Today, I'm starting a new phase in the life, at 56, now that I realize I'm much closer to the end of the road, than the beginning, it's time to start pecking away at that 'ole Bucket List'. I've always dreamed of writting the perfect Southern Gothic novela, full of wit, great recipes, even greater sex, and wisdom that will be right on up there with Sun Tzu. With no hope of that happening, I have chosen the next best thing! I've become a Blogger.I can't say that blogging is something I have always wanted to do. I met my very first blogger at the Service League Antique Fair, here in Dublin, Ga, two weeks ago, Angela Hall W?, and now, I'm one of them. I am reasonably sure that I have never even read a blog, unless it is some form of political fodder, of which I am sadly addicted.
For about 16 years, I've been a member of Rosemary Daniell's Zona Rosa Group. I've met with these groups of 'power pen prima donnas', some of them are very talented, whom have become published authors, some are estrogen dripping whiners, but, most are like me. Women who are closer to receiving their first social security check than they are to receiving an invitation to any coming Cotillion. While I have much love and respect for Zona Rosa's talented and widely published author and leader, Rosemary, I have sat through her meeting and marveled at her patience, how she can listen intently to essays that would make me want to look for the nearest heavy object to bludgen the author, or, at the very least, scream at the 'author', "get a fucking life or either buy a vibrator", preferably a vibrator that needs to be plugged into the wall, to ensure the 'author' has enough volts ran through her body to alter her brain waves, so, that at the very least, she might become moderately interesting. Rosemary offers the kindest and most honest encouragements possible, with her southern feminine charms that comes from generations of good breeding. While I might be a scant 37 years away from that single wide trailer I once lived in with my first ex-husband, I am well aware of my roots. Charm was not something that my Daddy thought a young girl needed to succeed in life. He placed charm and sophisitication way down the list, with learning to bait a hook, clean a dove, or change a tire rounding out the top of the list. I am the oldest of six children, the only girl, with 5 boys following, so Daddy quckly decided it would be easier to adopt a 'one size fits all' policy for raising children. I know how to clean a shotgun, lead doves in the field, how to fish for catfish with fresh chicken liver, and then skin the caught fish, which is entirely different from how you clean other fish, like bass or bream that have to be scaled, sharpen a knife without ruining the blade or gut a freshly shot deer. While I may know how to do these tasks, I hope I can go the rest of my life without having to do the last one. The way the blood smells still makes my stomach turn, just to think of it.
I have been at home for the past 4 weeks, while looking for my next employment opportunity. I'm going to be truthful and say that I have not damaged my eyesight looking too hard. I've only had about 4 jobs in my life, I've never done a resume', or for that matter, been on a job interview. I've spent the past 8 years working in the political arena. I have a real knack for what I do, have been successful getting candidates elected, and employment has come relatively easy, through 'word of mouth', or a ' friend of a friend'. My daughter and I live together. Angie gets up and goes to work for the State of Georgia every morning. She leaves me asleep, mainly because I have stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, watching ID, 2020, or the other 'who killed who and why' true stories that I find so facinating.
Angie also leaves me a list of things that she thinks I should do every day, until I find gainful employment. She thinks I should be cleaning out my closets to take the things I don't or can't wear any longer to Good Will, fold the laundry, sweep out the garage or unload the dishwasher. My task for today was to pick up pecans, I'm still in the pajamas I slept in last night, (it's 5:45 pm) and think that I might have possibly become one with the sofa, the remote for the TV having grown into my right palm. The pecans will still be there tomorrow, unless, unbeknownest to me, we have a 'pecan stealing fairy' who will come and take all of our pecans. That would be a shame, especially since pecans are bringing a $1 a pound.
suggesting Imight I might as well 'fess up at this point, for the past few months, I've also started reading the obituarys, with more regularity. Sadly, I'm at the stage of my life when I turn to that page first. I've also picked up the habit of reading the obits in larger newspapers, (now that they are all on line). After I read our local paper, I move on to the AJC, Augusta Chronicle, The Savannah Morning News, etc. It has come to my attention, the larger the municipality the deceased resided, the longer and more describing the obituary. The recently deceased life will be so glowing remembered, it seems a damn shame the departed had to depart. I love the parts that list the deceased family, i.e., "leaving to morn her loss, her faithful and loving husband of the past 54 years" (who is going to check that fact?), "his neighbors will always remember him for dressing up like Santa for the past 35 years, or his love of gardening". Never have I read an obit where the mistress of the past 40 years was listed, or the time the departed got drunk and mooned the entire Kiwanas Club during the Christmas parade, or how happy the 'wonderful housewife and homemaker' was when her loving and faithful husband purchased that first double-wide. Some obits go on to mention the children, where they were educated, the grandchildren, where they are being educated, and little things everyone wants to know, like Skippy, the Cocker Spaniel, who was blind from cataracs and burdened with incontinence, but sat loving by the deceased side, day in and day out. Well, isn't that what Cocker Spaniels are supposed to do? I have a friend, an affirmed cheap ass, and bargin shopper, (Salvation Army, fifth or six hand shops, far removed from Second Hand Shops). While shopping in a Salvation Army in mid July a few years ago, she was lucky to find a gross of children size toothbrushes. Always a chick with a plan, she saved the toothbrushes for Halloween, dressed up in her Santa Claus outfit, (another bargin basment find), dragged her rocking chair out on the porch, put some Christmas music on her cd player, opened a tall can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, lite a cigarette, and awaited the Trick or Treaters. As she passed out the toothbrushes, she told the kids if they didn't brush their teeth, she (Santa) would not visit them on Christmas. Children left screaming and crying. What kid wants a toothbrush for Halloween, or to be treatened by a drinking, smoking Santa? I wonder is she will want that episode in her obit? I have always had a fine appreciation for a sport, and would personally enjoy reading 'color' in an otherwise depressing story. I haven't put much thought into it, but I might want my obit to mention the first time I had great sex, I almost went home and told my first husband, or how I shot the tires out from under a mobile home that I caught my second husband violating the 7th Commandment in, or that I slept with an old boyfriend on the day after I married my third husband. Events that make up the fabrics of our lives. Some folks must spend years updating their obits, prior to needing one. I knew a local man who wrote his own obit, it took up two columns in the paper and listed all of his Boy Scout badges, the school teachers who had the most influence on his life, his first employer, his entire list of hobbys, and more information that anyone needs to know about anyone else. I have been sadly married and happily divorced 3 times, and, to this day, I know more about this man than I did any of my 3 ex-husbands. Did I mention, this man was so busy updating his obit that he died intestate? Died with no will at all, but one hell of an obituary.
Thanks to everyone that visited my first blog. Stay tuned tomorrow, same time, same station. Those pecans ain't going anywhere.