the car looking all sad. I'm a sucker and fall for it every time so now I just take him with me.

So Hank and I are heading back to Kentucky. . . elderly neighbor that has lived across the alley from Poppa's since I moved into the neighborhood at 3 is not doing well. Actually, that's an understatement. . . she's leaving this world. . . and might be gone by the time I get there this afternoon. She didn't have anyone but a niece and nephew left but the other neighbors took care of her the best they could. Her family is really those few neighbors that have been there for the last 40 or 50 years. I feel as if I'm becoming calloused to death and dying.

I already had plans to go to Tennessee to see our oldest daughter and spend some time with her. I'm going on down there this coming weekend. She misses her mom since we moved away 3 years ago. So we're going to hang out and party together. I'll be in and out of here and some of my other favorites but probably not daily. I'll just have to grab a computer when I can...

I will return on the 24th, or thereabouts. . . God, I love this not working thing I got going. . .it's nice to be able to take off when I want or need to. Not having near enough money kinda puts a damper on the whole deal though. . .

Understanding Brat and Critter

Brat and I have made some recent comments lately that probably have some shaking their head in disbelief or disgust. You're probably thinking "Yeah, but which ones are you talking about?"

I'm talking about our tendency to violence when dealing with assholes. Today's society dictates that all violence is a no-no. We say, "Bullshit!" Look around you at the Meth heads and the many sexually perverted people who could at any moment try to harm you. If you do not know how to defend yourself you may not come out of the situation alive. And practice makes perfect, you know. Once when I was 15, some idiot followed me through the graveyard and attacked me from behind. That is another story but he got more than he bargained for only because I knew how to defend myself.

And if our violent attitude crosses with your Christian beliefs, I'm sorry. Turn the other cheeck is for our loved ones or the commoner who makes dumb mistakes. Those we will straighten out with words . . . quick and to the point. But my God gave me this attitude and personally I think gets a kick out of it at times.

Not that we are total badasses . . . we know our limits . . . try to stay away from dangerous people and dangerous situations. Be we don't hassle anyone, are quick to apologize if we hurt your feelings, and expect the same treatment in return.

Now to the men out there giggling and saying, "It'll be a cold day before some woman can whip my ass." Let me tell ya something, buddy . . . it's 34 degrees here in Indiana this morn. Is that cold enough for you? Whoops, that came out little strong. But for those men out there who think I (or Brat) will stand toe to toe and trade punches, you're either crazy or stupid. We know several pressure points that will bring you to your knees, might kick you in your. . . knee (Ha! thought I was gonna say somewhere else, didn't you?), punch you in your throat (kinda hard to fight some WOMAN when you can't breathe), or you may get hit upside the head with something like a huge 5 pound ashtray (Brat's done that) or a car antenna (me). And if you don't know about car antenna's, they make an excellent weapon . . . snap one off (has to be an older model because the new one's don't snap off easy) and it will slice a person's skin like a knife with each contact. And if you think blood bothers us . . . well it does, if it's one of our loved one's bleeding. Otherwise, we just make sure we don't slip in it and give the asshole an edge.

Besides, you may beat me down but I guarentee you, you had better watch your back. I'd have no problem with coming up behind you and whacking you over the head with a two by four. Or putting a knife in your gut (won't kill you, but you'll hurt so bad you'll wish you were dead). I'm not a bad ass, I'm mean when crossed and there's a big difference. I may go to jail but your ass will go to the hospital.

Speaking of knives that reminds me, Brat can handle a knife and has carried one every since I can remember. I used to carry one now and then but I always seemed to cut myself so if a knife is needed I'll call her. I'd rather pack a gun, which Brat wouldn't because she'd probably shoot herself in the foot. See how we compliment each other?

So you're thinking, "I hope I don't cut them off in traffic some day". . . Well, I don't get my blood to boiling over something so trivial. That only warrants a mumbled curse and forgotten 30 seconds later. But if you drive the same route I do on a daily basis and cut me off on a daily basis, I may get your license number, call 911 on my cell, and tell them you driving like a drunk. Then I'd follow you until they pulled you over and laugh my ass off the rest of the way home. Anger is reserved for the deserving. Sweet revenge should bring a smile. And isn't it always better to smile than to be angry?

I have a daughter who is in her mid 20's, lives two states and 500 miles away, and I have instilled this attitude in her. So I worry about her less than if I had shielded her from the harshness of this world. I'll call her J for now, but she is such a trip, she has so many ways of mine but also ways like Brat's . . . I am amazed and can't understand it when an obvious Brat attitude comes across or a statement that could be verbatim from Brat. It would be easy to understand if she grew up around Brat but we haven't lived in the same state since before J was born. And sometimes it would be years before we actually saw each other. Someone explain that one to me.

Anyway, she's quick tongued and meaner than a striped snake when crossed. And very straight forward. And very independent, too independent . . . she doesn't ever want me to give her a helping hand. She wants to prove to me she can make it on her own. So I help her very little and then it's forced on her. Like for Christmas I'm gonna get her a car (good used one, hey, I'm not rich). She will be tickled to almost tears and saying "Mom, you shouldn't have. I could manage." etc. But I worry she will hop a ride with the wrong person and some hunter will find her skeleton a couple of years later. She may have an attitude like mine and Brat's but you DO NOT put yourself in dangerous situations. Being able to defend yourself isn't a guarantee of safety. So she's getting a car for Christmas (if not before) and that's that. Anyway, I'm so proud of how this one has turned out.

Back to the subject at hand . . . Nevermind, I'm tired of that subject. Brat and I have heart too. We tend to want to "fix" situations and people. Neither of us can stand it if someone we care about has a problem or is hurting. We will hang in there with "try this", "do this", "what if you. . .", "would it help if I do . . ." We're givers and I can't tell you how many times that has cost us! We've been used and abused over this. Once we figure out we're being used and abused though, we're done with you, and will give no more of ourselves to you. ( But I'll always love you, son).

Basically, our motto is like the saying:

Laugh

Love

Live

but we would have to add:

Fuck off or I'll fuck up your little world.

So I hope this helps you to understand us a little better. . .

One fine day in November...

I'm back from my short trip to Kentucky. While there I went out to Poppa's grave and took these pics. It's a beautiful little cemetary way out in the country, supposedly the second oldest in the state. St. Lawerence Church is the first thing you see when you come up the lane. The cemetary is directly across the road...you can see the corner of the fence there on the left.















And then you turn into the drive and wind your ways through the large oaks, past Christ hanging on the cross and Mary kneeling beside him. Poppa is near the back of the cemetary, directly behind Christ.









Poppa was an awesome carpenter just like Grandaddy. . . so it was only fitting to have the tools on the corner of the stone instead of flower or doves or some such. And today I dug out a place for his tool box and will take him a tool or something every visit.

And that ended the trip! After that I drove straight back to "The Farm" in Indiana in time to watch my youngest play her first basketball game (she played all of 1 minute 38 seconds!). All in all it was a good trip.

I went to Brat's old house but no one was at home. I will take pic of that and on the next trip. It's a beautiful and unusual house!

A Old House... pt. 2 (or, i see dead people)

Get my shit straight, she says. I see that a tad more difficult than she so easily types it!

try... just try

I still have Poppa stories to tell, but they aren't coming as easily as I would like. Getting close to the end of something so emotional is hard, like if I don't tell them... somehow they will linger. If I tell, I might let go. I'm not ready to let go, just yet.

So here I am again with this "Old House". Not seeing how this will be any easier.

You know this is sorta like playing the piano, once you know the piece... you don't have to read the music. Your fingers know where to go and something else takes over, no thought process to it. Just feel it. Seems I don't know this piece anymore and I've totally forgotten how to read the music as well.

sigh BREAK

Its funny to me how I have such vivid images of some things when I was little, and no recall at all with something that's so close to the images. I can tell you of remembering my dads hands taking my little ones and helping me up the 2 foot step that entered the back door of the old house. I can tell you I remember the peeling wall paper and old smell of a house unused. I can tell you I have no recall of the conversation that took place between little me and my parents. So how do I tell this story? Parts of it will have to be what has been repeated to me by mom or dad or biggest sis, parts will be actual memory. I'm not a proFESSional writer, so if I screw it up, feel free to ask me any questions.

THE conversation actually had one that came some time before it, I REMEMBER that one.

We were in the car and house hunting. I have no idea if we had looked at any other house, I don't believe I've ever even asked someone if we had looked at another. But I did know we were looking for a "new" house to live in. From the car window I could see all kinds of pretty houses that looked like nice places to live. I remember asking "why can't we live there?". I even know where that particular house stands today. Mom answers "someone lives there, we have to find a house where no one else already lives".

I have no time frame between that conversation and actually standing in the old house.

Daddy told me after we did a walk through and the adults talked about what would need to be done before we moved in and what we could do after we moved in, I said to him... "I thought mommy said we had to find a house no one lived in?". I so wish I could remember his face when I said that, I'm pretty sure I've seen the look. Poor Daddy, he was always the one to get stuck with me. *big grin*

Keep in mind this house was empty. The cupboard doors all open and bare, not a chair or lamp anywhere. Bare it was, dirty it was, falling apart it was. Cosmetic falling apart that is, the house is very sound even to this day. wonder if Critter took her camera with her to town?

We move in. I have no idea how long between looking at the house and actually moving into it. I have no recall of the house I lived in before, must have not been anything special.

From day 1 I required an extra place setting at the table. No food was added to the plate or anything like that, but it HAD to be there.

Coming in from playing in the backyard... mom "What are you doing out there?" me "Playing with Timmy".

I suppose it was around this time the whole family starts asking me more specific questions. Like - What does Timmy look like? Where does Timmy live? Do you SEE him?

I guess I did see him, my oldest sis (by 12 years) claims I'd stomp my feet and say "he looks like Kevin (my cousin) Blond hair! Boy! 4 years old! He's STANDING RIGHT THERE."

Very annoyed at why they were asking me these questions. Why not just ask him? He was right there....

It didn't really take more than a couple of days before everyone believed. No, they didn't SEE... but they believed.

We lived there for 10 years and it wasn't unusual at all to hear Daddy's booming voice in the middle of the night "Timmy!! I SAID GO TO SLEEP!"

ok, there is more.. and I will try to not wait 3 months to write it.

Poppa's House

Doesn't that look wonderful? And it is wonderful as long as you don't want to GO anywhere...

I'm heading back to Kentucky and sucky hometown for a few days to do some of Poppa's estate business. Never again will I willingly be an executor of an estate...it is a tremendous amount of work and red tape!

Actually, the term for a woman is "executrix". . . "tricks"? What the hell? I sound like a ho. . .
Some dumbass male had to come up with that one. . . why couldn't I be an "executress"?

Anyway, I'm leaving this afternoon and will return later this week?

Get your shit together, me Bratty friend, and carry on!!!

Brat and Critter Meet

I was born a Catholic (but gave it up for Lent years ago) and most likely would have gone to Catholic schools except for one simple fact. Mom was afraid what the nuns might do to me. My older sister (by three years) started out at Blessed Mother, which definitely wasn't any kind of blessing. Sis was an extremely timid shy child and the nuns terrorized her, smacked her with rulers, and yanked her hair. Mom said, "My God, just think what they'll do to Critter" so she sent us to the public schools. And walking into first grade is where I met Brat.

Actually, I don't recall our first meeting but we developed a friendship all the same. And it has been nearly 40 years since that time. This friendship grew how of mutual hatred for our teacher, Mrs. Helen. Now Mrs. Helen was aptly named for surely she was one of Satan's minions. She was worse than any nun could've thought about being. She had a square jaw like Carol Burnette but unlike Carol Burnette she was totally devoid of any sense of humor. To put it plainly: the bitch was mean.

Now Brat's memory is better than mine but several incidences stand out from that year. Once Mrs. Helen told us to take a seat and get quiet which Debbie, Brat, and I promptly ignored. So old Square Jaw grabbed her paddle and came for us. We beat her to our seats and promptly laid our heads on our desk like the rest of the terrified kids did but it was too late. She yanked each one of us up and beat our asses and threw us back down. Debbie bawled and carried on but I didn't hear a word from Brat so I peeked out from under my arm and there she was peeking back at me, with fire flashing in her dark eyes. I like to think this was the beginning of our friendship. . . two pissed off little kindred spirits who bonded with that one look of understanding.

There are more stories of pain from Jutty Jaw but you get the idea. But this story has a happy ending for us because even at that age we were determined to bestow a little payback. And paybacks are hell. Hell for Helen. . . HAR HAR
Once when Horrible Helen left the room, we placed a thumbtack in her chair. We searched her desk and used one of her own thumbtacks, placed it in her seat, threatened the rest of the class with an ass whipping if they told, and sat and waited for her return.

I learned something that day...skinny people who sit on a tack have no protection. I swear, from her scream, you woulda thought it went straight to the bone. And maybe it did. The woman's whole face disappeared...all you could see was mouth as she bounded out of that chair, letting out a blood curdling scream as she grabbed at her ass.

Well, needless to say she went home early and the principal was our sub. Now our principal was a sweet soul who I loved dearly. That day was one of the few times I remember her getting mad. She tried very hard to get someone to tell her who had done this horrible deed but no one had seen a thing.

Forgiveness? Yeah, I guess I can forgive old Sore Ass...but it sure is easier to forgive with the sweet memory of revenge to savor.

Scratch Scratch

Let’s start this from comments from my last post.....

KentuckyCritter said...
And Brat is a great friend...will laugh at me when I need it...tell me to shut up when I'm whining...bring a shovel when there's a body to be buried...and bail me out of the slammer (if she isn't sitting there beside me)
Sat Oct 14, 03:15:09 PM
Kentucky Brat said...
ya know Critter.. we have never been to jail together! (always something to look forward to)
Sat Oct 14, 07:34:42 PM

But it was close, my friend!!
Thank the good Lord the cops in our town were stupid or Brat and I would have gone to jail on more than one occasion.. And when I say stupid I do mean stupid. They once chased a man in a motorized wheelchair and HE GOT AWAY. And when Poppa was near the end of his life Brat and I watched six cop cars chase a truck through our old neighborhood and surround the small house he ran into....he ran in the front and straight out the back and none of the six cops chasing him had enough sense to run around the 800 sq. foot house and watch the back door. A week later they tried to arrest a 14 year old and the kid threw the cop out his 2nd floor window...what a bunch of Barney's.
But I ramble...anyway, we tended to avoid them of course, not only because they had a badge but they were IDIOTS with a badge...and you could never tell what they would do...at best it was a good laugh but if things went bad you might get shot for running a stop sign. The best course of action when an unavoidable encounter occurred was to try to confuse the idiot even more and then slip away while he stood scratching his stupid head.

Case in point:
We were running around with a "Iwanttobuildadomehouseonwheels,rollitoutinthewoodsandbeahermit," kinda dude....weird but fun at times...
Well, we were at my apartment one night and he decided to fix us Tequila Sunrise in a trash can. Brat and I were up for this...a nice change...we partied quite often but wasn’t much into drinking at that point (we’ll leave it at that). We’d drank enough whiskey in our life to float a boat but Tequila wasn’t something we drank often. So here goes with a small trash can (new), a fifth or two of Tequila, orange and pineapple juice and a bunch of fresh fruit...hmmm, not bad.

After finishing off the can we were restless and ready to raise a little hell so we headed out the door. The fact that a major summer thunderstorm was raging didn’t deter us at all. There wasn’t much to do in our home town (and still isn’t) so we ended up down on the Ohio River. Did we go downtown like normal people and hang out at the park?...hell no. We went to the edge of town behind the county middle school, crossed their football field and down the embankment our drunken asses went. Now the school had been vandalized many times so the cops watched who parked back there. We parked across the street at the laundromat so they wouldn’t hassle us. Being dumbasses that they were, we figured they wouldn’t notice...how many times had I done this and they had not noticed. Guess what? They noticed.

So we roll up our jean legs and wade around in the river with thunder crashing all around...pretty fun for a while but eventually the buzz starts to subside and it’s time to leave. We drag our soggy asses to the car and take off. Mr. WannaBe Hermit had a back seat full of camping shit so the three of us rode up front, bucket seats mind you, so Brat and I were squeezed into one while Mr. WannaBe Hermit drove. La te dah...here we go down Main which is a one way when all of a sudden we are surrounded. It happened in a flash and later when I looked back on it I was proud of our little Barney patrol for being so sneaky and organized... of course, they did have a couple of hours to coordinate it all. Still, it was a good job for them.

But I ramble again...Not only did they surround us but WHAM they were on us like flies on honey...two cop cars roared up behind us, two came down the wrong way in front of us and I don’t know where in the hell that paddy wagon came from. We had a half a block to react. Mr. WannBe Hermit promptly slammed on the brakes, I literally froze and Brat...well, I will never forget her reaction. She slammed her hand down on the dash and yelled one word:

"FUCK!"

And out jump Barney’s one through five in their little yellow rain slickers with guns drawn.
"Out of the car!"

hand slamming on dash, "FUCK!"

Well, to make a long story longer they searched us and the car and could find nothing more than Mr. WannaBe Hermit’s extremely large knife. Which they bound to know was already there...must of looked through the windows while it was parked. They just reached right in and pulled it out from the floor board among sleeping bags and other camping equipment. But being Barney’s they wanted to practice being tough guys and played this game to the end. Hence the third degree:

"Where yawl been?"
"Down to the river"
"Why were you behind the school"
"To get to the river."
"In the rain?"
"Uh, the river’s got water in it so we were gonna get wet anyway."
hard look...but it made sense so Barney Number 3 scratches head and tries again...
"Why did you park at the laundroat?"
"So you [idiots] wouldn’t think we were breaking into the school."
scratch scratch
"What’s all the stuff in the back of the car for?"
"Camping."
"What’s the knife for?"
"Camping."
scratch scratch
"Why did you take it to the river?"
"We didn’t, we left it in the car."
scratch scratch
"Anything else in the car?"
"Yeah, lots more camping equipment."
scratch scratch
"Yawl been drinking?"
"No, [not in the last couple of hours]."
scratch scratch

How long this went on I don’t remember. But after the initial shock all three of us (Hermie was strange but not stupid) became zombies...deadpan smartass replies confused them so they eventually let us go.

So we head back to my place and to calm our nerves sat and smoked ourselves silly.
Cigarettes. Yes, that’s what we smoked. We smoked lots of cigarettes.

Brat and Critter return to Fern Valley

Brat came up from Florida last week bringing girl child and Pedro (hubby...not Hispanic but a nickname given to him by my hubby...that's another story). Pedro worked on my vehicles (I'm forever in his debt!) and Brat and I sat on the back porch in our usual spots reminiscing about Poppa and our childhood. There were tears of sadness and tears from laughter...our usual that makes people wonder if we are sane at all.

We got to talking about Jefferies Cliffs and our little cave we use to camp out in and decided to make a hike out to it... Jefferies is 25 miles or so from town and located maybe a mile south of the Ohio River. I reckon at one time the river came through them and hence the huge caverns that were formed. The cliffs range up to 100 feet in some spots...maybe higher. It's a good 20 minute hike from the road to the cliffs and being there is like stepping back in time. Our little cave was located on the west side of the cliffs and years ago there was a two foot wide path that hugged the cliffs and wound around to our little cave. The cave is nothing more than an open cavern about 30 feet long 7 feet high and 12 to 15 feet deep. What made it even more secluded was a small hill that started right in front the cave that rose just high enough that if you were on the other side of the hill the cave could be completely overlooked. The problem was the trail hugging the cliff was gone...completely overgrown with brambles. Seemed the little cave was forgotten by most.

No problem...we drug our lame asses...huffing and puffing through the underbrush and after 20 or 30 minutes found it. We were delighted to find the fire pit that WE built in '78 or '79 still there, along with our grate we had put over the fire to cook on. We were PISSED to find someone had recently left their trash (umm, there were still a few who knew of it then). But no matter, we cleaned up built a fire, roasted some Brauts and had a great afternoon.

Now of course "nature called"....meaning we had to pee, dumbass...so I choose to go over the hill and low and behold there was a little gully running through it full of ferns that looked perfect. We both used this spot several times during the afternoon. Right before we left I visited the gully again and this is where things got interesting.

Here I squat with pants around ankles, talking to myself about how I wish I had some TP but then wouldn't have anyplace to throw it away and surely wasn't gonna carry, when I hear a noise above my own senseless prattle. I shut up and listen and then I freeze. Pants around ankles and hands with fingers splayed frozen a few inches off the ground. The sound is a hissing blowing noise followed by a RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE....OH SHIT!! (and I nearly did!) it's a damn rattlesnake!!! My heart starts to beat again and the adrenalin is flowing... the sound is close...like right behind me! OH SHIT!!! I'm still peeing and maintaining the stance of a downhill skier....OH SHIT!!! I have my ass stuck in the face of a rattlesnake and he is PISSED off (possibly pissed ON at this point).

I can't run because I'm still peeing (just my luck every muscle froze but THAT one) and besides my pants are around my ankles. I decide to leap straight forward and pull my pants up in mid air but am concerned I'm out of shape and it will be only a hop and the snake will be faster and leap further than me latching onto my ass or even worse, my twat...OH SHIT keeps running through my mind. Finally, I stop watering the little ferns around me and put my plan into action. The adrenalin was flowing and I think I leapt about 3 feet straight in front of my yanking undies and jeans up in one motion.

I spun around and sure enough, there's a big rattler coiled up and ready to strike but now that my ass was safe... and I mean that literally... MY ASS was safe, I began to calm down some. I was only able to speak in monosyllables though.

"Brat. Brat. Snake. Rattlesnake."
"Where? You sure?"
pointing "Yes. Come. Look."
Being the crazy nut that she is, Brat actually walks up to it and checks it out and says "That's one pissed off mother fucker."
As we're walking back to the cave I tell her how he was almost a pissed ON mother fucker and being the good friend that she is, she laughs her ass off at me. I take several steps and say "Damn, I must have gotten some twigs in my undies." Several more steps and I say "Excuse me but these damn twigs are painful as hell" and I drop my pants, undies and all, and pull out an eight inch long fern. Brat hits the ground laughing so hard I thought she would PISS her pants.

When we returned we told Pedro what had occurred and he promptly named the place Fern Valley. And I think we shall call it that from now on.

Treating the lawn...

FLEAS!! Jeez, did we have a problem.

Poor Hank was beggin us to fix the problem, and after we started getting eatin on. Well it was time to do something totally in the "bad mother fucker" realm.

So, there was a purchase.. liquid spray AND grandular for the lawn. Spray for Hank, the floors in the houses and the furniture.

Hank first. Then the inside of the houses. THEN the yard...

Critter couldn't find the spreader, so she gets the bright idea to use the grass seed spreader that was Poppas from WAY back.. one of those with the big sack to hold the seed. One that throws out (even on the lowest setting) WAY to much insecticide.

As most of you know, I have allergies. I am or can be allergic to just about anything at an given point in time. I usually don't have "slight" reactions either. I'm nothing like I was when I was a kid, but yet I still have some pretty rotten reactions to things no other human being would even give thought to. So, Critter was the spreader and I was the waterer (is that even a word?). ANYWAY...

I have no video of this. Lord do I wish I had! Here is Critter with this sack hanging down past her knees trying to walk really fast and turn the crank really slow to throw out the least amount of grandular. She looked like a chicken with a dogs nose up her ass. Arms flappin with that old crank, half ass running with her knees bending out high around that seed sack.

I cried that day.. I cried so hard I had to sit down in the middle of the yard and hold my tummy. For days I couldn't even talk about it without laughing my ass off. I can still see it in my head this very minute.

Critter, I love ya!

It all started with Coke and Dr. Pepper

In my 45 years, I've dealt with my allergies. I don't believe I have ever had a reaction and not looked at it and said to myself "why?". What the hell would do this to a person? Example: anything with Aloe will break me out! Do I somehow do it to myself? Is it a mental thing that if I was in tune to, could I control it a little, or completely, can I make it all go away? Questions I've asked myself thousands of times. And don't for one second think I don't try hard to fine tune my thought process to control it. I do believe its possible, but as of yet I don't have what it takes to call upon it. Hopefully before I die, that is a long term goal of mine.

I did have one outbreak that had me calling my old doc from when I was little (started seeing him when I was 5, Love ya Dr. Ball!). And one other not near as sever, yet bad enough I knew I needed to tend it closely or it would end up being something I damn sure didn't want it to be. Yet it was different. Different than any other out break I've had in my life. It was different because it had meaning, it still brings tears to my eyes and totally fills my heart. Never before have I felt that this crap I live with would have meaning. But this one did and I love Poppa for it.

And it all started with Coke and Dr. Pepper. Poppa liked Dr. Pepper, and I drink Coke.

BossMan was an angel to me the whole time I was there.. DaddyBear, don't think I didn't notice. I never went without anything needed or wanted and not once did I have to even mention to Mr. Critter that I was getting low on something I enjoyed. I'm not sure I ever thanked you... So if your reading these too, Thank You. It was noticed and much appreciated. (and at some point I'm going to find a fitting nick name for you.. I'm sorta liking DaddyBear tho. What do you think?)

ANYWAY.. I drank more Coke than Poppa would Dr. Pepper. Not counting that I would switch up off and on, cause well I like Dr. Pepper too. Poppa would notice when I was sippin at a DP. So, Bloggy.. you can understand this one. Pop started "stashing" cans of Dr. Pepper. Sometimes I'd see them behind the hallway door, or stacked on a shelve in the laundry room. Several cans behind some knickknacks on a little book shelf, 2 or 3 cans in the closet. I'd try to keep up with the new places and take the ones from before and stick them in the fridge. That way we wouldn't have 12 cases of DP stashed around the house! LOL

One day I was washing dishes and Pop was sitting in his recliner at the doorway to his bedroom. I'd wash some and peek around the corner to see if he was still sitting and wash some more. Well, I peeked.. and no Poppa! So I walked into the room and he was bent over, looking at something behind the door leading to the hallway. When I got closer I noticed it was my 12 pack of Coke (COKE now!) that BossMan had left the day before. I had noticed they were gone, but figured I'd run into them somewhere and sure enough there they were. Pop was looking at them like he didn't know what they were. So I said, "there's my cokes! I thought I'd lost them." Poppa turned his head and said "those are yours?" and I said "yeah, DaddyBear got'em for me yesterday". Poppa stood up and you could almost see the vertigo in his eyes. I wasn't standing in a real good place to be good support, but I didn't have time to get into a good place either. So I grabbed him around the waist, but I wasn't behind him OR in front of him. I was behind but sorta at the side and he started in small circles at first and before I could move around him, he tipped backwards. I really thought that we were both going to hit the floor. It scared the crap out of me. I didn't see how us both going down was going to be good in anyway shape or form. Breaking a hip at that time would have been devastating. So, I managed one foot back and I shoved us both up against the closet door as hard as I could. It was still a while before he got his legs back and when he realized that we weren't going to fall, he laid his head on my shoulder, hung on to my waist and just caught his breath. I could feel the relief in his tall frame. Scared the shit out of him too. We stood there for a minute then walked over to the bed and he sat down.

The no rinse shampoo and body wash that Critter used for him of course was Aloe loaded. It wasn't more than a few minutes before I realized that I needed to get my shoulder washed good, and not more than a couple of hours before the out break started. It wasn't a over the counter cream out break either.. this was a pull out the prescription stuff. I suppose it was a week or so, of careful by the book cleansing, blotting and treating before I knew for sure it wasn't going to be something that hung around for awhile. But every time I felt that area, I got the same feeling I got when Pop and I realized that we weren't going down. Relief straight from the pit of my stomach. I was actually somewhere I was suppose to be, at the right time, did the right thing and everything was ok. I still touch that shoulder on occasion, the out break long gone. But I think I'll be able to feel it for a long time.

NOT(s?) on Critters head or Screaming the exact same words at the exact same time.

I'm not sure how this story started... weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds all run together with some of these memories and I think I might know how something started, then realize that was a totally different story all together. So, I'll just start were I start and realize that it doesn't really matter, its all mushed up into a 2 months lump anyway.

Seems this day Poppa wasn't in a good mood, there were several. Usually not a all day thing, and I doubt this was either. Just a bad moment in all those minutes.

Critter was trying to get Poppa to the restroom, I had left the room (why I don't know) for whatever reason I thought it was OK, or something was going on somewhere else.. I just don't remember.

Then I hear Critter say "Ouch... Poppa that hurts", then "Poppa stop hitting."

I backed up to the bedroom door and Pop had this little bottle of no rinse shampoo and bath wash whacking the crap out of Critter on the shoulder. He really wasn't hurting her, the bottle was a soft plastic and he was popping her on the shoulder with it. But he was pretty pissed and didn't want to do whatever it was that was GOING to happen. Again, I'm not sure why I left the room. Usually Critter could get him calmed down and I guess I just wasn't looking for it to go any further than it was.

But, by the time they had reached the hall headed towards the bathroom I hear "Ouch!" again. This time it sounded more serious, and I headed through the hall to see Pop mad, and he'd turned the bottle so that he was hitting with the spout (which was hard plastic) and cracking her on the head with it. "Ouch! Ouch!, Poppa quit hitting!"

I had to go over the top of Critter (good thing I have long arms) and twisted the bottle out of Poppas hand and I hollered at him (I think that was the only time I ever really hollered at him..) "Don't you get mad at HER!! If you want to get mad you get mad at ME, I'm the mean one here. You get mad at me, not HER". Tho Critter knew that times he didn't realize what or why he was doing something, and she always had the best of attitudes about it all. I do know that it hurt her feelings (maybe just for a few seconds). And if I could do anything, anything at all.. to make those few seconds not happen, well I would. Looking back on it, the look on Pops face was priceless.. he looked at me, then looked at her and back to me, and you could tell he was thinking "BUT, I'm not mad at you! I'm mad at her!"

Once he didn't have the bottle to hit with, we both grabbed him and pretty much just man handled him into the restroom. And I said "SIT DOWN" and gave a good tug on the arm I had. He did sit and just as soon as Critter let go of the arm she had, I realized he was gonna knock the shit out of her. I can move when I need or want to, and I went for that arm pretty quick. I felt bad about it afterward, cause I did it so fast that I had a little more force than was probably needed, he was bringing his arm up at a pretty good speed and I was going for it with the total intent that he wasn't going to hit Critter. So what happens? When my hand came down and around his wrist, there was a pretty decent smack that happened on impact. Then what did I say? "DON'T HIT!!" jeez. He was still confused and I felt bad, I ended up giving him my wrists to hold. Which he squeezed I think wanting to hurt me, but I did get him to look me in the eyes and I started talking.. I don't have a clue what the fuck I was saying to him, but my mouth can run at high speed if the adrenaline is pumping and I suppose it was running pretty high at that moment. Critter did what needed to be done and we three headed back towards the bedroom. Critter had said something like "Pop we gotta take care of stuff like that, its OK".

Then Poppa stopped, and said "I don't want you to care!". He probably felt like he was being jumped by a couple of wailing banshees as we both screamed in unison, "Poppa we DO care" and Poppa saying "I don't want you to care!" and again at the same time (a bit softer tho) "Poppa, we HAVE to! We have to!". He looked at both of us and I could see that maybe he didn't much like it (at the time), but he understood.

Poppa was a proud man, and sometimes that was hard on all of us.

Gun collection and Pissing my pants!

Critters husband has a gun collection.. one late night we were tired, half crazy.. but wasn't quite ready to go to bed and for whatever reason went to check out the guns. Mr. Critter has a huge gun safe and I wouldn't even guess how many guns in there.

Now, I know NOTHING about guns. I wasn't raised around guns, and really I'm not comfortable around guns. Yet they still fasinate me. So, she's taking this one out and telling me what it is and taking that one out and telling me what it is... I then I see it! I still don't know what the hell it is. Because I pick it up and with wonder in my voice say "wow.. what is this?" Totally expecting the same sort of explaination I had gotten on the other guns.

Critter in the most serious tone says "That is... ONE BAD MOTHER FUCKER"

I did get to the bathroom in time, but it struck me so damn funny that I almost pissed my pants right there in her bedroom.

Critter... What the hell is that thing anyway? Boss Man told me, but I don't remember.. cause I was still laughing my ass off.

Puking, Shitting and Choking to death?

When Poppa first came home from "the Aunts"... he was sick, with a virus... because they had babysat one of the grandkids that couldn't go to day-care... BECAUSE he was SICK. "But he's just so cute, you have to ask him to give ya sugars!" was a quote from one in the household.

So, Poppa had the "runs" and Poppa didn't run very good. At this point, no one was allowed in the bathroom with him except Critter (I did end up in the there towards the end, but only for moral support. Mostly for him, so he could look at me and I could talk to him and he didn't have to pay so much attention to what Critter needed to get done.) ANYWAY, he had this for like 4 or so days, everyone ended up with it. Well, except me.

We had eaten supper and Pop and I had watered Critters tomato plants. Poppa was rolling up the water hose and let out this L-O-N-G fart. It wasn't like Pop to fart in front of a girrl! So, when I looked at him and said "I hope that was all air!" He smiled and said "Me TOO!!". But off across the yard he went and I could hear him the whole way and knew by the time he got there.. well, it was going to be a mess. Literally.

Critter I think was already over there, so I took the moment to call my cuz... Mr. Bloggy and chat with him, I didn't have much time to just talk during normal hours. So, I'm sitting on the picnic table telling him of the illness that was passing (again literally) through the family. Just shootin the bull and I see Critter standing on the back porch, just puking her guts up. I kinda laughed and told Bloggy it must have been a REALLY REALLY bad one cause I'd never seen Critter get sick over the bathroom stuff. I'd seen her a tad GREEN, but never sick. Bloggy told me to go check on her, and I said "hell no, how would two puking brats help?" We laughed... WELL, Critter wasn't puking at all. I almost let her die right there on the back porch. Cause she was choking on a fucken piece of candy! I couldn't hear the whistling noise she described to me later, maybe we can get her to do an audio post.. Critter?

Anyway, she did finally see me sitting on the table and came to ask if I planned on just letting her die right there in her own backyard, or was there something so important being talked about that I couldn't take the time to come and help with a pat on the back or the hindlick (KY talk) for an old and dear friend. Hell I didn't really want to tell her I'd been laughing at her, thinking she was puking her guts up! She also gave me mounds of shit over this for days. And if you want... you can see she is STILL snappin smart ass remarks ever chance she gets. And she talks about her mother holding a grudge. I said I was SORRY!! I didn't do it on purpose, damn.

Hands...

Critter has talked about Pops huge heavy hands, and he did have. Big hands with such large muscles on his fingers and palms, that it felt like a inch or so of padding. I loved holding hands with Poppa and either he liked it too, or indulged me, most of the time.

One day started of pretty confused, Pop had to be somewhere... that somewhere kept changing. We did a lot of walking that day. Around and around the 2 yards, headed here to do that and it would change from the front yard to the side yard and again before we got completely around the back yard.

We walked that yard so many times that day that Critters husband started watchen from the window with THAT look... I'm not sure what that look means really. I think it was just a "feelin for ya girl" look.

I didn't much mind the walkin. BUT, he wasn't holding my hand. He had me by the wrist, and was pretty much just dragging me around. I kept saying "Pop, hold my hand" and he'd look down and look at me like "well hell girl! I am".. I'd show him, here.. hold my hand, "that way I don't feel like I'm being arrested". "Arrested?" he said. Yeah Pop, and I took him by his wrist and started to walk and said "doesn't that feel like your being arrested and lead away?". "no" *sigh*

But, he'd take my hand and ask if that was better and off we'd go, then he'd stop to pick up something from the yard and the next thing I'd know, I was being lead by my wrist again.

Finally I was hot, needed something to drink.. maybe smoke a cigarette??? SIT my ass down for just a bit. So, I told him I needed a break, gotta take a break Pop.. I need a cup of coffee.. a cigarette.. to sit down. Just for a little bit, OK?

We did head back to the porch and I did get us both a cup of coffee, tho he wasn't interested in his. He was looking out the back door, with that untrusting look on his face. Not the one where he scared the crap out of Critter and I. Just the one he got when he was confused. More untrusting of himself I think. I headed for the porch and he opened the door for me. Then he grabbed my arm and gave me a really hard look and said "I want you to go, and don't you come back until it gets dark!"

This struck me so funny and I couldn't control the giggles that came out of me. He put just a bit more pressure on my arm and said "do you think thats funny?". And I couldn't exactly say NO, since I was 2 hairs away from a good belly laugh. So I said "yeah Pop, don't you think thats funny?" "NO".. and "Why is that funny?". "Well Poppa, you just told me to leave and not come back until it was dark. Don't you think thats funny?". Poppa was scared of the dark, I'm not sure why he wanted me to leave then... but he wanted my ass back when it got dark! He looked at me for a second and I know I still had a big shit eaten grin on my face. And his eyes changed, and the look changed.. and he gave me a half smile and said "yeah, I guess so". We ended up on the porch with our coffee, holding hands and just being quiet for a while.

Confusion and Simpleton collide

It won't take much to figure out who the simpleton is with this story.

The day started off kilter with Poppa. We were sitting on the back porch, drinking coffee and smoking... the usual. But Pop was worried, it was getting late (for him) I think it was around 7am or so. He felt like he was suppose to be somewhere, he was suppose to do a job. Didn't know where, or what.. and he was really worried about it.

Finally I said, "Poppa.. you retired, you don't have to do anything unless you just want to."

At first I felt like maybe I'd hurt his feelings, cause I knew he didn't remember... or understand why he'd be retired. He was a worker, thats what he did. Why would he retire?

After a couple of minutes, he seemed to calm down and forget about it all. I don't remember anything out of the norm happening the rest of the day. Every day had its ups and downs and we all just went with the flow, best we could.

That night he refused to take his meds. Which sometimes Critter would have to talk him into. But this was the first time I had seen him flat refuse. He was sitting on the side of his bed, arms crossed. Not violent (other than trying to smack the meds out of Critters hand), not even agitated really. Just more like he'd made his mind up that he wasn't taking them and that was that. Even said he'd take them tomorrow, but not tonight. Critter called the hospice nurse to get some ideas, or to find out what to expect if he just wouldn't take them. At some point I ended up on the phone with the nurse and she was feeding me lines to tell him... Like, if you won't take your medicine, they'll put you back in the hospital and they will MAKE you take your medicine.

We had pretty much tried everything and nothing was working. I finally said "Pop, why won't you take your medicine?" And just as plain as plain can be, he looked at me and said "I'm retired, and I don't have to do anything I don't want to." *sigh*

The nurse heard what he said and asked me who had told him that. Me, me.. ya that was me. Yes ma'am, that was me. Bright and early this morning I told him that.

She got a good laugh out of it and said next time I might put certain limitations on things I told him.

Critter and I got him in bed and settled for the night, then he took his meds.

Scary Moments

Like I said before, Poppa was usually in good spirits. And like I said before, seconds can mean everything!

One day, I hadn't been there long. Everything seemed to be going ok, nothing major happening. Just a lazy KY day. Critter was sitting at the table, Poppa was somewhere in the house and I had just came in the back door. I think I was getting ready to tell Critter something, but Poppa came from the hall with a different look on his face. One I hadn't seen. He headed straight for me and before I could even comprehend the look he had me by the upper arms, pretty tight. He was staring me straight in the eye and as much as I wanted to look away, to just glance at Critter for a moment, I didn't dare. The look told me to be careful!

I know it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, tho it felt like more, we stared at each other. Several things went through my mind, "Block, DON'T hit!" was one of them. Another was, "he's gonna pitch me right out the back door." And with that thought, a little voice saying... I hope he puts enough into it that I end up in the yard, and not somewhere on the concrete steps.

Then, the look changed. There was the beautiful and kind blue eyes I had been seeing all day. He pulled me close, gave me a hug then turned and walked away.

Critter and I both let out the huge breath we'd both been holding. The same things had gone through her head.

Seconds can mean anything

I never realized what all could happen in just a second, but with Poppa... lots of things could. Sometimes he would be talking just fine and you could understand every word, then everything would turn to a mumble and nothing was understood. It was frustrating to him when people didn't understand what he was saying, or asking. Somewhere in the first few days I realized that if I said "I don't know", it seemed to be better then asking him to repeat it. If he was asking something he didn't know, and I said 'I don't know'... did it make him feel any better? That if I didn't know, why should he know? I'm not sure, but I know that answer usually satisfied him.

Sometimes he would just whisper, even if you got up real close to him you couldn't understand what he was saying. I think it was a form of the mumbling, but sometimes he could make me wonder. Critter and I used to always try to get him to tell us a "secret". "Tell us a GOOD secret, Poppa!" Just messing with him mostly, usually he was in pretty good spirits and I believe he liked the attention. Even tho he'd usually tell us "no". Not giving up any good secrets today.

One day he and I was sitting on the back porch (this was the standard place to be), and he had been holding my hand and whispering for at least a couple of hours. He stopped for a moment and looked at me with the clearest blue eyes (he did have some beautiful eyes), and I said "Pop, you know what I think?". He said "no" very plain. I said "I think your telling me all the really really good secrets, and since I can't hear you... your getting to keep them secret." He looked at me and smiled that little smile that made me feel like he understood and maybe even agreed with me.