Mardy Mouse.... Mardy Mouse

 I have played fiddle since I was 5 years old.  I have won and lost my share of competitions, but I have never enjoyed competing.  Primarily due to the fact I am a sore loser!  I have been to so many competitions, I couldn't attempt to count them all.  My parents had a bluegrass band, and they were extremely good.  The had made a name for themselves and won most contests they entered.  When they had a show or contest to do, we would load up in our Mercury Zephyr, and head out.  Daddy would drive, and Mama and me would sit in the backseat behind Daddy.  The big bass fiddle rode in the passenger seat, and the rest of the instruments were either in the trunk or taking whatever space was left over.  There was one time Daddy put the bass in the trunk of the car, but the top (scroll) of the bass was sticking out.  Daddy had wrapped the bass with blankets and pillows to hopefully protect it from the outside.  After they had played the show, we loaded up and headed for home.  Not long after we had left, it started to pour down rain.  In a panic, we pulled over and put a garbage bag over the part of the bass that was hanging out of the trunk.  Keep in mind, the car was black, with no hubcaps.  The back end of the car would scrub the ground anytime we hit a bump, which would cause quite the light show from the sparks coming from the bumper.  If you had seen us, you would have sworn we were trying to hide a body in that trunk and the only thing that wouldn't fit was the head that we were trying to conceal with a black garbage bag.  After several years of this travel set up, Paw decided to buy a van for us to travel in.  Nice of him right?  However, there was one small catch!  The catch was Granny and Paw got to go everywhere we did!  I don't think Daddy really cared for the idea, but the van was nice, and we had plenty of room.  I was probably 14 or so, and we decided to go to one of the nearby bluegrass competitions.  By this time, my family had bought a house and moved from our home beside Granny and Paw.  We moved ALL of the way on the back side of the corn field, but still on the same property.  It felt like I lived in another world completely, but all I had to do was look out my bedroom window and see their house. The night before the contest, I was in my bedroom, and noticed a small mouse at the foot of my bed.  I screamed, and the mouse disappeared!  I had no idea where it went, and that was ok, because it was gone!   The morning of the contest came, so we got ready and loaded up.  I wore my jeans, a button up shirt, and my favorite red cowboy boots.  I looked like a million dollars, but in the end, I would feel like I went bankrupt!  The competition was fierce, but I got up there and played my heart out!  I ended up winning!!!  Mama and Daddy's band took home first in every category they entered, and Daddy won first place in the buck dancing category.  This particular contest had finals, which meant if you place in the top 3, you moved on to the finals.  There was a pretty long break between categories, so all of our bunch gathered and sat under the pine trees to relax.  My feet were killing me, so I decided to take off my boots.  I remember after taking of my left boot, something fell out.  Not thinking anything of it, I propped my sock feet up on Mama's guitar case.  The time had come for me to head to the stage and compete in the final round.  I put my boots on, and I headed to the stage with Mama and Daddy going with me.  I finished my part, then it was my parent's bands turn.  Like I said, the night ended with us coming away with top awards!  Everyone was on a cloud of happiness.  We loaded the van and started the journey home.  Daddy drove, and Mama sat beside him.  I sat in the seat behind Daddy, and Paw sat in the seat beside me, while Granny and my little sister were in the back.  We had made it several miles down the road when I decided to take off my boots.  I was sick of my feet hurting, so I was going to remedy this problem.  I kicked my left boot off, then the right.  It only took a few seconds before we started to smell the smell of DEATH!!!  We first thought it was rotting food left in the van for a month, OR we had just past a decaying Bigfoot laying in a ditch.  Either way it was terrible.  After another several miles, the smell was still just as strong.  My Paw NEVER scolded me for anything (and boy did he have plenty of times to do it)!  He looked at me and said, "Tina, I think that is your feet stinking"!  Naturally this made me gasp at the fact somebody would think my feet smelled like rotting flesh!  I assured them it was NOT my feet and was offended they would think such a thing.  Daddy didn't believe me, so he turned ALL of the interior lights on, and made ME smell of my boots.  I picked my left boot up first, and for some reason I turned it upside down.  When I did this, something fell out!  I KNEW WHAT IT WAS!!!!!!!  Remember the mouse in my room that I couldn't find?  Well honey, I knew EXACTLY where that thing had gone!  It had fell in my boot and had gotten trapped.  I had shoved my foot down in the boot that morning and sent that little fella to the great mouse house in the sky!  Remember when I took my boot off at the contest and something fell out.  Oh, that was the front half of the mouse!!  The back half hung on for dear life and let its presence be known on the trip home.  It was one of the most shocking moments of my life.  Daddy threatened to pull over at a car wash to power wash my feet, and Granny and my sister were gagging and screaming in the back seat.  Mama had her window down with her head hanging out like a dog going for a joy ride, and I was sitting there crying uncontrollably realizing what had happened!   Paw, with a kind and soft voice said, "Tina, I believe you're gonna have to throw them boots away hun"!  Of course, that didn't help things AT ALL!!  Every window in the van was down, so I took the opportunity to heave my boots and socks out the window.   It was amazing, after those items were gone, the sweet smell of pine from the 50 little green air fresheners Mama had thrown from the front to the back of the van.  The gagging and screaming subsided, and Mama was able to get back inside and roll up her window.  Daddy didn't pull over at the car wash, and I was still bawling!  What would I do if word got out about this?  How could I hold my head up if anyone knew!  I had confidence in my loving family to never let this secret be known.  I came home and obviously took a mega bath, focusing on my left foot, then went to bed.  I slept with the calming thoughts of my dear sweet family never telling this horrific story.  I woke up on a beautiful Sunday morning hearing laughter.  I thought since it was the Lord's Day, my parents were just happy they had lived another day.  Ohhhhhh nooooooo, Mama had already made her rounds with family and told that story to any and everybody who would listen!  I wasn't taking that, so I made my way to Granny and Paw's house!  I walked in and the first thing I hear from Granny was, "My God Tina, did you wash them stinkin' feet"?  Paw said, "Now Inez leave her alone"!  He also asked me, "Tina you don't plan to take off your shoes in here do you"?  I said, "I will have you know I took a bath and I'm clean as a whistle"!  Years have gone by, and I am proud to say I have been rat free the entire time.  I can't see a red pair of boots or smell fresh pine without thinking of the day Marty Mouse died in my boot.  

Take This Pork Rind and Shove It

 My grandparents, like many of yours, survived the Great Depression.  Granny was born in Arkansas and tells the story of how they moved to Alabama in the middle of the depression.  She used to say, "We didn't know where our next meal would come from.  It was terrible, but we lived through it...  Most of us lived through it".  I've said it before, but I'll say it again, Granny was an unbelievable southern cook.  We live at the foot of the Appalachian Mountain chain, so we have a mixture of a traditional deep south and mountain accent, and our foods are inspired the same way.  My family's music is most definitely influenced by the mountains!  On a typical day in the Spring, Summer, or fall, you could find my Paw outside working.  I can't count the times I have seen him in the field behind his plow and mule, plowing to plant corn or anything he was going to grow.  He would leave the field and bring the mule (or horse) down to the house and call for me.  He would always let me ride the sweaty stinky mule to the barn.  I didn't mind, because I loved it so much.  He let me do this because he knew I wasn't going to do something crazy to get us hurt or cause the mule to take off running and not stop until it had reached the Canadian border.  After he had put the mule or horse away, he would head to his barbershop to "cut a head of hair".  His barbershop stayed busy, but there was a catch.  He had one style!  Many a young boy came through with the expectation of having their hair cut like their favorite rock star or actor.  Buzzed!!  Middle aged man? Buzzed!!  Old man?  Buzzed!!  He had his clippers set to destroy, and that is what he did!  Some men came every week to get the two hairs on their head buzzed, and to pick a tune or two.  After the massacre of the hair was over, Paw would move to the next room and work on whatever instrument he was building or repairing.  He started teaching me how to play fiddle when I was 5 years old.  After I learned to play several tunes, Paw started making anyone who came through listen to me play.  No matter if they wanted to listen or not, he made them!  One Saturday during the summer, he loaded us up and we headed to the flea market.  It was Granny, Paw, my cousin, and myself.  We made it to the flea market and found a parking spot front and center of all of the action!  Granny was the first out of the truck, and I quickly followed her with a bounce.  Paw called for me to come to the back of the truck, where he was getting our fiddles out and told me, "Now Tina, y'all are going to play and make you some money.  I'm going to put out this can, and people will put money in while you play".  Every one of my mental balloons were burst in one whack!  I thought to myself, where is Granny?  I turned to cry to her, but all I could see was a cloud of dust and Granny's short legs moving as fast as they could in route to the pork rind (meat skins) stand.  At that point I had no other choice but to gather my fiddle and cut loose.  We played and played, and people put money in the can.  People really threw money in the can when I got out there buck danced.  I got after it like a little monkey bouncing around the jungle.  After about 3 songs, I was over it and the drama commenced.  I told Paw, "I don't want to play anymore.  I want a toy.  My head hurts.  My throat hurts.  My back hurts"!  This time my trickery didn't work.  He told me, "No you keep on playing and then we'll go get you a toy".  That worked for about 2 minutes, and the real breakdown began!  I started out with a small crying fit, then it progressed to a full-fledged Opie Taylor tantrum.  At that time, people were avoiding our truck like we all had the plague.  Paw had had enough, and said, "Good God, let's go get you a toy so you will shut up".  He loaded the truck and just as we were about to head to the toys, I saw Granny headed our way.  Her arms were loaded down with 2 bags of every flavor of pork rind the stand sold.  Plain, barbeque, hot, and hot barbeque.  She was walking and crunching, hoping she didn't drop one smidge of grease from her piggy prizes.  She got to our truck and said, "Come on Arlin lets go home"!  Without hesitation, we got in the truck and headed out for home.  Granny was in heaven with her skins, and Paw was sunk down in the seat as far as he could get.  My cousin was sitting there with the "I'm too cool for this stuff" attitude, and then there was me.  Oh Lord!  I had passed the point of throwing a fit, I was just sitting there sobbing and thinking of how my world had just been destroyed.  Granny looked over at me and said, "Here Tina put this pork rind in your mouth"!  The old blue truck made it back to Turkey Hop, and I was told I needed to go home because Mama and Daddy missed me so much.  Yeah right!! Granny and Paw were done with me and needed to take a rest!  Paw never made us do that again, but Granny made many, MANY more trips to the pork rind stand after that.  She was the boss of the pork rind world!!

A Little Mustard for Your Chair?

My grandparents owned several acres on Turkey Hop Hill.  The side where their house was, was mostly used for farming (and for me to terrorize any and everything).  Behind their house was the corn crib, gristmill, and smoke house.  Between the smokehouse and gristmill was a barn type structure that extended back a way. The front part of the building was where the laying boxes for the hens were and anything else Paw could cram in there.  In the very back was the door that led to the hog's pen.  I was never allowed to go in there very often, because sows can be pretty mean when they have babies.  Across the road was where the infamous milking barn was, that sported that hole in the back wall from where I didn't obey Paw and gave the cow a tappy tap on her rear.  Another building to the right of the feed lot, was a big building.  That building had become a landmark in the community, because every second and fourth Saturday nights, bluegrass music would ring from every window and every door. I can still hear the music and feel the floor bouncing from people dancing to the music.  I can still smell fresh coffee coming from the kitchen, and the fresh ham cooking for granny to make her famous ham and biscuits.  Fried pies, ham and biscuits, hot dogs, and coffee were the big sellers and I believe that was the main reason some folks would come to the shows. You could smell Old Spice, Skin Bracer, Brut, cheap perfume, and the occasional whiff of onions.  Now I don't mean onions from the kitchen, I mean the onion smell where somebody forgot to put on an extra swipe of deodorant.  Mmmmm, every time I smell onions it takes me back to the Red Barn on a Saturday night.  I've said before, but I'll say it again, there was NEVER a shortage of people dropping in to visit, and it was mostly at mealtime.  One guy was ALWAYS there for dinner (noon meal) and would make his way back for supper every evening.  Granny would always cook a big meal at noon, and most of the time they would have leftovers, or something small for supper.  She rarely cooked a big meal at suppertime, unless it was a special night or something. This guy who I will call Roy, was always there watching Granny pour up the fresh milk after Paw had brought it from the barn.  When she would turn her back, he would take that gallon of fresh, straight from the cow milk, and turn it up and drink as fast as he could until it was gone.  When she would turn around she saw what he had done. She would get so mad; she would holler at him and tell him to get his a** out of her kitchen and not to come back!  Granny was always welcoming and would feed anybody who needed food, but don't steal her cow milk.  If you did, it's possible you'd get a dipper thrown at your head as you were heading for the door.  Roy drove everybody crazy!  Not only did he show up at mealtime, but he would also visit the rest of the family at the most inconvenient times.  My Mama's sister and her family lived on the bottom side of the land, just down the hill from the Red Barn.  Roy would start there, just to see what food he could find that wasn't tied down in her kitchen.  After he had raided her kitchen, he ate his way up to our house.  He would come inside and always sit down in Daddy's favorite green Naugahyde recliner.  He would do this knowing it was Daddy's chair that he liked to relax in after a long day at work.  When I would walk past Roy, he would stick his feet out and try to trip me.  He did this one evening and I fell and got hurt.  Mama chewed him out good, so he left in a huff talking to himself the entire way to Granny's.  Even though he left, it wasn't until after getting his belly full of whatever food we had sitting on the counter.   After he left us, he would make his way up the hill to "visit" Granny and Paw.  This particular evening, after Roy had hit my Aunt's house, he strolled up to our place.  Daddy was in no mood for Roy this night, and all he wanted to be left alone, sit in his chair, watch tv, and them have supper!  It wasn't long before we heard "anybody home"?  He never knocked and was always walking in while he was asking.  Daddy tried to be polite, but it was out of his control.  While Roy was in the kitchen scanning the food selection, daddy put his "special mustard potion" in the seat of his chair, knowing Roy would soon hurry in and flop down waiting for somebody to walk by so he could trip them (mainly me).  Mama had made sure he had extra snacks that evening, to keep him occupied as long as possible so daddy could "fix" his chair.  When Roy finished, he made his way towards the chair.  He flopped like he had never flopped before.  He almost rattled the windows with his mega flop.  This guy wasn't able to sit still no matter where he was sitting, and this worked in Daddy's favor.  Roy started to feel a little tingle on his right cheek first, then the left started to tingle.  Now I don't mean the cheeks on your face, I mean the other cheeks.  The more he twisted and squirmed the more intense the tingle got.  After he had spun several circles in Daddy's chair, the tingle had turned into the feeling of a California wildfire that was burning it's way across his mountain sized cheeks.  He jumped out of the chair and was slapping at the seat of his pants, while running in circles.  Daddy looked at him and asked, "Roy, what wrong with you, have you gone crazy"?  By that time Roy had dropped to the floor and was scooting like a dog trying to express its own anal glands.  When he looked up at Daddy with a mad look on his face, Daddy lost it.  He was laughing until he couldn't breathe, but Roy was still scooting.  Roy caught on to what Daddy had done, and the mumbling commenced.  He mumbled and scooted his way to the door, and then stood up and twisted his way outside and dove into the driver's side of his small car.  He was a big man and didn't really fit in the car, and when your rearend is on fire, it can make for an interesting situation.  Granny was aware of what was going on, and she was standing on her porch watching.  Roy's top part was in the car, but his burning butt was still outside trying to follow the top so he could get the Volkswagen headed south!  When he finally got all of himself in the car, he was sure his pants had a hole in them from daddy's special gift.  He cranked his car, and we could hear him driving in first gear all the way to his house.  Granny had stood on the porch and watched this calamity, and laughed so much she was standing in a puddle because her bladder wouldn't hold.  Do you know what?  Roy never came back to our house, and he didn't come to Granny's kitchen and take milk EVER again.  Until he did....  

Officer... Arrest That Squirrel

 There was never a time when my family wasn't up for a good drive.  On the weekends, when there wasn't a bluegrass festival booked, we would get up and go!  No plan, no map, and no seatbelts!  Who needed seatbelts back then?  Daddy was always the driver, and there was no telling who would join in on the expedition.  Saturday or Sunday in the spring and summer you could bet we would be at the "trade day".  Daddy wasn't a big man, standing only 5'7 give or take, and never weighed over 160 pounds.  He went through his phases of looking like the Oak Ridge Boys, Hank Williams Jr., and having Bob Ross' hair style.  Lord that hair!!  After Mama would give him a permanent, you would've thought he was about to pick up a paint brush and paint us a happy little tree.  He looked NOTHING like Hank Williams Jr, but he felt in his soul they were twins.  Daddy was a fantastic bass player and was a champion buck dancer.  He worked hard at his job and provided for us!  Fridays were his payday's.  On that day, we never knew what kind of car he would come home in.  He would go to his favorite car lot and "test drive" something for the weekend.  He knew good and well he wasn't going to buy that "good ride", but he did it anyway.  One car he brought home had the entire passenger side floorboard rusted out!  Mama put her foot down with that one and made him take it back that evening.  We all went of course, and I remember watching the road pass under Mama's feet while she held them up in the seat, giving Daddy the look of destruction.  I'm not sure, but this could've been the same car that while we were taking it back, Daddy looked down and had a mouse sitting on his foot!  Who knows, it's hard to narrow them down because there were so many.  Between his love for bringing home stray cars, looking like his favorite country singer, and dreaming of being an outlaw biker, his number one passion was listening to our police scanner.  When there would be a call anywhere near us, he would load us up and we would race to that call.  He was skilled though, he never got too close, but just close enough to see EVERYTHING going on.  I'm sure when the officers saw us, they knew it was the same rubbernecking family with the little black headed girl in the backseat with her face plastered against the window because she had to see everything and had no concern of being spotted.  One Friday night we had been to town for our usual going out to eat because it was payday event.  This particular night would turn out to be a turning point for Daddy's ambulance chasing career.  After we had finished our fun in town, we headed home.  It took us around a half hour to get home from because that was as close as we lived to a bigger town.  That night we decided to take the scenic route, and drive thru the cemetery.  You know, the cemetery where we crashed the graveside service with the haunted car?  The cemetery was on both sides of the road.  It was a dirt road because, well, it was the south in the 80's and a small town.  After we made our first turn off of the paved road, Daddy gunned it.  I would also like to mention he had a tendency to act like stunt car driver.  We watched Smoky and the Bandit way too many times and he never missed an opportunity to act like The Bandit.  As our car did a nice little fish tail, and the gravel was flying over our hood, Mama gave him that same look of destruction.  He thought it was in his best interest to right the ship and sail on.  We topped the hill and saw the small chapel at the cemetery.  As we drove past the chapel, Daddy slammed on his brakes.  He flung the car in reverse and peppered our side mirrors with gravel.  He backed up to the chapel and stopped.  He said, "Look at that thing"!  Mama and me leaped to the driver's side and was stretching our necks to see what was going on.  We were sure it was a giant anaconda, or even more horrifying, and giant anaconda riding on the shoulders of big foot!  Daddy said again, "Do Ya'll not see it"?  All we could see was a squirrel sitting on the chapel porch.  Who knows, his wife may have died, and he was waiting for the rest of the family to arrive.  No matter the circumstance, Daddy knew he needed to get help!  He said, "There's something wrong with that thing"!  With fear and desperation in his bones, he slung what was left of the gravels in the road and headed towards home.  Of course, we didn't have a phone at our house, so we pulled into Granny and Paw's driveway.  Daddy jumped out and rushed to the door.  Paw opened the door, and Daddy went in and grabbed the phone and started dialing.  Mama and me and made it inside the house were scared out of our wits.  Paw asked, "Oh Lord, what is it?  Are we being invaded by the republicans"?  We heard someone answer on the other end of the phone saying, "Sheriff's Department".  Daddy replied, "I need you to send a deputy out here as soon as you can".  The dispatcher said, "What is the problem sir"?  Daddy, completely serious, said, "I think there is a mad squirrel over here in the cemetery"!  When he said that, Granny asked him, "Are you drunk"?  Daddy answered with, "Well, not completely"!  We could hear laughter echoing from the receiver of the phone and could see Daddy turning a deep shade of red.  As the receiver made its way down to the base of the phone, we heard the dispatcher say, "I'm sorry sir, but we don't have handcuffs small enough to arrest that squirrel but if you would like to make a citizen's arrest, I'm sure we could put some bars on a coffee can put him in it"!  With disappointment showing on his face, Mama already made her way to the couch where she was stretched out laughing uncontrollably, and a look of total confusion on Granny and Paw's face, Mama said, "Why did you call the sheriff's department on that poor little squirrel"?  He said, "It was jumping at our car and I'm sure it had rabies".  Daddy wasn't the same for a long time after that.  He didn't chase another ambulance for several years after his encounter with the rabid squirrel!  Every time I drive past that little chapel, I can see that squirrel wearing his tiny handcuffs, standing behind the bars of his coffee can cell, with a posse of his friends outside protesting the unethical arrest of their friend.  

Tough Guys Can Run Fast

 

When I was little, I had an abundance of things to do and more than enough of an imagination to get in to trouble with them.  My most unusual pet was a hive of "volcanic bees".  I came up with name because it just seemed right and that is how it should have been.  The bees (carpenter bees) had a BIG nest on the backside of our storm pit.  Just below the tin roof on the back, was a mound of dirt.  The bees had made hundreds of holes in that pile of dirt where they had the perfect home.  Every day I would go out there and sit beside the nest talking to them about what was going on in my world.  Imagine, hundreds of bees flying around me trying to get in their dirt holes, while I sat there yacking about my roads I had made with a bicycle.  All of the time I sat there; I was never stung.  The bees seem to just ignore me and carry on with their business.  One of my best friends was my dog.  She was a brown Great Dane named BB, and I love her so much.  She went everywhere with me and love me with everything she had.  She was a protector and never let a stranger get close to me while we were outside playing.  One morning we were woken by the phone ringing to tell us BB had been hit by a car and we needed to come quick.  Daddy raced to the road and sure enough, BB was laying there.  She was conscious but couldn't walk due to a possible broken leg.  The guy who hit her (a cousin) was so distraught, he was almost inconsolable.  Daddy told him not to worry about it, because it was an accident!  We brought BB back to our home, and called the local veterinarian to come and give us the dreaded news we knew we were about to hear.   After the doctor had made her examination, she determined that BB did have a broken leg, but no other injuries and should make a full recovery.   After the doctor had left, we began the process of making BB's nice comfortable bed, with all of her favorite foods around her.  She eventually healed and was back to her old self.  This was after she had been dragged outside on a blanked every time she needed to go to the bathroom, or just get fresh air.  One day we were outside, and she was taking a nap in the warm sun, when Mama brought some snacks for us to enjoy.  BB saw those snacks and it was like Benny Hinn had thrown his healing mojo on her and healed her leg, because she jumped up and ran over to us for a bite of our food.  We couldn't believe our eyes!  She was better!  A few nights later we had company.  I had mentioned earlier that some of the folks who rolled into town were a motorcycle club.  These guys looked exactly like what you'd expect a motorcycle "gang" to look like.  Beards, tattoos, wallets with chains, long hair, and some had their "old ladies" riding behind them on their motorcycles.  I know I said my dog was my best friend, but the president of the club was a close second.  I will call him Dan, and this man was the real thing!  He stood at least 6'6 and weighed around 250lbs.  He had a gold tooth in front and always wore a turquoise ring on his finger.  The most identifiable mark he had was the naked lady tattoo on the inside of his arm.  I don't know what they did, or who they did it too, all I know is they were good to my family, and they will always be special to me!  The night the group came for a visit, of course I was right there in the middle of them, and if anybody had said something about it, Dan would have given them a look, and they would never think anything about me NOT being there again.  At one point Dan started to pick at me.  Some of the other guys joined in, but Dan was the leader.  It was innocent fun, until he started talking about my dog.  BB was loving to everybody, EXCEPT the D.D.'s!!  She would turn into a raging monster the second she heard the Harleys roll up the road.  Dan pushed and pushed until I snapped.  I told him, "If you don't leave me alone, I'm gonna turn my dog loose on you"!  He sits back in his chair and laughed, then pulled out his pocketknife and said, "I'm not afraid of no dog".  After he said that, everybody laughed.  I saw RED!!  So again, like a sweet southern girl with a spitfire personality, I did what I thought I should.  I turned myself around and marched down the hallway and into Mama and Daddy's bedroom.  The backdoor was in their room, and it led me right outside to where BB was being "detained".  I politely unleashed her and told her to "go git'em".  I still remember the sound of her toenails scraping against the wood on the porch just trying to get enough traction to arrive at her target quicker.  She went thru the door like a flash, and up the hallway in a dash.  She saw her target!  The guys were scattered all over our dining room and kitchen.  She was growling and snarling like a mama grizzly protecting her cubs.  Just as she chomped at the first biker she came too, he leaped for the safety of the table.  While she focused on him, the others scattered.  We had bikers on tables, counters, and most went flying out the front door.  Dan was one who made it out the door before anybody.  Daddy fought his way through the flying beer cans, leather cuts (jackets with their club's name on them), and I'm pretty sure I saw a wallet with a chain fly into the air and land on a shelf.  After Daddy gathered my dog, and took her away from the scene, he came back inside and looked at me.  I was standing right in the middle of the floor in the middle of the carnage with my arms crossed basking in my work.  By then the D.D.'s had started to work their way back inside and down from the safety of their hiding places.  Daddy looked down at me and asked me why I had done what I did, and I bluntly said, "I told him not to mess with my dog"!  At that point, Daddy was sure I would be taken off to a home for unruly children, and my escorts would be the D.D's!  Dan walked in and everybody looked at him for his reaction, but all he did was lean back and let out a roar of laughter!  He picked me up and said, "Girl you're a mess, and I love it"!  I told him, "I didn't know tough guys could run so fast"....  I was a boss!!

Gimme Back My Peanuts.....

 

The more I write, the more I realize, my best memories are from the place that in today's standards would be considered poverty, or not fit to raise a child.  In my adult life, I have learned love can live in a mansion or a single wide mobile home with a metal roof and a grandfather who is terrified of a "cloud".  Daddy and Mama worked hard to make sure our home was safe and secure.  Sometimes in the winter our pipes would freeze, some winters they didn't.  Once a week we had to take our small propane bottle to the places that sold the gas, so we would have it for mama to cook our food.  We had a window air conditioner that could cool down the North Pole, and that good old wood/coal heater.  Remember?  The one that Mama would get so hot the door would glow a bright red?  We had a wood pile in the corner of the yard and sometimes we would buy a load of coal from a local man.  We didn't have a phone for a long time, and we only had a washing machine.  Mama would hang the clothes on the clothesline, and in the winter, well I can't remember what we would do.  On cold mornings before school, Mama would take my clothes to the living room and put them in front of the heater so they would be warm when I put them on.  We had 2 bedrooms and one bathroom; with another small room we used as one big closet.  Since there were no closets in the place we had to improvise.  There was no danger in us going hungry, because we had fresh foods at our disposal, and Mama was a great cook just like my Granny.  Daddy loved him some snack cakes, so there were always Little Debbie's for the taking.  I used to love it when Daddy would go to the store, because I knew I would always get a treat.  Mama loved peanuts, and she would always get a pack of them when we went to the store.  She treasured those peanuts and was extremely protective of them.  She had bought a pack one evening and was saving them for the next day.  She could devour a pack of peanuts like a ravenous wolf at a Saturday night raw meat buffet.  The next day finally came, and she marched to the kitchen to collect her peanuts.  With the excitement almost too much to handle, she reached for the package.  Disappointment quickly crossed over her soul, then the anger took hold.  Her peanuts were gone!  She knew I didn't take them, so that only left one person... Daddy!  She knew he had stolen her peanuts and ate them, and this kind of thievery would not, COULD NOT stand!  That same evening, she went back to the store and got another pack of peanuts.   She was going to catch him in the act this time!  She would expose his thieving ways to the world and set things right!  After darkness fell, a hush fell over our home.  The trap had been set and Mama was waiting for Daddy (thinking she was fast asleep) to get out of bed, creep up the hallway, and eat her treasure.  Mama was asleep when she heard a rustling of plastic.  That was it!  She had caught him!  Not looking to see if Daddy was in the bed, she rushed to the kitchen to find it empty.  Bewildered, she stood there in silence.  After a few seconds, she heard the rustling of plastic again.  It was coming from under the sink!  Now how in the world did Daddy fit in that cabinet under the sink?  She opened the cabinet door and there looking her in the face was a giant gopher rat!  He had her peanuts and was heading down a small crack in the floor.  He was having trouble getting the full pack of peanuts thru the gap, and that would prove to be his downfall.  Mama, without hesitation, grabbed the package!  A tug of war broke out between Mama and who we now call Gary the Gopher!  With the battle well under way, Mama yelled for Daddy to come help her.  Out of a dead sleep, Daddy leaped to his feet and put on his cowboy boots and hat!  He bolted up the hallway wearing his underwear, hat, and boots, knowing for sure a robber had broken into our home and was trying to hurt Mama.  After he arrived at the end of the hallway, he could hear a struggle but couldn't see anyone.  Making his way into the kitchen area he saw Mama on the floor with a fierce battle underway.  Gary was relentless, but so was Mama.  Finally, the struggle was over.  Mama had come away victorious.  She held her pack of peanuts over her head and let out a yell that would've made our Native American warrior ancestors proud.  She gathered her composure and went back in for Gary.  He was gone!  In her jubilation, she had left her foe unattended, and he escaped!  He was never seen again, but I think his descendants are still roaming the area of Turkey Hop Hill.  Gary's masterful escape didn't seem to bother Mama very much, because she knew that night, she was victorious!  She held her peanuts close from then on because she knew to never take the safety of nuts for granted.  Daddy stood there in his undies, hat, and boots in the middle of the kitchen floor, waiting on his apology for being wrongly accused of theft and a thank you for all of his assistance during the battle royal......  Mama went to bed....

It's A Comin' Up a Cloud....

 When you live in the south, you learn how to expect the unexpected when it comes to weather.  We can have a tornado race thru one day, and have snow flurries the next.  In the late summer, when the heat has almost melted our skin off, we get a glimpse of a cool autumn breeze.  As we bask in the notion of watching red and yellow leaves fall...  BAM, the heat wave continues.  When I was a little girl, we were VERY weather aware!  My Paw made sure EVERYBODY knew a storm was coming when he made his famous phone calls.  "Ya'll better git outta that place or you're gonna git your a** blowed away".  Those words will forever be seared into my brain.  Like I've said before, our house was just down the yard from Granny and Paw.  We didn't have a backyard, and not much of a front yard.  I had quite the imagination and had "roads" and "houses" everywhere.  I had a bicycle, and I rode MANY miles up the hill and down.  I would pull into my "driveway", then "take my kids to school and go get them".  Mama set me up a table with a phone and flowers, so I would have an "office" to go to.  I was probably 7 years old when I was playing like this, but I remember it like it was yesterday.  One day while I was at "work", I noticed the clouds started to roll in.  It was humid that day, and there were murmurings of bad weather on the way.  Now, my Paw's definition of bad weather and the rest of the world's definition was completely different.  When the day had finally ended, and my daddy got home from work, and we had supper.  It was a typical night at home where watched tv (probably MASH or The Dukes of Hazzard) and tried to just wind down from the day.  It was an unusual night, because I was in my bed!  Around midnight, Mama came to my room and said, "Tina you got to get up, we've got to go to the storm pit".  Before mama came to get me, we got that phone call we all knew was coming.  Yep, Paw had made his rounds with his demand, and we were the only two crazy enough to follow his orders.  Mama had woken Daddy up to tell him of the awful storm headed our way and that we had just about waited too late to head out.   Well friends, Daddy didn't buy it!  He told Mama it wasn't doing anything, and we just needed to go back to bed.  Without hesitation, Mama whisked me up and we opened the door.  Words can't describe the sound of the rain as it hit our tin roof.  As we walked out of the door, I could see the faint light of Paw's flashlight leading the way to our underground mud hole.  Like any panicked person would do, Mama grabbed me by the hand and started to run for Paw's light.  I remember the mud splashing on my legs as we ran frantically for the light, when it happened!!  Mama slipped and fell!!  Not only did she fall in the mud, but she also caught the corner of her prized cactus bed.  Any child seeing their Mama fall on the ground would naturally be upset.  While Mama was wallowing in the mud, I was screaming "Mama, "Mama.  Get up!  Get out of the mud".  With my cries unanswered, all she could do was yell "Run Tina, RUUUUUUN"!  Like a good girl, I took off running to Paw.  We scurried down the ditch bank where a nice sized stream had started to flow past the entrance of the storm pit.  As I entered the door, here came Mama.  She looked as though she had just won first prize in the local mud wrestling competition, only she had no trophies or medals to show off.  We had all made it safely inside and just as we sat down, it all stopped.  The deadly rainstorm had stopped!  Paw didn't even have time to light the lamps, and it was all over!  When it was decided there was no danger, we all went back to our homes.  Keep in mind, no wind, thunder, nor lighting...  Just rain!!  The next morning the sky was blue, and the sun was smiling down as if nothing had happened the night before.  Mama still had mud in her eye lashes and eyebrows.  I noticed she was walking funny, and it was many years later before I knew exactly why.  Remember her prized cactus patch?  Let's just say, to this very day, she is still picking thorns out of her backside!  I find it ironic, after that incident, the cactus patch disappeared.  Whenever it rains, I think about the night Mama learned how rain turns dirt into mud, and thorns in the rear can mess a girl up.  I believe this is the reason she never learned to skate.  She ended her career before it was started, when she did her skating on mud that rainy night on Turkey Hop Hill....

Bet... This Car is Haunted..

My Grandparents were very special to me, and I spent a lot of my time with them.  Whether they wanted me there or not, I was there.   My Granny was of medium build but her back had curved over as she aged.  It didn't matter about the curved back; she would rather cook you a fried apple pie and pull a joke on you than to do anything.  She came from a close family, and she talked about her siblings often and even visited as much as she could.  Granny never drove a car, and never had a license.  She didn't play music with us, but you could bet she would be on the front row patting her foot.  If anybody had said something out of the way to us, she would have been on their rear ends giving them what for.  Granny and Paw lived in an old farmhouse, that had been in the family for years.  They bought it years ago and lived in it until they passed away.  The house is one of the oldest in my hometown and was featured in a documentary and on the cover of local magazines and calendars.  It was nothing fancy, but I can still go back to that living room in the early springtime, when I smell bleached sheets.  She always had fresh sheets covering her couch, and they always had a slight smell of bleach.  I was sick one day, and when I laid down on the couch the cool sheet touched my face and the smell it had made me feel so much better.  She was famous for her "cat head" biscuits and fried apple pies.  The big meal of the day was dinner (noon not evening, that is supper).  It's funny, there was always company there that "didn't know ya'll were about to eat dinner".  Of course, they would sit down and feast, then they would head to the barbershop where Paw would cut their hair then they would pick a tune.  Granny loved to go.  Go anywhere, anytime.  When somebody said let's go (wherever), she would grab her purse and head for the vehicle. One day Mama, Granny and me had taken a drive to a nearby town for something.  On our way back, Granny said " STOP THE CAR"!  It scared Mama to death because they thought I had fell out, or she had ran over something.  In Mama's panic, she asked Granny what was wrong.  Granny said, "Turn around Bet, we've got to go back to that house".  Mama turned around and we found the house Granny was determined to go back too.  We pulled up in the yard and Granny said "Bet, that is the prettiest car I've ever seen and I'm going to buy it".  Bet was the short version of Mama's name that everybody in the family called her.  That was very nice, but the only problem was, the car was not for sale and was sitting in someone's carport as their everyday driving vehicle. This didn't seem to be a problem for Granny, because she wanted that car she couldn't drive, from a man who didn't want to sell it, that we didn't know how we were going to get it home.  No problem at all huh?  She bee bops to the porch and walked up like she owned the place.  She knocked and a man opened the door as confused as he could be, wondering why this little humped back woman was standing on his porch with her purse on her arm while a little girl (me) was turning cartwheels across his yard. The man opened the screen door and asked "Hello, can I help you ladies"?  Granny said "yes you can.  I need to buy that car in your carport".  The bewildered look on his face needed no explanation as to what he was thinking, but he was curious enough to tell her, he hadn't planned to sell it but if he did, he would want a certain amount of money.  He shouldn't have done that, because she pulled out her billfold and proceeded to count out the money, he had quoted her.  The bewildered look quickly turned to shocked bewilderment. As the man stood there with his mouth gaping open, Granny asked him if it would be fine for us to come back later in the evening to pick it up.  She said, "Now I've paid you for this car, so it better be here when I come back".  She paid for a car she couldn't drive, from a man who didn't want to sell it, and THEN proceeded to halfway threaten him to make sure he wouldn't rip her off.  Lord, that woman!  As the evening fell, my daddy got home from work, and we headed out to pick up the car. I remember thinking it was the ugliest car I had ever seen, but Granny said it was the "purdiest car she had ever seen in her life".  This car was a big green Pontiac station wagon, with fake wood panels down each side.  The inside was pretty much a replica of the outside, but only in cloth.  We got the car home, and all of the family had to come and see Granny's new car.  A few days later, the three of us went on another ride, but this time it was in Granny's new ride.  It didn't take much to entertain us, so we thought we'd ride over to the cemetery and watch a funeral.  I know, mind blowing.  The funeral was taking place on one side of the cemetery, and we decided to be discrete, and park on the opposite side where we could make a fast getaway when it was over.  Mama found the perfect place to park, right between Mr. Hucklebunker, and old lady Eggerson's grave sites.   After Mama had turned the car off, and Granny had situated herself to get the best view of the big event, it happened!  The car let out a moan that was louder than the sounds coming from a pay by the hour motel.  Mama and Granny looked at each other in shock and to be honest a little bit of fear.  Not only did we hear it, but Mr. Hucklebunker and old lady Eggerson, along with every single attendee of the funeral.  Granny said, "Bet you better git us outta here"!  Mama cranked up and did her best Dale Earnheart impression, and we headed for Turkey Hop Hill (the hill where Granny lived).  As we approached the house, Mama never hit the brakes.  We made that turn with wheels squalling and gravels flying. We came to a stop just past the porch, and we got out of that car as fast as we could.  After about 30 seconds, it let out another moan, and I honestly think it was louder and longer than the one in the cemetery.  Granny started saying "Arlin, Arlin come here"!  Paw stuck his head out of the barbershop door and said, "My gosh Inez, I thought we had been invaded by the ghosts of Sherman's Army making one last march to Atlanta"!  She told him, "That thing is haunted, and you better park it out there on the road and put a for sale sign on it".  Of course, Paw and Mama laughed at her hysterically, but she was serious and vowed to never set foot in that car again.  Remember, the car she bought and couldn't drive, from a man who didn't want to sell it, is now haunted!  She was convinced that man saw her coming and he knew the car was haunted, and that's why he wanted to sell it.  Makes perfect sense.  After a couple of days, Mama and me took the car for a drive.  Word had gotten out about the "Haunted Car of Turkey Hop Hill", and we were a big hit wherever we went.  One day a man came to the house and said he wanted to buy the car.  Granny said, "That is the best car you will ever find, and I guarantee you will never feel alone as long as you own it".  As the old Pontiac left the yard, Granny was waving and said "Bet...  you better not ever bring another thing in here again like that.  We don't need no haints messin' around with us".  

Oh My Gosh... It's a Bat

 

I grew up in a musical family.  I never played sports, because my families sport was music.  My Paw Moon was a farmer, musician, and master instrument maker.  He started teaching me to play the fiddle when I was just 5 years old.  My older cousin could already play, and one day Paw caught me behind his shop's door playing "air fiddle".  He knew at that time I was ready to start learning.  It was a little easier for me to learn and progress, because I had Mama and Daddy there to help me practice. Mama played guitar and sang, while Daddy played the bass fiddle.  After I had learned a new song, I would go home and they would help me, by keeping the rhythm while I played.  It pushed me to keep up with the music, because I had to learn to pick up where I made a mistake, because they didn't stop to wait on me.  Mama and Daddy had a bluegrass band and they were pretty successful around the area.  When I would go to one of their shows, I would get on stage with them and play a song.  I did this for several years, and one day I had gotten good enough where I could join the band and play fiddle along with their main fiddler.  One night at a show, that fiddler told me I had a person coming to see me.  He told me it was one of his cousins and he wanted to meet me.  Of course, I was shocked and couldn't imagine who would want to meet me.  The band was on stage playing when I looked over at the door and this really nice looking guy walked in.  I KNEW this was the cousin he was talking about, and I felt a few butterflies in my stomach.  I have NEVER had trouble meeting people, but this was different.  I was so nervous when we were introduced, but I didn't let it show.  He was way more nervous than me and of course I did most of the talking.  We hit it off right away and started dating.  A few months later we were engaged.  A few months after that we were married.  A year and a half later we had our son.  Now after almost 27 years together, I would do it all over again and again!  A while after we met, he took me to his church where I met the people who would change my life forever.  At that time, I wasn't playing with a band, and the church had people who could sing like I had never heard.  Two of the men and me eventually formed a trio.  We started having people ask us to come sing at their revivals and other special services.  One day we got the call to sing at a local venue here around home.  It was a pretty big deal, and I actually played the very first note to open the very first show!  We knew we needed help since it was just the three of us, so we asked two men that I had known most of my life.  We met for a practice and never looked back.  The show went off without a hitch.  We spent many days and nights going from place to place playing our music and sharing God's word through song.  Since one of our members had a southern gospel background, we were invited to sing at a big gospel concert in Tennessee.  We played that festival for several years, but one year stands out more to me than most.  That one particular year, I had been sick with the flu.  I had gotten over it enough to where I was able to play the festival, with the help of antibiotics.  This festival was in July, and as most know, July in the south is nothing less than hell on earth!  My husband has ALWAYS been by my side no matter where we would go play.  He has always been my #1 supporter and has never wavered.  Instead of riding with the rest of the members to the festival, John and I decided to drive our own vehicle.  Keep in mind, we didn't have any money and most of the time we had to borrow money just to put gas in the car.  Those are the times I remember the most, and will cherish them as lessons we had to learn so we could be better in our future.  I mentioned the show was in July, and me being the person who doesn't think past her newest thought, I thought I would wear a BLACK DRESS!!!  Again, this festival was OUTSIDE and in JULY!!  We had played our set, when I looked down at my feet.  It looked like I had some sort of horrible condition where my skin had turned loose from my body.  I had rolls and rolls of panty hose around my ankles.  Not only had I wore a black dress, but I had also bought pantyhose for a 6ft tall 300-pound woman!  On my best day I am 5'3 and nowhere near that weight.  I had sweated so much my pantyhose had stretched out and had nowhere to go but south!  I could go into detail about the amount I sweated, but I will just say I was soaked.  The friction I created while trying to walk with those soggy unmentionables, left a rash on my legs that made me look like I was walking like a professional cowboy after a rough night at the rodeo.  To help the situation, the only thing I could do was start pulling from my ankles and roll the excess polyester and tuck it under the legs of my undies.  The more I walked the more friction, the more they would roll, and the more I would walk like a cowboy.  John was getting concerned, so he asked me what was wrong.  I told him we needed to go home and go home NOW!  On our way home the pain was so bad, I couldn't take it anymore.  Of course, the air in our car didn't work, and we had to ride with the windows down.  Just as we started up the mountain toward home, I said "I can't take it anymore!".  I pulled those pantyhose off as fast as I could and flung them out of John's window (because naturally mine didn't roll down).  The wind caught those hose and blew them back in the window and wrapped them around John's head.  He panicked and yelled, "Oh my gosh a bat flew in and is around my head"!  Not only did he think a bat was around his head, but he was also SURE the bat had wet itself before making that trip into our car.  He was swinging his arms around like Mike Tyson in a boxing match, all while to drive us up the mountain at a breakneck speed.  After the dust settled and the "bat" had been thrown out of the window, he realized the bat was just my sweaty pantyhose.  We laughed and laughed, but he said "What if we had wrecked.  Our rescuers would think I was some kind of pervert with me having your pantyhose wrapped around my head and you with your legs propped up on the dash"!  After that, we decided it was best for the bat population and our own safety if we just rode with other members of our band.  To this day when I see a bat, it makes my legs hurt and I go into cowboy mode!  

You Broke My Horse.... But You Laughed At My Toe

Just down the hill from Granny and Paw's house was my home.  Like I said before, it was a simple home, but boy what stories I have from that place.  Some of my best friends were my "volcanic bees" and a well-known motorcycle "gang" (I'll call them the DD's).  Our home was right on the road with only a small dirt and gravel area for a front yard.  On the side of the road and placed deep in the ditch bank was our storm pit. It had dirt floors and leaked worse than the biggest crack in the Hoover Dam.  The seats inside were a mixture of wooden benches and the backseat of the family Volkswagen station wagon.  The seat wasn't needed in the car because it took up too much room when we went fishing (my family was always thinking ahead), and the roof was solid tin which was the perfect lighting rod.  Whether it was a heavy rain or the possibility of a tornado, you could bet your boots we were all crammed in that hole in the ground.  My Daddy was just your typical "redneck" who loved his beer, motorcycle, jukebox, stereo that was almost as tall as the room and the thought of being in the DD's club.  There was always somebody at our house and looking back, it was mostly for the free beer and a good time.  Mama had the house decorated nice and she could build a fire in our wood/coal heater that would turn the heater door bright red and we were sure it was going to burn the house down.  It got so hot in there we had to open the front door just to cool off the sauna she had created, but by golly we never got cold.  One night after the DD's left, Mama decided to do some decorating.  The jukebox was behind the front door, and let me tell you, it was a doozy.  It had flashing lights all across the bottom, and every tune anyone needed to get the party rockin'.  Mama had a straight-backed chair from the bar in the kitchen placed in front of the jukebox.  She girded up her loins and started the climbing expedition to hang that beautiful museum quality piece of art on the wall behind Daddy's treasured jukebox.  Just as she reached the top of her destination, it happened.  The chair went one way and Mama went the other.  The crash was the sound of a horrible car crash mixed with the sorrowful moaning of John Anderson singing "Just A Swinging".  Mama was screaming like a hyena that just found the leftovers of a lion's big kill.  As Mama was wailing, Daddy yelled "Damnit, you just broke the bottom out of my jukebox"!  Not wanting to be uncaring, daddy ran to Mama and pushed her out of the way to mourn the loss of the flashing lights in his treasure.  Mama said, "I've broke my big toe", and daddy's reply was "But you broke my jukebox"!  In a crazed frenzy, Mama jumped up and limped thru the house to find the ultimate treasure!  She had found Daddy's ceramic Clydesdale horse he had gotten free because he was such a loyal customer and had racked up enough points to get the horse for free.  She grabbed the horse like her had was covered in glue and threw it out the front door with more accuracy than Nolan Ryan in his prime.  When the horse hit the ground its leg flew across the yard, while its harness lay beside it in the red dirt.  Daddy ran outside to gather his horse and its pieces, while Mama stood holding her toe and fuming hotter than our heater.  Daddy walked in our house and said, "You broke my horse"!  Mama looked him straight in the eye and said, "You laughed at my toe, and I'll break the other leg off of that thing if you laugh at me again"!  So kids, if your Mama falls and breaks her toe, please tell your Daddy not to laugh.  If he does, he stands a chance of losing his Budweiser horse.....

This Storm Will Pass...

 

When I started sharing things from my life, and about my life, I knew I would share the good and the bad.  My favorite thing to do, is make people smile and know they are good enough and can face anything that comes their way.  If I can say or do something to help just one person, I feel like I have done something good.  Storms rage in all of us, but some can weather that storm better than others.  Some can sit in the rain and watch the waves crash and hear the thunder roll, but others have to run from the storm and seek safe shelter wherever they can.  After I experienced a traumatic event, I found myself spiraling downward at breakneck speed.  The first panic attack I can remember was when I was around 6 or 7 years old.  I was never abused as a child, and I never felt unloved.  I was always taken care of and never "needed" anything.  Of course, I wanted everything, but was never denied the necessities of life.  With that being said, I remember the night of my first attack well.  I lived in a very modest home that was built by my Daddy.  It looked like a doublewide trailer, but it was in fact an old two-bedroom singlewide trailer with two big rooms built on the front.  The two rooms were the living area and Mama and Daddy's bedroom.  I never like to sleep by myself and was so scared when I had to sleep in my room.  That is probably why I always ended up in my parents' bed.  The night of the attack, I was sleeping in my parent's bed, because I was sick and Mama wanted me to be close to her.  During the night, I started having a dream.  The dream was terrible for a little child, and just to be honest, some adults would've been disturbed by it too.  The dream was about me laying down, with a stretchy like sheet draped over my entire body.  I was pushing up with my hands, but the more I pushed the more the sheet contracted back down on top of me.  In the dream I was screaming and crying because the more I pushed, the more it smothered me.  Mama woke me up because I was screaming and waving my hands in the air.  I had just gotten a new Charlie's Angels night gown, and my aunt told me whatever I dreamed in my new gown would come true.  After I woke up that is all I could think of.  It was a terrifying thought to think that would come true.  After that night, I never recall having a dream like that again.  After growing up, the attacks started come again.  I was around 19 when I experienced fear from more frequent panic attacks.  The attacks seemed to disappear after a while, and I had peace for many years.  I would say about 20 years passed when a horrible thing happened to me (that I don't feel comfortable sharing right now).  It was bad enough to throw me into a breakdown that has never healed.  At that time, I played in a gospel band, and with the pressures of having to be "perfect" to avoid "confusion", or "Shedding a bad light on our band" was absolutely more that my mind and body could handle.  I felt like I had to walk a chalk line, and be a closed in person, because that is just what you had to do as a gospel entertainer.  Oh!  Let me correct that, we were not entertainers!!!!!!!!!  If I had a dollar for every time we had to say something that effect, I would be a rich woman.  After the incident, my mental health took a scary turn.  I was terrified, but I sought help in the form of a psychiatrist.  That in itself was a nightmare, because I had to keep it a secret because "some churches we play at might be offended because they don't believe in THOSE DOCTORS"!  I ignored the fear, and I also ignored the pressure of "offending" anybody.  I had the month chosen when I planned to take my own life, so I thought how could seeking help be bad?  The doctor was one of the best decisions I had ever made.  I was put on the right medication, and the problem seemed to pass (for a while).  The event that caused this also resolved itself, but not without long lasting trauma.  Today, I regularly visit my doctor, along with my wild and wonderful therapist.  I still have attacks, but now I know how to manage them and know the fear is real, but the situation is NOT.  I take my medicines, and I write.  I have the best support system any woman could ever dream of.  My husband is every woman's dream.  To me, when I look at him, I see a man who can do anything and protect me from the world and all of the bad things it holds. He watches constant King of the Hill episodes, but that is what show I can watch right now that feels "safe".   He never complains even though I can see it on his face he would rather watch paint dry than watch another episode.  Again, I am not perfect and still have bad days, but I know the storm will pass.  I know I won't be swept out to sea when the storm rages at its strongest.  If you are going thru a storm, please don't let go of what you hold onto.  GET HELP!  Don't listen to the people who say "those doctors" aren't real.  Don't listen when people say, "those therapists are just troublemakers and will mess you up more than help".  DO NOT listen when people tell you "You just need to pray harder, and God will take this away"!  God does listen, and his will, will be done in all aspects of your life.  Sometimes God is yelling at you, but you are too afraid of what others will think, you don't hear what he is telling you to do.  What works for me may not work for you.  I don't know everything, and I am not a doctor.  But what I do know, my storms are getting lighter and lighter.  I pray, I write, I play my fiddle, and I know what I'm scared of isn't real.  This storm will pass...... This storm will pass.....

Don't Touch The Cow...

If I close my eyes, I can still smell the coffee brewing and the fresh bacon cooking in the iron skillet on my Granny's stove.  The bacon had just been sliced from the smoke house where the meat was being smoked.  My Granny was an outstanding cook and would have the breakfast on the table soon after Paw came back from the barn where he milked the cow.  The kitchen was medium size, and the table was in the center.  In the winter there was no danger of being cold because the small gas heater kept the room so warm, you'd swear you had just visited lucifer in his bathroom after a hot shower.  After breakfast is when the real work began.  I was raised on an almost completely self-sufficient farm.  We had our own chickens, eggs, hogs, cows, milk and butter.  We had every fresh vegetable we could produce, and the corn we grew would be turned into corn meal ground fresh by my Paw and his grist mill.  I was a "spirited" child, and most would say I was downright mean.  I cussed and kicked shins, but my favorite thing to do was BITE.  There is a long line of friends who suffered the wrath of my biting hobby.  I was punished and given a good talking to, but heck, I would gladly take getting in trouble because I had no intentions of stopping.   

One day in particular, my Paw allowed me to go to the barn with him to milk.  To this day I can't understand why that man thought it would be a good idea to take me with him, but I reckon he was feeling brave.  Our barn was across the road, and I was NEVER allowed to cross the road by myself.  We walked out of the house, down the steps, and headed for the road.  Paw held my hand, and we looked both ways and crossed when it was clear.  I can still hear the screech of the gate opening for us the enter the feed lot.  It's still amazing to me how the cows knew exactly when milking time was in the morning and evening, because they were there and ready to go when Paw would walk in and sit down.  He would always carry a 5-gallon bucket to sit on, and his milk bucket to catch the milk.  My Paw was a big man, standing around 6'4 and weighing a strong 200 pounds.  He had jet black hair and always wore his overalls.  Well...  We walked into the stall where the first cow was.  She was eating her food with no concern for us being there.  I was following close behind Paw when he turned his big bucket over to sit down.  I was just a small girl in stature, but I knew I was safe when Paw was there.  After he was set up and ready to milk, he turned to me and said "Now Tina, whatever you do don't touch this cow.  She is a little skidish and don't like to be touched."  When he said that, a wave of curiosity rushed over me.  I remember thinking, if I just tap her on the rear end, surely, she won't even notice.  So, I looked at Paw and he was deep in thought as he was milking, never looking at me or having any idea what was about to happen.  I had fought the feeling all I could, so I reached up and slapped that cow right on the back left hip.  I'm not talking about a tap; I'm talking about a full fledge slap on the rear that NOBODY could mistake.  As soon as I made my move, that cow started kicking!  There was hay flying everywhere and I'm pretty sure I saw a cow patty fly past my head.  As the cow patties were flying, my Paw was flying off his bucket!  Paw went one way, the 5-gallon bucket went the other, and the milk went straight up in the air.  The last I saw of that cow, she was stretched out running for the back side of the pasture like she had the ghost of Secretariat running for her.  I could see this thru the gigantic hole she had kicked in the back wall of the barn.  After this, I was sure my Paw would take me and tie me to the next vehicle that past on the road and hope it took me as far away as I could go.  Not only did I ruin the milk and made the cow go crazy, Paw's precious bucket was destroyed!  The only thing left was the top half that still had the handle holding on for dear life.  When the poop and dust cleared, Paw picked up what was left of his trophy bucket, gazed through the crater of a hole in the back wall, and took my hand and headed for the gate.  At this point I felt pretty sure I was in the clear, but not completely.  We still had to cross the road, so I kept my antenas up just in case he was going to wave down a car.  I had made it!  I was still at our home headed up the steps into the house.  Paw didn't say a word the entire way.  Not a peep!  At this point I knew I was about to see Granny and I was home free.  As we walked into the kitchen where Granny was waiting to take care of the milk, she asked "Where's the milk?"  Paw looked her in the eyes and said, "Inez, don't ever ask me about the milk.  This little girl has caused more damage in the past 20 minutes, than any tornado that would ever touch down."  The last words I remember his saying was, "She didn't even give me time to tell her DON'T TOUCH THE COW"!  

Very First Second Round of Blogging

 I want to say here's to the first post, and I guess in a way it is.  Let me just tell you, I had the best blog going a while back.  It was so good I was even cracking myself up during its creation.  But and I mean a big ole BUT, it disappeared with no explanation.  Now here I am, sitting in my living room typing up a storm, while my husband is knee deep in a football game.

When I originally started blogging, it was strictly for therapy.  After a while it morphed into a trip back in time where I remembered the wonderful memories (and some tough ones) of my childhood home and family.  I plan to continue sharing the colorful stories of my family, and the list of characters who ended up at our home and the home of my grandparents.  I plan to share some things I struggle with, in hopes of helping others who have experienced trauma and deal with the effects of that trauma.  Not all of life is good, and not all is bad.  I am still driving down this road of life, and it seems like I hit every pothole in my path.  Some days its smooth sailing, and others are like the wind is out of my sail and I have lost every oar in the boat.  But hey, we are all in the same boat.  Some just know how to hang onto the oar a little different than others.

So, there it is!  I am just a woman from a small southern town, raised by simple parents, who did the best they could with what they had.  I can sing a song and play a mean fiddle.  I can cook a skillet of cornbread that will knock your socks off, and if my life counted on it, I couldn't outrun a turtle.  This turtle reference will become clearer in future posts....  Stay tuned....