Thanksgiving with the Family

You know how it is. You love them but you can't wait to get back home to your own version of insanity. The holidays provide plenty of opportunities for love and laughter as well as chaos and craziness.

While visiting my parents the week of Thanksgiving, my mom asked me to drive my dad to eye doctor. It was either that or put my hand up Tom Turkey's butt, so I agreed to deal with Dad.

Dad said he knew how to get there, but I logged the location into my GPS just in case. Glad I did.

"It's that building right there," Dad pointed. I turned in.

"Really, Dad? Is there something you haven't told us? That's a gynecologist office."

================
Just walked by my 96-year-old grandmother and she was looking at the Walmart sales paper. It was upside down! Tried not to laugh--she has cataracts--but it was so cute!

Affirmations for Seniors

I've been doing affirmations for about ten years and they really do work! I woke up the other morning (not this morning, but the other one) and had to chuckle at what I was hearing in my head.


I have not fallen; I can get up from the toilet.
I hear whenever I want to.
My organizational skills are being perfected as I sort my pills each day.
I Depend upon my Creator to keep me safe and dry at all times.
I have not been sexually abused; my nurse gave me an enema.
Sports, such as bending over and deep breathing, are highly overrated.

I am getting better and better at using my toes to pick up items from the floor.
I remember where I put my hearing aid each day.
My sense of smell is still keen. I just farted.
My sleep number is 9-1-1.
I do not have bed sores; I am lying on my dentures, again.
I know my doctor’s names—all three of them; Ben, Gay, and . . .
My caregiver’s name is . . . My caregiver’s name is . . . (try again later)
I know and understand where I put my glasses; I can see to find them.
I bet my sweet Aspercreme I can still drive a car—fast. I exceeded the speed limit ten years ago and I can do it again.
My food is getting softer with each meal.
I only use my nurse call button when necessary.
God grant me the serenity to accept the diapers I cannot change; courage to change the ones I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

Conversation at Expressy's Dinner Table

Husband: "There’s a gal at my work who was joking around at the cafeteria table today. She told me she hasn’t had sex in 15 years."

Wife: "I hope she was joking. Did you offer your stud services?"

Husband: "Nah. Her hole is probably glued shut by now."

Wife: "You have a pry bar. I could whore you out for a fee."

Husband: "I'm not for hire."

Wife: "Good! Then, you won't charge me a dime to go to the grocery store and pick up a few things."

Expressy's Day with the Grandson

As you might have figured, my adult children are now fertile and have produced children. Well, my two-year-old grandson came to play at my house today. So far we have played in the sandbox, did face time with a tater head, rode a dump truck, watered the rocks, dunked a sandwich in soup to see if it could swim, and we colored with markers that were so dried up they got to be dipped in water to use, and we blew bubbles, and made a mess with Play-doh. That was this morning.

Lunch has now been cleaned from both ends of the boy; books have been read; eyes, nose, and ears have been located and identified on both the boy and Von-Von; Muno and Brobee were selected as bed buddies; and one talky-talky boy is singing the ABC song in his crib. It's supposed to be nap time. I hear a choo-choo. Not sure how that got into his room.

Oh, I forgot to mention that we tried on all the hats in the coat closet that I decided needed reorganizing while trying to wrangle the Play-doh bin from the top shelf. Said struggle caused an avalanche.

Did I mention that I pulled a bag of apples from the fridge and caused a jar of spaghetti sauce to fall out and break on the tile floor, cutting my foot in two places? The boy may have added a few choice words to his vocabulary as I tried to clean up the mess while bleeding on a paper towel I shoved into my flip-flop to keep from bleeding on the clean floor. So, mommy and daddy, if you hear the boy saying FU-CRANK-en-stein, you know where he learned that word.

Life is hilarious and it's only Monday!

How I met my second husband

The year was 2000 and I was going through a divorce from my husband of 22 years. I visited new parts of town on while working temp assignments. When I passed by a particular office park, it seemed to call to me. I wondered if there was a full-time job that had benefits waiting for me there.

Curiosity finally got to me and I took a turn down the road to the office park. A lot of businesses were there, but nothing I felt drawn to until I neared the back of the office park and saw a warehouse that was being used as a meeting place for a church.

“No, not church!” I whined when I saw it. “You know I hate organized religion, Lord. I’ve been hurt too many times by religious people, and I don’t want to go to any church, much less one in a warehouse.” I had a feeling I was not going to see any peace until I visited this place. So, I finally gave in.

I woke up one Sunday morning in April knowing that I had to go to that church in the office park, but I bargained with God that I would only go to hear the music then I’d leave before the preaching began. I called to see what time the services started and was told 10:00 a.m. When I got there at 9:55 everyone was milling about, and some were leaving. I thought I was off the hook and was about to leave when I discovered that they were only taking a break. The second half was about to begin—you guessed it—the preaching. I had not set my clock back for Daylight Saving Time and I missed the music. I wanted to bolt, but a nice woman approached me and asked me to sit with her, so I complied.

For someone who didn’t want to get back in church I sure surprised myself when I went to a prayer meeting at a lady’s house the following Saturday night. There was a guy there named Randy that I absolutely could not keep my eyes off of. This sounds dumb even saying it, but I thought we’re supposed to be together. I was on the rebound and too vulnerable for a relationship. I was not over the pain of my first marriage, and I didn’t want to date.

I went to the church service again the following week. Randy sat behind me that morning. I heard that he was leading a prayer group on Friday night. I decided to attend.

Randy asked me out after the meeting Friday night, and I heard the word “yes” jump out of my mouth before I knew I wanted to say it. This is a mystery, but I felt like I knew this man from somewhere.

Randy and I took a ride to the lake after dinner, and as we sat on the bench I got this premonition that I was going to marry him. Husband #2 had been praying for a wife and even saw me in a dream. I  married him ten weeks after we met. I call that taking a giant, risk-taking, leap of faith...at least on his part!

Fax it Again, Sam

Someone at our Florida office was having trouble with her fax machine. She called our office and asked me to send her a test fax. Here is the fax I sent her.

This is a test of the emergency “does my fax work?” system.

This is ONLY a test.

Do not evacuate the building.

If this had been a real emergency you’d be dead by now.

Testing…. Testing…. 1 2 3

Test. Test.

Can you hear me now?!

That reminds me of another funny story. One day a customer called and asked us to fax another copy of the document we just sent her. We asked if the copy didn’t come through or if it wasn’t readable and she said, “Oh, yes, it was clear, but I need another copy and I don’t want to walk across the room to the copier!”

“Oh, Kay!”

Singing in the Cube Farm

The coworker sitting across from me must have been a jukebox in another life. He hums, whistles, and sings non-stop. His tunes range from "Danny Boy" to "Can’t You See What That Woman’s Been Doing to Me." I hear enough of that song at home. No matter how many people have complained about the distraction, our one-man-Muzak will not stop. “Please, Mister, PLEASE don’t play B17!” we plead, but the broken record keeps going, and going, and going.

A few weeks ago I decided that if I couldn’t beat him, I’d join him. Except for when he chooses Italian opera selections or Christmas songs in August, I sing, hum, or whistle along with him. Other coworkers have joined our choir and we have quite a background harmony section. We’re taking requests. You may dial us at 800- HUM-DING.

Mid-life Crisis? Which One?

I had a spiritual reading when I was on vacation. The psychic said that I would be on this planet until I was over one hundred years old. Great! That means the midlife crisis I had when I turned forty was all in vain even though I do have a tattoo and divorce papers to document the non-occasion, and this means I can justify another midlife crisis in about ten years. I greatly appreciate the insight this information brings. As I see it, I have another sixty years to lose the rest of the twenty-five pounds I’m trying to shed. And if you’re driving behind me, just chill out or go around me. I’ve got time to spare and I’m going to slow down and enjoy it.

Java Takes Herself for a Walk

The animal hospital called me at work to say that they had found our chocolate lab, Java, wandering around outside the clinic. I was puzzled as to how she got out of her pen AND the fenced-in backyard. I mentioned to the nurse that Java’s ears had been bothering her, and that perhaps she had taken herself to the doctor for a checkup. They agreed to check her ears while she waited until I could get home from work to pick her up. In the meanwhile Frankie, whom I didn’t know was home, realized Java had left the gate open when he was cutting grass. He went into the house to get his car keys and was about to drive around the block searching for her when he noticed the answering machine had a message. It was the vet saying that Java was ready for pickup. Perfect timing.

Hey, by the way, the murals we all painted on the walls of our garage are groovy. Thanks to everyone who helped. All our neighbors joined us impromptu that evening when curiosity got them best of them. Each person who came by to investigate was required to at least sign his or her name on a concrete block. It was a memorable “block” party. It’s been three weeks and we still have strangers coming to our door asking to see the garage they heard about!

OCD and Religion

From 2002, we still have memories and stories to share:

Hey you, Emailians,

I got an email today that gave the findings of a study that had been done regarding religion and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Since many of you are the ones I’ve gone to church with all these years, we may need to be on the lookout for these symptoms. The gist of the study is this:

While researchers have not proven that religious devotion early in life causes Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), the finding adds weight to the theory that a strict religious upbringing may make people more prone to the psychological problem. The study found that religious people with a strict upbringing are more likely to show symptoms of OCD because they may be anxious about right and wrong, black or white. For instance, sufferers often become obsessed with the notion that they are sinful or contaminated with germs, leading to hour upon hour of washing. Don’t laugh, I’m reminded of woman I knew who changed her bed sheets, shaved her legs, and took 2 baths every day! The study says that OCD can become so bad that it prevents people from leading a normal life. No kidding? It took this woman until 1:00 to get dressed for the day. I shouldn’t condemn her. I’m sitting here in my pajamas.

The study also said that genes, head injuries (does brain-washing count?), and emotional trauma (first marriages, children, traffic jams, etc.) have all been implicated in cases of OCD - understandably so. If you begin to clean house, wash your hands, or brush your hair more than usual, you may want to have your head examined. As for me, I quit religion, and as you can tell, I’m normal again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DATE: June 26, 2002 10:59 AM
SUBJECT: RE: COD and Religion

Re: Religion. Trauma. isn’t that one in the same? And OCD? Well, I've never been a religious person, but I have had quite a few emotionally traumatic events in my life. I'd hate to think I was doomed to spending my days repeatedly washing my hands, counting floor tiles, or changing my underwear. It hasn't happened so far, but I was a compulsive drug user for quite a few years. Does that count? I managed to find help for that, so I guess the last compulsive area of my life is relationships. I guess for now I will just continue to blame the emotionally traumatic events in my life for it. It's better than being labeled crazy, right????


FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: June 26, 2002 11:08 AM
TO: Kurlikew@Bcuz.net
SUBJECT: RE: COD and Religion

I’ve been to Crazy. Crazy is a good place to be. In fact, I have real estate and stock investments there.

Throwing Pottery with the Hippies

Frankie and I drove to Uncle Dane’s in Missouri this past weekend. Uncle Dane is not a relative, and I still don’t know his last name, but he is a long time friend of Frankie’s. Uncle Dane is an artist who lives on 40 acres in the beautiful and serene Ozark Mountains. I felt the Spirit’s love when I first set foot on his property. I met a lot of new people there. Most of them are hippies. Uncle Dane has a studio in his basement with several pottery wheels, and lots of clay. I glued myself to the stool for two days and enjoyed spinning the fresh earth between my fingers. The pieces I worked will have to dry before they can be fired so I had to leave them for now. I met other rock hounds. We went on walks and gathered some of the most unusual and colorful stones for our collections. We nearly got arrested for trespassing when we were caught on someone else’s property. The owner said we should have known that we were on his property by the purple paint that was sprayed on the trees when we entered. Oh, that’s a universal sign, for sure. He had the best rocks too! The men who were in our group calmed the man down, and after listening to him rant for about 45 minutes regarding hippies and derelicts, he let us go. He doesn’t know we stole his rocks! Later that night everyone pulled out an instrument and played 60’s and 70’s Rock and Roll songs until the morning light topped the trees.

Garage Party

This garage party happened on the fourth of July 2002, but our garage could use a cleaning. If you are so inclined, come on over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is probably going to sound like a strange thing to ask of you, but you probably expect it of Frankie and me by now. We want to decorate the inside of our garage in a funky and eclectic manner to express our artistic and creative abilities. After discussing the cost and surveying the amount of work this will require we have decided to invite our friends and family to participate.

So, on Thursday, July 4th, we want you to bring your paints, paintbrushes, stencils, or anything you choose to decorate the walls of our garage. Each person may select a section(s) to paint and express their wildest ideas. We plan to paint the ceiling and floor too, perhaps a cloud scene, angels, rockets, stars, sun, moon, or outer space on the ceiling and a checkerboard, grass, insects, snakes, etc. on the floor! Be thinking about what you want to create. IDEAS: cartoon characters, dragons, fairies, abstract art, geometric shapes, jungle animals, underwater seascapes, beach scenes, peoples faces, or trompe l’oeil (murals that looks like you can walk into the scene), you name it. You can even paint yourself! A self-portrait, that is!

We’ll get the garage swept cleaned, and everything moved out of the way so you can begin designing immediately upon arrival. We’ll work on it all day so come when you get ready, stay as long as you want. We’ll provide the food and drinks (things that come in sixes are great). Bring a friend, bring snacks, bring paint, but mainly bring your unique creativity. This is going to be a ton of fun! Please let me know you are coming.

Tired Tiles

From the year 2002...

I am in need of massage and physical therapy this morning! Husband #2 decided at 8:00 p.m. last Thursday evening to see what he could do to stop the squeaking in the kitchen floor. After about 2-dozen screws, it still squeaked so he pulled up a portion of the vinyl flooring to see where the floor joist was located. Two hours later the entire kitchen floor was bared to the sub-flooring and was sporting a nice assortment of screws, still squeaking. The vinyl needed replacing but I hadn't planned on doing it this weekend since it was my daughter-in-law's birthday. I had promised to give her a party and to watch the baby on Sunday afternoon. After going under the house and finally getting the squeaking stopped, we installed 12-inch square stick-on tiles that had to be sized and cut to fit the corners around the door frames and cabinets. When the guests arrived I was on my way to pick up a cake that I had not ordered, hoping that Food Lion would have a chocolate one. The party was successful in spite of my lack of planning and organization.

After everyone left, Frankie and I decided to finish the few tiles we had left to install. Our 12-month-old grandson was toddling about, and in to everything that was not screwed down (which didn’t leave a lot!) Sammy was curious and wanted to help. After taking the marker, then the scissors from him, Frankie gave him a scrap of tile to keep him busy. That little guy managed to get the paper backing off, stick it on the floor and come back for another piece! He is barely walking and he's already laying tile! I safely confined him to his high chair and gave him a box of Cheerios, while we finished.

The floor looks nice and it doesn’t squeak, but this morning I am so stove-up (southern for stiff) I could heat the house. I almost called in to work to request a holiday. Then I thought better of it. If I stayed home, I'd end up painting and installing the quarter-round molding. I decided to go to work so I could rest!

Where’s the Beef?

This happened in 2002. Aren't you glad we have recovered since then?

All week long I have been looking for a package of books with two tickets to a seminar my girlfriends and I plan to attend next week. Mary got hers; Kara got hers. I should have received mine, and the one I ordered for Donna by now. I called the bookstore to make sure they had sent them. They promised that they had, and gave me a tracking I.D and phone number to call. I called UPS and was told that they delivered the package to my front porch on January 3rd at 4:04 p.m. That was over a week ago and I still had not seen the books. I called Steve at home to have him check the front porch. He reported there was nothing there, and that he had not seen a package. A day later I called the bookstore again to have them put a tracer on the package. When I arrived home from work Friday the UPS driver was knocking at my door. I signed a voucher stating that I had not received the package so the sender could be reimbursed.

I put my things down on the dining room table and noticed a padded yellow envelope in the corner of the room beneath the high chair. I picked it up and opened it. It was from Malaprop’s bookstore containing two books and two tickets. “STEVE, what can you tell me about this package?”

“It came last week sometime.”

“Do you mean on January 3rd at 4:04 p.m.?”

“I dunno. Why?”

“Because this is the package I’ve been looking for all week! That is why UPS was knocking on our door just now.”

“Oops!”

“Steve, why did you put it in such a remote and illogical place?”

“So Java wouldn’t get it.”

“Why would the dog want my package when she’s got dog balls in her bowl?” I asked, “Besides she could still reach it on the floor behind the high chair!”

“She was bothering it when I put it on the floor over here,” he said pointing to a place near the door.

“What about on the table? Next time could you put it on the table or in my room?”

I let it go when I noticed he was taking something out of the oven. He was making beef jerky. “Where did you get meat?” I asked. I knew there wasn’t much in the house in the way of groceries.

“I found a steak in the refrigerator.” No telling how long it had been in there, so I prayed a silent blessing over it as he took a bite and tried to offer some to me. “No, thanks,” I said graciously.

When Frankie got home from work, he and I went to the store to get food so the boy wouldn’t have to eat left olders. We brought home a nice chuck roast for Steve. His eyes lit up when I handed it to him, and he immediately went to work slicing and spicing. I had a terrible head cold so I went to lie down, while the boys made dinner.

The next day Steve got up and pulled out his chuck roast and started to work again. He said that since that I missed dinner last evening, I needed a makeup dinner. He said I could use a lesson on how to cook steaks and make jerky, so I watched as he taught me what I needed to know. While he was grilling the steaks, I pulled out some cabbage, celery, mushrooms, and onion to start a soup. Steve was curious about what I was making. “I like cabbage,” he said.

“I’ll share with you,” I replied as I caught a glimpse of his dad shaking his head, “NO!” while waving his hand under his nose. I gave him a puzzled look. Steve saw me and turned to see what dad was doing. Frankie explained that I might not like the effects cabbage would have on his boy later. The meal was nothing less than gourmet, and I enjoyed sharing the kitchen with my stepson. Afterward, Frankie took Steve with him on an errand, and I was left in charge of the jerky left baking on a sheet of foil in the oven.

The two returned in about an hour, and started working on the computer while I was reading a book in my room. Kathryn, Steve’s girlfriend arrived about the time Frankie went to the kitchen and opened a box of jalapeno poppers. When he put them in the oven, it reminded me of the jerky. I looked in the oven and didn’t see the jerky, only the poppers. “Where did you put the jerky when you put the poppers in the oven?” I asked Frankie.

“They were not in the oven.” That brought Steve and Kathryn to the kitchen.

“What did you do with my jerky?” asked Steve.

“What did YOU do with your jerky?” asked Frankie.
They both looked at me. “I didn’t move the jerky. I checked on it while you were gone but I didn’t take it out of the oven.”

“Dad?”

“Expressy?”

“No.” I answered. “I told you I didn’t move it. Maybe Java ate it! She probably thought it was a book or a package in the mail.”

“She can’t open the oven!” Steve reminded us.

“Then who took the jerky?” Dad was really puzzled.

“Yeah, WHERE’S the beef?” I retorted.

We searched all over the kitchen for the hidden delicacy trying to discover who might be the one playing a practical joke. We even thought Kathryn might have moved it, or perhaps someone came in the backdoor and stole it, or maybe we had a ghost who likes jerky. We gave up after a while still wondering why no one was coming forward to claim the award for the best practical joke.

Kat and Steve were leaving when I smelled something burning. I opened the oven door to check on the poppers and noticed the edge of the foil under the baking sheet the poppers were on. “FRANKIE, you put the poppers on top of the jerky!”

“I did?”

“Yes, and it’s burning!”

He ran out the door to let Steve know the mystery had been solved. Steve came back in the house, grabbed his crunchy charred jerky, and left before anyone could hide it again. Is it gender or genetics that causes these two guys to hide things from themselves and others?

Another Addition to the Family

Steve had been really distant and belligerent concerning his schoolwork. We knew that something was bothering him but he wouldn’t talk about it. I thought it was because he was frustrated with Frankie’s constant lecturing about getting the assignments done. Steve called me at work today to tell me that his girlfriend is pregnant! He’s 16 and she’s 17, and both are still in high school. Steve wants me to help him break the news to his dad. That should be fun – especially after all the talks they’ve had about safe or no sex. To help relieve some of the tension, I am taking an active role in Steve’s schooling. I will be doing the English and History portion with him. I’m sure it will all work out fine - God help us all.

Not to be Alarmed

We were sent an email at work this morning telling us not to be shocked should the fire alarm go off. Someone had accidentally tripped it. Three hours later the whole building resounded with sirens as big as Texas that sent my heart pounding into my throat. No one panicked or moved toward the door. We had all passed out from the shock we were told NOT to experience. Then we were told to ignore the man behind the curtain. What did they mean by that? We have blinds on the windows.

Frankie decided that it was his responsibility to home school his son and that I shouldn’t be burdened with the job of teaching while I’m trying to go to college. However, I’m afraid that Steve and Frankie are going to end up killing one another during class. Frankie thinks that only A’s are acceptable. Steve thinks that anything over 65 is an accomplishment. Steve is working a part-time job, which is interfering with him getting his assignments done on time, plus he has a girlfriend that he wants to spend time with. Frankie and Steve argue like yard dogs over dinner scraps, and I’ve been locking myself in my bedroom or going to a friend’s house to escape the war zone. Cheese and crackers, those two are driving me nuts.

I'm Done With Organized Religion

I’m finished with the mind games of organized religious systems. There are folks that actually believe that they have to tithe and attend church in order to avoid God’s wrath. The church we were attending gave a seminar on supporting the local church with tithes and offerings. Yes, I’m a cheerful giver - it truly makes me happy to avoid being struck by lightning! Fear and punishment is NOT what God is about. Power, love, might, goodness, light, freedom, energy are intangible attributes that reside within all of nature, within all humans. No one is separate from the Creator. They may think and act as if they are. The darkness of the ego may hide our god-like attributes, but they are still there regardless of what is seen or done on the outside. Fear is the opposite of love and anything done out of fear is of the ego (some call it the devil, but I don’t believe in him anymore).

After doing more research on the origin of the church, we have stopped attending. No one will miss the angry drunk couple that got married without permission anyway. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. This kind of stuff has happened to me for the last time. I could care less if anyone likes me or not, I’m not playing the game anymore. I’m not going back to church, and that’s final.

Frankie’s Party

This occurred in 2001. Frankie is much older now.

Saturday was Frankie’s 48th birthday and we celebrated by throwing a huge party for him. I invited family and folks from our work place, church, and the girls from my "get-over-it-already" support group. About 25 people came to eat burgers and wieners and to meet our new puppy, Java. I bought a 9-week-old chocolate lab from someone selling them on the side of the road in Antioch. She’s a sweetheart and we already love her like a member of the family.

Steve has decided that he wants to be home schooled, and has asked us to check into it. There wasn’t much checking to do – I’ve already done the home school thing with My Daughter and I hated it. It is a ton of work for the teacher/parent, and it can ruin a perfectly un-normal relationship with your offspring. At any rate, we are getting the books and curriculum this week, and I’m checking into my insurance benefits for reduced rates at the local mental hospital for myself.

I am starting college this fall. I can’t have my kids getting smarter than I am! The assignments are all taught online through the Internet. It will take well more than two years for me to get my degree, but at least I’ll be making progress toward my dream of having a career in which I can utilize my love for writing. Perhaps Steve, My Daughter and I can do some group study together! I may need their help!!

Redneck Family

My newly acquired stepson is going to Atlanta with me tonight. My brother has a truck for sale that Steve wants to take a look at, possibly to buy. Steve fears that the Toyota may be a Bubba truck and wants to take a look. I think he really wants to go so he can see for himself what my side of the family is like. It’s a good weekend for him to meet the clan since the family is throwing a birthday bash for my grandmother (Nanny J) who is the 85 year-old matriarch of this socially elite group.

There are about 60 people in my extended family (give or take a few ex-in-laws that we may still be related to). The family is comprised of good ol’ Southern country folk that will expect you to eat a large portion of everything that’s put on the table regardless of whether or not you're hungry, but the ones you have to watch are the ones I call semi-rednecks. That means they still have most of their teeth but otherwise fit the criteria i.e.: drive big trucks, own a couple of yard dogs, use some form of tobacco, and are racially prejudiced. Some of them have taken the Global Positioning Systems out of their bass boats and installed them in their vehicles to help them locate the nearest Wal-mart and yard sales. The language spoken by the clan would give an English teacher grammatical nightmares. Then there’s my sister-in-law who is radioactive! We have to stay away from her cause she’s having her thyroid killed today. She’s been having hot flashes and my brother can’t handle it. She’s the same one who shot their bad-assed dog with a 12-gauge shotgun when it bit one of her boys. She loaded the dog's carcass on the pick up truck and launched it into her dad's chicken pit (a deep hole with a 100 pounds of Red-Devil lye at the bottom). She also raises goats. Need I say more? One ex-in-law who decided she couldn’t get all the demons out us, ran off with a religious cult back in the late 70’s. No one went looking for her.

I’m not trying to project a bad picture of my dysfunctional family. They really are nice folks. They simply don’t qualify for the cover of Family Circle Magazine except for my cousin who thinks she’s Martha Stewart. I’ll try to update you when I return from my trip. Hopefully, no one will fall into the lake while trying to feed my dad’s pet carp this time.

My uncle is not doing too well. I wonder how long someone can survive on a wing and a prayer?


SENT: July 10, 2001, 10:59 AM
SUBJECT: RE: Redneck Family

Ya'll’s real nice folk. I met up with a bunch of ‘em, and they’re right looksome!


SENT: July 11, 2001, 7:59 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Redneck Family

Ok, so the burning question in my mind is WHICH cousin thinks she's Martha Stewart? Inquiring minds want to know. After all, y'all are part of my dysfunctional family too!! :O)

Good luck to you, Steve, this should be an interesting experience for you. Enjoy your Bubba truck. I know where you can get a nice rack of antlers for the grill.

SENT: July 12, 2001 9:30 AM
SUBJECT: Redneck Family

Well, if you have to ask WHICH cousin………


SENT: July 13, 2001, 10:59 AM
SUBJECT: RE: Redneck Family

You think that is bad, well you should meet my extended family from Alabama. I went to my family reunion about two years ago, at my grandmother's urging, and could not believe this was my family!! My grandmother talked my mom into flying down for the weekend to attend the reunion. Let me just say that my immediate family members are Yankees. My dad is from New York City and we have lived in the North pretty much our entire life. Well, at the reunion there were people with no teeth, really big bubba trucks, overalls, and the strongest country (not southern) accent that you can image. My mom and I stuck out like a sore thumb. We just looked at each other in amazement and thought, “This is our family?!”

The New Kid in Town

Whew! It has taken me a while to get around to writing this email update. I’ve been super-busy while watching my life take yet another surprising turn of events. Frankie and I celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary July 7th and decided the best way to celebrate would be to have a child! No, I’m not pregnant! No, we didn’t get a pet. We got a teenaged boy! Frankie’s 16-year-old son finally decided he didn’t like living with his mom and step-dad so he accepted our invitation to come live with us! Over the past 6 months, Steve’s mom would call us in a rage and demand that we come get Steve, but before we could pack and get on the road, she would call to say she changed her mind. We were frustrated and feeling like a yo-yo; getting our hopes up only to have them dashed again. Ultimately, our prayer was that the decision to come here would be Steve’s choice and that he not be coerced. Frankie drove to South Carolina a few weeks ago, loaded all Steve’s belongings on the truck and fetched his boy home.

We’ve finally finished re-decorating the house. The spare bedroom we were reserving for Steve has been decked to his own liking. He painted the walls silvery-black like gunmetal or graphite. Complete with zebra striped linens, black curtains, and a lava lamp, the room has a nice, purple glow in the black light! He got his Tennessee driver’s license last week and loves to run errands for us. He got a job the first week he was here and started saving money to buy a truck from my brother. Steve is low-maintenance. In fact, he keeps his room and belongings much neater than I do! He enjoys cooking and helping with household projects. He made dinner for me while his dad was out of town for his grandmother’s funeral. He helped his dad rebuild the deck while I was away on a weekend trip with my girlfriends. Between us, Frankie and I have five children, and four grandkids. Steve’s older sister, Elsie, and her family live about 45 minutes from us so when the whole clan gets together, we have a Brady Bunch rerun! I didn’t realize how much I missed the family thing.

My Daughter graduated high school in May and plans to start college this fall. She’s looking for a waitress job she can work in the evening hours so she can go to classes in the daytime. She has a lot of decisions to make right now and she leans on me for support like never before. My Daughter will be eighteen on August 1st and is moving into her own apartment August fifth. She asked her step-dad and stepbrother to help her move. I think she is accepting the changes in our lives.

Expressy