81 Years Old

He was asked, "How you doing?"

"I'm 81 years old.  I'm barely above ground."

"You're gonna get a ticket if you don't put your seatbelt on."
-Sideways glance.
What you gonna do if they take you to jail?
-Throws arm up to heart and says, "Oh, I'm having a heart attack."

"Did I tell you about that time they had that road block and those guys told me I needed to wear my seat belt?
I told them I was 70 years old, had lived through World War 2 and the Korean Conflict to keep this country free and nobody was gonna tell me I had to take a rope and strap my ass into my car. 
They told me to get out of there because they had work to do."

Abandoned

An abandoned building in my home town.

Kindred, The Embraced

A favorite show of mine was a short-lived series based on different vampire clans living in the city, with each clan having a leader, and all clans showing fealty to the Prince of the city. The prince ruled and kept peace between the clans, as well as ensuring everyone existed under the rules that kept them hidden from centuries.

It was a short lived series, but I thought it had promise, as the story lines were not just merely about vampire this and vampire that, but seemed to be evolving around common themes of life, love, angst, jealousy, etc.  And I found the evolving back stories of the different clans interesting as well.

Kindred, The Embraced.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home. . . . .

You'd think I'd been gone a week, but it's been well less than. I was up and on the road at 8:03a.m., and traffic out of Baton Rouge was steady, but wow, those folks coming into the city on the interstate! (Here's a hint - several cops running radar in both directions.)

Talked to my soon-to-be boss today and confirmed everything. I have an appointment in the morning, a couple of them, to do various and sundry bits of paperwork, and I think I'll cap it off with lunch with an old friend. I'm very much looking forward to ending this "unfortunate period of under-employment" with a positive job and payroll. I have orientation on Monday & Tuesday, and start to be all that I can be on Wednesday.

My Fella is coming Friday & Saturday, and we're hoping to take several friends to supper Friday night at a favorite pizza joint as a thank you for their support during these past few months. On Sunday, I'm headed to my Mom & Dad's to get a nice visit in with them before the new job.

Tonight I am at Sissy & Kitten's (also called "Noodle" in her own blog) for a bite of supper. It smells yummy. She's making a rotel chicken, and she's battering & deep frying vegetables. The best kind! Afterwards, I have to pick up some groceries. There's just nothing at that house of mine!

The road home

begins today.
It's a bit after 7, I 'spect I'll be on the road by about 8. It's been a very nice trip, a wonderful half-week filled with family, friends, memories old and new. And a cat that wanted to sleep with me about 2am last night. He doesn't seem to be holding a grudge that I unceremoniously tossed him out of bed and closed the doors.

Quote

"I was conceived on New Year's Eve, 1960, before cigarettes and scotch were replaced by Lamaze and sonograms. Parties are in my genetic makeup. I have a photograph of my mother, six months pregnant with me, at a Fourth of July cocktail party, a double scotch on the rocks in one hand, a Benson & Hedges 100 in the other, leaning back in a chair, midlaugh, a good time being had by all. I have always loved a party; I was born into it." - Robert St. John, "Deep South Parties"

I just love that paragraph, and so far I am really enjoying reading this cook book.

Baton Rouge

Baton Rouge, the capitol of Louisiana. The steps leading up to the capitol building have the names of the fifty states engraved one each on a step, until you get to the top and three states share one step, because no one saw the addition of Hawaii and

I'm atop Arkansas, as a tribute to my birth in the great state of Arkansas. And yes, my head is turned looking at the guys coming down the steps.

A gay bar, is a gay bar, is a gay bar.

After my best pal worked til 8 tonight, I was ready, to quote G, to chew the hind end off a horse. After showering and hoping his crazy maid didn't kill me, he finally got home and we went to a great little place, locally owned and operated. The menu wasn't very big, and not very "Louisiana-ish" but the food was good and the drinks didn't chintz on the vodka.

Afterwards, we walked over to a gay bar for "one more" which really was just, well, about one more. Both of us kind of tired, we commented on how the little divey versions of gay bars look, smell, and have the same atmosphere everywhere you go, anywhere you go. Pool table, small stage, full liquor bar, cigarette smoke. Oh, hey, that's just about like any bar anywhere, even sans the gay.

I am so sleepy, and so looking forward to tomorrow. . . . assuming thoughts of crazy maid with a key don't keep me up all night.

Point Mallard

With the end in sight to this "unfortunate period of unemployment", I have told myself, and My Fella, that I feel at ease now to use this time before I begin work to take short trips. If I don't, I'll regret it later. Five months of unemployement, I went nowhere because, well, I was unemployed.

So in the spirit of doing something before this time runs out and the job begins, he took today off and we rode over to Point Mallard in Decatur, Alabama. My Fella said that according to the website, it is city owned. Well, that's a pretty nice city then.

I'll give you the the tiny disclaimer first - I've been to bigger water parks. I've been to water parks with more slides and rides, etc. etc. So if you're looking for the really big kazoo, this isn't it. but, if you happen to be within an hour and a half of Decatur, and you like the water, it's well worth the time.

They have discount days during the week. We paid five bucks apiece. Five bucks. You can't even get a McDonald's meal for five bucks, much less all day entrance into a water park. Oh, yes, you can get all day entrance into a water park. It was clean, with employees steadily sweeping. The bathrooms were clean. There were plenty of life guards at each pool, and we just had a real nice time.

Jamie had a blast. He loves to bathe and loves to go places, so we knew he'd enjoy it, and he did. The wave pool took him by surprise, but like everything else I've seen him encounter, once he processed in his mind what it was, and what it was doing, he had a blast with it.

My Fella paid me no mind yesterday when I said, more than once, that I needed to run to the store and get a swimming suit, so today we're looking for one in Decatur. So that was a wee bit bothersome to me. But in the end, we ended up spending about 3 1/2 hours there and enjoyed every minute.

The plus to this place? They give you an arm band on your way in so you can back out to your car. If you've got a cooler full of lunch and such, they have picnic tables outside the water park proper, and you're welcome to have your lunch out there. Not many, mind you, but I saw families spread their lunch on a blanket. It looked like there were a couple of large pavillions to rent outside the water park too.

So Mr. I've Been Sunburned Before, I pick up some of that SP 50 stuff, and I spray Jamie down real good. I mean, how do you take home a 40something man with a mental handicap to his parents with a sunburn? Then I spread it out real good on myself and My Fella. About halfway through our visit, we went to potty and I re applied. . . . . . . guess who is sunburned? Go ahead, guess. That would be ME. The one who said, "Oh no, that SP 30 isn't near strong enough, I'm getting some 50." Yeah, I'm burned. So on the advice of my "G", I have soaked bath clothes and paper towels in apple cider vinegar (not white, apple cider) and am sitting here at the laptop looking like the most bizarre version of Karate Kid with paper towel tiaras and neck scarves, with bath clothes and hand towels laid across my shoulders and back. 30 minutes, she says.

But funny? Yeah, I'll tell you. I'm sitting on a stool at My Fella's house, and he's behind me applying some type of lotion to me. Jamie comes in, plops down on the couch, sticks his foot up on my lap and says, "Rub my feet."

Please understand, Jamie's . . . . . vocal skills . . . . aren't always real clear. His handicap has given him an enlarged tongue, and he has no teeth. So you have to listen real close. All I can ever really make out are very short things like, "Coke" "Damn" and "Paul." Paul, by the way, is not my name, but he insists on calling me Paul because one of his neices at some time in the past dated somebody named Paul. So I don't get my own name, I just get Paul's name. But you can understand "yea" and "no" and "stop it." He's as white as he was when we left this morning, I am getting more and more red and feeling the heat in my skin, and he plops down and says clear as a bell, "Rub my feet."

I wanted to hit him.

Photo: Just a phone snapshot taken, I was trying to get the large "Mallard Point" in the back of the wave pool, but it looks more like I wanted a picture of the backs of two kids in front of me. Sorry about that.

Country Living

I feel oddly like the country, country like people with what was once a rural route, or the concept of living with a gravel driveway, seems to be taking hold of me. After my few days visit with my fave-or-ite aunt & uncle, I've returned to My Fella's. . . . . it's a paved road, a gravel driveway. I've spent the morning snapping peas. A respectable amount, I might add. They had 3 five gallon buckets. And somehow after breakfast (his daddy burned the biscuits while talking to me) we all just naturally sat down and snapped peas.

There's a storm moving in, and they say they need the rain. A good rain will help some of those vegetables in the garden go ahead and . . . . . do whatever vegetables do after a good rain.

Last night we went bowling. My Fella took (I wish there were a word for the plural, non-sexual concept of neices and nephews. Sort of like cousins means any cousin and spouse means wife or husband. But to say neices and nephews, you have to spell it out, and that irritates me.) two neices, one nephew, and of course his brother. We played one game, and all of us had fun. But the funniest thing was as we were checking out, the owner/manager told My Fella, well, he said, "Is that your brother?" a fair enough question. "Yea, he is." Here's the kicker - - - - "Well, he's a league bowler, so I can make this cheaper for you."

"He's a league bowler."

Jamie, over 40 years old with a handicap, he's a league bowler.

Apparently the ARC center to which he goes every day brings them over to bowl. Which isn't really a surprise to me. The surprise part is that he's considered a league bowler, and got us a discount. That fella is just full of surprises. That and out of the six of us, he had the second highest score.

They're out on the porch now, just waiting for the rain to blow in. I'm gonna go out. I've already checked my emails and Woot.com

(Piper of love, this is for you - one item, one day, until it's gone. The item changes at midnight, regardless of when it sells out. When it sells out, they put up a little blurb that says 'SOLD OUT!' but they don't take the item down or change anything else. It just sits there, so you know what you missed out on. A few days ago I missed out on a great Bluetooth earpiece, and I have just about tore my Bluetooth up. Check it out. You'll like it."

Road Trips & Rituals

Road trips and journeys have a sort of ritual to them, an almost list of rules that make the journeys go in certain ways.

Like the story of the young bride, whose mother was telling her how to cook a potroast by slicing it at both ends before cooking it. The young bride asked her mother why, who said, "Well, that's the way my mother did it, and that's the way I've always done it." So the young bride and her mother, full of wedding excitement and wanting to make a happy home, asked the grandmother, "Why do we cut the sides off the pot roast before cooking it? Does it change the flavor? Make the meat more tender?" The grandmother said, "I don't know why you two do it, but I always did it because I had a small pot."

My dad knew the mileage to every place we would go, and if it was someplace new, he found maps to that state and mapped out the itinerary. For the vacations that were not our regular trip to see grandparents, he would call ahead to hotels, and he would have an entire time line.

For trips to our grandparents, most all of whom lived in the same area, he had a certain ritual. After about sixty miles, he pulled over at the first interstate rest area. It took us an hour to get from my hometown to the interstate, so he figured that was a fine time for boys to go pee, I guess.

In the days of my youth, when the speed limit was far less than 70 on the interstate, if we left late enough in the morning that we would be traveling during lunch, he pulled over at another interstate rest area for lunch. Mom pre packed ham sandwiches and Cokes (long before the days of different Coke options). She always carried Nabs in the car for the trip too. We usually stopped by at least one Stuckey's both ways, my brother and I peeing as fast as we could, so we could go see the souvenirs and toy guns, the wooden shellac plaques, and the rediculously rich peanut logs they sold.

He knew exactly how far it was to the halfway point (on a 300 mile trip, there does happen to be a town about 150 miles), and he would always comment when he saw the exit sign to that town that we were halfway. Not a comment even, more of a statement, less than a proclamation. But definitely an announcement.

Then as we come into a Southern city about an hour from our final destination, he would always tell us some story regarding one of the exits, how he once had to stop and ask for directions. He would imitate the man's Southern drawl and repeat the words ". . . to Fortification. . . . " I don't remember today much of the story, just daddy, who already has a fairly pronounced Southern drawl, dragging it out further.

Then we get to the town of our destination, the town of my forefathers. . . . . where my parents grew up, and their parents before them, and by all family reckoning, everyone before them. There are 3 exits to town, and we would always take the one that took us to our great grandmother's house. She had lived on then-farmland for many decades, and by some design, an interstate ran just a mile that way, and would create an exit road that ran right past her house. We took that exit, and she would always be our first stop into town. She would also be our last, whenever we left, we went by her house, regardless of how many visits we had made over the course of the time in that town. She was a great grandmother on my father's side, and we always stayed with my mother's family.

On this recent road trip, I knew the drill. I haven't returned to that town in over 8 years, and somehow when I was driving down the interstate, I watched for that first rest stop. Not needing it so close to my current home, I passed on by, but regretted it later in the trip.

I had filled up on gas, and reset the trip odometer, so I could measure my gas and know the exact miles I travelled. I watched for that halfway town, and looked at that odometer. By coincidence, it's about halfway from where I live now as well. I finally pulled over at a gas station to get a Coke (diet) and a package of Nabs. On this stretch of interstate, there are two buildings that appear to be in operation, each roof bearing the distinct blue with yellow writing of a Stuckeys. But their interstate signage is lacking, and I regretfully passed them both before I knew they were there.

As I came into the big city, I watched for that road sign. I don't know why, it's doubtful they had changed the name or moved the road. Sure enough, it was there. And a little while later, I made a different turn. . . . a few exits ahead of the original schedule, I made a right turn onto a winding country road that would lead me to a small Baptist church. My great grandmother is buried there, and has been for some time now. The stone is white marble with a vase, sharing her name and my great grandfather. To their left is a smaller stone of a child of theirs who died as an infant, in the very early 1900's. I stopped for a moment, because we always do. We always stop to see her first. And then I went on.

I take the next exit now, not wanting to pass that plot of land that is now covered in industrial machinery, a truck stop or a welding shop, I don't know, and I don't care. There's another exit to take, one that cuts through the heart of town, and I prefer this route now. A route to my mother's family, where I stayed for two nights. My mother's family, my family. A plot of land surrounded by the smell of gravel and pine and country side. It's a different fragrance in the air, a different sun that sets. My aunt takes me to the graves of my maternal grandparents. They have always been a part of our visits, that did not change when they died, it doesn't change even now. We don't dwell on death, don't stay but a few minutes. We fill the drive with talk of life and all the lives in the country side, with a highlight of a plot of land a cousin recently acquired.

And this morning, on my way out, I stopped in town at a cemetery where paternal grandparents are buried. A short visit, I suppose mostly to make sure there are no ant hills, no dark mold. If I don't look closely, if I squint my eyes in the morning sun, I can see a young boy crying. But that boy is long gone.

One more stop on the way out, that same winding country road. This time I have flowers in hand, but the wasp nest in the concrete urn is not interested in letting me place them. Next time I know to bring a wasp spray. It's the last stop on the trip, the last part of the ritual. First to visit on the way in, first to visit on the way out, and then her grandson's son winds his way back out of that road, points his car North, and drives home.

S.O.

Tonight was the night, and it just . . . . . it was "the four of us" and it was "right" just the way it has been in the past, just the way it should have been.

S.O. looked gorgeous, and damn her but she looks that way just walking out of the house. A black top that accented her breasts and her waist, the black the perfect color for her skin tone.

Dounohuiam was the kitchen hostess, her kitchen get-togethers always the best.

My Ruby Haired Princess, matching them cigarette for cigarette.

We had a menu of cocktail shrimps, smoked sausage and italian sausage, with a platter of grapes, blackberries and rasberries, with a separate platter of crackers with bleu cheese, mozzarella and feta.

The night lasted well until after ten, with story after story. Each of us having to give the update on our lives, our loves, our losses, our families, etc. S.O. told the story for me about her mother at a funeral (that's my favorite, and she tells it like it's the first time, every time). And sometime after ten, it was time to start packing it up . . . .

I tried to shake it off at the end, in the driveway, just "making plans" like, "OK, you're leaving early Friday. Now I'll be da-da-da-da-da. . . . so you text me at this point and then we'll . . . " and I tried getting in my car, because I knew what would happen.

She hugged me and I busted out crying like a big ol' nellie fag. Soap opera style. I cried like a baby.

There's not much more to say. I cried.

Daily Ramble

The more I drink the green teas and stuff, the more my nails seem to grow. Not intentionally, of course, do I let them grow. I'm usually a biter and a peeler, but sometimes I'll look down and be like, "Wow. Those are like almost girly long." Drives My Fella nuts when it happens to my toe nails. But what I won't tell him is that, just because it annoys him, I don't trim them. It's funny to see how worked up he gets over it.

More importantly, much more importantly, my gal pal Red is blowing through town on her way to see her mother. I really think she only stops in town to see her Beauty Operator, who has been her fag for far longer than I. Oh, the stories I can tell about Red, but all with fear she'd tell stories about me. I tell her sometimes that I never would have realized my full potential as a fag, without her as my hag. But the Beauty Operator had her first, and I know when she goes to get her "hairuh did" that she's having one on one time with him.

Last night we went to our favorite joint, or favorite tex-mex Mexican joint. Had a nice tables worth of her friends to enjoy the conversation. Tonight we're rolling over to our favorite pizza joint. She's staying long enough in the morning to watch the last of Bob's episode on the telly.

Word on the sly is that I'm getting a job offer today, or possibly tomorrow. Someone was told that all they are waiting on is to tell an internal candidate she did not get the promotion. I wish that call would come on. I sure could use it. My Mom called last night and I didn't even take the call, there's just nothing to talk about right now. She's just going to ask about jobs, and I don't have anything to tell until I have something to tell.

Fingers crossed.

Daily Ramble

I've been at My Fella's since about six last night. It's an odd time to be here, with his family facing the impending loss of a family member, due to a an accident about two weeks ago. The family has received very bad news, and are preparing to pull the plug.

Tonight I pulled My Fella aside and told him I felt I was sort of in the way of their family, and I thought I should finish out the evening and head back home. These are not people I know well, or have known long. Several visits here, and their family atmosphere, have given me a sense of who they are collectively, but I am not naive enough to think it's anything more than that. But My Fella wants me to stay. So I stay. He's the one I worry about supporting.

Just a comment on them, I have certainly not felt that any of them have looked at or spoken about my presence. So it's more my thoughts than theirs. In fact, yesterday in front of the first sister I've met, and around whom I feel comfortable, I said to My Fella to let me skip dinner (with his family), and she made the comment for me to go.

So anyway, I plan on getting up at a decent time and heading back. My brother is coming to town to pick up his wife at the airport, so that's a shot at seeing my nephews.

No pics to ad to this. It's not like the farm land changed any in the last two weeks.

I do want to find time to sit down and blog specifically about this pseudo-closeted version of dating though. It's . . . . interesting.

On a slightly different note, my friend Little Bit called and apparently has some trouble in her (probably professional) life and I am (apparently) to blame. I'm going to take my due on it tomorrow.

Daily Ramble

Very general blog today.
Staying a few nights again with the children of my friend SO. They, I think, just may be taking advtanage of their "uncle" but really, there's nothing major going on here. But that phone does need to stop ringing.

I had the job interview today at the "well known restaurant in the touristy part of town." I think it went well, but again, I've thought the same before. She said she hoped to have second interviews for candidates next week. Fingers & toes crossed.

Just did a "so-best-friend" thing by "oh-went-to-the-bar-to-meet-him-didn't-you." You know the drill, a close friend meets a new guy and you coincidentally show up at a bar/restaurant which you never frequent just so you can act surprised to see your friend and have a beer with them. Anyway, she's already slept with him, more than once (that phone needs to stop ringing - I'm gonna HAVE to say something) but he seems to be a fun guy.

She's said more than once "he's not my usual type" and by that she means "drop dead gorgeous and a real azzhole." That's her usual type. This guy looks more like something to which I would be attracted, which means, not afraid to eat a burger and every fry on the plate. She said he rocks in bed. He's got a fun sense of humor, and there is every indication that he has a steady, professional job (also not her usual type of guy). So there I am at the yelling "WHATRYOUDOINHERE!" So gay. But I took notice of his tattoo, just in case he turns into some kind of stalker. I think I could identify him in a line up!

General Blog

There wasn’t much to blog today. Somedays are like that. I didn’t even go onto the patio tonight. I walked out there, and decided I just didn’t feel like a patio night.

I have a job interview tomorrow for a sales and marketing position at a well known restaurant and night club downtown. It’s in the touristy part of downtown, and I’m excited at least to have an interview. My friend SO went with me down there today to refresh myself on it and check it out. It was good of her to take the time. We walked it all over, but best of all, it reminded me of 3 contacts I have that were good resources to call and speak to about the job and networking, etc. This restaurant does a fair amount of tour & travel groups, and probably a fair amount of bachelor & bachelorette parties, as well as corporate retreats. So I called all 3 of my contacts today and found out what I could. Makes me a feel a little more prepared.

The interview is at ten, so I guess I’ll be ready, or as ready as I’ll ever be.

I should post a photo I took yesterday with my digital camera. I haven’t looked at it on screen, but I don’t think it came out well anyway. The guy at the table behind us had the hairiest arms, they were so hairy. They were the kind of hairy that scientists say should turn a woman on from some primal instinct. With that much body hair, he’s definitely descended from some hunter-gatherers. His legs were the same. My guess he was young, by somebody’s definition. Maybe close to 30, far enough past 20 that he’s got a career maybe. But not so far into his 30’s that he has to work at not getting old. But just so much hair. I swear, if I had that much, I’d trim it.

Wish me luck on my interview tomorrow. And congratulations to Walt. I saw on his blog that he & his partner are celebrating an anniversary. Yeah You!

Firehouse Dog
Sissy, Sass & Spyder took me to the movies today. It was a perfect matinee movie, straight up 12 noon. It was a good children’s movie. From an adult perspective, probably just a wee bit predictable. You had to know who at least one of the bad guys was, since there weren’t that many actors in the movie, and you had to know that the dog would save the day. But it was a good kids movie. I’m not an avid fan of Bruce Greenwood. In fact, I can’t tell you anything else he’s done, he’s just one of those actor faces you know is an actor. But he held up nicely as a wee bit of eye candy in all that dark blue for a fireman. I’m going to keep Sass & Spyder tomorrow for a few hours while Sissy works. We’ll do one of the museums, I’m sure. If the wind just would die down to a pretty day, we could spend some sunshine time here, but I don’t think it’ll happen for us.


General
Not much more for the blog today. I did a 20 minute walk at the gym and two classes – one on goal setting and one kitchen class with a great grilled cheese sandwich with a little Italian flair.

Well, for lack of any other way to do it, I’ll just get started this way:

Fat Boy
In an effort to curb my ever increasing waist band, I joined a gym. It’s not a regular for profit gym. It’s part of a church ministry to the community, so there are no contracts to sign, and their mission is to help people change their over all health.

I’m at 289 pounds, closing in fast on 300. While in my mind, and to my fella, I’m very handsome, I am realistic enough to know that I haven’t seen my feet or my penis in quite a while. So, the phone woke me up ringing at about 7:45 this morning, and I used that as impetus to go on to the gym and at least do a 20 minute walk. I can handle 20 minutes, but I haven’t pushed it much further. I did an assessment class to outline some different cardio and strength training exercises, but I haven’t started them yet. No reason why, no excuses, just haven’t.

As I was leaving from the walk, I saw they were about to have a class in their class kitchen, and the board said it was “whole grains.” So I just decided to stay, and took a seat at one of the islands. The class ended up being a recipe for reduced fat, reduced sugar homemade blueberry muffins with some whole wheat. So me and 3 ladies made it together. One took to stirring stuff, and another was adding things in, and then they asked me if I wanted to take part, so I was the sifter guy. I took the bowl of part all purpose flour and part whole wheat flour and sifted it good into the mix, then I added me some vanilla and skim milk. I got to tell you, those muffins are yummy.

So I’m gonna get up tomorrow and go to a goal setting class, and then to a menu planning class. And then I’ll do my 20 minute walk. It didn’t all come on over night, it won’t all go off over night. But I’ll get it off.

Red
My fag hag, we’ll just call her “Red” for short, breezed through town today. She was making a quick run close to her home for a personal matter, and she called to tell me when she’d hit town on her way back. I had to run to her best friend slash hair dresser slash fag and pick up some of her hair color for her. She just doesn’t trust another beauty operator to get the right shade of red, so she makes him mix up the powders and stuff for her. She’s crazy like that. I told him, only that girl could be driving through town on a personal matter in her hometown, and have two queers running all over this city to meet each other for her hair care products.

But it was good to see Red again. She’s been moved away a while now, but it does me good to see her, to hear that raspy voice of hers, smell those menthol cigarettes. I truly believe I was only half the gay guy I could have been until I met her. Heck, I’m about half convinced she’s a gay guy living in drag.

Death
A pillar of small town life is death and marriage. Within minutes of a man being found this morning in his own home, my brother called to tell me. Small town style, he heard it on the scanner, knew the codes, and looked up the address. He knew it was the father of a friend of mine from high school, and called to tell me. The mother died a few months ago. I think the consensus will be that he “grieved himself to death.” You know, we like that in the South – the idea that someone so loved another, that they simply die without them.

I’ve said that about a grandmother of mine, that she grieved herself to death. She took about 10 years, and untold packs of cigarettes and half gallon jugs of Old Charter to do it. But still, I think she never got over losing him.

Anyway, I’ll probably make a quick journey home for the visitation. It’s the polite thing to do. I went for his mother’s death a few months ago. She was a fun, fun lady. Ever so proud of her son, always talking about him.

Unfortunate Period of Under Employment
Will this ever end? I’ve been unemployed now since mid-December. So far, I’ve focused my job search only on areas similar to what I’ve done in the past. I’m looking for another relatively decent job in my career, though I know I’ll probably have to take a step back in title and cash flow. But still, geeze, you’d think I’d find something. Soon I’ll take to looking for part time work of some kind. A fellas got to have groceries and such.

My Handsome, Handsome Man
I don’t think that’ll be his nick name on all future postings. I’ll probably condense it to “my fella.” He’s learnin’ me to ride horses. He and his family have some farm horses, a few are pure bred this and that, some are just stock. But I’m enjoying learning to ride them. It’s quite a lesson, as so many things are between he and I, in really “being country” and really not being country, and about compromises and learning and stuff.

In Closing
It’s raining outside. Not as much as it looked like it would, and probably not enough to wash the bird poop off my car. But rain just the same. Tonight’s episodes of A.I., House & Boston Legal were . . good. Well, actually A.I.’s about the same every week. “There can be only one.” And I’m not sure it should really be any of them up there. Really though, don’t shows become fairly routine? As much as I enjoyed House, it’s not really different from any other week’s episode. Someone’s sick, no one knows what it is, and they spend an hour running tests and arguing with each other until they find the easy cure.

All right, enough’s enough. It’s just a blog.