When you were a small child you probably sat on someone's lap at the table. You were just old enough to start on solid food, and strong enough to keep your head up off of the table.
It's fun to try out new foods on little tykes. My son's first taste of strained turkey was priceless! Then I tasted it, and understood why he looked like he had eaten a stinkbug. That wound up strained turkey. GROSS! I couldn't do that to him again.
But when they lock onto something that they really like you cannot feed it to 'em fast enough. You get serious with that spoon, and they will eat until they get sick. As the one in charge of the spoon, you have to know when enough is enough. You have to know if it's too hot or cold, or too spicy. You have to be certain that they won't choke on it. And you give them what is good for them, and you give them something that's just plain good!
Why? Well, because you love them, that's why!

As I watch the news, there is a lot of stuff going on. I hear things on the radio and people tell me about things that are going on around my community and the world. You're hearing it just like I am. And there is so much! The table, so to speak, is FULL.
Gas prices, terrorism, global warming, immigration, the war in Iraq, etc.. The list goes on and on and on. And the elections are coming up. Lots hanging in the balance.
And for every single thing, there are people pushing their stuff on you. Their wants and needs. Their pet causes. Their beliefs. And they want you to swallow it ALL. There is something to be gotten from you, my friends.
It's like going to a family get-together, or a church dinner. Everybody who can cook, and those who just think they can, bring their best, and it all looks good. Smells good, too. BUT...........
You know Aunt So-N-So's potato salad is awful, 'cause you've tried it before. Sister What's-Her-Name can't fry a chicken that is edible to save her life. Bless her heart. But they are hurt and upset if you don't eat it.

You are going to have a lot of spoons shoved into your face in the next several months. They've been shoving crap at you for a long time now. It's not all good. But they will tell you it's good for you. "Swallow this, you'll like it. That's a good boy/girl."
Is it really? It can't all be banana pudding. Some of it is, in fact, strained turkey. Let me repeat: GROSS!

YOU HAVE TO LOOK AT WHO IS ON THE OTHER END OF THE SPOON!

Look at them closely! What's in it for THEM? Is it power? Is it money? Fame? What do they get out of it? They want something, or they wouldn't keep on pushing it at you. Please do not believe it is all for the love of you or this country! Do they really even KNOW you? Do they care? You're old enough to think for yourself! They don't believe you are smart enough to think for yourself. So they want to do it for you.

They want to load your spoon.

Grandma spoon-fed me banana pudding because she loved me. Who is trying to spoon-feed you? More importantly, why?

I had to go to the post office today for Bosslady. There was a card for a parcel pick-up, and I had to get three two-cent stamps for myself, there were no such stamps in the vending machine, so that meant going to the front desk. There were about eight people in line ahead of me. One girl was working behind the counter, and one girl was just taking the parcel pick-up cards. She asked if anyone had a package to pick up, so I waived my card and she took me ahead of everyone else. I had to slip under the rope barrier. I don't bend in the middle so well anymore, but I did it without falling on my face.
She went to the back and came back to tell me that there was no package; the card may have been put in the wrong drawer, or the package had already been picked up. She told me to get back in line for my stamps. Not a problem, so I ducked back under the rope to wait.
I don't usually mind standing in line. If I am impatient, it's usually because I have assed around until the last minute. No sense in getting angry with anyone but me.
But this is an "instant" society. We want what we want when we want it. Waiting doesn't cut it anymore. When you find yourself screaming at the microwave for taking the ENTIRE 65 seconds to zap a cup of leftover coffee, you gotta get a grip. I've caught myself doing that. I've had to get a grip on myself so much lately I should have myself arrested for molestation.
But I was in no hurry this morning and it was cool in the building, nobody was standing over me for anything, so I was content to wait. I was the only one with a "don't care" attitude.
I'm not sure who started the squabble with the Post Mistress.
I don't know what the P.C. term is for this lady, but if a man is the Post Master, is a woman the Post Mistress? I'm not trying to cast dispersions on her character, 'cause I don't know her personally, I just don't know what her official title is. She looks like a rather stern woman. The first time I saw her I wondered who had licked all of the red off of her candy.
Someone in the line asked her if she could take care of them. She said "no". Lots of grumbling from the line. She tried to explain that the rates had just gone up and they were trying to get their act together with that. And a woman said, "Well, stamps were 39 cents last week and I still had to stand in line! What's your excuse for that?" The Post Mistress said she didn't have an excuse for that. MORE grumbling from The Line. "Well why don't you put someone else behind the counter?" Post Mistress replies: "If you have the budget and the time for it, we'll do it. Do you have either one of those?" Now everyone in this line is yelling at her about how ridiculous the situation is. And this woman is giving it back to 'em. My Momma would have been proud, 'cause I kept my yap shut.
The Post Mistress invited one lady into her office to discuss the problem and was told that she didn't have to go in the office to discuss a thing! Very nasty.
One older man said he had been standing in line so long he had forgotten why he was there. Judging him to be about 80 years old, I could see how he might have forgotten, and when you are that age, time is something you don't have much of.
The Postal Boss is yelling about how rude some folks are, and one of the women in the line who was yelling at her in the first place said "Yes they are!", which was aimed at the Post Mistress. She countered with a remark about people who had no decent up-bringing.
Now the line is longer and a woman who was standing in line behind me asked me what was going on, because she could hear the yelling all over the building. She said she was afraid to come to the counter when she heard the commotion and that she almost left.
All the while, the girl behind the counter was trying to sell stamps and figure postage for packages, and getting dirty looks for her efforts. And bless her heart, she was new on the job.
I finally made it to the counter and asked for my three two-cent stamps. And someone in the line yelled, "You mean you waited in line all of this time for three stamps???" So I said "Yeah, it's the only break I'll get all day, and I mean to enjoy it." I told the girl behind the counter that I was sorry she was having a tough day, and left.
My entire post office run took 35 minutes, counting the time it took to make the trip there and back to work. Counting the time it took for me to sort the mail, and catch the floor show. And, counting the time it took to get three little stamps after the screaming match. Just 35 minutes.

It was a good show for six cents. I now have a complete understanding of the term "going Postal". And I think I know who licked the red off of the Post Mistress's candy.

I think it was us.

I was hoping it would go with the last post. I don't really think it does, but I like the song and hope you do too.

You've probably heard about the wildfires down around Waycross, Ga.. It now seems to have crossed over the Florida line.

This is what my neighborhood looks like today:



We are 70 miles from the fires. Visibility is pretty poor, and if you have respiratory conditions, you are having a bad day. We have a 30% chance for rain today, and a 40% chance for Sunday.
It hasn't been this dry in a long time. We live on a red clay road, and any vehicle going down the road kicks up a lot of dust. It can't be helped. What really enhances the effect is four tires on a four-wheeler running flat out with two, three, and four kids hanging onto it. The whole neighborhood is one big dirt track, with twisties and dead ends. Plus, the three dirt bikes, complete with thrill junkies.
That reminds me of a funny thing that T. saw last week. Some of our neighbors have fenced off a large section of property behind the trailers one street over from us. They have horses. And goats. It's okay, another neighbor has turkeys and chickens. And goats. He had pulled up to the stop sign at the dead-end, and a group of little kids started screaming about something. He couldn't understand what the trouble was, 'cause he doesn't speak Spanish, but when he turned his head to the right, the trouble ran past him.
A big black horse, with stirrups flappin', reins flyin', was apparently headed back to the pasture. Without his rider, who was limping back home about a block behind the horse.

"It's a small world after all, it's a small, small, world."

I can testify to that. And I promise NEVER to post that song. I won't even hum it.

I dated a guy in my senior year who thought he was God's Gift to women. I went out with a few who thought that, but this one WAS! Well, maybe not GOD'S gift, more like the devils! I fell hard for him, no lie.
Almost six foot of oh-my-gosh-be-still-my-heart-take-me-I'm-yours raw sensuality. I didn't know anything about sensuality, but I knew what I liked! And he had a way about him that was just dangerous. So of course I could not stay away from him.
Now back in the day, this town was surrounded by dirt roads, woods, fields, and firebreak roads. Perfect for parking.
And my boyfriend knew 'em all. I will 'fess up to doing some serious "parking".
We had set up a date for a Saturday night and I waited ALL WEEK for Saturday to roll around. It felt like it took two weeks to get here.............................I said I had it bad for him, didn't I?
The big night finally came, and it was just me and him, and Leo Sayer in the tape deck. Stars in the sky. Ten miles out of town in his truck on a firebreak road in the woods. Romance in the air and clothes on the floorboards. Perfect, and well worth the wait.

You never heard me claim sainthood.

Then, all of a sudden, the whole world lit up like it was high noon! When we looked up all we could see was lights. Coming up behind the truck. Fast! And I mean coming with a roar from one souped-up engine.
That will put a damper on your romantic eve. We hauled ass! I mean we took off like we were on fire, and I'm here to tell ya, that boy could DRIVE! I was grabbing up clothes while he was shifting gears and I broke the record for getting dressed! Gone in a cloud of dust with that car on our bumper. For a mile or more, making quick turns and taking evasive action! He would have made a great fighter pilot. When we thought we had lost him, we pulled onto another firebreak to catch our breath. He was cussin' a blue streak, and my heart was beating so hard I thought it would kill me. To be honest, when I saw those lights, all I could think was, "my Daddy has caught me and I'm gonna die!"

That was 1977. Or '76.

In 1991, T-Bird and I were newly married, talking about the good old days, and re-living a few memories, and I was telling this story of frustrated love. Well,.....okay,..... lust. When I got to the last part of the story, T-Bird finished it for me, laughing his butt off! He said he had to give that old boy credit for his driving skills and said that truck was hard to catch! Oh yes, T-Bird was the idiot that came up behind us!!!!!!
When we had thought that we had given him the slip, and all was quiet, we decided to give it another try. Hey! We were young! It wasn't quiet for long and that car came up on us AGAIN!. We gave up, and left, and that car followed us half-way back to town, and disappeared. One great night, shot to sh**. He told me about every turn and stop.

I was horrified! IT WAS HIM! HE RUINED MY DATE!! Fourteen years later I learned that my new husband was the culprit! He said it was our fault, for getting so into it that we didn't hear a Super Bee with the headers uncapped, pulling up behind us. He said he was slippin' down the firebreak when he came up behind us and flipped on the aircraft landing lights that he had rigged on the top of the car. He knew who's truck it was and could not resist! He didn't even try to resist.
He told me, as best he could while gasping for breath from his laughing fit, that he had struck out that Saturday night. So he took a ride in the country, to see what he could get into. He knew that area was where my boyfriend liked to take girls, and since he didn't like my date anyway, he wanted to bust up whatever was going on. He damn sure did!
I remember the boyfriend telling me on the phone a day or so later, that he had told a group of guys the next day that he did not appreciate being chased like that. He named T-Bird in the group. He said T-Bird was laughing about it. I bet he was! He's still laughing about it. I ain't.

Shortly after that Saturday night fiasco, me and Mr. Sexy broke up. Win some, lose some. But I managed to snag a drummer. We dated for a while, and he introduced me to his best friend, who was an ass. I didn't like him at all. But when me and The Little Drummer Boy broke up I did go out with his friend, The Ass. He wasn't so bad after I got to really know him. The Ass was T-Bird. I didn't find out back then that he was the one who ruined my date. I never talked about that night until T. and I married fourteen years, two wives (his), one husband (mine), and four kids later.

This is one small rock we're livin' on.