Sports/Swimming

So many folks so into sports.  I never have been truly big on sports.  I never played any team sports, except in gym or unorganized among friends.  Never had any desire too.  Well, except for a few years when I was a young girl and adolescent, I'd thought I'd love to play football.  I watched whole games with Daddy from 7 years old until his death. 

Actual sports learned:  softball, kickball, tennis, volleyball, badminton, shuffleboard, Frisbee, horse basketball.  But the thing that clicked with me was swimming.  I was about 7 or 8 and a friend of my older sisters was giving lessons in her parents pool.  (Very few people had pools then.)  She taught me several strokes and to dive.  I never got to go to the water often enough.  Until I hit junior high and high school.   Our town had a pool ran by a family where you could go and swim all afternoon for a buck.  I was there just as often as possible.

While I was at college I was at the pool just about every day, even when I wasn't actually taking it as a class.  How wonderful to be able to earn college credit swimming!  

After college, swimming was just something I did when it was available. I joined a spa that had a pool, half for the pool and half to work out to strengthen a knee that didn't want to work right. (I was clipped once in a game of flag football by an all state tackle.)

For years, we talked about a pool, but never did anything about it.  Pools were so high then.  And we were on metered water.  So, I just swam all I could every time we went to the river or Bush Lake.

When Bug was young, a friend of Pete's gave us his girls old pool.  It was small, but deep enough I was able to teach her to swim in that pool.  We enjoyed it a lot together.  Watched meteor showers in that pool.

Last summer Pete got a wild hair to get a pool.  He saw that pools big enough to truly enjoy and swim in had come way down in price.  So we got it.  And set it up with a Saltwater system.  We love it!!  A little investment at the first of the summer and no more chemicals all year.  A new filter now and then is all it needs.  He said he wanted it in hopes it would ease some of his aches and pains to get in and float.
And he thought it would be fun with the family and little Hazil Ruth.  But I think he did it as much for me as anything.  At least that's what I'm going to allow myself to believe. 

Redneck

I myself, am not a redneck. I was born to a working class father. I was a “small town” girl. I was a country girl. We grew gardens, and Daddy plowed with a jenny for sentimental reasons. I was taught how to behave in even the highest social occasions. I was an Honor Graduate of my High School. Yet, I married a died in the wool redneck. Pete's grandfather was one of the settlers of this area in which we live, called Caneyhead. He owned 450+ acres and ran cattle on it. It is loaded with sloughs and timber. And it is the highest point above sea level in the county in which we live. So, in a way I married redneck royalty.

Even Webster, doesn't capture the original meaning of redneck in total truth. They say: “ a white person who lives in a small town or in the country especially in the southern U.S., who typically has a working-class job, and who is seen by others as being uneducated and having

opinions and attitudes that are offensive.”

Yes, a redneck is white. In fact, originally, redneck simply referred to the fact that the person earned their living in the sun, and hence had a “red” neck. They might be a common laborer or a highly trained and skilled craftsman, but they worked in the sun. 65+ years ago that is all that it meant. Yes, many rednecks do not hold college degrees, but that is not the only way to acquire knowledge. There is also apprenticeship and trade schools. Look down your ivy league nose if you will, but if it weren't for rednecks, and folks of color just like them, this country would grind to a halt in less than three days if none of them reported to work. They are why you have good roads to drive on. Why you get electrical service where you live. Why you can pump gasoline into you Mercedes. They fix everything you ever broke. And most of the time if you'd have known half of what they do, it wouldn't have broke in the first place.

My Pete probably has a higher IQ than me. Most of you, in fact. Whether it is pipefitting, mechanics or carpentry, he can look any situation over, access it, know what's wrong, what's needed, and get 95% of it done. The other 5% is for when he knows he needs someone else for something and is smart enough to to turn it over to them. As an example, he designed a network of pipes in one of Ron Paul's Lumber mills that so impressed the muck-it-y-mucks, that they flew people in to see it.

All the rednecks I know well are very smart and highly capable people. If they care for you, their loyalty is unshakable. They work full throttle and expect everyone around them to do the same. They party just as hard as they work. They always protect what is theirs, no matter the cost. They carry inside a code of honor and a sense of patriotism that is dead and gone in most of America today. But it is the same code that our grandfather's held when they stormed Normandy to protect the world's freedoms. It they offend you, then you've lost your way, my friend. They know who they are and what they believe in. The question is, do you?

Stepping off my soapbox, lets examine the the lighter side. From JeffFoxworthy's redneck jokes, here's a few that ring true in our house: You might be a redneck if:

...You think "loading the dishwasher" means getting your wife drunk.

...You ever cut your grass and found a car. (Actually, you knew it was there, but no one else did until you mowed.)

...You think the stock market has a fence around it. (And why not?! Fort Worth people!)

...You burn your yard rather than mow it. (For the city folk, it kills the weeds, cleans and nourishes the land and grows better fields.)

...Your wife has ever said, "Come move this transmission so I can take a bath." (Sometimes you have to clean something to get it working. I've also boiled carburetors on my stove.)

...You've ever hit a deer with your car...deliberately. (Actually, I don't know anyone who has, but I know plenty who would be tempted.)

...You have every episode of Hee-Haw on tape. (And why not? It had cute, clean comedy and awesome country legends singing.)

... You've ever been involved in a custody fight over a hunting dog. (Yeah, I've heard of this one. A good dog can't easily be replaced!)

...going to the bathroom at night involves shoes and a  flashlight. (That was true at Bush Lake.)

...You've ever barbecued Spam on the grill. (No, we haven't. But in the oilfield Pete has warmed food on top of the breather on the engine.)

There you have it.  The Truth about Rednecks from someone who has been fortunate to be surrounded by them for 30+ yeas.

(Catch Johnny Russell singing "Rednecks, White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer" on Hee-Haw.  Johnny was the father of one of Pete's sister-in-laws.)

Questionable

Sometimes I will look at something, or see something and get a take on it that is, well, questionable.  Case in point:

I drive back and forth on Hwy 96 every day.  They have a couple of those large signs mounted along the way.  The ones were TXDOT issues traffic warnings.  Where the DPS issues warnings.  Where they run amber alerts for the area.  

Sometimes they run one that says something like, "Missing Elderly, last seen driving a Beige Buick Sedan near Beesville, TX."  One week it seemed every other day there was a new search for a different elderly individual.  And here's the questionable path my brain went on.

Who is keeping all of these elderly people against their will?! Are we in some old si-fi flick where the elderly are kept as slaves to cook for you or sit the children?  Are they locked away in basements?  Do they have to have junior's permission to go out?  

I thought of one couple.  That maybe all they wanted was one more outing.  Just the two of them.  Free!  Able to go dine and eat what they wanted, not what was good for them.  Free!  To go to a bar together and have a drink.  To twirl around a dance floor.  Then drive away afterward, her little blue head resting on his shoulder like it did when they dated 60+ years before.  Him, taking the hint and driving down a secluded lane so they could "make out" under the stars.  Only to have a police cruiser pull in behind and taking them away to be locked up once again.  Him saying, "It's okay, Alice.  We'll always have tonight."  And her, "Yes, thank you, Harry, for making me feel young just once more."


Disclaimer:  Yes, I know demintia is a very real concern.  I also know that most children want the best for their parents.  So, don't bark at me.  My mind just wandered down the Twilight Zone, that's all. 

Pet Peeves....or Peeved about Pets

So, this is not a list of pet peeves, but a rant of ways my family has peeved me about pets. I am, or was, an animal lover. When Pete and I married, we each had a dog. Our dogs were older and mature and it wasn't too long before we lost them.

His brother Tommy had a batch of Doberman Pincher puppies. Pete wanted one and I was on board for us to get a dog together. So, into our lives came Maggie Mae. I did over half of the potty training, the feeding, the bathing, the hauling to the vet, etc. But that was okay. She was like our first child. We loved and adored her, and she loved and adored us.

Over time, we added many other various dogs, just outside pets, so they weren't much trouble for me at first. Pete got hogs. And chickens. The bad part was that all too often feeding and tending to the outside animals fell to me, as I was home earliest in the evenings. When I was pregnant with Bubba I'd cry when I fed the hogs, as I had to get in the pen to do it, and hogs are one of the few animals you can catch things from that will harm an unborn child.

One of the outside dogs had a litter of hounds. Ten puppies. And parvo was a new disease here. And they got it. The vet said separating sick from well ones and giving them Gatorade was the only hope. So, as one showed signs of being sick, I took them from their dog yard and put them on the back porch. I forced Gatorade down them several times a day. Each had their own syringe and cup. I'd rock them, and cry and pray over them. (I was pregnant with Bubba and my mother instincts were kicking into high gear!) As they'd start to eat food again, I'd turn them loose in the yard. Eventually, all ten made it through!! It was truly a miracle!

We eventually lost Maggie Mae when Bubba was a toddler. I tried having a cat. At first in the house, but when litter box issues just became too much, I let her be an outside cat. Pete got Hank the horse.

This is one animal he really did the lion's share of tending to. He spent long hours outside with his horse. Even slept with him on occasion. Building a camaraderie between them many were envious of.

We finally got a Boston Terrier named Xena to replace Maggie Mae's spot in our home. I was fairly on board for that. After all, a little boy needs a dog around. Again, I did most of the potty training, feeding, bathing, etc. Everyone we knew wanted a Xena. So Pete let her have puppies. Problem was, we'd end up keeping one or two each time. And all too often I found myself having to do things for them.

And an endless procession of yard dogs and hunting dogs came through our home. Well, outside. Fast forward eight years. Xena is sick with heart failure. I give her meds and take her to the vet. Bug has kept one of her grand-puppies for herself, Blackie. And we get one of her puppies back from a couple who couldn't handle her, Matilda. Now there are three Boston Terriers in our home and I do almost all of the feeding, bathing, etc.

Several years go by and then they begin to die off. One by one for various reasons. I'm heartbroke and older and tired and would much prefer to simply love on one of the cats that live outside when I want an animal's touch. But Pete's sister insists on giving him her dog, Lucy for company. Now, Lucy is an alright dog, but I definitely did not want her here, as I knew who'd be responsible for most of her upkeep. But he ignored me and got her. And I do love her.

Bubba married and Candy Girl became part of our family. One day she tells Pete about two miniature Chihuahuas that needs a home. Pete wants them. I say NO! No way. They ignore me and Bonnie & Clyde invade our home. I refuse to help with them. Pete does fairly well taking care of them for about six months.

Then he has to go into the hospital this past February. So of course I tend them while he is there. And I carry on for the first few days that he is back home. Then when I try to hand the responsibility back over to him, he has a snit fit. He does a few things for them, but most of it is left up to me. And I do it. Because I have a soft heart for animals and because I'm too dang responsible a person.

But if anyone other than me tries to bring another animal into our home to live, there's either gonna be a killing or I'm packing and leaving.

Sometimes I really resent the fact that Mother & Daddy raised me to be responsible. For teaching me you could measure much of a person's heart by how they treated their animals. Sometimes I wish I could be an irresponsible, selfish soul who left everything a mess for someone else to clean up.

OUT

I usually don't eat OUT at lunch for I seldom have anyone to eat with.  And I try to limit the number of times that I go OUT to pick up something for lunch.   It consumes extra time and adds up, even if you're eating on the cheap.  So most days I bring leftovers from home for my lunch at work.  Which is fine with me.  Usually tastes great and there's no hassle.

But today, I forgot my plate of leftovers.  And I was too hungry to try to just snack from the machine for a lunch.  While considering my options, I thought, why not get some Mexican food from Elena's.  After all, they have a reasonably priced lunch menu.  Talked one of my co-workers into ordering, too.  

I went to pick up our take OUT order.  Three people stepped up to the cashier, leaving from dinning in, at the same time I got there to get my pick up order.  I allowed them to go first.  The woman paid while the two men went to stand by the door.  The cashier went ahead and took my money and gave me our order while the lady was signing her credit card receipt.

I turned and went to the double glass doors to go OUT.  One of the business men was standing half in front of the door on the left, so I reached for the door on the right and pushed OUT on it.  Nothing happened.  Okay, so I tried pulling it open.  Nada.  So, maybe they only open up one.  I put my hand on the door the man is half in front of and gave it a tug.  Nothing.  Okay, so it's an OUTIE.  I push and it swings open and I step outside.  

Meanwhile the woman had joined the men and they stepped out right behind me.  I overheard the woman say something like "She was having a hard time."  And Mr. Stand in Front of the Door responded "Yeah, I was just standing and watching her."  And he snickered.

Now, I didn't say a word, didn't even acknowledge I heard them at all.  But in my head:  Are you a damn Yankee, man? Seriously!  I'm trying to be polite and go OUT the right side door so you don't have to inconvenience yourself by moving.  You see me having trouble, but instead of being a GENTLEMAN and opening the left door for me, you stand there like a goon and watch me in my distress for your own amusement!  I hope a door hits you in your butt!"

Nudity

I've never been big on public nudity. You don't need to see mine, and I sure don't want to see yours. As a teen in the 70's I did wear the miniskirt, the short shorts, a mid-drift and a bikini or two. But that's as far as it went. Publicly.

Privately. Went skinny dipping in my sister's pond with my two nieces one summer. Of course the pond was surrounded by trees at that time. Me and some girls went “streaking” through a wooded area one time at a slumber party. Did it count as streaking if no one saw us?

Years fly by. I did bathe in Bush Lake a few times. In the summer, we'd go down after dark with a bar of Ivory soap and bathe in the lake, rather than heating water for the washtub. Just Pete & I.

Then I get old and crazy. We had moved to Caneyhead and there had been a long spell of no rain. I had told Pete that if it rained I'd take my clothes off and dance in it. Sure enough, one day it rained. A nice gentle rain, no thunder or lightening. Pete hollered, “It's raining, you gonna dance?” I stripped, went out the backdoor and danced in the rain. Just for pure joy. No one could see me but Pete and the Good Lord. Don't think they cared.

Then a few years ago, Pete and I slipped off to a friends house one night and skinny dipped in their pool. Just us two. That's before we had our own.

Now that we do have our own, I love to go out at night, wrapped in a towel and slip into ours. Nothing like the night air, the water, the sky in your birthday suit! Thank God we are as secluded as we are.

 

Me

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USELESS INFORMATION: I HAD A T-SHIRT FOR YEARS THAT HAD A CLUSTER OF GRAPES ON IT. IT READ: HUG ME, SQUEEZE ME, MAKE ME WINE.

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