Myrtle May Long, Long Gone

Oh the memories, the memories.  Myrtle May homely and white… what a gal.  She was always there for me.  If ever I had a spontaneous thought, she was right there to encourage me to go for it.  She was more than willing to ride out the storms that came and went.  She was there when I would break out in uncontrollable laughter.  She was there for me to lean on, to cry on.  When I found myself missing my grands she took me to see them.  She took me to take care of my son while he was in cancer treatment.  She carried me to my dad’s funeral.  She absolutely loved to go camping.  She was hardy and robust; she could pull a hill that made most men shiver.  I loved Myrtle May.

In 2012, she lost all control.  It was raining one morning.  She and I were percolating along until she hit the old treacherous stuff we call black ice.  She never saw it coming.  Off we went about 12 feet down.  She kept me cradled and snug.  I walked away without a scratch.  Myrtle was not so lucky.  She was unable to move on her own.

I begged the techs to not let her died.  They said they would do what they could but it really depended on the insurance and what they were willing to approve. (Typical, right?)  I cried as they took her away.  Hub thought the worst, as did everyone else.  Two months went by and still no word.  Hub took it upon himself to try and take my mind off of her.  He decided to bring a new man into my life, Chris.  Hub introduced me to him on the night before Christmas.  He was there, in the garage, with nothing on but a big green bow.  Not a word was spoken.  My emotions were mixed.  I looked at my husband with disbelief.  He was worried.  He did not know how I was going to react to this new man he had brought into my life.  All at once the reality of Myrtle May not pulling through hit me like a ton of bricks.  Husband’s eyes were apologizing for the loss but he encouraged me to befriend Chris.  I gave Chris the once over.  I asked Hub where he came from.  I mean he looked so sleek…so different.  Then I looked at my husband.  I ran to him, I squeezed his neck; I kissed him all over and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

I did lose Myrtle May but not to the accident.  I hooked her up with a younger man.  The first time he saw her he feel in love and promised to care for her as much as I did.  She and he can be spotted around town every now and then.  You never see him without a big smile on his face when they are together.  It was a good decision to be the matchmaker for those two.  And Me?  Well, Chris and I can’t be happier.  He definitely knows how to treat a lady.  He is handsome, smooth and rugged just like I like ‘em.  Wait, are you wondering about Hub and how he fits into this threesome? Well, in the driver’s seat of course.  Other than a little bling on the steering wheel he is crazy about Chris too.

Please let me introduce you to Chris

Chris, it is short for Christmas Present

Chris, it is short for Christmas Present

 

Stella loves him too.  She says he reminds her of Santa’s big red sleigh.  She also pointed out the turn signal sounds just like reindeer hoofs clomping on the ground.  By golly, she is right, it does.   And just like Santa’s sleigh it will never get lost because we have a star named SYNC to guide our way.

Soon I will be going back to Memphis for my granddaughter’s graduation.  This will be a true test of his manhood because not only is he taking me he is also carrying my three girlfriends and their luggage!   I hope he can handle all this Womanly Awesomeness.

Note: I wrote about the new car back at Christmas but I wanted to follow up with the conclusion of Myrle May.  Also, our busy season is about to start so I have no idea when I will post again; however, I will be reading all of yours as they come in.  Later, Ruthie

Advertisements

Freshly Laundered

freshlylaundered

A couple of days ago I read an article on The Daily Post and came to the conclusion that I will never be featured on WordPress‘s Freshly Pressed, of that I have no doubt.  To start with, I can not spell and my use of grammar is, well lets just say, iffy at best.   If my professors could see my blog they would have to ask how in the name of all that is academically sound did that girl ever pass English?  All I can say is that it was all by the grace of God that I got out of there with decent grades.   Not only am I dealing with that problem, I am inconsistent with my posts.  If nothing happens to me, there is nothing to write about.  And lets face it, the blog content of the life and times of Life is a bowl of Kibble is not profound or earth shaking.

I started writing on Blogspot.com.  I wrote like I did in college.  I would get a comment once in a blue moon but it was for some Work At Home opportunities.  I had one follower and that was my bestest friend.   I tried writing articles of importance, editorials of current events, the weather, anything I could think of that would catch the interest of the masses.  Deafening Silence .  But how could that be?  I could command a room full of people if ever asked to speak at a gathering.  I could talk on various topics and never see a fidgety person.  WHY could I not reach out and grab the attention of some wonderful reader that can’t wait to tell me how great the story was or to cuss me out because I wrote something that was propaganda worthy?   Because, I am a southerner.   I have a southern rhythm that you could not hear in writing .  I speak with an accent that most can’t understand and I dare say that some can’t stand to hear.  I am not lecturer.  I do not have some divine knowledge that can peek a tear or move a soul.  I am a bit on the airhead side,  full of adventure,  I flirt when I talk and use my accent to its fullest potential and with all that southern flirt I found I could make people laugh.  In a world of daily tragedies, laughter is a universal sign of hope and goodwill.  It motivates me to look for the funny in life.  It moves me and it can peek a tear from my eyes to hear a person laugh even in the face of death. (r.i.p. mom)  With this realization, I changed my writing style and blog home.  Unfortunately, I could not change my fundamentally challenged grammar and in a way I do not seek to.  It makes me…me.  And this is just a part of the many reasons I would never be considered for Freshly Pressed.

Would I really want to be freshly pressed?  Well when I started blogging, on WordPress.com, I read a Pressed article about being Subscribed into Submission.  Heck, I know that feeling.  I Hit 90 subscribers in just months of starting this blog and it scared the bajesus out of me.  I could not think of a thing to write.  I felt an overwhelming responsibly to all the good people that liked me as much as I liked me.  (wink)    I could tell stories to folks in the park or at the store without a hitch but putting me, the real me, into words time after time was HARD.  This ambitious undertaking was doing me in, hence the lack of daily, weekly or sometimes monthly post.  This is yet another reason I will never make it.  I have come to the conclusion that my subscribers, my followers make me feel Freshly Pressed everytime they like or comment.  They are what makes me feel good each time I hit publish.  They accept me for me with all my spelling and structural  mistakes.  Thank you for making me feel worthy enough to come into your life.

To conclude, I now declare myself as being Freshly Laundered by all that follow me.  May I never let you down and always keep you laughing or at least donning a smile.

Ruthie

My Big O’ Redneck Dog

Well by now you have met my dog Mutt, the wonder hound, as in I wonder what that button do?  She is of course my key to all things strange.  A chicken at heart but a watch dog when needed, (OMG liar, liar pants on fire).   A courteous eater with all others of the pack feed first and not a drop on the floor, (burn baby burn).  A toy sharing mongrel  that would give her last toy to her siblings, (is that the devil I see coming?)

Okay, okay, she is a typical dog with typical jealousies.  She is extremely curious which has led to her being lost in the neighborhood for half a day, a million holes dug to find the critter that her big sis loved to eat, hours spent investigating leaves that fall to the ground .  Objects that have been moved from one place to the other fascinates her to no end.   And if there are any black objects that have magically appeared, ANYWHERE, you had better hold your ears because she will let you know it is there until  the alien of the dark side has been removed!    Then there is the, at one time, new washer and dryer.  She still watches it daily.  It holds a hypnotic power that can transform her from a hyper little 5-year-old to a sleepy old gussy. And this is where the redneck comes into play.

Mr. Moody’s recliner was the most used piece of furniture in the house.  All three dogs had their own con-caved perches on varies spots of the chair with Mr. M in the center. The smallest one on the arm, next one was located at the top of the head rest and the big dog’s spot was wedged in beside the master, but she hated to share.  Her ideal squatting spot was dead center and stretched out head to toe.  She would actually look at you and whine until you came over to recline the chair for her optimal comfort.  Both she and M, had worn the snuginess right out of the chair.  Holes as big as babies bottoms were worn between the seat and back.  Springs were poking where springs should not poke but her love for that chair was unmatched by any other piece of furniture.  So you could just imagine her surprise when the Mister came home with a great big object.

She watched him push, pull, and tug her little cloud of comfort out of its spot.  She then saw him struggle, drag, and scoot a rather large dark (but not black) thing into its position.  And that position was right where her old comfy sleeping station was just moments before.  Mr. M said she had her misgivings.  She crept up to it like it was alive.  When he pulled the lever to show her it reclined she shot out of the house like it was a feral cat  coming after her.

When I got home I was surprised to see the new VERY large double recliner.  It was nice and he could not wait to show me it was built for two.  In reality, it was made for two skinny people or one Mr. M and one large dog, but we managed to squeeze in together.  SuzieQ was barking and wanting up with us.  Jeff was already in his usual spot minus his cozy nest like feel.  Big girl was nowhere to be found.  Later that evening Mutt was still MIA.  I called her but she did not come in.  I looked out the back door and there she was.  She was back in her element, her comfy zone.

Ya see, Mr Moody moved the old chair on the back porch until the weekly trash run.  Mutt found it and staked her claim as full owner of the redneck backyard porch recliner.  Yes my dog is a redneck dog and loves it.  I know we should remove the porch recliner but it would just break her heart.  She has tried to share Mr. M’s new chair but he keeps shooing her out of it.  Rotation of newchairSo the back porch chair will stay, at least until fall.  For the time being, my big old redneck dog can enjoy life once again.

Rotation of oldchair

You might have a redneck dog if  your canine likes to help you load the dish washer by licking clean each plate before it lands in the machine!

You might have a redneck dog if  “shot gun” means riding in the back of the pickup truck.

You might have a redneck dog if “Flying American” means its ears are flapping in the wind while riding “shot gun” on the highway.

And finally, you might have a redneck dog if it has its own recliner on the back porch of its very nice home.

Later Y’all

Ruthie

love is in the air

It all started on Friday of last week.  Mr. M parked his truck outside because the garage is full of summer vehicles i.e. riding lawnmower, golf cart and my car.  He just happened to peek out of the den window and saw several Bluebirds sitting on his truck.  Every once in a while they would fly around in a frenzy, cheep and then settle back down.  Everyday he would complain about this because not only were they sitting on his truck they were also leaving behind, umm let’s just say, they were white washing his ride.

When Mr. M told me about this odd behavior I was convinced they were eating the bugs off his windows and doors.  I suggested he wash it and he did.  Next day this happened again.  This time we went out together and washed it.  Within hours, there was a lone bird back again.   Mr. M was about fed up with the whole thing and threaten to remove my car from the garage and park his inside.  I finally walked over to the window to see for myself.  Immediately, I knew what was going on. It was not bugs at all.  After days of several birds flying all over his truck this little Western Bluebird was the only one left and he was still trying to court my husband’s truck.  To be more accurate, he was courting his own reflection!

He is a determined little fellow.  The wind has picked up to about 40 miles per hour and he is still courting.   Not only did he try to make out with the truck he also tried to join us in the den.  We were watching television when all of a sudden we heard a very distinct knock at the window and a little bluebird’s head peeping in.  WOW

Click on the link to see video I shot of the little love sick creature.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rh-rAingzHE&list=HL1365458093&feature=mh_lolz

Punch it Margret

snow_day_10

The picture was a couple of winters ago.  That year we had around 154 inches of snow, or so we’ve been told.  I hate snow but I have to admit it was an awesome year.  At the time, I was not working for the Bird House.  I was helping Mr. M deliver mail.  Unfortunately, no amount of snow can stop the mail so we bundled up and left for work.  It was not long before we pulled up to a set of mailbox units.  I jumped out and put the mail into the respective boxes,  jumped back in the warm truck and make the comment of  how pretty this area was.  This is when I made a fatal error.  I asked, “What is up there?”  He says, “Let me show you.”  Mr. M is always excited to show me where he grew up.  So with a kooky smile, we were off.

We have a 4×4 so trudging around in the snow is not that big of a deal unless it is 4 feet high….which is was.  The area of interest was up a very steep hill and back in the forest.  Little did we know that the 4 feet of snow would soon turn into 6 feet. He kept fighting with the snow trying to get further back in the forest until we ran up a snowbank and that was that.  M gets out of the truck to assess the situation. We are stuck on a narrow road with a steep drop off on the passenger side…that would be my side.  Before we got stuck he was attempting to turn a corner so the truck was heading away from the cliff.   He tries pushing the rear of our 2 ton 4 wheel drive truck in a circle so we could drive out.  And as logic would dictate, it did not work.    He then tells me to get behind the wheel.  He says to put it in reverse and give it gas when he says go.  He then walks to the front of the truck and puts his shoulder into the grill and yells go.  I yelled back, “Are you crazy?  I will run over you for sure!”  All I could see was me backing over the edge and taking Mr. M over with me.   He practically screams at me, “JUST Punch it!”  I was instantly upset.  I slammed it into gear and I punched it!  Thank the lord above it did not work because I put it into gear alright, but I put it in DRIVE and he was in front of the truck pushing!  As soon as I realized what I did I felt like I was going to pee my pants.  I could have killed him and I was not going to let that information slip my lips.  I quickly put it in reverse and tried it again.  By now he is looking at me with disgust and wondering how in the world we are going to get out of this situation to finish our mail route.  The rest of the story is a little fuzzy but in the end we did indeed get out of the snowbank and turned around with Mr. M in one piece.

Contrary to what you may be thinking,  I did not do it on purpose just to prove how right I was.  Truly, I was in a daze and not thinking.  Between him pushing with all he had and the icy snow, my inability to run him over , did not cost him his life… this time.

Ruthie