Nitro, Cat hair, Death by Paint

I'm very sluggish lately—perhaps the 105 degree heat index this week makes one's mind wander…I have several items to blog, but can't seem to think! Actually, to say that I 'think' may be a bit excessive—let's tone that word down a bit—I don't 'ponder'—that implies heavy thinking and I don't want to think heavily, since my shoulder is aching from trying to move my ponderous rock again and the term 'heavy' just makes me tired.

I don't brainstorm—that implies quickness and actual work… (my brain neurons might need caffeine?)….perhaps I just DAYDREAM. It's so oppressive and depressive—is that a word? Hmmm, since my thoughts wander from here to there…I shall call this DAYTRIPPIN, cause I never know where I'll end up!

So here I am, daytrippin', still tired from working yesterday 8:00 to 4:00 in the heat (after a jog) and probably still bedraggled from the day before at Paula's pool…suffering alloveritchy skin—sunburn, complete with the shivers…

Realizing that I hadn't mentioned my summer Thursday 'job' (donation of my time), let me begin: There's a tiny town a couple miles away that has an abandoned rock schoolhouse in deplorable shape. The upstairs is cordoned off (danger), and downstairs 2 huge rooms are filled with racks of all sizes and heights. No, de Sade fans, these are not used for medieval torture—they are clothing racks and plumb full of hand-me-down, garage sale items. Other available spaces hold shelves of old dishes/shoes/books! (Explaining why I've multiple copies of the classics sucking up space in my own home—of which Paula needed 9 of them to read the other day, thank you very much!)

A long table and 4 volunteers receive or carry in sacks and boxes of donated items, spread them out and hang them up. All day long. Hour after hot hour. But it is FUN! It is an ADVENTURE! You never know what people are going to bring in…good books, Harlequin romances—yuk, antique dishes, or like the huge bag of expensive underwear that was so eye-opening and shocking to us poor countrified Kansans that our faces were red and we couldn't stop laughing hysterically…

By the end of the day, I usually have on some type of bizarre hat (if clean), several funky mismatched horrendously disgusting belts, and an atrocious pin or hideous set of beads or bracelets that were at one time considered hip, chic, or lovely (by someone). Halloween costumes are made from many of these articles…I like this place!

Did I mention that sometimes you will open a bag to discover dirty clothes & poopy baby diapers? Or clothes so white with cat hair, reeking with the stench of cat pee that it's immediately tied shut and thrown in the dumpster? C'mom people, don't bring us TRASH!… have some semblance of self-respect. Hell—now I have to run for the germicidal cleaner, ugh! Stained or torn items go into a trailer for the recycling plant.

So yesterday, I was discarding some old, pilled, 80's sweaters "You Should Be Dancin', Yeah!-' --(oops, wrong era; daytrippin again,) that NO ONE in their right mind would want—or perhaps I was saving some clueless soul from her worst fashion nightmare…when I found a tiny glass bottle, hmmm…I picked it up quick, because lots of little kids run around—mom's with 10+ kids depend on this place because a huge sack of clothes is only a donation of 1 or 2 bucks….And I stuck the bottle in my pocket since some lady asked a question. Last night I pulled it out and threw it to Brigg since I couldn't find my glasses and the text was as tiny as an ant's toenail.. (This reminds me of a line in a book describing the Farsi language—looks like worms f*cking—giggle)…

"What's Nitroglycerin Sublingual?"

"Oh my God!" Someone has lost their heart medicine! Thinking I knew the owner—a man that was supposed to move last week and had the phone/water/electrical turned off in his home. But the new place wasn't quite ready, so he'd spent the weekend without—and it has been HOT. He was at the gas station a few nights ago holding up the counter…ashen, and we tried to tell him to sit down in the AC and have some water… I jumped in my truck and drove to his home, then to all the gas stations, and restaurants, and all over town…finally finding his vehicle—and he said, "They're not mine!" Holy Crap. So at least I know that HE'S not going to die on me and leave me feeling a lifetime of horrible guilt! Hopefully no one else needs them… Copfriend asked if I'd actually opened the bottle—I hadn't—could be a vial of crack! But it's pills…

I had reason to be worried about this little man…years ago, in another little town, a tiny, plain saltbox house needed a new coat of white paint and I think 2 of us were paid $175.00 to do this. Back then, KS summers were usually 95-103 degrees for weeks on end, so the heat didn't bother us, but the fact that the little man that owned the house refused to go indoors—did. It was a sad situation—the couple had been together forever and probably in their 90's, when it was discovered that he could no longer do any type of menial task. You could tell he wanted so badly to work…we implored him to go back indoors and you could tell he wasn't trying to 'check up on us', but rather longing to participate and show his wife that he was still a caretaker and provider. She was as worried as we were, but her urging was also ignored. Finally she resorted to 'the cold lemonade trick'—insisting that we all come indoors for refreshment. This worked perfectly, but as soon as one of us tried to finish the job, out he'd go, and he was beginning to look pallid and gray. Should we just leave? We had to finish, as we had another job in another town the next day. It was difficult to decide what to do…we drank a LOT of lemonade that afternoon and evening and spent many hours indoors listening to stories. It was unnerving to get a call the next morning to inform us he had passed away in the night…I think I was 18 at the time, but looking back, we just should of left—but what did we know about bad hearts and old people and quiet pride?

So watch your friends and relatives in the hot summer sun and don't let them stay out so long... Guess I meandered over to a non-lighthearted topic…

And if you want to change your mood, you could always view the bizarre stuff on cracked.com, but its pretty gruesome stuff.

Easter Bullets, Sun Visors, The Alamo, Multi-county Criminals

Ok, odd story, then I promise I'll change modes...

Ran over to get some ice at the gas station and take Bill some dbl Chocolate Zucchini Brownies, then stayed to shoot the breeze at the counter. Another guy was standing there too-- he joined in our conversation for a while; a personable cleancut, redneck-type man. I was trying quite hard to keep a straight face, for the Judy Garland singer/painter came in and I could hear “Dancing in the Moonlight” tinkling in my head... and redneck man was making conversation and wanting to know if there were any people around that 'talked weird'--we filled him in on LOTS of those!
Meanwhile, 3 little girls told Bill they liked his Hooters hat as they left; he blew up with: “It's a VISOR! It's a VISOR!”
He must get exasperated by evening, you know, soaking up so much stupid and all.
He proceeded to tell us that visors have always gotten him into trouble and his 3rd visor story occurred when he went to San Antonio to watch his son graduate from Air Force basic training a few years ago. (I could share in this experience, as I had also went there to watch Bailey do the same thing.) After the ceremony, you could ride the tram to the Riverwalk and visit awesome shops, eat at Joe's Crabshack, visit the lovely, low, live oak that sprawled all over and....go to the Alamo!

Bill's visor caused huge Texas Security men to surround him at the Alamo and oh, so kindly, tell him to take it off or leave. Bill, never the conformist, pointed out that the sign said “Remove Head Coverings”. He removed the visor, picture-framed his face with it and pointed out that the police COULD see his face THROUGH the visor, it was hollow, thus it was NOT covering his head, whereupon he replaced his visor. (Bill has long hair and a pony-tail, probably disliked by typical Texans!)
Eventually 4 Rangers insisted he take off the visor or leave; Bill pointed out the Arab that was inside WEARING A TURBAN that covered HIS head. Well, apparently turbans and the like are OK; (even though I jokingly/indignantly declared he could have had an Uzi under it or something! or like Cop friend later said—packing C4!) and Bill couldn't quickly think of a religious/cultural reason depicting a necessary visor, so needless to say he didn't visit the Alamo.

Cop friend called shortly after Bill's story to share his daily number of warnings/tickets/arrests. He works in another county and was talking about an individual that I knew...whose brother used to live with my sister. Of course this naturally led to the Easter Bullet Suicide Story:

It was Easter Sunday, probably in the late 80's & we always played baseball with the little kids in the front pasture at my mom's. This was a tradition and now broken by a phone call that came from my sister's then boyfriend, Devon. He'd stayed home feeling sorry for himself, having missed out on egg-hunting and a delicious Easter ham... My sister, BG, came back out of the house and told us that he was going to kill himself.
Immediately we jumped in my little Datsun to drive the backroads to a tiny, hidden town. There on the roadside by a little wooded area, was his vehicle. We could see a note inside, and for some reason, by Datsun key opened his door and we read a suicide note. We walked hesitantly into the woods, abruptly stopping when we saw his body slumped against an oak, hat over his face, gun in hand by his side....where's the blood? was he dead? what do we do?
We tiptoed up and then he moved, grumbly, scary, insisting that I leave and BG remain. I would not leave her alone with him ('he'll shoot her' I thought-- rocky relationship, etc). Finally I told him that I would let them talk together if he gave me the gun. He absolutely would NOT, so I insisted on the clip. “I'm not leaving her alone with you until you give me those bullets.” Eventually he removed the clip, showed me it was empty and I stuck the clip in my pocket and walked away. I froze when I suddenly heard 2 shots-- “What? Oh my God—he shot her, then himself!” but as I turned around, she was slowly walking toward me... “Go” she whispered, “just go—walk natural!” We kept walking but I was terrified sick and rigid as a board—kept thinking that any second I was going to have a bullet in my back—I could just FEEL it-- and the back of my knees were all wobbly. We were almost near the car when we heard shots again and we ran and drove back to grandma's as fast as we could, calling the Sheriff and Devon's family. No cell phones back then... (No suicide either.)

So I am telling Cop friend this, and about Bill's visor and Judy Garland, and about the redneck man at the counter, when he says “WHAT! You were talking to HIM?! He's one of the biggest criminals around! Always in jail!!!”
I was shocked-- “No way, I didn't think so; he didn't LOOK like one; no way; must be a really bad judge of character...I'd always assumed that person I'd heard about was wild and sleazy lookin with no teeth....are you sure???”
I was reminded that Thomas Crown looked nice too. So now I have met one of the 2 notorious Sever brothers.

Ahhh Ha! Ha! Ha!

Just came home from getting ice at the gas station...where many freakishly-odd folk go to purchase any random item for lack of something better to do...
Bill, running the cash register, having just dealt with a mental gal sporting a heavier beard than his own, says:

"I've about had it with this place...
I'm sick & tired of soaking up STUPID."

Yes, we have more than our fair share of crazies....turn to the trash blog!