Purple In Polyester...Part II

When Mom mentioned that she might have an outfit in the closet for me it sent a little shiver down my spine. Mom has every piece of clothing that she has ever worn dating back to the 70s and most of them involve polyester in one form or another. Mom started rummaging around and began pulling out one treasure after another. First off was the lime green pants and orange and lemon checked jacket with a faux fur collar. "What about this one? All it needs is a pair of black stilettos and you'll be dressed to impress," she said. "Well, I'm not sure. You know I don't do well in heels," I replied. "Yeah, that's right. You spent way too much time in those green Converse high tops of yours." "Mom, they were my basketball shoes. I better get going if I'm going to pick something up tonight." "Nonsense, let me see what else I got back here." Next out of the closet was a dark chocolate brown leisure suit that still had the tags on it. It had a white patent leather belt that should be cinched at the waist and there was a small label in one of the pockets that said the outfit would go great with white patent leather shoes. "Holy Toledo!" she exclaimed. "I wondered whatever happened to this suit. Here, try this on." Mom handed me the suit and I handed it right back. "It's a size 14. I'm a little past that size, remember?" "Don't you get smart with me, young lady. I'm still your mother and I'm just trying to help." "I know, Mom, but I don't think there's anything in there that I can wear and my tastes are a little more conservative than yours. The next thing you're gonna pull out is your lucky suit which you said Dad made you get rid of because he said it made you look..." "Wait! There it is. Oh, my goodness. I thought this was long gone. It's my lucky suit!" As I watched her standing there flushed with excitement I was transported back to my childhood and that purple polyester suit. Whenever there was an occasion that called for Mom to be dressed up she wore the suit, it was her "lucky suit" she always said. "I'm gonna go see if it still fits," she said. She returned a few minutes later wearing the purple polyester suit. It was a little snug in some places, and fit perfectly most everywhere else. She looked radiant, turning this way, admiring herself in the long mirror, humming what sounded like an early Elvis Presley song, completely oblivious that I was in the room. "It still fits, Mom. But why do you call it your lucky suit?" My question seemed to snap her out of her reverie and she looked directly at me. "This is my lucky suit because this is the suit that I met your dad in. He said it made me look like--well, that's none of your business. And on second thought, I don't think you can wear any of my clothes. You better get going if you're going to find any stores open." She was right. I needed to get going to see if I could find my own lucky suit. As I left the room she was still admiring her reflection and I'm sure was reminiscing about the night she wore the purple polyester suit and met my father nearly sixty years ago.

Purple In Polyester...Part I

I had a job interview today. Shocking, isn't it? When the lady called to set up an interview I thought she had the wrong number. I've sent out dozens of resumes with little or no response. When a Master's Degree is as common as a Bachelor's Degree these days your resume and cover letter really need to stand out. I went back over both of my documents searching for the magical phrase or well-intended action verb that had caught the HR Department's eye but came up empty. There's nothing like short notice to light a fire under somebody's ass and that ass belonged to me. A job interview? Are you kidding? And they want me to come first thing in the morning. Are you kidding me? Needless to say, I had several activities planned for the day, one of which was a trip to Mom's to pick up the cat and the new cat because I had been hiding up in the Alabama mountains for a few days getting some culture. I walked into her house and mentioned that I had a job interview and she 'bout fell out of her chair. "Are you kidding?" she said. "Don't blow it. What are you gonna wear? You ain't worn nothing but t-shirts and shorts for the past two years." That was a problem. I have a whole wardrobe that I haven't seen in about two years now, the pre-quitting smoking wardrobe of nice sweaters, dress shirts and business suits. I do have one outfit on hand; I call it my funeral suit. It's black, wool and extremely hot; not something that needs to be worn in the Georgia summertime heat. "I don't know," I said. "I'll have to pick something up. I do have the funeral suit..." "Heavens to Betsy, good gracious NO! You are not, I repeat N-O-T wearing the funeral suit. You'll keel over for sure wearing that hot and scratchy thing. I bet I got something in the closet that would be appropriate."

Where Do Boogers Come From?

You know they say kids say the darnedest things and after what happened at the grocery store today I'm gonna have to agree with them. I was at Krogritz for my weekly visit and ended up following a young mother and son through the store. He was a cutie and kept asking all sorts of questions: Why are carrots orange? Why do onions make you cry? Why can't I have a bag of Doritos? Why can't I have Lucky Charms? Where does a hotdog come from? What is a sanitary napkin? Why are you saying so many bad words when you see how much it costs? Can I get a few grapes to snack on? Can I ride in the buggy? When are we leaving? And on. And on. And on. I'll have to hand it to the young mother, she kept her cool and answered every question without looking up from her shopping list. Most of the answers were either "No" or "I'll tell you later" and the child seemed satisfied and moved on to the next question. We had made our way through the store and were in the last aisle where the alcohol is displayed. Standing by the beer was a very large man in bib overalls that had been made into shorts, black socks and orange Crocs. He wasn't wearing a shirt under the bibs and the sides were left unsnapped. He had a very big nose and his left index finger was shoved up in it so far that I'm sure it was touching his brain. I know it isn't polite to stare but the sight of that man digging for gold stopped me in my tracks. The young boy was staring too and kept tugging on his mom's sleeve whispering, "Mommy? Mommy?" After what seemed like an eternity the mom looked up from her list and in the direction that her son was pointing. "Mommy, Mommy? Where do boogers come from?" The man having heard the boy's question turned toward us and removed his finger from his nose. He examined his finger and held it out for the boy to see. "The nose, boy. That's where boogers come from. You better teach that fella 'bout them bodily functions, lady or he ain't gonna turn out right." He then took his hand and rubbed it on his chest, clutched his beer and left us standing there in a world of disbelief. The silence was only broken when the young boy turned to his mother and said this: "Mommy, that man was gross! I don't wanna learn about bodily functions if I have to do that."

What I Did For Brown

I'm not big on housecoats, especially this time of year when it is so hot. I don't have central air, I have three window units but only two can be turned on at a time. You can't have the microwave, hair dryer or coffee pot on while more than one unit is running either because that will result in flipping the breaker, which is a bad thing. The breaker box is in the basement which wouldn't be a bad thing if you didn't have to go outside, down the steps, move the pole that holds the two basement doors closed, grope your way through numerous cobwebs, try not to step on the big toad that lives there, work your way past the riding mower that won't budge and hold your breath because of the worm farm that Janie Bell kept down there back in the 50s. (It's a really old house and Janie Bell was one of the characters that used to live here over 50 years ago.) All of this results in taking certain liberties within my own home. Namely, I like to air dry myself when I get out of the shower. Since there is no air conditioning in the bathroom I usually go into the kitchen and stand in front of that unit--which is right beside the door--and which also has another window with a curtain but no shade. The shade on the door is usually open; I like to look outside and watch the seens. Recently, I had an unexpected visitor, the UPS man. He and I have become friendly this past year. He had been admiring my mini greenhouses that I raised over a 100 tomato plants from seed in since March of this year that I took and sold at the flea market. He usually backs the truck down the driveway because there isn't anywhere to turn around out back. I usually hear the truck because they are pretty loud. I don't know if it was the radio blasting, or the window unit roaring, or I just had my head up my ass because I heard a knock at the door and then everything seemed to go in slow motion. I jumped, looked through the shade on the door, saw him, screamed and crossed my arms across my chest. Brown's eyes shot straight up, he stumbled backward and nearly lost his balance and dumped my packages on the chair outside. "Nothing to sign," he said. "Have a nice day." I didn't move, I was too mortified to budge. I had just flashed the UPS guy. Goodness, with my luck, the Jehovah Witnesses will be pulling in next. After the shock wore off, the worry set in: What was his reaction? Will it make things weird between us? Maybe, I do need to wear a housecoat? Later in the evening I was sitting out on the porch when I was surprised to see another UPS truck pull into the driveway. Yep, it was him and he had a package in his hand. Oh crap, what am I going to say to this guy? Before I could say anything this is what he said: "In all of the excitement this morning, I forgot this one, and by the way, nice package."

Sunny Saturday

Hot, ain't it?

Remote Controls

In a world of never-ending electronic gadgetry where a new device is launched on an almost daily basis, many folks are wandering what to do with that ever growing pile of remote controls. I looked over my entertainment center, dug in the cushions of the couch, checked the bedrooms and found the remotes that I use infrequently and those that are used on a more regular basis. I think the best way to explain it all is to list the devices and their respective remotes: Televisions - 3 VCRs (Yes, I still have them)- 3 DVD players - 3 Window Air Conditioners - 2 Ipod docking station - 1 Xbox - 1 Stereos - 2 So, if I am adding correctly I have 15 remotes in my house. That's a lot less than most households, I think. Recently, when we were on vacation the beach house that we rented had 8 remotes, just for the television in the living room. It also had a 10-step procedure that had to be followed in exact order (one step was holding your mouth right) or it wouldn't work and you'd have to start over. I've seen on MTV Cribs or somewhere about those really large remotes that will control everything in the house. Honestly, isn't that the epitome of laziness? Need to get a beer? Press a button! What about taking Fido for a walk? Mash this button! Constipated? Just push the button... I think you get my drift. How many remotes do you have? You do catch my drift, right? Or do I need to press a button??

Burlap Sacks

Friend and I went to an auction the other day in a neighboring town. We didn't realize that we would be spending five hours there; they had a lot of stuff to sell. Anyhow, I've mentioned before that I like to go antiquing, go to yard sales and even sell junk at the flea market. Something that really caught my eye was a table and wall filled with old tools and junk. Of course, all of the men there were totally interested in it too and when it came time to start selling off the tools they all crowded around and wouldn't let me see what was being auctioned. They were doing what is called a choice deal; if you win the bid you get to pick out anything you want for that price and others can do the same. The first winning bid was for twenty dollars; the next was for fifteen and the prices continued to drop until there wasn't much stuff left. When I was able to see what was being sold the only thing left was a big box of burlap sacks. I asked the fella standing there what the price was down to and he said $2.50, so I bought them. I guess there are about 25 sacks in the box and they look and smell like they have been stuck away in the back of a stable for a really long time. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them; they do remind me of growing up on the farm back on Cherry Fork Road. We used burlap sacks in the garden, stored corn for the cattle and they held tobacco plants that were pulled and then set out in the fields with the tobacco setter. I got to looking on eBay and somebody had one sack just like the one below listed for sale for twenty bucks. Can you believe that? ...If you want to give me fifty bucks for one of those sacks I'll throw the shipping in for free!