I am 70+ days into this solo gate guard situation. Not exactly somethin’ I would recommend as being the thing to do. The problem is filling the hours between one sunrise to the next. Some of you astute folks are gonna say “Well, dude, what happened to your blog post this past Sunday since you got all this time on your hands? You oughta be bloggin’ every other day at least!” I agree completely with that line of questioning; I would think it my own self were I the one on the outside lookin’ in. Maybe so, maybe so; that is if I was in a good place where everything was on an even kilter. I am dog ass tired from the rigors of the gate and that don’t help. I am a solo guard in a gate guard world that is soon to be overflowing with Winter Texans. God Bless ‘em but I don’t need the competition for the gates. I am sorting out the dust-up with Little Blondie still yet and that don’t help. All this weighs heavy on my mind.
This mind of mine has been in the rough country where the mean dogs bark all night these last two weeks and it ain’t good. I got things need to be done but I just don’t have the give-a-damn to get up off of dead center and do ‘em. Little Blondie asked me to keep Tuco the Dog again and I studied on it for days until I finally decided it was the only thing I could do. The divorce is not final as yet and I still have obligations and responsibilities to that sacred union. Spun me off as close to the Big Pity Party as is possible without eatin’ a bullet but life ain’t about being fair. Wife #3 left all of a sudden because she found a new fella and couldn’t wait to shuck her panties to the floor for that man that wore the ring of another. I waited the 60 days or so until that divorce was final and the vow I had made to that marriage was released before I even thought about another woman. That little escapade cut to the quick for a long time because I don’t take the violation of trust lightly. If you live your life Old School, you can’t do it in any other fashion and stay true to yourself.
So we fast forward more than a decade and here I am with #4 and I get to re-visit that way-down-deep hurt. Some folks tell anybody who will give them a good listen that they are Old School in every way. Truth of the fact is their tiniest baby toe ain’t even Old School; and might not ever be. Well, you know what they say friends and neighbors: Life ain’t fair. The truth hurts. Time heals all wounds. I know those statements to be true and I am tougher than I look so life will go on. No dirt nap for me just yet, God willin’. I just gotta give up the part about being worked over time and again like a rented mule by more than one past vindictive female. Yeah buddy, I got me some ghosts that rattle their chains in *my* closet.
Little Blondie and me still talk many times each week. Part of it is related to the nuts and bolts of dissolving a shared life and part of it has to do with putting two lives back together; but separate. For some odd reason this morning, I found myself going through the address book on my Motorola Razr and deleting contacts that I had no want to hear from ever again. Call it part of The Purge or whatev. All said and done, I ended up with 12 folks in there; friends and family mostly but just 12. I did not find that low number to be unsettling. Little Blondie’s info is in there and it is gonna stay too. When she blew outta here, she said she needed time to ‘center’ herself. I don’t know ‘zactly what that means but it sounds like something she picked up watching Dr. Phil. I do know she is trying extry damned hard to kill the demons that live on the backside of her brain and amend some actions and habits that drove me bat shit crazy and was just general bad juju. She asked I tone down future personal diatribes and criticism when it involves the two of us and I have to say I see her side. I am gonna back off future talk about the dust up and help her learn better how to do the Old School walk. That’s all I have to say about that Forrest.
Little Blondie had a thing about canned biscuits. She flat could not keep ‘em out of her basket at the HEB and it was a puzzlement to me because she very rarely cooked them. Go figger. One of the things I had been putting off was cleaning out the two fridges in the No Princess Palace because I always had more manly tasks to do. The day came when the Dometic RV fridge started to take on a stink that was not tolerable and I let it ride a full week more until it could no longer be ignored. I threw away items long out of date that were unopened. I threw away exotic things like fish sauce that I knew had been an ingredient in something mighty tasty at some point but I had not a clue as to what it might be for. I threw things away out of the freezer covered so completely with hoar frost they were unidentifiable. Shelves out and washed with Pine Sol, insides swabbed down and anything suspect tossed.
After about 4 hours, I ended up with two refrigerators that smelled spring time fresh and an orderly arrangement of goods that suited me and no one else. I did save one can of Grand biscuits that expired January 2013. Breakfast has always been my favorite meal and I had some eggs, sausage and dehydrated hash browns that were just begging to be eaten ‘fore they went south. The biscuits would be a tasty addition with some real butter and raspberry jam to my way of thinking. I mean, for real, how can canned biscuits go bad, right? I followed the instructions, got the cookie sheet ready, heated up the oven to 350 and started to peel the corner of that biscuit can back. I peeled it back maybe 1/10th of 1 inch and all hell broke loose! Those biscuits exploded with a mighty WHUMP! right in my hands hard enough to numb my fingers! I had biscuits stringing off the ceiling, I had a biscuit stuck right square of Bill Hemmer’s FOX News head on the flat screen 12 feet away. It was biscuit cataclysm in the trailer house and about that time the bell rang for a truck coming in the gate. One of my regulars with a load of fuel for the rig it was and he has a funny look on his face as I was signing him in. ‘Uh, you got something there on your shoulder boss.’ Biscuits! Damn biscuits!
The last time I had any truck with doctors and hospitals was back in ’02 or maybe ’03. Pancreatitis. And before you start to whisper among yourselves….. No, it wasn’t from drinkin’ too much whiskey. Something got stopped up and the next thing I know I was doubled over, hurting like a mofo and getting rushed to ICU. They give me ungodly powerful drugs and I reckon you coulda cut both my legs off with me watching and it wouldn’t of phased me atall. The first time I surfaced BFF Cait had pulled her chair up against the bed and was asleep with her head on the mattress inches from my shoulder. One of the reasons she is my BFF ya know. There is a mighty river of love that flows between the two of us. The next time I come up to check on the world, My Bro and BFF Cait was there. The lights went right back off and I drifted away to drugland easy in my mind. Wasn’t no reason not to with those two folks lookin’ after me.
I run the traps on some internet forums where they talk mostly about what would happen if the world was to turn all inside out. Coupla weeks ago, the subject of fish antibiotics came up. Now, I am in the know that fish meds are just about identical to the human ones and most likely come from the same manufacturer as the ones at your local Pharmacia. You ain’t gotta have a prescription for the fish meds, OK? You get it? We had stocked on fish meds back before the dust up and part of them went south with Little Blondie as should be the case. I was shopping for more to re-stock and it come to light on the forums that our GOV, in their infinitely wise way, had figured out these fish meds were not being regulated properly and might even be used in a fashion other than what was intended. They had begun to shut down online sources for the meds and I figured it was time to place my order so I did that exact thing right here. I ordered up some amoxicillin, penicillin and ciprofloxacin to go along with the cephalexin and doxycycline already on hand. I ain’t saying you should order the same ones or even buy fish meds to start with because I ain’t do doctor but I am just sayin’ ………… <<< They call that a disclaimer.
This lived as a yellowed piece of newsclip on the side of my computer monitor back in the day before it was all laptop, iPad, digital media sorcery. I memorized the words and meter well and it falls into my consciousness unbidden and often. The short piece has been recognized in the past on these pages but today seems to be a good time to trot it out once more. I transcribe from ingrained memory……….
To live content with small means,
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion.
To be worthy, not respectable,
And wealthy, not rich,
To study hard, think quietly,
Talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars, birds, babes,
and sages with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely,
await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.
William Ellery Channing (1810-1884)
End Note: Nothin’ I Love by John Hiatt from Terms of My Surrender
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