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For the love of Rhett Butler!!! I’m missing this tonight.
The only thing separating me from her was the large round wooden table and as she pulled up a chair and sat down across from me, she gazed into my face, looking for tell tale signs of infection. The examination had begun.
Before speaking, I winced in pain, scrunched my eyes shit and attempted to pull my chair closer to the table. The long, over enunciated pause added perfect dramatic effect and just before Nutso Auntie (we’ll call her NA) could reach across the table and cut off my air supply, I started into the monologue.
Carefully and cautiously, I picked out a rather large and yellowish bruise on my arm. “See?” I asked, pointing to the spot. “It’s the dark mark.”
Her chair wobbled slightly, so I went on.
“As soon as they found out I belonged to another church and especially the denomination of the church, they brought out the Holy Arachnid. For short, I’ll just call him HA. The HA has seven legs instead of eight — that makes him holy — and a bite from the HA brings on the initiation mark into the church. It also implants a specially designed computer chip into the victim’s arm which tracks the person and shoots an invisible yet deadly web shield over all the doors of other denominations so the person cannot enter the churches, especially my former one.”
NA’s face turned from turquoise to silver to scarlet as I continued.
“My hymnal was carefully fixed so that when I sang the songs, I was actually pledging allegiance to the church and leaving the old one behind. And now, I must tell you that after all of that, yes, I’ve been converted. Don’t cry too hard.”
But, because NA doesn’t read this blog, here’s the real story.
I got to the church a few minutes early in the hopes that I would easily find my friends and was greeted at the door by Bro. Finn.
I was immediately aback to see that the design of the church appeared to be almost an exact replica of the church my mom had grown up in — from the small, intimate sanctuary to the bathrooms being situated behind a door to the right at the back.
Most of the song we sang were familiar to me, but I couldn’t help but notice that when we sang “Christ Arose,” one line of the chorus was slightly different. I’d grown up learning to sing, “And he lives forever with the saints to reign,” but they were singing, “And he lives forever, death he overcame.” Hmmmm….Was that my initiation code?
The audience was devoid of any loud “Amen-ers,” which, for a change, was nice and the crying babies were few and far between. The young preacher chose for his sermon the topic of the resurrection and his presentation was organized and well thought out.
After the service, I saw many familiar faces and even more people who knew me though I didn’t have a clue who they were. A classmate’s mother even spilled about having known me when I was still in diapers. Overall, it was a bit like a reunion and standing outside the church, I heard my name mentioned a few times in various conversations going on around me and thought, “Yep, they’re trying to convert me.”
The past few times Dixie has been let out of the house, she has insisted on rolling her face around in the dirt and creating a sort of powder-based foundation makeup look.
Funny. I think she DIGS the EARTH tones. Gah, I’ve got a crazy dog.
My reading of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows has now been completed, I’ve gone through my giggles, tears and outright bellowing laughter at the predictions of the major national newspapers and now, I’m ready to put my heart and soul right back where it belongs…..in the Villa.
Quite a bit has changed since I last addressed the subject of my oversized garden and most all of the plants are now producing vegetables, but I have found a definite black sheep of the garden and surprisingly, it’s my bell peppers. So far, none of them have been green. Believe it or not, every single pepper I’ve picked off ever single plant has been red and I’m beginning to be afraid that, because I’ve been neglectful of them and given all my attention to the book for the past two days, they’ve managed to cast a spell over themselves. Either that, or they’re celebrating Christmas in July.
Have I discovered a new variety of bell pepper? Dumb bells?
Something spooky was definitely going on at the local Wal-Mart in the wee hours of the morning today. It was packed as always, but different groups of people were migrating to areas of the store you normally wouldn’t find them in. Teen girls dripping with valley speak were hanging out in automotive, house wives were plunging into the hunting gear and church deacons were peering at the Harlequin romance section. No doubt about it. People were doing their best to make the time pass and while I myself was gawking at the new items they’d manage to freeze and make into frozen food dishes, I heard an ominous voice come over the loudspeaker at exactly 11:55 p.m. and it made all of us in the store who were otherwise sleepwalking come back to life.
“Those of you who are wanting to purchase a copy of the new Harry Potter book, please come to layaway. Thank you.”
And husbands, wives, teens, tweens, toddlers, grandmothers, sisters, etc. collectively stopped their shopping zombiism and walked, ran and flew on their broomsticks to the back of the store in great anticipation of the opening of those now infamous cardboard boxes which boldly proclaimed, “Do not open until July 21.”
By the time I found layaway and my spot in line, the queue had already wound its way into the children’s department and I was stuck staring at the same pink and orange flowerdy sun dresses for two year-olds for another 30 minutes until the line finally began to move. Serenaded by television sets turned to an exclusive J.K. Rowling live interview and movie music playing in the background, we made our way into layaway, wide-eyed, salivating, ready to be a part of modern literature history and as each of us got to the counter, we were handed a copy of the book, a poster, a couple of bookmarks, four rubber bracelets representing the four houses of Hogwarts and a Harry cupcake.
Then……we had to walk back to the front checkout to pay for the books and guess what???? There were only two checkers for over 150 people!!! I got my place in line once again and tried to make small talk with a guy standing in front of me who’d come to buy a book for his wife. Problem was….remember those teens hanging out in the automotive section? Well, all of them and their ultra gothic friends decided to take their place in line right behind me. So, while I was standing in line waiting patiently to pay for my book, I had to hear conversations like this.
“Hey, like, do you , like, think this is going to be the last book she’s ever gonna, like, write, like, ever?”
“Duh, Christina. It says right here, you dill weed.”
“I so need a Taco Bell. Let’s go after we leave this place. I’m gonna call mom to come over and pick us up over there.”
And in between their conversations, I noticed that people were already giving in to their curiosity and a group of 40-somethings were camping out in the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups section reading the book and having a full-fledged discussion and critique session.
Then it happened and I don’t know how the person was able to escape out of the store still alive, but it happened. One of the little boyfriends of the valley girls cracked open a book and decided he’d just take it upon himself to read the last part of the epic tale very loudly and SPOIL THE ENDING FOR ALL OF US WHO’D SWEATED TEARS AND BULLETS IN GREAT ANTICIPATION OF THIS ONCE IN A LIFETIME EVENT.
Well, I was having none of that and neither was anyone else in his general vicinity. Considering whether or not to strangle his little turkey neck and throw his tiny 80-pound frame right into the dumpster never to darken a book unleashing ever again, I refrained, turned around and gave him my most horrible, go to blue blazes, eat $%#@ and die gaze and it seemed to work. Don’t mess with a true, die hard Harry Potter fan.
When I got to the counter to pay for my treasure, it suddenly hit me as I finally had the sense to look at the price tag inside the jacket cover…..I DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY FOR THE BOOK!!! I had actually stood in line and with teary eyes, accepted my copy of the most anticipated book in history and I wasn’t going to even be able to walk out of the store with it! And valley boy had done his best to spoil it for me!
I walked up to the counter, head down, ready to argue that I’d driven all of…..50 miles roundtrip (sounded good)…to get the book and that I simply must have a discount or I’d start a riot worse than valley boy….and when the cashier rang up the price….it was $15 less than cover price!!!! I could have simultaneously kissed her and praised God at the same time, but I refrained once again, lovingly took my book out the door, made the long traverse back home and gave it an honorary place to sleep on my pillow.
I’m so excited and enthused and exhilirated, I can barely hold it in. I may actually explode.
Tomorrow morning, bright and early at 12:01 a.m., I am joining the hundreds of millions of Potter-philes all across the world and purchasing a copy of the new and last book. Mind you, I’m not following in the footsteps of the most abnormal of fans and reading the book in one day, but I’ll choose to savor it slowly and carefully and probably be able to give a report in, oh, a couple of days.
I purchased the last book, Book Six, while on vacation visiting relatives in Michigan and before we’d ventured out of Traverse City, I’d finished the book and was preparing myself for a great and glorious sob fest over the death of one of the main characters.
I shan’t rest until the book resides in my possession. Oh, I wish I could do live blogging of the action and take pictures!!!! Oh well, you’ll find out later.
Hooray for this monumental day!!!!!
Yesterday, feeling the pressures of the soap opera mega melodrama which has been slowly unfolding around the entire family for the past week, I took it upon myself to escape to Paris, TN, Henry County. First stop: that wonder of all coffee hangouts, Jack’s Java.
After leaving Jack’s with a medium cup of the incomparable Joanie’s Java Supreme (all the specialty coffees are named after a Jones family member…actress Cherry has Cherry’s Broadway Brew), I went to Kroger and picked up some Danish Havarti cheese and darted over to Wal-Mart to snag a Pearl Jam CD. Then, I headed the car back in the direction of the downtown area to maneuver back onto Hwy. 79 and what did my wondering eyes did I see, but a man standing on the courtsquare bearing a sandwich board and a message.
The man, who looked to be a preacher, was standing on the sidewalk, proclaiming his message while a police officer kept a close eye on him and people nearly had car accidents in the middle of Main Street just staring. One side of the sign said something to the effect of “Mexicans, walk 1,500 miles southward back to your home,” and the other side said, “Impeach Bush.”
So much for a normal little trip to escape drama.
Two churches, both alike in dignity, in fair Weakley County where we lay our scene…Maw Finn and I have recently gotten into some very interesting and invigorating conversations and last week, over coffee at Bdx, we began talking about the normally off limits subject of religion and church. However, as of late, since no subjects are off limits to discussion anymore, my curiosity got the better of me and I blurted out the question that had been residing on the tip of my tongue for perhaps years…”What is your church like?”
While Maw Finn and I worship the same God, in our little neck of the woods, our two respective denominations have gone through their share of clashes, disagreements and joke swapping, yet manage to stay the top two denominations in the area.
After finishing up with her description, she asked me to describe my church and I obliged.
And then it happened. A monumental event perhaps never to happen again.
Since my church’s revival is going on this week, I suggested that Maw Finn come to one service and since her church’s gospel meeting will be going on next week, she suggested that I come to one of her services.
Yes, people, it’s a real, genuine, four alarm, top of the line, state of the art, no holds barred, no strings attached church swap! Hallelujah! (And for those of you really in the know about church vocabulary, you’ve already figured out our denominations, so take your gold star and keep quiet.)
“Well, good God, don’t let them convert you,” vehemently declared one historically nutso yet concerned aunt while wringing her hands and slipping into a menopausal heat fit.
She was given her usual ration of eye rolls and giggles.
So, last night, Maw Finn came to the revival, bravely and valiantly sat through an hour and a half sermon complete with Biblical text and bad jokes and left the church completely unscathed.
I have to hand it to her. She was a real trooper, listening to some songs she’d never heard, but that I didn’t even need a hymnal to sing and putting up with ever ending spirit-induced spit showers of “Amen,” “Hallelujah” and “Preach it, Brother!”
Next week, I’m going to the gospel meeting and I’m rather looking forward to it.
I might just have to muzzle my aunt and feed her Tylenol Cold horse pills, but it’ll be worth it.
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny…..
Been jolted by the mega Wattage of Elizabeth to come up with eight random interesting facts about myself, so here’s part two of the series.
1. Anyone who really knows me (or has bothered to read this blog at least once) knows that I hate, abominate, loathe, despise, and otherwise gnash my teeth at cheese….in general…..The truth is….there is one cheese out there in this little world that I rather like. It’s hard to find, but when I do find it, I can’t stop eating it. Danish Havarti. Buy me some of this white imported milk-cultured mixture and watch me go nuts. Yes, I love it. But, don’t tell.
2. As a rule, I’m an extremely casual dresser. Most of the time, I reside in jeans or khakis, some sort of halfway decorative t-shirt or one with words on it…a name brand or an event….and sandals, flip flops or tennis shoes. However, once in a while, I really like to “fix up,” and am really almost unrecognizable to most of my friends. I paint myself up, slip on a dress or a skirt, throw on some heels and am good to go. Unfortunately, right now, I have no picture proof this. Rats!
3. I love the city, but I also love the small town equally as much. Going to New York really opened up my eyes and broadened my horizon and for at least a year after I went there, I harbored aspirations of eventually moving up to the Big Apple. Just think of it. Conveniences, fun, history, culture, conveniences, sports arenas, mass transportation, conveniences, sights, sounds…have I mentioned conveniences? Everything you’d ever want or need. Yet, sometimes, I just want to go out to the pond and fish. Sometimes I just want to leave the door unlocked and walk across the street to talk to the neighbors. Sometimes I just want to go outside and watch and hear nature unfolding in front of me. The city just doesn’t lend itself well to that.
4. I enjoy giving advice, lifting up spirits, being a motivator and helping a friend in any way I can to get out of a blue funk. It makes me feel good, and hopefully, it helps the person, too. That’s how my spirits are lifted and that’s how my day is made.
5. Remember me? I don’t forget the most random of things. I still remember all my lines, in Spanish and English, from the Spanish play I narrated in high school, the prologues for Romeo and Juliet and The Canterbury Tales, several church plays and several poems from Elementary school.
6. Mad Libs. Remember mad libs? The game in which you fill in the blanks within a story with random nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, ets.? I still love it. In fact, I just did a few of them yesterday.
7. Gator!!! No, not the Florida Gators, but I have fallen in love with alligator meat, especially fried alligator tail and now, after yesterday, gator chili. Before you diss, give it a try. Yes, it does taste like chicken.
8. Ugh. I’m actually going to end on a bad note. Over the course of a year, I’ve progressively gotten more and more addicted to texting. I don’t text many people, but I will text while I’m driving. Yes, it’s true. Texting while driving (TWD) is a crime infinitely more serious than talking on the phone while driving because, at some point, your attention is completely diverted from the road to the phone, even if just for a second and in that one second, anything can happen.
Anyone who wants to pick this up, feel free to do so.
Ahhh! Let me lead you fine peoples through just a few paragraphs and pictures that have materialized from my spur of the moment trip yesterday through the long and winding jungles of the Memphis Zoo. Indulge me for a just a few moments and then you may return back to your regularly scheduled Sunday programming.
While on my safari into the deepest roots of Africa, I came upon this heartwarming scene of nature — mama and baby giraffe enjoying dinner together.
I hopped over to the treckless (and, unfortunately, quickly disappearing) bamboo forests of China to catch La La, the Giant Panda, having a mid-morning snack.
Finally, this old professional explorer darted over to the Northwest Passage exhibit and had a quick tete a tete with Mr. Polar Bear.
And after leaving the zoo, I met up with a friend at The Bayou in Overton Square for some mean and spicy gator chili. Yeah, I know, I’m such a hypocrite, but dang if it didn’t taste good.
No photoshopping. No touching up.
This is today’s cup of coffee brought to you by Bdx.
Spooky. Wonder if the barista was trying to tell me something?
The birthday season has officially begun and because my dad’s firwork cake idea, well, kinda blew up in my face, I decided for my mom’s birthday yesterday to make her a Holstein cow cake. Mom grew up on a dairy farm and practically had Holstein cows as family members, so I decided to appeal to her sentimental side and lo and behold if I didn’t make her cry (but she cries over Campbell’s Soup commercials).
It was a hit, if I do say so myself and because I didn’t use a mold to make it (I simply cut out the form from a 9″ x 13″ regulation sheet cake.) I was surprised that it stayed intact for the most part, though the tail did fall off later.
Dad’s birthday was on the fourth, my aunt Janice’s was on the sixth, and my mom’s and her twin brother’s was yesterday and guess what? Guess whose birthday is next? Yep. Mine. In a little over a month, it’ll be my turn and somebody can make me a cake. I’ll try and think up a challenging shape for it.
Her red fur positively lit up the room, even more so than the Christmas tree in the corner, and when I saw her huge and inquisitive yet frightened brown eyes and sky high ears poking through the wiring of the cage, I immediately fell in love with her.I was of the impression that she was a boy from the get go until I took her to the vet and found out otherwise and my entire sophomore year of high school in 1997 was spent telling secrets into those enormous bunny ears, ears I knew would listen and a mouth I knew would never divulge my secrets.
For nine years, as her fur changed from red to brown and finally to grey because I’d loved it off, her radio antenna ears heard and never forgot my high school successes and frustrations, love notes I’d bring in from school and sit down to read on my bunk bed at our house in Liberty Subdivision, fights between my sister and me and sitcoms blaring on the nearby television. She not only heard the outward ups and downs, but she was very much a part of the growing process and the stages I had to invariably go through. The changing of adolescent to adult. The day I went to get my driver’s license. The time that a rumor circulated around school that I was so sick I was practically on my deathbed and several people came over to make sure I was still alive. My high school graduation and the cheers and tears that came along with moving into another house and another neighborhood. The minute I graduated from college.
She responded to the call of her name. “Rascal.” I’d call and immediately her ears would stand up and she’d be at the door, wanting a carrot or some attention.
Yesterday, I went outside and called her name and she didn’t respond. I walked over to her cage and saw her barely breathing and not moving at all. I tried again and she raised her head and then let it fall.
Later on in the day, the breathing stopped altogether.
She was my own personal Velveteen rabbit for nine years and I loved all the fur nearly off of her and whispered secrets into the ears that could no longer perk up to hear me before I finally had to say farewell.
Nothing in the Scout household will ever be destined for normalcy and least of all, birthdays. Yes, yesterday was July 4, Independence Day, etc. but most importantly, it was my dad’s birthday and he turned ?? Come on. Even though he doesn’t read this, do you think I’d actually tell you? Dad is a real live Yankee Doodle Dandy and spent most of his life proclaiming this fact to others by insisting that we live in Liberty Subdivision just off Liberty Road and playing in the Liberty Boys band for the better part of his younger years. Before I knew him and when his entire left hand was still intact, I was told he was all the rage on the lead guitar.
But, back to this year. We went to my aunt’s house to celebrate, I made the cake (which I wanted to be a 3D firework, but settled for a regular sheet version) and we ate entirely too much. That’s the abridged version. And here are some accompanying pictures.
*I’ve tried my best to make little Scout not be so fuzzy in the top pic, but it’s a pic of a pic and 550 years old.
Bro. Jeffrey is the only one of the Scout family children who can swim and I captured him catching some major air. Why can’t I swim? I’m simply not buoyant.
Elizabeth looking as drunk as usual. I promise, she really isn’t drunk, but for some strange reason all her pictures seem to turn out that way…. In the background, my aunts Susie and Anne and my mom prepare the food.
Contemplative Lauren. Cousin Lauren looks at the classifieds in the Knoxville News-Sentinel. She’s moving to Knoxvegas this coming up Monday. She’s my hero!
The birthday boy blows out his candles.
Happy pre-4th of July, everyone.
Today has brought me my funniest search yet…….. premature holstein calf alive
Good luck to that person. Don’t recollect posting anything about that, but who knows?
Not much going on this weekend, but that’s exactly the way I like it. I’m still on my high horse from visiting Monroeville this past weekend, but in a way, it’s good to come back down to earth and especially good to see the Villa getting some much needed rain. In a miraculous comeback, the squash plants are even beginning to revive and may just produce some veggies after all.
I’m watching less and less television these days, but, man, it’s so good to see ESPN doing this series again. Just call me a big softie, but I think this is an awesome thing.
July 4 is just over the horizon brimming with all the fireworks I can handle plus my dad’s big b-day bash. He and my sister both have holiday birthdays. My sister’s b-day is the day after Christmas and, needless to say, it’s been difficult over the years for me to watch her get more presents.
Signing off with one more look at the dolls because they’re so wonderful!
What do you say?