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


And They Say Nothing Exciting Happens in Mayberry

The day ended like every other day in our quaint little town I often refer to as Mayberry.  All of the girls decided to grab a drink after work at the only bar in town.

Hey, I wonder, did Mayberry have a bar or did you have to go to Mount Pilot for a little drinkiepoo. Come to think of it Mayberry was a dry county….I think. How did Otis find his happy juice? WAIT, I am doing it again.

One of the girls that writes for our monthly paper, was telling us about a story she wrote.  Apparently, a letter was sent to her desk from a man who was thinking about moving here.   She thought it would make a good public relations article since he wanted to know about the village’s off-season and what there was to do up here. He asked about the weather and snow averages. He was curious about the crime level and job situation. The letter also mentions he is a florist and a damn good one. You could name any rose in the world and he could find it. She tells us the letter was a bit long so she condensed it.  She puts her hand in her pocket and pulls out the original letter.   She told us he is a widower and asked what the female population was like up here.

WHA? That is a strange question. 

He also wanted to know if she thought any of the women up here would consider going out on a date with a nice widower.

??? What the heck??? Is this his version of  Is this his way of GoFish?  Okay, by now I am thinking there is something really wrong here.

The friend that was with me said that it sounded like he was just lonely and she felt sorry for him losing his wife.   Okay, well growing up in a big city will make a person a little distrustful when things don’t sound right. I guess you can take the girl out of the city but you will never get the city out of the girl..

About the same time as my cocktail was being served, (cocktail sounds so much better than my  booze) another friend came in the door and announced she got a letter from this same guy. Except he was a Chocolate-tier not a florist as claimed in the letter that was published. Then another one comes in waving papers. Same guy but this time he is a professional Photographer. Then another and another and another….so far there have been 8 letters sent to the women of this town. All with pretty much the same content but a different profession each time.

As I sat on the stool, I got to looking at the writing. It did not look like a man’s writing but that means nothing.  Now comes the good part. I turn the letter over and notice the envelope. It is from Plainview and not only it is from TX it is from the prison there. PRISON!?  It was then I realized, Houston, we DO have a problem. While the girls were pondering this mystery of all the letters and what it could mean, I grabbed my iPhone and did a search on his name.  Lo and behold, his name pops up with a picture and a request for a prison pen pal. Oh yeah, he is a prisoner not a guard. I know this cause I Googled  the prison records. There he was, doing time for embezzlement and fraud charges. It also said he is up for release on 7/7/12.  Now the whole town is in on this and waiting to see if more women to come forward with their letters from the Mayberry stalker. Truly a mystery that is yet to be played out.

Later that night I got to thinking about the women he sent letters to.  These women were business owner, social butterflies, women in various positions and or popular ladies in the village.  Then I thought HEY, wait just a minute…Where is my stinking letter?

To be continued…..maybe…I hope…or do I?


Weekly Photo Challenge: Simple

Letters to My Children

I know, I know, this is a very long post but please bear with me.  I promise, if you stick with me, you will find it amusing and eye-opening.

Every once in a while you meet someone you immediately bond with.  You find them funny, intelligent and warm.  Normally, you would have this new friend come over for dinner.  You would make plans to get the families together for game nights and cook outs. That is what you would normally do but my friend and I have never met face to face.  We met via the internet.  He is not a blogger but, lawd, can he write!  I meet him through Facebook of all places.  He is not a complete stranger.  He went to school with my husband.  I believe he was a year or two behind him but this is a tiny school and everyone knows everyone.   We became friends through Farmville and a couple of other FB games.  It did not take long before I friended his wife and his beautiful daughter.  Through Facebook I read about his grandkids, his amazing son, parents and a couple of goofy dogs.

Soon we were FB chatting and emailing.  Like most friend we talked about a variety of subjects our jobs, our town, our hobbies and, of course, our families.  I went through a couple of really rough patches and he was there trying to pick up the pieces hundreds of miles away.  An internet friend who I had never met face to face was putting himself out there for me to lean on.  Now that is a friend.

One thing he did was send me letters.  These letters were intended for his grown children but they related to my struggles.  I was spellbound.  I could not get enough.  Soon I forgot all about me and started thinking how wonderful these letters would be in a coffee table book. This is a book of inspiration. These were life lessons at its best from a tough yet gentle father.  I asked him why he wrote these letters.  He said all the men in his family passed away just as their children we reaching or just beginning their adulthood.  If this legacy of early retirement continued, he wanted to make sure he could leave them a piece of his wisdom. When he wrote these letters he never intended them to be published  for the world to see. He only wanted to help his children  navigate through a tough world without him to lean on.  You can defiantly tell who his audience is when reading his words.  Wow, what a man and a dear, dear friend.

He has a book deal brewing but has consented to write or let me have a couple that may or may not be included in the deal.  Since he is working with a publisher, I am only going to blog a couple of stories on my Monday post.  This book takes his children on a journey through issue they may have with working with people, his own childhood memories, the  love he has cultivated for his family and friends, and he sometimes bring us uncontrollable laughter during these lessons of wisdom.  Whatever he brings to the table it is with a sometimes humorous and always in a loving manner.

I hope you enjoy reading “Letters to my Children” by Tony Oliver

This is Tony and his grandson.

I am merely a guest there

In the second Jurassic Park movie, one of the scientists came to the conclusion that they had accidentally expanded the perceived territory of the T-Rex, and as a result, it would now feel the need to defend its new territory.

That was bad news for them, but it is good news for us, because it explains an age-old problem we have as couples…our perceived territories and our need to defend them.

Your mom never tires of being amazed when I expect to be noticed for helping around the house.  For thirty years now she has thanklessly, endlessly and pretty much anonymously done everything required to keep the household running.  As a result, she looks at me like I just grew a third eye when I want a pat on the back for washing a load of jeans.

For years we wondered why it mattered so much to me that she knows I am contributing.  I whole-heartedly dispute that it is evidence of brain damage, and thankfully the dinosaur illustration in the movie really made it easier to explain.  We each have our perceived domains, and we do not compete for who is in control in those specific areas.

I think most guys perceive that most of the house is “her” domain because she wants control over what happens in the house.  If you don’t believe me, let a guy bring something from “his shop” and leave it somewhere in “her house”.  Whether it is a chainsaw, or a welder, or whatever; it will be treated as an invader…something that does not belong.  The drilling questions, the sarcasm and chilly responses will not end until the invader is removed and returned to “his” domain.

I think that in most homes, men are little more than a guest.  As a result, we don’t feel responsible for its day-to-day operations.  Think about it.  If I showed up with a new couch for the living room without including your mom on the decision, she would be miffed.  When, out of the blue, she shows up with a new entertainment center, I am expected to be thankful and appreciative.  Her domain.  If I walked in to where she is doing laundry and told her she is not using the correct soap, she would look at me like I just climbed off a space ship.  Her domain.

If I were to decide to take apart something greasy, and do so right in the middle of the living room floor… Her domain.  In my shop, I can take something apart and leave it there until I decide to move it.  She could care less.  That is my domain.  The living room is not. Any room in which she is perfectly comfortable haranguing me for making a mess is not my domain.  I am merely a guest there.

If I don’t load the dishwasher correctly?  Her domain. If I don’t dry the clothes on the correct setting?  Her domain.  If I have the wrong pan for cooking something? You get the idea.

It is further illustrated by putting the shoe on the other foot.  Imagine that she went out into the wood shop when I wasn’t around (my domain) and swept the floor and emptied all the trash.  Now, do you think she wouldn’t be expecting me to at least notice and to thank her?  I have news for you, if she cleaned my shop and I failed to notice and to thank her profusely, it would never happen again.  The reality is that she would be just like me when I do occasionally make the bed.  She would expect me to notice and to express my appreciation that she went above and beyond her responsibility and did something for me in my domain.

It also explains another conundrum.

She has wondered out loud for years how I could walk by a full trashcan and not notice that it needs to be emptied.  Yeah, yeah…again with the brain damage.  If she points it out to me, I am happy to deal with it.  But unless she says something, I don’t even notice.  Not my domain.

In my defense, imagine going to a bathroom at a sports venue and after you wash your hands you go to discard the paper towels, but the trashcan is overflowing. Do you think, “hmm…somebody needs to empty that!” or do you think, “hmmm… I should empty that!”

Of course you don’t think you personally need to empty that, because this isn’t your domain.  You are simply a visitor there.  You don’t control anything.  You have no say in how things are handled.  You feel no responsibility for how well things are done.

That is exactly how I feel in your mom’s domain.  I don’t purposely shun emptying the trash, it simply doesn’t occur to me because it is not in my domain, and therefore not on my radar.  I am a visitor in the kitchen.  I have no control and feel no responsibility.  Ask for my help and I am happy to help, but you have to ask; it is not natural for me to notice things outside of my area of responsibility.

If we were to agree that the kitchen trash becomes my domain, then that is different.  Let me take ownership of it, and it will be on my radar.  But, if it is my domain, I will have to be free to do it how and when I want.  I might even want to buy a different trashcan.  My domain.  Or switch to a different kind of trash bag.  My domain.   I might want to take it out when it is only ¾ full…or maybe my style will be to overfill it and smash everything down until it is difficult to empty…but if I am not free to do it my way, then it still isn’t my domain and I won’t own it.  I won’t feel responsible.

A friend once told me of the strange way that her husband washed the dishes.  He would fill the whole sink with soapy water and wash everything.  Then, with the clean dishes still in the sink, he would drain the soapy water and refill it with clean water.  He would do that several times until the rinse water was clear.  I had to admit; I had never heard of dishes being done that way.

She stated that when they were newlywed, her mother warned her to not say a word.  My friend’s mom very wisely explained that he should be left alone to do the dishes as he pleased, lest she end up washing the dishes herself.  30 years had gone by he was still washing the dishes every day.  He does it his own way. He owns it.  It is a credit to her and her mother for being wise enough to understand how this worked and letting it play out.  She gladly let him have dominion over the dirty dishes.  He was the boss, he did it his way, and he owned it.

Upon hearing this one of her co-workers blurted out “That is stupid.  If he were my husband I’d tell him how it should be done.”  We asked her, though, and sure enough, her husband never washed the dishes.  She would never relinquish control and he was happy to let her keep it.  I’m betting he never helped with the laundry or making the bed either…just a hunch.

Once you understand the concept of perceived domains, you and your spouse can use it to your advantage instead of endlessly ridiculing or resenting each other when things don’t go as expected.

It doesn’t mean that you won’t still have issues…there will be some tasks that neither of you want to own.   There will be other areas where you both want dominion and you will have conflicts over control.  You will have to be mature enough to work through those issues, but for all of the other areas, especially as they relate to doing things around the house, if you will recognize the concept of letting each have their own domain, it will be easier to cooperate and not leave one or the other with an unfair share of the load.

Then, maybe – just maybe – she will quit implying that you rode the “short bus” to school every time you feel inclined to leave the vacuum cleaner out…just so that she’ll notice that you’ve vacuumed.

Next Monday

Yeah Right!  Opposites fight!

p.s. I look forward to seeing your comments on this post, as with all my post.  However, this one is dear to my heart and I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.  As I stated earlier, Tony does not have a blog so I have asked him to reply to any comments on this post.