Crossing the Pond-Day Three

Sunday, May 18, 1997

Our luggage is already in India, while we are here in London. (I just like writing that word. London.) I had spare shirts in my carryon. I borrowed (stole) one from Big Daddy. I wanted something of his. Unfortunately, I have to let Bob borrow it because he washed the shirt on his back in the sink and then proceeded to scorch it whilst drying it on the heated towel rack.

We arrived at Heathrow on time for our flight. We stood in another goat rope and finally got boarding passes. The flight over was uneventful and very, very long. The plane was packed and I was seated between two Indian boys who were returning home. They gave me the finer points of bartering. When I told them I was staying at the Sea Princess, the reaction I received led me to believe that I was going to be staying at really, really nice place. They gave me the window seat.

We arrived in Bombay at night. Bob says this is a good thing, because the view of the slums from the air might discourage me. The airport is old and run down. We have someone greet us at the gate and walk us through immigration and customs. After all the delays and missed flights, we only had one bag come up missing.

Anup is the factory owner. I’ve corresponded with him frequently in faxes and by phone, but I’ve never gotten to meet him. His brother lives in America and I see him frequently. Anup however looks more ‘western’ than his brother despite the fact that he’s only been to the States once and can’t get a Visa to come back. He takes us to get something to eat. We go to the ‘Holiday’, because he wants us to feel comfortable. I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten at the Holiday Inn at home.

It’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m no where near ready to sleep. I have to be up and around by 9:30, so I decide to just stay up.

I try to call Big Daddy, but it’s near impossible to dial out. I tried for over an hour. If I don’t leave word soon, he’s going to freak.

As the sun came up I looked out my window.

Wow.

I saw palm trees and people sleeping.

This was so odd. It was if when they got sleepy, they just laid down wherever they were. There were throngs of people everywhere. And dogs. Dogs are everywhere and appear unafraid of anything. Everything was jumbled together-the people and the dogs and the cars. There aren’t any marked lanes on the street. There’s no order. People just drive in any direction weaving in and out of each other. There are no turn signals. They honk. In fact I saw a large dump trunk carrying people. (public transportation?) The sign in the back said HONK OK PLEASE.

I looked for cows. I know, I know, how silly can you be? But I did.

Three Months

Today is my three month blogday.


6/27/2007 was my first post and since then it appears my subsriptions have tripled.


So a big shout out to all four of my subscribers!


Well actually a shout out to the three of you, because one of the four subscribers is me.


Sad isn't it?


It's kind of like stuffing the ballot box with your own name.

But, here's the thing. Before I finish my noble six month experiment, I would like to double my subscription again.

Thats right, Folks. I want eight subscribers.

Now I know you're thinking, "Sugar, why such a lofty goal? Shouldn't you set your sights towards something more reaslistic?"


I scoff at you naysayers! Would Angelina Jolie be where she is today if she said, "I'll only adopt one child?"

No, I say!

She is well on her way to adopting half the third world. And she's doing so because of goal-setting and well, having Brad Pitt for a companion may factor in. (Who was, by the way, reared just down the road and do I have antectdotes for you! Well, not because I know him personally or anything, but heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend kind of stuff...)

Again you say, "But, Sugar, we love you and we don't want to see you hurt."

(Sniff, sniff, wipe away a tear)

To you I say, "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

Does that apply?

Just be there for me, my beloveds-to pick me up I when I fall and to say kind things if I fail.

Four more subscribers.

You're out there...lurking.

Crossing the Pond-Days One and Two

Friday, May 16, 1997

I just left for my big trip to the land of curry. Little is upset because he can’t ride in the airplane and Big is being his sweet-natured self.

I think I have everything I need. I should have eaten something. My ears have finally started popping, though. I thought my head would implode. I have no idea were I am going once I get to O’Hare.

Bob and Chuck are supposed to meet me when I get off the plane, but I have no idea if they know what my flight number is or when I land. I have a two hour layover so surely they’ll find me.

Saturday, May 17, 1997

God it takes forever to traipse through O’Hare! I met up with the boys and we sat on the runway for an hour and a half which made us think we might miss our connection at Heathrow. The three of us settled in and watched Jerry McGuire. We had a little turbulence but big jets handle it a lot smoother than those little turbo props.

I fell asleep and woke up to a continental breakfast with very muddy hot tea. But I had clotted cream for the first time. I know it’s airplane food and all, but I thought it was pretty tasty. I have no clue where to look for it when I get back home.

Lo and behold, the fog is so dense at Heathrow that we can’t land. We had to circle around to Shannon, Ireland and sit in the plane for three hours while they refuel. I guess technically I can now add Ireland to places I’ve been. But does it really count if your feet never actually touch the soil?

I’m ready to get off this plane.

Needless to say, we missed our connection.

We stood in line at the British Airways counter for two hours waiting to get our tickets re-assigned. We shared the line with a Japanese tour guide with 20 or so passports in his hand. His breath was so bad I thought I’d pass out. And he wanted to talk to me the entire time and I couldn’t understand a word he said! We end up having to hole up here and leave at 9:55 tomorrow morning. There goes our Sunday of playtime in Bombay or Mumbai as it now is called.

But being stranded in London for a night isn’t such a hardship now is it? The airline puts us up at the Radisson here at the airport.

We took ‘The tube’ into London. We don’t have any public transportation at home. I mean, you can take the bus if you need to, but we have no rail system. So to me, getting on a train is an experience.

"Mind the gap."

Wonderful- Beautiful- Wish you were here!

We ate fish and chips (obviously) and drank warm beer in a dark little pub. I loved every nano second of it. I mentioned the warm beer and Bob said that Americans are actually thought of as barbaric for drinking our beer cold.

Oh… Lesson one learned already.

We strolled through Piccadilly, St. James Park and made our way back through to Buckingham Palace. I’ll write more about these places when I have my ‘official’ layover on the way home

I’ve never seen such parks as they have here in London. They are so perfectly manicured and green. There are flower gardens and ponds. They don’t even look real they are so beautiful and pristine. Do they have that mist pumped in special? It was a park for lovers. They were everywhere.

I love the feel of a big city. I enjoy Chicago and New York, but London feels regal somehow.

It’s 11:00 pm London time.

I’m beat.

Stuff in My Ears

Sugar Britches’ Playlist Edition:
Stuff in My Ears
Release Date: September 25, 2007
Total: 14 Songs

This is just stuff on my iPod. Some new, some not so new. I can never bring myself to skip over these songs when they come up for play.

So Iffin’ ya care...

“Wash Away”-Joe Purdy (Track 1): I love the calming effect of this song.

“Diner”- Martin Sexton (Track 2): It just talks about the great American diner. In a finger snapping kind of way.

“Dreaming of You”-The Coral (Track 3): An odd little song that just stays with you.

“All of my Days”-Alexi Murdoch (Track 4): He’s a young Scottish hottie and his voice captivates me.

“I Shall Not Walk Alone” Blind Boys of Alabama. (Track 5): This song sings to my soul. I tear up every time I hear it.


“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Track 6): You’ve probably heard this version you just don’t realize it.

“1234” Fiest (Track 7): Feel good pop.

“Rain Song” PJ Olsson (Track 8): I just recently discovered this guy. This song talks about being a parent-especially if you daddy a little girl.

“Question” Old 97’s (Track 9): “Some day someone’s going to ask you a question you should say yes to".

“Thou Shalt Always Kill” Dan Le Sac v. Scroobius Pip (Track 10): “Dan Le Sac makes original techno hip hop productions, while Scroobius Pip is a performance poet who adds politically intelligent raps.” I took this from Last FM’s description, but it sums it up. This song makes some valid points while still being wildly infectious.

“My Little Brother” Art Brut (Track 11): A new song that just makes me laugh. Stay off the crack!

“Sinnerman” Nina Simone/Housecat’s Mix (Track 12): A travesty to some, but a great new spin on a classic.

“Sweep” Blue Foundation (Track 13): This song clocks in at 10:52, but stay with it. You’ll go on a fantastic journey, I promise.

“Our Town” Iris DeMent (Track 14): An old song, but it’s sad, nostalgic, and hopeful all at the same time. I get a lump in my throat.

Crossing the Pond-The Intro

In the Spring of 1997, I took a trip overseas-my first and only trip across the pond.

It was for work purposes and I remember the initial conversation like it was yesterday.

"Sugar, I’m going to have to send you to the factory."

“Cool. I’ve not been to the Little Rock branch.”

“Eh, no. I’m sending you to Bombay.”

“Huh?”

“I know. It’s a rotten thing to do to you. It’s nasty, it’s dirty and you’re going to hate me for the rest of your life, but I can’t bring myself to go again this year.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll send Bob and Chuck to go with you. They can meet you in Chicago. I told them you get to pick the layover. I like Rome, but since it’s your first trip overseas, you might want to go where they speak English as the primary. How about London? Will that be OK? You’ll need to get a passport."

“...Huh?"

Obviously I went and never did hate Jimmy like he said I would.

A Missouri girl traveling to India?

Insanity!

Why?

To this day, I’ve never figured out the reason for that trip. The work I did while there was a waste of time. Bob and Chuck could have easily taken care of it. Maybe Jimmy wanted me to have an adventure?

And I got to go to frikkin’ London! Twice! Jesus, England is the Holy Mecca to an English Major.

So I decided I would keep a journal. I knew that I would never remember all the things I wanted to remember, so that seemed the way to do it. At the time I thought I was keeping great detail, but after rereading it, I find I did an abysmal job.

But, I’m going to recount my trip. I will do some refining, but mostly it will be just as I wrote it.

I'll start in a day or two.

Big and Little, this is for you.

The Finish Line

I’ve thought a lot about school today. My buddy, Primal has been posting about his return to the world of academia. Go, big guy!

When I got my degree I didn’t let the door hit my ass on the way out. I was done. Occasionally I tinker with the idea of getting my masters, but time and finances always seem to talk me out of it. Besides, I just don’t know if my heart would be in it.

I graduated the first time out of sheer spite.

After my Dad died, Prissy remarried. Quickly. My step-dad was a mean drunk and loved to play mind games, but I know in my heart of hearts he loved me and there is no doubt he did the best he knew how.

But, oh how he disliked Big Daddy.

We married young-after my first year in college when I was the ripe old age of 18. SD just knew that I would end up pregnant and dropping out of school. I'd be penniless, divorced, and dependant on public aid to care for me and my seven children. He voiced this opinion loud and clear by refusing to give me away and refusing to speak to me for the next 3 years. The day I graduated from college.

So, yeah, I spited him alright. The old fart got exactly what he wanted and it only took him three years of estrangement to get it. Because, of course I went flying into his arms in a flood of tears and "I love you"s.

This should be a made-for-television movie about now shouldn’t it? Maybe we could get Valerie Bertinelli to play me and Meredith Baxter could play Prissy!

So that was my great rebellion as a youth. I got married and finished college.

Granted, my college experience was classes, work, and coming home. I never attended a football game or a party. I left with a few memories (one fella lamented the fact I was married-that’s a dandy one to hang on to) but no friends.

Who had the time?

But don’t cry for me, Argentina.

I chose my path. I continue down it proudly.

I get asked:
“Sugar, don’t you regret getting married so young?”
“Do you regret not having the college experience?”
“Didn’t you ever sow any wild oats?”

No, maybe, and my day is coming. My wild oats are still out there waiting to be sown.

I don’t look back with any regrets or wistfulness. How can I? Big Daddy and I have forged a beautiful life. We are raising two fabulous young men, and we escape to the lake a couple of times a year.

I look back at the road I’ve taken and I see where veering off the path either led to smelling the roses or getting pricked by the thorns.

Not a very original analogy, but appropriate.

So, I don’t look back and think “I wish I had…”

I think ahead with, “I can’t wait until…”

And when until appears in a bend up the road, I’ll break into a run.

I'll Get You My Pretty

Brighton, Boon and I went to Gambler’s for lunch Friday. It’s really a Chinese buffet, but we christened it such because it’s a toss up as to which of us will get back to the office just in time to lose the moo goo gai pan out our ass-end.

But, I digress.

Over eggrolls and sesame chicken, I look towards the buffet and see… a clown.

You don’t see that every day.

She had on a pink wig, her costume and face paint. How she expected to eat and not muss herself was beyond me. I dunno, but I think a sandwich at home before her gig would have been a better idea. Maybe she thought she was advertising?

But I said all that, to say this.

I don’t like clowns.

They scare me. When I was a little girl we had to visit Granny in the hospital. I was too young to go to her room and had to sit in the lobby. Hanging on the wall was a painting of a sad, bald, depressed looking clown. I always sat as far away from that painting as I could, facing the other direction.

I also dislike monkeys. They’re creepy and throw their poo at you when you visit the zoo. But mostly my aversion stems from the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz.

Remember back in the day?

The Wizard of Oz came on network TV once a year and everybody canceled their 2nd grade plans to stay home and watch it. You’d get to stay up past your bedtime and eat popcorn and drink soda with sugar in it.

In the living room!

However, when the monkeys came and tore the stuffing out of Scarecrow, I’d leave the room. Emotionally it was just too much to handle and I just knew those wretched primates would fly in my window in the dead of night and cart me off to the bowels of Hell.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. I hate clowns and monkeys and…

Oompa Loompas. Gene Wilder would make an appearance on TV once a year also and bring those damn oompa loompas with him. The remake is worse. Now we just have one CG, psychedelic ooopa loompa mulitiplied.

To review: I hate clowns, monkeys, and oompa loompas. Oh, and trolls.

Didn’t you read Billy Goats Gruff?

No Playlist Today

But I did post! So, technically it's twice in one day.

I think I'll spread the playlists out a little. I need to let my choices simmer and stew.

I can't let something this important just be thrown together haphazardly can I?

Come Walk With Me

It’s about 6:00 this Saturday morning. I couldn’t sleep last night so instead of waking the rest of the house with my nocturnal puttering, I read until I see first light, then I go out the front door.

The first bit of fall is in the air and I love it. The breeze is damp and bites you just a little as you breathe in sweetness-the fresh air scrubbing you down on the inside. I stick my hand in my pockets and start down my lane with a purpose. At first thought, this walk was going to be exercise-get the heart pumping, feel your calves burning, but hearing the birdsong, I decided I was meant to meander on this jaunt.

I have neighbors. I live on a curvy, sloping lane that nestles ten houses. It was built in the mid-eighties, so we have a lot of mature landscaping. However we have woods behind us and a field filled with cattle. And when I get to the end of my lane, I greet the horses that run to meet me as I turn off to the main road. I give the horses hugs and pats and say all those silly things that people saywhen they are talking with animals.

One of them snorts something silly back to me.

The honeysuckle is still in bloom. You can smell it as it tangles through the fence row. I love honeysuckle. I remember as kids, we’d pull the stem out of the flower and suck the honey off of the end. Grandpa hated honeysuckle. He told us that once you find it growing you had better get rid of it or it would take over. He was right to a point. We have some along our back fence that has gotten so thick it’s starting to obstruct the view. Big Daddy tried to kill it this Spring, but didn’t have much luck. I guess we’ll have to burn it off here in a couple of weeks.

I notice how heavy the dew is this morning. Somehow when the dew falls it always makes the air feel a little chillier.

I ponder my route and decide at the corner I’ll turn around. On the NW side, there is a new subdivision filled with box houses. They all look alike and have no personality whatsoever. They are horrifically expensive for what they are and I guarantee the ‘living room’ will be too small to fit an ordinary couch. It saddens me because two years ago this was a field filled with cattle and wildflowers and grasses and flying things. But we all have to live somewhere, don’t we?

Ironically, on the opposite corner is an old homestead. It’s falling down around a rusted bed frame and a rotted chest of drawers. I’ve spooked around on the outside before, looking in windows and getting ‘eat up with chiggers’ for my troubles. You really should wear long pants and socks when you go trespassing on condemned farmland.

My stomach starts to rumble. What is it about fresh air that makes you hungry?

I take a quicker pace back toward the house. I notice a dead armadillo in the ditch. I keep walking. I feel no need to inspect the road kill. Maggots give me the creeps. It does occur to me that I see dead armadillos all the time. They’ve migrated north and have taken over where the opossums left off-as the most common of road kill.

I’ve turned back down my lane just in time to see the neighborhood awaken.

I stop to visit with Harry as he unloads something out of the back of the work truck. He and his wife have two kids the same age as Big and Little. So we have lots to chat about concerning school and sports and the ridiculously young driving age. Of course, we weren’t too young to drive when we got our license. At the same age. 20 some-odd years ago.

I wave to Mrs. Smith. She’s out mowing already. Again. Mrs. Smith is the lawn police on our little lane. Nobody can make me feel like white trash faster. (In her defense, last time we mowed I thought we were going to have to bale it when we finished. Lawn care isn’t one of our passions.)

Pete's dog comes slowly across the front yard to see me. As I scratch his belly I ponder when his human is going to come around and collect the yearly well dues.

Chase is outside already messing with his truck. Chase is the neighbor boy and also Big’s age. Despite the age difference though, he is Little’s best friend. Sometimes I think I’ve taken him to raise, but that’s OK. He’s a good kid. I finally told him to quit ringing the doorbell when he came over. That was for company, for Heaven’s sake! Just open the door and holler to let me know you’re there.

I open the door. I’m thankful I had the sense to put on coffee before I left. I’m ready for a cup. Little is already up eating a bowl of cereal.

“Where’ve you been, Mom?”

“Ah, I just took a walk.”

Radio Silence

Hey, Kids.

Sorry about the lack of communication this weekend. I was out of town. Well, that's actually an understatement.

I was so far out in the toolies we had to pump in sunshine.

I could go into detail. But my little blog needs to at least keep you from dozing when trying to read it. So, lets just say it was a work function and leave it that.

Don't whine-shine!
Bump rock, don't smoke it!

You had to be there...

Liquid Courage

Things to do tonight:

Drink a glass of wine
Start laundry-a good five loads at least
Make supper- chicken pot pie I’m thinking
Is it time yet?
Drink a glass of wine
Clean up kitchen
Is it time, yet?
Vacuum living room
Drink a glass of wine
Finally, it’s time
Watch President Bush address the nation

Oh, God.

I need another glass of wine.

and another and another and another...

And the Beat Goes On.

Here’s the thing.

My friend Jessie from high school had a heart attack last week. She’s going to be OK, but I haven’t talked about it until now because I just didn’t feel to. That and I didn’t know how.

“Hey, Sugar, you wild woman. Let’s run to the Black Oak after work. Barney can get us in. Purple Passions, Baby! Woo-Hoo, party!”

I honestly think Jessie was the first drunk teenage girl to coin that phrase.

“I can’t. You know Prissy’d have my hide.”
“So, just tell her you’re spending the night with me.”
“We’ve got school, tomorrow, Jessie. Besides, you know I’ll get caught.”
“Sugar, you are too scared of Prissy. What is she going to do, disown you? C’mon, it’s a pool party. …Shep’s going to be there.
“Shit!”

She was the instigator and the organizer. If there was fun to be had and no good to be done, she was your gal. And damned if I didn’t trail after her.

At midnight, Jessie would run laps at the track. She had legs from here to… to…well-there, and the poor girl sported DDD’s. Many a man was heard crying into his pillow when she had a breast reduction 10 years ago. To answer your question. Yes, she still looks gorgeous.

She should still be tempting me to live a little.

She shouldn’t be alone to take care of her son.
She shouldn’t be 2000 miles away because of her rat-bastard ex-husband.
She shouldn’t have had to miss the reunion because she had no money.
She shouldn’t have to cry on the phone because she’s sad and lonely.
She shouldn’t have a 100% blockage of an artery!

But, maybe, after thinking about it, I know why.

At 39, It’s still not fair.

But is it fair at any age?

Sugar Britches’ Playlist-The Irish Edition

Sugar Britches’ Playlist
Edition: Irish Favorites
Release Date: September 11, 2007
Total: 12 Songs

As promised, the Irish installment of my self-indulgent playlists.

I’ve mentioned before that Big got me started on Irish music. It started with the Clancy Brothers and their drinking songs. (With boys, doesn’t it always start with those?) It quickly moved past that. It always amazes me how much traditional Irish folk sounds like our own folk/bluegrass…

But, I digress. Here is a little of everything.

“The Pool Song”-Jimmy Crowley (Track 1) Not to be confused with that whole Music Man business. Did you know that redneck America didn’t invent this game?

“Dia Luain, de Mairt”- Gaelic Storm (Track 2) This song will get stuck in my head for days even though the words are Irish and I don’t know what in the cat-hair they are saying. I sing the title part and hum the rest. By the punctuation, I’m guessing they are addressing someone. Is it a greeting? Translation, Anyone? Anyone?

“Delicate”-Damien Rice (Track 3) I can’t handle a steady diet of Damien. To listen I need to be in the mood to either commit adultery or suicide. But, this was the first song I heard that interested me in hearing more.

“Your Pretty Smile”-Damien Dempsey (Track 4) There are more provocative songs I could have put here that do him more justice as a songwriter. But, “Your pretty smile can light up any room.” Wouldn’t you want a man to say that to you? (If you’re into men, that is.)

“Sweet Violets” Mairtin DeCogain. (Track 5) This is a pseudo-naughty little ditty that just tickles me.

“Grace of God, Go I”-Flogging Molly (Track 6) Again, not a popular track or one most indicative of their style. It’s a solo acapella rendering -heartbreaking. But I love singing the song in the car, by myself, finding a different harmony each time.

“Mountain Dew”-The Clancy Brothers with the Dubliners (Track 7) It makes me think of adolescent boys and a drive to Branson.

“Fairytale of New York”-The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl (Track 8) A prosaic choice perhaps, but the song is anything but.

“Someone Like You”-Van Morrison-(Track 9) His songs get covered so much. Brown-eyed girl is done to death. This one is just so incredibly romantic. A chick song I know, but nonetheless. …besides, it is my list.

“1849”-The Elders (Track 10) Bachelorette party! A new band fresh out of Kansas City at the time. We silly girls laughed and danced and we’ve kept tabs on their career ever since.

“Don’t go for the One”-Gaelic Storm (Track 11) Sugar’s favorite drinking song. Big Daddy says it makes him think of me. …I don’t get it.

“Before Sleep Comes”-Barry Moore aka Luka Bloom (Track 12) I wish this song had been recorded when the bubbas were babies. What a lullaby.

Safe landing, Eolai.

Facial Hair

I like a man with hair on his face.

This revelation came to me today while perusing gossip sites. Men, with few exceptions, look better, sexier, edgier, manlier with a little scruff on their faces.

I’m in the minority here, I know. Most women want their men smooth and clean-shaven, but I like a mustache/beard combo. Only Tom Selleck can rock a mustache-only without being confused with a 70’s porn star and even he sports a beard these days. The Abraham Lincoln beard-only thing just leaves me cold and confused. Thus-a combination of the two is necessary.

Let’s also not confuse facial hair with peach fuzz. It’s got to be the real thing. Full, thick, well- tended, but not over-groomed. Over-groomed facial hair is an oxymoron. I mean what’s the point in growing a beard if you got to tend to it everyday anyhow? And don’t bother with all those intricate designs and soul patch thingies.

However, do trim that dude occasionally. I mean a beard down to your belly button really isn’t sexy.

No, it’s not. Trust me.

Big Daddy has had a beard since the day I met him.

Ten years ago, I came home from a trip to India. (Fodder for another post) I had two little boys run into my arms and their daddy was no where to be found. I took a quick look around and he was no where in sight. Big pointed excitedly to a clean-shaven man leaning against a pole. It was Big Daddy. I was so distraught, I began to cry. He was a stranger. And after that trip, I really wanted my husband.

He grew it back, posthaste.

But George Clooney, if you’re reading this…

(What’s so funny?)

You get a pass. I saw a picture of you today sporting a full beard.

Ew. Not so much.

Granny 2

How are you today, Granny?

Oh, hey Baby, you caught me asleep.

I'm sorry. I'll let you go.

No I was just dozing in my chair. How's yer Mommy?

She's depressed today. She started in again on how she wishes she'd never sold her house and how she hates it at the home and how she doesn't understand why the good Lord doesn't just take her home. You know, the usual. So, in that light, I guess she's OK.

Well, good. I know she's a trial, Babe, but you're doing the right thing.

Whatever. Anyway, how are you feeling?

I'm doing pretty good. I kind of dread Monday. You know what Monday is, don't you?

(I do, but I let her tell me, anyway) What?

Your poor old Grandpa would have been 92 had he lived.

Really? Wow 92.

Yeah, all I have left now are my memories.

I know it, Granny. But at least you have those. Where's Uncle Hippy?

Oh, he went to town to get me some Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch.

Good stuff. What's for dessert? You know I try to make your banana pudding, but it just doesn't taste the same.

Oh, Baby, you know Granny can't cook no more.

I know, but I remember every time we came to your house for lunch, we'd have ham, potato salad and banana pudding.

You remember that?

I do. It was the best.

Well, Baby I better go. Your uncle just got back. I hope he remembered the slaw. Bye, Baby.

Bye, Granny.

Newsflash

This is for those of you who read my heavy handed posts. The posts that showcase my sensitive, caring side. The posts that speak lovingly of my family and friends, the posts that give Sugar the appearance of serenity and stability, the posts that literally shake with my righteous indignation.

Here’s a revelation for you.

I’m a bitch.

No. Really.

Read on.

As the only female in the house, I feel it’s my charge to give my men notice when cleanliness and tidiness have reached a new low.

I pass out this information-and here’s the important part- without being asked for it. That’s the kind of person I am, you see.

I’m a giver.

Little never has to wonder whether or not to shower after football practice. I alert Big Daddy when his feet and armpits turn. I make sure Big is aware it’s passed time to wash his hair.

I also illustrate my suggestions with facial expression. Paraverbal communication is vital. But since I want them to feel good about themselves, I sprinkle my advice with endearments.

(Gagging) “Jesus, Baby, you smell like a goat, go get in the shower.”

(Scrunching up my nose in distaste) “Good God, Sweetheart. Get those feet away from me-and take your stinky shoes with you.”

(Jumping up off the couch and running with my hand over my mouth) “Whew! It smells like something crawled up your butt and died, Honey.”

(Turning my head away in disgust) “Darlin’ your breath could stop a truck. Did you brush your teeth this morning?”

Sometimes I just walk through the house sniffing. This is especially effective. The trick here is to sniff twice, comment, walk on, and repeat.

(sniff, sniff) “What’s that smell?” Walk to the living room.
(sniff, sniff) “No, it’s not the carpet.” Walk to the laundry room.
(sniff, sniff) “No, it’s not the hamper.” Walk to the bathroom.
(sniff, sniff) (Full Body shudder) “Ah, Jesus, Guys. Damn! Can’t you hit the toilet? You’re adults, all three of you. Do I need to put Cheerios in the stool? Huh? Look at the floor, for Christ’s sake. Aw, Man. It’s on the floor! I am not sitting on that pot! That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and if you think for one minute I’m setting foot in that sty to clean it you’re sadly mistaken!

But because I give this advice with love and concern only for their well-being and self-esteem, they jump right in and get the bathroom cleaned up.

Love, affection, respect.

...and you thought I was lying about the bitch thing.

Missouri, again?

“Listen to this,” Boon Doggle said as she was catching up on the news via MSN.

http://video.msn.com/v/us/v.htm?g=4449f73b-7d37-48ac-a264-385539382ebc&t=s3&f=06/64&p=Source_MSNBC&fg=&gt1=10252

Naked hula-dancing boys on a beer run. That’s a hoot! Only in Missouri. HA!

“Oh my Gosh listen to this,” she said again, but with shock in her voice.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,295063,00.html

Flushing your newborn down the toilet.

WTF!?

Not remotely amusing.

“I’ll flush you, you stupid cu…” (Whew, close one.)

I know this young girl is ill. She has to be. The rational part of me knows this, but the mother in me is seething with fury.

Sarcastically, I muttered over to Boon’s desk. “Where did this happen? Missouri again?

Silence.

It always speaks volumes.

What could we possibly say?

My Book

I'm loving this!

Scout and Jem and Boo and Dill.

This is an American book. A hopeful book. A book that makes me believe Mayberry really exists.

And maybe, somewhere, Atticus.




You're To Kill a Mockingbird!

by Harper Lee

Perceived as a revolutionary and groundbreaking person, you have
changed the minds of many people. While questioning the authority around you, you've
also taken a significant amount of flack. But you've had the admirable guts to
persevere. There's a weird guy in the neighborhood using dubious means to protect you,
but you're pretty sure it's worth it in the end. In the end, it remains unclear to you whether finches and mockingbirds get along in real life.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Sugar Britches' Labor Day Playlist

Since I am an American, yesterday I:

ate too much
swam too much
drank too much
laughed too much
lazed about too much

thus, there is no playlist this week.

To you that are asking, "How is this different than any other day, Sugar?"

Stuff it...

I understand how devastating this omission is for the three of you who actually read this drivel, but fear not! I will return with the aforementioned list next Tuesday.

And I feel compelled to list my Irish favorites in honor of Eolai who is moving country.

The sound of the tinwhistle is growing ever louder.