Yes, Thank you.

We were walking down the boardwalk last night.  

Prior to this unfortunate incident.

We happened upon a gorgeous Asian family having their picture taken with the beautiful Taneycomo as the backdrop.  Asian Grandpa stood across the sidewalk lining up his sons, daughters, grandchildren and new grandbaby.

Being a former citizen of the City, I couldn't let this moment pass by without offering my assistance.  I used my best mullet body language to motion to his camera and suggest that he let me take the picture so he could get in the shot with the rest of his family.

RarRarRarRarRarRar!

This is, of course, universal grumpy grandpa speak for "Buzz off!  If I wanted my picture taken I'd have asked.  Go about your business and leave me alone!"

To which Asian grandma replied:

Ooooh!YisYisYisThankyouThankyouThankyouYisYisYis.

Which, of course, is universal grandmas speak for, "Shut up you old fool and get your ass in the picture!"

I took the first shot with everyone smiling happily.

...except Grandpa.

When I was finished, I presented the view finder for Grandpa's approval.

RarRarRarRarRarRar!

Which, of course, is universal grumpy grandpa speak for "Jesus Christ that picture sucks.  If you can't take a photo any better than that why did you even offer!"

To which Asian grandma replied:

Ooooh!YisYisYisThankyouThankyouThankyouYisYisYis.

Which, of course, is universal grandma speak for, "That's perfect!  What the cat hair are you griping about?"

He thrust the camera back at me to try again.  When I finished, I once again handed the camera back to him for his approval.

Rar!

This is, of course, universal grumpy grandpa speak for "If this is the best you can muster, I guess it will have to do."

To which Asian grandma replied:

Ooooh!YisYisYisThankyouThankyouThankyouYisYisYis.

Which, of course, is universal grandmas speak for, "Ooooh! Yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Yes. Yes. Yes."

Big Daddy and I continued down the boardwalk.

Sugar, I don't think he wanted his picture taken.

Ya think?

Breaking News-Waxy O'Shea's

I'm aghast.

I'm agog.

I arrived at one of my most favoritist watering holes this evening only to discover that they've changed their menu and no longer offer curry and chips.

A quote Irish pub unquote that gave up curry and chips to offer more stuffed mushrooms?

I'm so glad that Big Daddy and I copiously tipped the bar maid one day last year and she gave us the curry recipe.  Albeit it was by the five gallon bucket.  But seeings how I cooked cashew chicken for a living many years ago I, thankfully, know how to condense a recipe.

Oh well. 

Room for more Guinness!

Even so-I'm crestfallen.

Forgive me for leaving on such short notice, but I must take to my bed.

Rhetorical?

I was listening to some politickin' today. 

The Democratic convention and all.

I suspect I'll be listening when it is time for the Republican shindig, too.

All my life I've been told how important it is to vote.  "It's our duty as Americans to get out there and let our voices be heard!"

But, how about those folks who don't really have a voice?   The folks who vote just because it's their 'God-given' right.  They don't really know how they want to vote, they just close their eyes and circle the name the finger falls on. 

I've known it to happen.

I'm not very smart, but isn't that dangerous? 

This is my dilemma.  I'm out there trying to wrap my feeble brain around some of these issues, and the more I learn the more confused I get.  I get nervous.  What if I'm wrong?  What if I'm convinced of one thing and later down the road regret my decision?

Shouldn't being informed go hand in hand with that vote you cast? Or at least make an effort to be?

 

I guess the question I ask is:  Which is worse-an ignorant vote or no vote at all?

'tis a quandary. 

Hey, Granny.

How you doin', Babe,

I'm great, Granny, how are you? 

Oh, I'm better.  Just trying to stay cool.

Are you succeeding? 

Well, I got the winder fans agoin'.  I guess I'll be OK.  I just ask the good Lord to give me strength and so far he's come through.  How's yer Mommy?

She was asleep in her chair today, so I just dropped off her smokes and treats and took off.

You know yer Mommy's cousins are in town this weekend.  I wish they'd stop and see her but I don't think they will.

It's just as well, Honey.  It would only embarrass her if she realized.

I know it.  Didn't you have a birthday?

You know I did, you rotten thing.  You give me grief about it every time I call.

I know it.   You've almost caught up to yer old Granny.

I have not!  I'm going swat you, Old Gal!

You come on!  I'd love to see you try.  But I don't know if I could take you. I've lost a lot of weight you know.

Have ya?

I'm down to 180.  You wouldn't recognize Granny.  I've always been so big.

Honey, you're only 5 foot tall.  

I know it, but I'll swan there's not that much left of me.  I ain't got strength for nothing more than watching television.

Did you watch the Olympics?

Nah, I don't care about any of that sports stuff.

If it ain't wrestling, you ain't watching?

You know I don't even watch my soap operas anymore.

You're just storyin' now!

I'm not either.  When I was in the hospital this past winter with the 'noomonie' I got my fill and haven't turned 'em on since.

Well, what are you watching?

Jerry Springer.

Oh God have mercy, Granny!  What are you watching that crap for?  There's not a bit of truth in it.

Now, Honey I know better.  Most of those girls have no 'eye-dee' who the father of their baby is and that just ain't right!

You're better off watching the Olympics.  They're going to be held in Canada in two years.

Honey, you know Granny may not be around in two years.

If you are, you wanna go?

Tee Hee!  You bet, Babe.  You and me'll finally get to go to Canada. 

...checking in

I know how much you enjoy hearing about the minutiae of my life, but this weekend I actually did stuff.  I went to the big city, saw a concert, stayed in a fancy hotel.  

Delightful.

So delightful, in fact, I had to take a vacation day to recover.

One more evening of said delight, albeit in the rural Ozarks, and then back to normal.

We'll talk then.

...maybe.

Whatta Guy

RING!

This is Sugar, how can I help you?

Mother!

Ohgodwhatswrong?

Well...

Just tell me.  It's OK. Whatever it is, it'll be fine.

Alright...The cable is out. The internet is out.  Everything!

That's it?

Are you kidding?  This is a tragedy of epic proportion.

Jesus Christ on a stick!  I'm at work. What do you want me to do about it? 

Call the cable company.  

You call the cable company.  

No you.

You're there. I'm not.  If you call, you can tell them how it's behaving.

But you know how to handle those people.

Why don't you take this opportunity to, I don't know, do some homework?  MMM?

Well right now I'm not doing homework but I am working.

Don't lie to my, Boy.  You are not.

I am too.  I'm sitting in the kitchen in my drawers sewing up a split in the side of my shorts. It's not pretty, but it's functional.

To conclude:  Big won't call the cable company.  However...

Big mends his own clothes. 

I don't care you are.  That's awesome!

Country Roads

Heading home from a visit to Prissy's this weekend, I took the back roads home.  I had my camera with me and clicked a few snaps along the way.  

This little beauty sometimes comes down the field to greet me.  I stop the car in the middle of the road and after the dust settles, he sees me.  I reckon he thinks I have a treat of some sort, because he always comes running.  Today though, the grass was too sweet to bother with me.

I don't know what the story of this cottage is, but it is timeless.  Every time I drive by I concoct a story of newlyweds in the 1800's who have settle in the Ozarks and built this little cabin together.  The children will come shortly and after that the fields and the lumber will take up the rest of their lives. On a cold, crisp night their time will come and they will slip from the warmth of their feather bed into the next life.

Nothing profound here.  I just love hay bales in a field.  Of course, these are lined up like soldiers ready to fight the famine of the winter ahead.

Barns have stories too.  I didn't make one up for this one.  It seemed disrespectful to even think about it regarding this particular old building.  It had a purpose, thank you very much, to protect and preserve this hay.  It may be old, but it still had a reason for being.  Wouldn't we all wish for that much?

In the side yard of the barn above, stood this here fella.  

We had a really good visit.  He has a happy life all in all.  He longs for a little companionship now and again, but his belly is full and since the gravel road is so close by, he often has human interest thrown his way.  He laughed a little as he explained how some silly people actually stop and talk to him.

Imagine. 

UPDATE!  This is a cow, not a bull. (Thanks, Primal)  I apologize for any embarrassment I might have caused this poor girl.  Life is hard enough without being confused with the opposite sex. 

In my defense at no time during our conversation did she dispute me when I called her 'him'.

...I'm just saying.

Sugar What?

Here of late I've been watching a little show called Burn Notice.

Funny, smart, funny.

There's a gorgeous character on there named Fiona.  She's a spy of course.  Long, lean, smart, beautiful.  Men can't resist her.

So like me in many ways.

...but one.

In the last episode a fella watched her walk by and called out some comments and ended up calling her 'Sugar Bloomers.'

This is wrong.

How could anyone with an ounce of self respect allow herself to be called anything along those lines.

Huh?  I ask you.

Oh.

...nevermind

Getting this out of the way

I'm sitting outside on my deck watching a storm roll in.  There is a hint of fall in the air.  A cool, autumn like breeze is blowing across my wine glass. 

This is appropriate as school starts tomorrow.

I should be working on the choir booster blog I cooked up, but I need to get this out of my system first.

Lucky you, huh?

It will be a school year like no other because My Big will be a senior and my Little will be a freshman.

Good times.

I say that sarcastically, but it's true.  Even if we all do meet ourselves coming and going.

Little will play football and be in marching band.  A seemingly impossible feat, but doable with organizational skills-which he is blessed with.  He stresses easily, though.  He is extremely hard on himself and I'll have to keep that in check.

Big will want to do all-state choir and perform in the All-state Thespian show.  An actual impossible task due to scheduling.  One will have to give.  And since that will break his heart, it's also breaking mine.  Plus there is that whole getting ready for college thing.

Shudder

I'm only going to get to do this once you know.

This parent thing.

And for some reason it seems so important during these special years.  I liked high school, no I loved high school.  Except for the part where I never had a boyfriend and of course at the time that seemed more important than anything else.  

Looking back I was blessed not to have to bother.  You see, I know the pressure and the stress they are under being so busy, because I've been there.  I remember specifically standing in Prissy's kitchen before play practice and lamenting the fact that I had to take a dump, but I didn't have time.

But this post isn't about me.  Shocking ain't it?

I need to tell you how much I love these young men.  How fucking proud I am of them.  

But I can't.

I don't have the gift...the talent to put it into words. 'Love' is so overused that it seems inadequate. I wish to God I was a poet.  I wish I could form some kind of unique verse to emotionally communicate to you what I feel for these children.

But I can't.

My words can't, so my body does it for me. 

It's doing it right now by putting this painful knot in my throat. 

It does it by producing tears.

My wretched body puts a catch in my voice so Big Daddy knows when I'm fixin' to let loose.  My voice goes an octave lower when I speak in a vain attempt to keep my eyes from leaking.

I love my children.  I'm so proud of them that I truly feel my soul can't contain it.

So try to stick with me until graduation next May.

I'll be here.

...trying to stay hydrated.

Snack Cakes

I left a unit of blood behind today.

Actually, Boon and I both did. We ran out to the parking lot about 10 this morning and let the good people of the Community Blood Center do quick work with their needles and bags.

It is frickin’ freezing on that blood van-every time. I swear to God you could hang meat in that thing. 

Maybe that’s their evil plan?

After every donation, they make you sit a spell and replenish your fluids and have a little snack.

It’s the only time I can allow Little Debbie to pass my lips without feeling guilty. (Little Debbies are snack cakes, Y’all. Get yon mind outta the gutter.)

But today I wanted salty. I devoured a small bag of Gardetto’s and sipped me a little diet Coke. I did however, take a Ding Dong to go.

I used to like Ding Dongs, but I loved Ho Hos. The blood van never has the latter, so I make due with the former.

Back at my desk, Boon saw my Ding Dong sitting innocently on my desk.

You know Sugar, walking by your desk I have the strange urge to do this!

She made a fist and motioned like she was going to smash my snack cake.

I was appalled.

By God, Woman! You leave my Ho Ho alone!

It’s not a Ho Ho, it’s a Ding Dong.

You’re a ding dong!

No you are!

You see where this is going? Two women of age fighting over the demise of a chocolate, frosting filled treat? 

So we stopped short of fisticuffs and wondered where in the world the odd names came from. If you care, you can find that information here and here.

Of course we had to look it up. Are you daft? This is important information. We don’t know squat about what’s going on in Georgia, but by God we will find out the history of our snack cakes. 

This is America!

As we were researching, Boon again made mention of my snack cake-this time shouting excitedly how we could cross the two.

I know! We could make a Ding Ho.

No, no, no. Ho Dongs! We’ll find a way to make giant Ho Dongs.

I know.

…sounds nasty doesn’t it?

Ding Dong and Ho Ho are such cute friendly words. They conjure up lunch boxes and play clothes. So how could a combination of the two sound so horribly wrong?

I mean I guess I could live with a Ding Ho, but Ho Dong?

Unless you’re a Chinese gymnast it just sounds plain naughty.

Radio Silence

I love the Olympics.

There, I said it.

That being said, I just don't know how much y'all are going to hear from me the next coupla weeks.

I could hardly tear myself away from beach volleyball to give you this much.

So those two or three of you who come by to visit-I love you more than my luggage.  However, you'll probably not get anything humorous, inspiring, or insipid from me.

I may check in on the morning of the 24th just to let you know how the concert went.

What concert?

Well, only the Bruce Springsteen concert in St. Louis on the 23rd.  Which also happens to be my fortieth birthday.  (I dropped this little hint so those of you who need time to decide how best to shower me with good wishes on my special day can have time to decide how to proceed.)

Anyhoo-the Bruce tickets are a gift from Big Daddy.  Who, I might add, is the bomb.  Seeing Bruce is on my bucket list.  Meaning I want to see him before I die-or he does as the case may be.

Speaking of dying...I'm bumbed more than you could know about Bernie. 

But, I digress.  The Olympics are on and there is more wine to drink. 

Stupid is as Stupid Does

OK

So we're heading into Springfield to catch a movie.

WALL-E to be specific.

I'm on vacation and because of band camp and work schedules, I had one afternoon with the boys to catch a movie.  This was the only one that none of us had seen.

Cute flick by the way.  I recommend it.

But I digress.

On the way we fired up some Elvis on the Ipod and get down to business singing the heck out of Burning Love.

I'm a notorious car dancer, much to my family's chagrin.  However when Elvis is getting his groove on we all tend to shake the pelvis some.

I'm stopped at a light about a mile away from the house.  I'm fiddling with the volume on the radio and just happen to look into the rear view mirror to see the man in the truck behind me waving his arms in order to get my attention.

I realized at once it was to express appreciation for my dancing skills.

However he pointed to the bottom of his seat, and through his exceptional use of body language, I was able to determine I probably had something going on with my car.

I waved my thanks and whipped it over into the gas station assuming that I had a flat tire and due to my interest in the music and embarrassing my boys, I hadn't noticed it.

When I get out, my purse falls to the ground. 

My purse is a tampon bag.  Called such because according to Joy, that's about all it will hold.

It is a small affair, but it has room for my car key, Blackberry, Burt's Bees lip balm, card holder, my work ID, and a change purse.  The whole ditty has a long strap that I can wear across my body.  It has everything I need and when I do need my big bag, it fits inside.

I walk around to the back and check my tires.

Fine.

The boys and I test the brake lights and turn signals.

Both fine.

I scratch my head and shrug my shoulders and grab my purse.

Ah.

Yeah.

Normally, when I get in the car, I put my purse on the floor beside my left leg.  You know between me and the door.

This time I didn't get the whole purse in the car.  

...only the really long strap.

I had been dragging my purse along the pavement for over a mile at excessive speed.  Excessive speed because well, Elvis was on and the heaviness of my foot is directly correlated to the volume and speed of the music being played.

But here's the surreal part.

Nothing fell out.

Nothing

Nada.

Everything was still in it.

Here's a photo.  Not very good, but you can see where the finish is completely scraped off of one corner. 

The good Lord watches out for the stupid.

A Walk in the Dark

I walked back to camp Friday night.

Content.

I had just taken a moonlight dip in the water in hopes that it would cool me off.

I was wrong.

The water was the same temperature as the air.

But the walk in the dark from the swim beach to camp gave me time for reflection. I was with my loved ones, my belly was full, the wine had settled, my skin was cool, my dogs were sleeping. And even though everyone I held dear was there with me, my thoughts turned to folks I hadn't met and had me wondering-what were they doing at that exact moment?

Was Eric sipping one last G&T on his deck before heading inside to the blessed cool and his pretty wife?

I hoped that Jefferson Davis was emerging from the water at that same moment, even though he was in a different lake in a different state. The thought made me smile.

Was Bou chasing after her boys trying to get them to settle down for bed? I hoped they were all healthy again.

I laughed a little thinking about what Erica might be doing. She-a young single gal living in New York. I conjured up the hot, muggy city in my mind and felt the subway roar by.
...actually it was coon crossing my path at that moment.

As I cursed the humidity, I thought of Laura in Florida and decided to keep my big yap shut.

Did Moxie and Handsome get a date night perhaps? ...or were they playing with Darling?

Across a wide ocean and a different time zone, I pictured Eolai up in the middle of the night with Dog Dog. I reckon he went ahead and put the kettle on. Did he have milk, I worried?

And what about Primal? Just thinking about that ornery devil makes me smile. He'll be getting up soon. He's got a lot of cussin' to do. IE is still in business after all!

I think it interesting that the cricket song led me to think about people I've never met. Not just think, but ponder.

The world we live in suddenly felt a little smaller.

I liked that feeling a lot.

The Same Old Same Old

The thing I like most about the fair is the fact most of it never changes. I know that when I walk into the E-plex, I'll happily spend lots of time looking at award winning quilts, photos, art projects, perfectly shaped caladiums, and peach preserves.

That's what I love.

I know that when we cross over to the other side of the same building it'll take us ten minutes tops to see the whole thing. Every year there is:

1. At least two Avon booths and three Mary Kay booths
   
2. The man that will give you a personality reading via that super 'futuristic' computation machine he has. It's covered in flashing lights so you know it has to be powerful
   
3. Loads of political booths
   
4. The cookware demonstration given by the man with the little mic.   Prissy bought a set of that stuff from the fair 45 years or so ago and by God she still has it somewhere
   
5. Someone wanting to sell you siding
   
6. An exuberant pro-life booth
   
7. The ‘fresh hot roasted nuts, would you like a sample’ lady
   
8. The embroidery booth (Does anyone know why that thing is there?)

This year they mixed it up and had a gigantic bulk candy booth.  That was exciting!

I love all that too, you see.  It’s the county fair and I would be devastated beyond all reason if I were to miss it.  I love the continuity, the-the tradition.

Yeah. That’s it.  I love the tradition. 

For instance, I know I’ll be eating something on a stick.

The Ferris wheel will be ridden.

I will walk all the livestock barns and talk nonsense to the horses.

I will cheer someone on as they sing karaoke.

However, this year I did miss the questionable fashion choices.  Aside from a miniskirt wearing middle aged gal wearing Harley Davidson platform clogs and another in an unfortunate leather halter jumpsuit worn two sizes too small-not a major faux pas did I see.

And where, I'd like to know, was the 300 lb. woman in a tube top and jean cut-offs so short her ass was eating them?

OK I only did it once, but it was really hot that day!