So far today, I have:

Burned my backside,
Forgot to take my daughter to school,
Been bitten by my husbands cat,
Accidentally stuck grits up my nose,
Banged my elbow into mush,
Tore up a bookbag with a vaccum cleaner,
And, ALMOST wet my pants, twice.

I would piss and moan about it all, but it has been the best day I have had in a month!

BLAM........
BLAM.........BLAM..............

It sounded like gunshots to T-Bird and me, sitting in the backyard swing. So he went around to the front yard, and I went inside to get the scanner.
Youngest and her boyfriend were laughing and saying "Look at that! I can't believe this!"

So I looked out the window, and I couldn't believe it either. The young woman across the street was throwing big cans of something, it looked like oil cans to me, at her husbands truck! And he was just standing there, watching her! After she ran out of cans she went looking for something else to throw, and he found a board, and slung that at her. It was a half-hearted attempt at bravado; I don't think he has the nerve to strike her.
We couldn't hear what they were yelling but it was probably the same dialogue they usually use. So just imagine a lot of swear words and you've pretty much got the idea.
After a few up-in-each-others-face minutes, she stomped off down the road. Then she came back, picked up the ice chest that was already in the road, two or three of the cans she had previously thrown, walked back to the truck, and beat the truck with the ice chest and pelted the truck again with the cans. She stormed into the trailer. He just stood there and watched. Never made an attempt to stop her.

We are rolling in the floor at this point! My daughters boyfriend said he had to leave, but I told him to wait, because Neighbor-Man started throwing the cans at the road, and we didn't want Boyfriend to get involved, even accidentally. We figured that the man was drinking, and you cannot reason with a pissed-off drunk.
Now, she comes back outside, gets into her car, cranks it up, and drives it into the porch, on purpose. While he is standing on it.
He cannot get into the car because she is locked in. When she gets out, there is more squabbling. Then he goes around to the back yard, and she goes inside. This is when Youngest's boyfriend makes a break for it, and leaves my house. While nothing else is flying into the road.
Neighbor-Lady comes back outside, gets down on her hands and knees, searching for something. We think her husband slung the keys when she got out of the car. She goes back in, and it sounded like she was taking the trailer apart with a claw hammer. I guess that was okay, since he was bashing her car with a garbage can.
When she comes back out she goes to the road, picks up the cans HE threw into the road, and proceeds to bash his truck some more.
Our next-door neighbors have gathered up to watch by this time, but since it was late, we went to bed. We could still hear the banging from across the road as we went to sleep.

This morning, it is quiet on the battlefield. The ice chest and cans have been gathered up, and the car is still crunched against the porch. I saw Neighbor-Man leaving for work, or whatever it is he does.
You may be wondering why we didn't make a call to the Po-po. Others have called before when those two were at it, but she refuses to talk to them, much less press charges. We get treated to a show at least once a month. He chased her down the road one afternoon, begging her to come back, but she couldn't hear it over the roar of the car engine, and the sound of her tires slinging gravel into the air. So he screamed "WHORE", and threw his beer bottle at the back end of her car. He can't hit a bull in the butt with a bushel basket! At least not while he's wearing his beer-goggles.
I have never seen him even draw back to hit her, he just yells and throws stuff.

Ahhhhhhhhh! Wedded Bliss. Nothing quite like it.

Shhhhhhhh...............do you hear it????????

I don't either.............

It's quiet,...........too quiet............

And I'm lovin' it!

This last Monday my daughter had to go to Macon to be checked out by an Oncologist. She was told to be back in Macon the following morning to have an ovarian cyst removed.
The doctor asked her when she wanted to have it removed, and she told him to set it up before she chickened out. Her chances of the cyst being cancerous had jumped from 1% to 5%. The only thing like surgery she had ever had was a tooth extraction. She was scared out of her mind, her husband too, and it had us scared. I asked her what she needed from us, and, no surprise here, we drew Baby Detail.
C-Bear will be four October 1st., and Possum is seven weeks old. Youngest is eighteen, and still living at home, and we would have never made it without her. She kept both of them for us to work, and she got up with Possum in the middle of the night.
Tuesday was a nightmare until my son-in-law called to say that the surgery went well, and that the cyst was turning cancerous according to what the lab found. They checked the cyst before they finished the surgery. They had caught it in time. She got to keep the ovary, but when she turns forty, they want her to have a complete hysterectomy. And she will have to have regular check-ups with the Oncologist for the next five years.
T-Bird and I thought we were going to have to be checked out by a Mental Health Clinic, before Momma and Daddy got back home. You cannot explain this sort of thing to an almost-four-year-old. But she was good for the most part, she missed her parents terribly, and Possum was no real trouble, so we were just Blessed there! I was back to diapers and formula, and toys scattered from Hell to Breakfast, car seats from Hades, and cartoons all blasted day. Little kids don't like news and weather, and do not grasp that Grandma and Poppa like Quiet Time, and that 9:30 is a good bed-time. Nor do they grasp that grandparents are not always a "soft touch". Grandma ain't stupid. I was starting to have flash-backs of raising my own three. Bring on The Change! Menopause is looking better and better! I am too old for this.
Oh yeah! I was waiting for Momma and Daddy to come home, too!

The whole thing kinda looks like a Blessing actually.

They told us that my daughter was pregnant last Thanksgiving. Well, a new baby is always exciting, or usually is, but my husband and I were thinking that this was not the best idea that my daughter and son-in-law ever had. Money troubles and personal problems were a worry. But they wanted another baby, and didn't want to wait too long, so that the two children would grow up close together in age.
Middlest had started to feel some small discomfort, but thought that it was just from work, or picking up C-Bear. Just small twinges. Gas maybe, or a pulled muscle. Cancer never crossed her mind.
They found the cyst during a pregnancy check up, but thought it might start to shrink after the baby was born. It caused major problems during delivery. And it did not shrink as hoped.

I wonder, if she had put off having another baby, say, for a year or two, would this cyst have become cancerous, and would she have survived it? She might have chalked the pain up to anything else and avoided a trip to the doctor. Until it was too late.
I'm thinking that Possum was a God Shot.................one of those things that looks like a possible disaster, that actually changes your life for the better. That's the kind of thing God is good at.

My world has taken another nasty little twist, and since I'd rather not deal with it today, I'll tell ya'll a story instead!
While out and about with the husband Friday, we crossed a bridge over a small creek. T-Bird pointed it out and it reminded me of a little fishin' trip.
This same little spot that we crossed over on Friday used to be a real sweet hole to fish. Bream like you would not believe. And gar. I prefer to fish for the fight, not for the groceries. If we catch it, of course, that means fish for supper, but it's the fight that I really get off on. That's why I like to fish for catfish, gars, and mudfish. If they are taking the hook I am happy. A Happy Hooker, of sorts.
We had been told that the bream were biting, and we both like to fish, so off we went, armed with crickets. We weren't playin' around.
We parked the truck on the side of the road and grabbed up an arm-load of gear apiece. I make a good pack-mule on fishing and hunting trips. Unlike my ex, T-Bird DOES help carry stuff.
At the bottom of the hill below the bridge, the ground turned to muck. Black, smelly, sticky, gooshie, sucky muck. Covered in white bird feathers. It must have been a BIIIIIG bird, as the ground was covered with big feathers. Nice touch. Cypress knees stuck up through the mud and feathers, which made walking through the mud that much harder. If I tripped and fell in the mud, the trip was gonna be over. And we slogged through this for several yards to get to a shady bend in the creek. We had mud half-way up our calves and it was the kind of mud that sucks your shoes off of your feet. And remember, it smells BAD.
It was so worth it! They were biting as soon as the cricket hit the water, and they were big fish! We were well on our way to filling up a 5-gallon bucket. And there were gar!!!!!! But we didn't have any luck with those. Not for lack of trying! If you fish, you know all about hope and trying.
We saw the green truck when it come creepin' across the bridge. The Game Warden. Rabbit Sheriff. Possum Police. He was "fishin'", too. We had all of our papers in order and kept on catching fish. He took a stroll down the other side of the bridge to check out two men who were fishing there. Then he crossed to our side. I guess that the other side of the bridge was dry, and not much of a struggle to get down to because he was immaculate.
Not a hair out of place.
Trousers with razor-sharp creases, ending at perfect cuffs.
Brass shining in the sun.
No sweat stains.
Shiny black shoes.
Big smile when he started down the hill.
Big sigh when he got to the bottom, when he got to the mud. I watched him look down at his shoes and just shake his head. Not smiling now.
I kinda felt sorry for him, so I said to T. that we may as well go meet him so he could check out the licenses and gun permit, and he wouldn't have to go through the mud. T. replied that since we had to walk in it, he had to walk in it. No sympathy at all. And he kept on fishing.
The officer sucked it up, squared his shoulders, and proceeded to look for good, less-disgusting ground. There wasn't any (believe you me, I had already looked), and he had a hard time of it, and he wasn't even carrying a cricket bucket, tackle box, fishing rods, or 5-gallon bucket. Or a brown bag full of crackers and drinks.
We had the permits in our hands when he finally made it. T. asked him if he wanted to see the handgun permit, but the officer said "no", and stated he would have thought we were crazy if we didn't have a gun on us these days. He looked all through the bucket to make sure we didn't have anything illegal in it. He was really very nice. We actually had a nice chat.
He was muddy, sweaty, and bedraggled by the time he waded BACK through the mud, and almost crawled up the hill back to the truck. The climb was steep on our side of the bridge.
We had fried fish for supper that night. I hope somebody fed him a good supper that night, because he earned it. I also hope that he now carries rubber boots.

Now, did you think I had passed on to my reward? Shuffled loose the mortal coil?

Naw.............I'm not laid out and candle-lit just yet! I've just had a bad run lately. Depressing, really.
It started with a very loud and angry confrontation with my father. He's really P.O.'d with me and has been for 29 years. I found that out from my mother, who I consider a good source of info for all things "Daddy". I cannot turn the clock back 29 years and re-do it all, so he will have to deal with it. I'm sick of the whole thing and my life goes on, so, (Slick sticks out her tongue).
Then the local carpet mill shut down and laid off 550 employees. My daughter and her husband will no longer have jobs after November 4th. They have two very small kids. My son-in-law's father and step-mother work there, so now they will be un-employed. My son's live-in also lost her job at the mill. My ex-husband and his who.......'scuse me, WIFE, lost their jobs as well. They have two youngsters also. I'm ticked off with them at present, but I would not have wished this on anyone, not even them. That's seven people in one family with no income coming in after November 4th.
And if that wasn't a kick in the butt, my youngest daughter's fiance was laid off at the plant where he worked.
As far as my job goes, let's just say that when ANYTHING on Mike Rowe's Dirtiest Jobs looks like a better deal, you need to consider a change. I would rather shovel you-know-what, than walk on eggshells and fake a grin every day, just to keep a neurotic co-worker happy.
In some sort of feeble protest over the whole thing, or maybe I just didn't care anymore, I wore a pair of cut-off jeans to the grocery store that were riddled with holes. And a small rip in the seat. Youngest pointed that out to me before I left the house, but I figured that since I had on panties, who cares? No, I didn't even care that my panties were purple. She may not be able to hold her head up at the Piggly Wiggly anymore, but she is young, and will recover some of her dignity. Maybe.
Someone stole 64.00 out of my jewelry box. I know who it was, but I cannot prove it.
T-Bird's garden has been coming in and I have been up to my knees in peas, so I've been shelling and putting peas in the freezer every other day. And okra. Lots and lots and lots of okra. My cup runneth over.
I was sitting on the couch shelling peas the other day, and T-Bird was watching t.v. with me, when there was a crash like I have never heard before, and my trailer shook so hard I nearly fell off of the couch. I have a book shelf that swayed in my direction, what-nots and pictures falling to the floor. My first thought was that a plane crashed into my home. It was too sunny for a tornado. It was a truck driven by one of my kids, who will remain nameless, into the front of my freakin' house. Rose bushes are no match for a pickup truck, but the house suffered no damage. Can't say the same for the truck. I checked on all four passengers, screamed for about 10 minutes, and disappeared to the back yard with my cigarettes to hide for a while. My husband assures me that my kids do love me, and that I shouldn't think that they are out to drive me insane. One broken truck, one broken what-not, and one very freaked out Slick.
We were invited to see my husband's buddy (remember that his buddy is my bosses husband) perform in Once Upon A Mattress; he played King Sextimus and his son played the jester. Community theater at it's best. The buddy did some acting when he lived in New York, and he is a fine actor. I've seen him lie, and he does good, a real natural. The theater is in another town thirty minutes away, and we left in plenty of time to get to the place and get a seat. But we had to stop for a freight train, and every red light in this county. We also stopped for gas at a station that had cars lined up two-deep at every pump. When we finally got to the town where the play was, we had to stop at all of those red lights, too. And we stopped for the driver of an eighteen-wheeler who was trying to thread his rig through a very crowded intersection. Which put us a good five minutes late. Not a problem, as community theater does not start on time anyway. I loved the play, and they couldn't have gotten anyone to do the part of King Sextimus any better. He was brilliant. I laughed until I cried. But I had to go to the Ladies Room. Really bad. So I asked Hubby for directions to said powder room, since he had been there before and I had not. They broke for a 10 minute intermission, and I broke for the potty. "Through those doors and to the left." That's what the man said. He left out the part about going up the stairs, and turning left again. Folks, if you have a full bladder, THAT IS NEED TO KNOW INFORMATION!!!!!!! And, if you, Dear Reader, have anything to do with restroom design, how about a stall big enough to turn around in????? After you install a toilet paper dispenser that is as big as a car tire, there isn't much room in there. I mean, I appreciate an abundance of toilet paper, but the dispenser shouldn't be pressed against my ear while in the sitting position.
And as if all of the above is not enough, I broke my favorite tea pitcher, that I have had for thirty years. I can't even blame anyone else; that one is my fault.
The rebel in me forced me to put aluminum foil in my bedroom windows, even though the Sheriff has forbidden it. Why is that forbidden? Well, only people who are involved with drugs feel the need to cover their windows. That's what he said in a newspaper article some time back. What the idiot fails to think of is that this is the Deep South. The hot Deep South. You will cover your windows as much as possible to keep out as much heat as possible if you don't have shade trees on the property. I don't have shade trees. And a trailer will feel like an Easy Bake oven on a 95 degree day. But the citizens have been asked to contact the Sheriff's Department if a neighbor blacks his windows out, or covers them up. Like I need a confrontation with them at this point.

So what do you do when everything has gone to crap, and you can't see a better day? You remember that there WILL be a better day and a better time; just because you don't see it, that doesn't mean it's not coming. You count all of the blessings you DO have, even if someone else has to point them out to you. You tell the people you love that they ARE loved, they need to hear it from you. And when a three-year old uses all of your scotch tape to tape a squiggle that she drew to your living room wall, you kiss that little face, 'cause she did it because she loves you. And you hang on to every toothless grin that a baby gives you, because that's where God is. And sit in a swing with somebody that loves you, look at the stars, and just listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. That's where I'm headed right now.