The Mysterious Miss Wiggles

Weekends are often stressful affairs in their own right at my house. After five working days dealing with the usual affairs of life many weekends are just a continuation of other normal work week activities along with trying to get things done that can only be accomplished on Saturday and Sunday. Running the kids around to their activities, getting needed maintenance on the cars, washing mountains of dirty clothes, and cleaning the house and yard take up much of weekend time. During these stressful weekends everyone in the family is pressed into service with the understanding that once the critical objectives are at least met time will be spent on other more enjoyable activities. The only problem holding true to the critical objectives is when the children are involved.

Just a few weeks ago was one of those stressful weekends with the bathrooms, as far as Dragonwife was concerned, hazardous toxic waste dumps. Mountains of smelly laundry were piled high in the hallway next the washer and dryer needing to be done. Of special concern to my wife were the dust stalactites hanging from the ceiling fan blades that she insisted needed to be cleaned. Being honest here but I will have to admit that my motivation that Saturday morning was not at the highest level. The bathrooms, in my opinion, were not as dangerous as my wife suggested. At the hospital where I work I'm on the HAZMAT team and while I wouldn’t have eaten off the bathroom floor there wasn’t any green slime visibly moving anywhere although that could not have been said for some dark green items of laundry slowly crawling away from the rest of the piles. As for the dust stalactites hanging from the blades of the ceiling fans I admit that they needed to be removed.

With the benefit of having my radio tuned into the Saturday morning NPR shows my duties were passing quickly and as far as cleaning can be enjoyable I was having a pretty good time. During this time I was multitasking the various chores all across the house since Dragonwife had gone on the monthly Sam’s Club run to stock up on groceries. Since one of the darkest pits in Hell must surely be having to spend eternity in a crowded Sam’s Club I felt that I was getting the better end of the Saturday chores right then. The kids had long since finished what they had to do and were either playing the guitar, in the case of my son, or watching SpongeBob which usually never fails to complete enthrall my daughter. That is until that particular Saturday.

After I finished the cleaning of the smaller of our two bathrooms I moved the cleaning stuff into the master bathroom and started cleaning the invisible soap scum off the walls of the shower stall. There are two things I find intensely curious about soap scum. One, I can almost never see the offending substance although my wife assures me it covers the walls of the shower stall. Two, my wife’s intense and personal dislike of the substance that at times sort of scares me. Even though I question the very existence of the substance most of the time I felt it was my husbandly duty to do my best to save my wife the shock of finding it still on the walls when she got back. Plus, carefully wiping the shower stall walls would save me the hassle of hearing her complain (nag) about how scummy and disgusting the bathroom still looked. It was then that Miss Wiggles decided to join me while I was working.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” My daughter asked me standing in the doorway.

“I’m just cleaning the shower sweetie.” I said as I continued to wipe down the walls.

“But I don’t see anything on the walls except the stuff you are spraying on them.”

It was there I froze, I had an independent confirmation that the whole soap scum issue might reside in my wife’s brain. But just to be safe I continued to clean since discretion is always the better part of valor where wives are concerned.

“Daddy, I’m going to help you with the cleaning.” Miss Wiggles moved inside the bathroom picked up another rag and began wiping the bathtub that is right beside the shower stall I was cleaning. My daughter wanted to clean and I was cool with that, grateful that at her early age she still wanted to help. As opposed to my son who often when instructed to pick up and organize all the assorted detritus on the floor of his room will just toss it on his bed and cover it with his bedspread. My son has long since mastered the out of sight, out of mind approach to cleaning.

Still though Wiggles’ enthusiasm and honest desire to help is often at odds with her actually skills. So I wasn’t surprised to see a few minutes later that she had spilled the bottle of cleaner in the bathtub making a bigger mess than what was there originally. After she and I cleaned it up she gave up on helping and drifted back to the television.

What followed after that was a series of interruptions that at first were just honest attempts on the part of Miss Wiggles to do something on her own but since SpongeBob had lost its appeal that day these interruptions soon became almost deliberate attempts to draw my attention away from my chores. I got pulled away as pots and pans began crashing from cabinets as Wiggles went looking for something in the kitchen. A few minutes later Wiggles sheepishly came and told me she had spilled fruit juice on the coffee table and the carpet. Right after that I had to chase the dog down after it had snatched the television remote for the purpose using it for a chew toy. The biggest issue was removing my daughter from my son’s room after she had invaded his inner sanctum because she was bored. After each interruption I would tell my daughter she needed to listen to daddy and that we would do something fun once I was through.

I handled all theses disturbances and few other pretty well although my frustration level was rising. After separating my son and daughter then removing her from his room there was period of time where things calmed down enough for me to start back to work. What finally derailed my cool and wise fatherly demeanor though was seeing that my daughter had come back into the bedroom, climbed on top of my bed and was using it for a trampoline. Normally, that alone wouldn’t have fazed me in the least but at that time I had about four loads of clean laundry folded on that bed and Miss Wiggles jumping had utterly destroyed my neat and organized stacks sending most of the clothes to the floor below.

I was finding difficult to catch Wiggles who had built up some serious inertia bouncing all over the bed enjoying my efforts trying to stop her. Wiggles eventually just jumped into my arms oblivious to the work she had destroyed. Putting her on the floor next the bed standing up I bent down on my knees to have a little “coming to Jesus” talk with her like my grandmother often had with her grandchildren.

“Young lady,” I began. “How many times have I told you that daddy had stuff to do and that you would have to let me finish?”

My daughter gave no answer; instead she dissolved into a fit of cute but irritating giggles. Asking the question again, which I did, was both a waste of time and energy since it just precipitated a batch of even more incoherent giggles. All things considered I’m a fairly good dad able to handle most of the things my kids have thrown at me. However, that time I was at a complete loss to deal with events and to this day I don’t know where in the dark recesses of my mind my next words came from.

“Listen young lady, right now you belong to me and you will pay attention to what I have to say.”

One of the things I love about my daughter is the energy and freshness she brings to everyday life. She has never met a stranger, greets each day with hope and optimism, and looks at everything as an adventure as only a child can. But there are times that I often wonder that at her inner core if she is actually an old soul who has wandered this world far longer than I can imagine. Many times she has surprised by wife and me with an insight on some matter that simply shouldn’t be within the understanding of someone so young. This was another of those times because just as soon as my last words left my mouth I knew I had made a mistake.

My daughter’s giggling abruptly ended and her smiling face was replaced with a look of mild but tired amusement parents often give their children when they say something that makes no sense. A few seconds ticked by and I could almost see this gathering storm of dark clouds over my daughter’s head as forces I can’t imagine struggled to be reined in with her trying to figure out a way to communicate with the tall but very foolish and presumptuous mortal who just happened to be her father. She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow I knew I was about to get an ear full.

“Daddy, you should know I belong to no one but myself.” With that she turned away from me in a dignified imperial manner and walked out of the room leaving me with my mouth hanging open, totally speechless and overwhelmed. To say all the frustrations I was feeling disappeared would be an understatement, my six year old daughter had just put me in my place letting me know that she fully understood she was a unique and free person in her own right.

What does one do after such a brief but total trashing from a six year old child? I picked up and refolded all the clothes abandoning my other chores, then joined my daughter on the couch who had inserted a DVD in the player and was now watching Disney/Pixar’s “Cars” like nothing had happened.

Wondering about the day the music died.

September 7, 1936 – February 3, 1959

Due in part to the Don Mclean song and a slightly idealistic high school history teacher I see the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, and several others, not only as the creation of a mythical American pop music icon but the entering of a new era filled with both promise and troubles with the beginnings of the 1960's. Whenever someone with such energy is lost so young in life often the "what if" question gets asked wondering what sort of impact he or she would of made if things had only been a little different. The playing of Don Mclean's "American Pie" prompts me to also ask the "what if" question that if only a few things been different about the 60's.

Had JFK not been killed would have the Vietnam War been been stillborn as some suggest? Had Robert lived would he have taken the Democratic presidential nomination from Vice President Johnson after John had done his two terms and gone on to be president after his brother? And if all this had happened would Nixon's return to politics been as stillborn as the American involvement in Vietnam? Just how much of the troubles America experienced from the 60's until now could have been avoided with only a few things altered?

Some thoughts on marriage

Men marry because they are tired, women because they are curious: both are disappointed.
Oscar Wilde

"Three rings of marriage: The engagement ring, the wedding ring, and the suffering."
author unknown

By all means marry. If you get a good wife you will become happy, and if you get a bad one you will become a philosopher.

-- Socrates

Most married couples, even though they love each other very much in theory, tend to view each other in practice as large teeming flaw colonies, the result being that they get on each other's nerves and regularly erupt into vicious emotional shouting matches over such issues as toaster settings.

-- Dave Barry

In my experience I have seen some marriages that were a true union between a man and a women. But the vast majority are actually desperate coalitions between two people trying to escape loneliness that both would be far better served for companionship if they just bought a dog.
--BEACH BUM

Going Home-A work of fiction

Author's note: This is not my best story. A few weeks ago I found a website that offered two types of prompts for short story writers. One type of prompt actually generated a setting, theme, and object for a short story. That one generated a setting in a theater, a theme of sadness, and a chair for an object for me. The second type of prompt offered random pictures in which you built a story around. I took the former and ran with it and latter I left alone. That was until I found a picture of the Strand Theater located in my hometown and decided to use it in the story as well. After, once again, spending far more time on this story than I want to admit there was no way in hell I was going to let it just sit in my hard drive.


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Anthony Taylor parked his rental car in front of the old theater early on a chilly Sunday morning. Looking through the windshield he stared at the old place amazed that at least the outside hadn’t changed like the rest of his hometown. The marquee he remembered as a child was still in place with the name of the theater, “Strand”, still mounted on top in big lighted letters. All that was missing were black letters that attached to the marquee telling what movie was playing that day. Instead it was blank with the letters now only displaying a simple phone number on it, apparently for contacting the current owners about renting.

Getting out of the car Anthony walked up to the doors trying to peer inside but was greeted with only gloomy darkness keeping the secrets of what changes the years had brought to the inside. The ticket booth still was tucked to the right side of the main entrance but instead of darkness an old swivel chair, illuminated by some dim light inside, seemed to be standing a lonely guard. Anthony looked at the tattered remains of bulletins and small posters in the display case mounted on the wall facing Front Street, most were unreadable but some spoke of the “Swamp Fox Players” and various performances they would be staging. He thought back to all the colorful and exciting movie posters that use to hang in that case years before always promising promised excitement and adventure.

“Can I help you sir, are you okay?” Seemly out of no where a young blond girl stood beside him. Concern and worry shown on the pretty face despite the large bundle she was carrying in a bag hanging from her shoulder.

Anthony, caught off guard, took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Oh”, he smiled, “I’m fine, it’s just I’ve been away from Georgetown for years and you caught me reliving the past. I spent many a weekend watching movies and eating popcorn here.” He noticed the young girl seemed to be appraising him and his words trying to determine if he was safe to be around.

Looking at the old man she saw something in those eyes that his smile couldn’t hide. Those eyes made him look lost and alone in search of a safe harbor from the outside world. After a second or two she shrugged and came to a decision. “Well, I help out with the Swamp Fox players and I need to drop off this stuff and collect some papers. Would you like to see the inside for a few minutes? I warn you though; it’s probably very different from the way you remember.”

“I’d greatly appreciate it, I haven’t been home in decades and the last time I was here I didn’t anytime just to look around”

The young girl eased her bag to the ground and fished out a collection of keys to unlock the doors. “I’m Erin by the way”, she said, “I’m sort of the gopher for the players, I do a lot of running around for the chance to have a few speaking lines in the productions. “ Inserting the keys and opening the door she looked him over once again. “And you sir, what brought you back here?”

“My name is Anthony Taylor; I’m traveling with my son, his wife, and grandchildren. We’re staying at Myrtle Beach right now. We had been down in Florida for the last week and we are on our way home back to Ohio. This is sort of a last hurrah vacation rest stop for them.”

What he didn’t tell her was that while they were still asleep he had slipped out of his room. Caught a taxi to the nearest place to rent a car and then drove south for what would probably me his last chance to see his hometown. He figured at any minute his son would be calling him on the cell phone that now rested in his jacket pocket. Anthony had wanted to come directly to Georgetown but his daughter-in-law refused saying she saw nothing of value listed in travel book she carried about the town she or the boys would be interested in. Anthony’s son, Michael, tried to compromise the two by suggesting a stop at Myrtle Beach for a few days. Barbara, his daughter-in-law, grudgingly agreed saying her and Michael could shop at the nearby outlet malls while Anthony looked after the boys.

Anthony understood the indifference his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren felt about his need to see his old home town. Michael had been just a boy when they moved away from South Carolina in 1968. All Michael could remember of the place was the sulfurous smell of the paper mill located on the Sampit River and the hot and very humid summers. Michael and the rest of his family’s lives were rooted in Dayton, Ohio and they were eager to get home. Anthony knew he was a relic to his son and an outright inconvenience to his daughter-in-law, to his grandson’s he was like a pet dog. Nice to have around but something that was otherwise ignored until it got in the way.

As Erin opened the door Anthony helped her carry the bag back inside while she again used the keys to open the little office just to the left as they stepped in. It had been the same office that the manager used when he was child. Leaving Erin to her chores Anthony allowed his old eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings of the lobby. He imminently noticed the missing display case that sold popcorn, candy and soft drinks that had been positioned between two sets of large swinging doors leading to the theater auditorium. In place of display case was a bare table with simple wooden chairs on either side. The missing display case prompted a surreal feeling in him as if he had fallen into some other place after walking through the doors. It had been the place where people milled around chatting and generally passing the time waiting for the feature to start. As Erin could be heard unloading and organizing the stuff from her bag Anthony slowly entered the main part of the theater from the right side door.

Unlike the lobby the auditorium itself was fairly well lighted. Wooded folding chairs, much like he remembered from his childhood, were still there lined up and a graceful arch facing forward. The most obvious difference was the missing silver screen, it had been removed and its place was a large stage that had engulfed several rows of seats up front.

Taking a seat in the deserted theater it was easy to remember all the times he had been in here as a child and teenager with the lights lowered, holding a box of popcorn, and waiting for the previews of coming attractions to start. Often times Anthony came alone, the result of his mother having to help his father deal with the nightmares he had brought home from World War Two. But he did remember his mother coming with him a few times while his father was at work, the only time his father really felt in control of himself. And on very rare occasions both his parents would come during the periods his father was able to keep the images of death and cruelty he saw in Europe at bay in his mind. As the years passed Anthony could be found here with friends and later with girlfriends until the day he met the woman he would marry.

Anthony was a junior in high school in 1962 playing wide receiver for the Winyah High Gators. They were playing their rivals the Conway Tigers in Conway attempting to exact revenge for a last minute touchdown, and a related bad call by the referee that resulted in the Gators not going to the playoffs the year before. They were behind by a touchdown late in the fourth quarter when Anthony had turned just enough to see the ball flying down his way from the Gators’ quarterback who was twenty yards away. On the Tiger’s fifty yard line close to their sideline he jumped up with his fingertips barely making contact with the leather of the football. Anthony came down knowing the ball was firmly in his hands, running toward the opposing end zone as fast as possible. Focused on making it to the end zone Anthony didn’t hear much of the roar from the Winyah fans that began as he plucked a clearly overthrown ball from the air. And when one of the Conway boys dived into him like a runaway train driving him into the Tiger’s benches and the assorted benchwarmers occupying them he didn’t hear the roar die just as quickly as it began. The tackle had actually knocked him unconscious with the same referee from the year before making the call that he had lost possession of the ball before going out of bounds. As he was carried off the field the play was rerun but without the spectacular catch. The Tigers were able to run out the clock, winning again with a questionable call for the second time.

The nature of high school being what it is Anthony carried the blame for the loss even though everyone admitted the referee had screwed them again. Nothing was ever said directly but Anthony saw it in the eyes of his fellow students and teammates in both his classes and at practice. Making matters worse he blamed himself questioning whether he had actually had the ball completely under his control.

On a Saturday night a couple of weeks later that Anthony, in his quiet despair, had walked alone toward the theater to see a movie. Arriving much too early he had taken a seat on a nearby bench in front of the old closed pharmacy next door to the theater hoping that he would be left alone. The September night air was cool signaling an early arrival of fall weather and being wrapped up in his apparent failure he both went unnoticed by those passing him by and he wasn’t really aware of anyone around him. He probably would have stayed that way rerunning that play in his mind if he hadn’t felt the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder.

“As far as my dad is concerned you caught that ball”, the soft hand on his shoulder said.

Turning around Anthony saw that the hand was connected to a girl that even in the dim light cast by street lights he saw had blue eyes and long brown hair. Slightly shocked that anyone would speak to him Anthony said nothing as the girl came around and sat next to him on the bench.

“We were in the seats directly across from you and my dad was looking through his binoculars. He said that you had both hands on the ball before you were thrown out of bounds.” The clearly lovely young girls dressed in simple blue jeans and light sweater said moving closer to him.

Anthony finally found both his mind and tongue but still had trouble forming something complex to say. “Yeah, but you and your father appear to be the only ones.” He finally sputtered out some words feeling foolish for saying something he father would describe as whining.

“That may be the case, “the young girl said, “but in the end someone else in school will do something soon that will make them forget about you.”

Anthony found himself both relieved and somehow insulted that he could drop so quickly off the minds of his fellow students. With his mind now shocked into full function he finally collected enough of his wits to ask who the young lady sitting next to him was.

“Oh”, she grinned, “I’m Sara Lewis, I just started going to Winyah at the beginning of this school year. My dad works at the Republic Star textile plant over on Pennyroyal Road. We moved down from Ohio when he was transferred here.” Sara looked at Anthony playing with her long hair, Anthony in turn was happy that he had someone talking to him he felt didn’t blame him for the loss finally found the words Sara was hoping to hear.

“Say, would you like to go see the movie with me?” He asked.

“Yes”, she said jumping up from the bench grabbing his hand, “I’ll buy my own ticket but you will buy the popcorn and Cokes for both of us.”

From that night on it didn’t take long before Anthony and Sara became a couple. And a mere month from graduation in 1964 at the same spot they met Anthony asked Sara to marry him. Marriage came right after with his new father-in-law getting him hired on at the textile plant. The following years were the happiest in his life with Sara and later his son Michael being born. But being the big boss’s son-in-law only could open so many doors forcing him to look elsewhere for a chance at further advancement.

The answer came in the form of a position up in Ohio at an electronics manufacturing plant. With the help of his father-in-law he was able to get hired on as an assistant production manager and on a hot July day in 1968 he drove off from his hometown. He had no idea at the time but the demands of a family would prevent him from returning except of the death of his father and to move his mother up north to live with them afterward.

Sitting in the folding chair inside the empty theater auditorium Anthony felt the weariness of his long years slide off his shoulders. For all his years of working he had never felt he reached a point he and his family were safe. Anthony quickly found out that his new coworkers were always seeking an edge against each other looking to insert a knife in the back the minute someone made the slightest mistake. Sara quickly got lost in the allure material things she wanted and in the frustration of what was beyond her reach. This led her to always raise the bar in the lifestyle she felt she deserved. The arrival of their second child, Alicia, only accelerated Sara’s demands.

Adding to the strain was the need to jump from job to job not only to continue to provide the lifestyle they had become accustom to but to avoid the increasing pace of businesses moving jobs overseas. This continued even after Anthony had long since moved into the upper management levels. To the very day he retired he lived with the fear that he would receive a sudden notice that the jobs he and his workers depended on were being sent overseas to cheaper labor.

Just a few months after retirement Sara was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s which ended up draining much of the savings he was able to buildup after the children had finished college. Painfully he watched his wife slip away until nothing of her was left. The cost of caring for his wife had also taken a toll on his health resulting in two heart attacks that forced him to sell the house he and Sara raised the children in and move in with Michael to pay off the hospital bills and because his declining health made it hard for him to live by himself.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to rest Anthony closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. The familiar firmness of the thin cushion on his back and the feel of the polished wood of the armrest transported him back to a time when movies still played in the building. In the shadows around him he began to feel the comforting presence of people from those years before so much responsibility had fallen to him. Anthony felt no fear as he recognized the faces of those that gathered around him as family and friends that had already passed away. They welcomed him home, saying how they had missed him and that it was his time to rest. As they began pulling him away from this world Anthony had no regrets as he felt himself slip away. He had done everything expected of him and he had finally come home to stay.

Erin’s visit to drop off some items and collect papers became more complicated after one of the items she needed to pick up, the script for the next performance, was not in the place it was suppose to be. After several quick calls trying to locate the missing script she gave up and began to collect what she had when she suddenly remembered the old man. She walked out of the office and into the auditorium to tell him it was time to leave.

“Mr. Taylor”, she called out to the still form sitting in one of the chairs, “I’ve got to go sir and lock up.”

Figuring his lack of response was due to him having fallen asleep in the chair Erin was unconcerned. She walked down next to him and laid her hand on his shoulder instantly seeing that he was not sleeping. Whatever reaction of fright or concern she might have normally had evaporated instantly after seeing the peaceful, happy look that the sad old man she met at the door now had on his face.

Feeling better about things already.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again. Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause. Who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat. - Theodore Roosevelt, The Man in the Arena

Not much can be truly be discerned from just one day in office but first impressions suggest that our new president is a steady, pragmatic, but yet dynamic man who honestly believes his duty is to all the people of this country. I am looking forward again to the promise and principles of what I believe America was founded on after eight years in which they were betrayed. The journey of renewal we are embarking on will be long and hard with some actively sabotaging efforts while others will be upset that their pet issues will not take precedence. Before some dreams can realized the basic framework of the country will have to be secured along with carefully disentangling our forces from foolish crusades started by incompetents and pursued by criminals. All told it will be far better to stand with that man in the arena and work to build something of meaning to all even though there will be things I would like to see done put off to a later date.

Six Random Things

Strangely enough my very good friend Utah Savage wants to know six more random things about me and given that I have absolutely no life and, even worse, no beer on a Saturday night I am more than happy to comply. Word of warning though, I am really rummaging through the dusty bins of my mind for this stuff and I will not be held accountable for what spills out on the page. Here are the rules:

The Rules
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Random Thing One:

My mom and dad had one of those special relationships made in Hell. If ever two people shouldn’t have ever come in contact with each other it was them. The only relationship I can think of that comes close to being as bad was my mom’s second marriage to a guy I will call “Billy”. Mom and Billy met while she was still married to my dad and they had one of those full-fledged affairs that engulfed my siblings and me. Several times mom and Billy decided that they needed a fresh start on life and packed us kids up and drove until the felt that they had ran far enough away from whatever might be chasing them. Our locations ranged from Tulsa, Oklahoma, Fort Smith, Arkansas, Birmingham, Alabama, or something as close to home as Mount Pleasant, South Carolina back before it was overwhelmed by the urban sprawl of Charleston.

But for this little segment I will limit myself to Birmingham, Alabama. Billy’s occupation was building kitchen cabinets, writing bad checks, along with an interest in alcoholism that he and my mom shared. More often than not his preoccupation with alcoholism screwed up any money making gig building cabinets he could find. Never one to rest on his laurels, whenever he was between jobs Billy could write a check for anything we needed, the small matter of having no money in the bank to cover those checks was little concern to him for several years. Those bouncing checks finally did catch up with him and he ended spending two years in prison as a guest of the state of South Carolina. Yes, my mother was still seeing him but that is a whole other story.

But during one of Billy and mom’s epic journeys across the southern United States some word floated to them somehow about a cabinet maker needing people. Billy, actually quite good at woodwork, was hired and we once again settled down in some little town just outside Birmingham. Now their money had run out somewhere in Georgia and they had nothing to even rent a room at a motel. It turned out that one of Billy’s new coworkers had a small cottage behind his house that was unoccupied and he would let us live there until Billy and mom could afford something else.

During this time the ripples of racial integration in the public schools were still bouncing around and something called “White flight” was still happening. In the years after “Brown versus the Board of Education” the good Christian Southern white folk, ever scared that the empowered black man might despoil their precious proto-Southern belles, hurriedly established private schools that only they could afford. So as Billy’s generous new coworkers was showing us the cottage he pointed out that the local school district was completely African-American and that his kids went to a nearby white Christian school so they could properly learn how the world was really created in six days. Okay, I greatly paraphrased what he actually said but what he did say was so offensive I’ll just let y’all figure it out.

Now I must admit to some outright fear at my two brothers and I going to an all African-American school, after all I was child of the South being fed the normal racial stereotypes. My youngest sibling, my sister, was not yet old enough for even kindergarten. Early the very next Monday morning mom brought us to the school and began filling out the required paperwork as my brothers and I sat in the office lobby. I could already tell we were making a huge impact with the stares we were receiving through the office window facing the hallway. After what seemed like several hours my mom left and my brothers and I were sent to our respective classrooms.

Please forgive me but my little story is ultimately anticlimactic. Far from having any racial troubles at that school my brothers and I were huge hits becoming something of celebrities. A great many of the details escape me, such as the name of that school, the exact time we spent enrolled there, and a great many of the names of the people that became my friends there. But I will write that the entire time there we were treated with respect and kindness. Many others would do well to experience what my brothers and I went through at that school.

As usual Billy and mom’s relationship either blew up or Billy began drinking again just a few months later. Either way it forced us to leave that school with mom leaving Billy and returning to our father who was living in Wichita Falls, Texas. Confused about the mom, dad, Billy relationship? Just think how I feel.

Random Thing Two:

South Carolina started its lottery a few years ago and while I do not spend much money on it as compared to some I do occasionally waste a dollar or two from time to time. Back in May of 2003 I returned to work for a local manufacturing plant that early 2002 had laid me off when the telecommunications bubble popped causing a minor recession. It took me about three weeks after returning to this employer to realize that I had screwed the pooch coming back. The entire nature of how middle and upper management treated their employees had changed and my coworkers, upset that I had been called back ahead of others with more seniority, were none too happy to see me return.

Finding myself working both mechanical and electrical maintenance alone during the 11:00pm to 7:00am shift without a complete grasp on all the equipment I had responsibility for I truly felt that I was not only up a creek without a paddle but heading straight for a large waterfall.

The employer I worked for after being laid off in 2002 repaired X-ray equipment at a different hospital than I work at now. They were great people and treated me well but for several reasons couldn’t match what I had been making at the manufacturing plant. So when the manufacturing plant called me back I jumped at the chance leaving the X-ray people behind. Three weeks later I called them back literally begging for a chance to return. As usual my luck stayed the same with them having filled my position with an experienced technician. Being screwed I had to dig my heels in and make the best of the job I had despite the circumstances.

One of my avenues to relieve the stress was that once a week I would buy a lottery ticket consisting of two separate sets of numbers that covered the two drawings that were held each week. When my first line supervisor would come in at 6:00am I would joke with him that if he ever came in the next morning and I was missing from the plant he should assume that my numbers hit the night before. He would laugh when I told him once I checked the numbers finding out I won, I would simply walk out without saying anything to anybody. My first line boss understood how I felt and he wasn’t happy either with the way things were going with the company. So he had no issue with my “little jokes” although for once I had enough sense not to tell anyone else.

I played the same two sets of numbers for a good long while using the same number slip in which you colored in the numbers with a pencil then ran it through a machine that prints out the actual ticket. At some point I lost that particular slip and not ever really believing I would win filled out another picking different numbers.

By early 2005 much had changed for the better at that job, although there were still several issues that were never resolved. Through long hours of toll and sweat I learned most of the equipment in the plant and as business continued to improve eventually they hired another guy to work with me on the night shift. And I had long since stopped playing the lottery on a regular basis and when I did I almost always played different numbers.

One quiet night at work that same year as I surfed the company supplied internet by chance I drifted over to the South Carolina lottery web site to check the numbers. Much to my surprise I noticed the numbers drawn that night bore a strong familiarity. Yes, while I can’t be completely sure since I didn’t keep old lottery tickets and the number slip had long since itself been lost I’m still pretty sure one set of numbers I had played for so long had hit. No, I never told my wife, she wouldn’t believe me and this is the first time I have ever made any mention about the whole subject.

Random Thing Three:

This one little piece of information so totally freaks out both my wife and in-laws that their strong reaction to my opinion actually surprises me. They are completely enamored with the idea of owning a large house, letting the value of that house increase, and then at some point selling it and moving into another bigger house. Talking with them to the best of my understanding a house to them is nothing but an investment, an item that holds no other value that the resell price, and a place to store the stuff you buy.

The way I look at the subject is completely different. I look at the lemming-like behavior of constantly going deeper into debt for a bigger house something akin to willingly entering a 21st century serfdom. I see no great advantage to having a bigger house just to go even deeper in debt buying more stuff on credit so you can fill that one up requiring an even bigger house once you have ran out of room again. Where in my wife and in-laws come into this is that I often speak of downsizing even to the point of living in some sort of camper trailer so I could return to the coast. Of course my wife will chime in saying that if I ever did do such a thing she would not be with me. That is when I tell her I didn’t say anything about her coming in the first place. Stay tuned on that one, there may be more down the road.

Random Thing Four:

As much as it may surprise some I dated a married lady for a short time while I was stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado. One of my friends, Brian Summers, received the greater portion of his enlistment bonus at some point and wanted to buy a motorcycle with it. Brian had no other means of transportation so he asked me to drive him around so he could shop for one at the various dealerships. He finally found one he liked and started the paperwork with the finance lady. While Brian drifted back over to his new two wheeled lover I returned to the waiting area which was right next the desk of the finance lady. Mind you this is way before the internet and even before computers because I remember the lady working on an actual typewriter. With the approval process taking up so much time she and I began to talk and found that we both had several things in common. The lady’s name was Annette; she was in her early thirties, blond with a nice build and pretty face. Being honest here when she told me that she was married I did change gears on the conversation going from actively interested, to just friendly. Finally Brian shows up having done everything he needed to do and wanting to head out for pizza and beer that he had to buy since I drove him around.

A week or so later we head back to the motorcycle dealership so he can take procession of the bike. Annette was there and after Brian rides off looking far more goofy than cool in my opinion she comes over and asked if I wanted to get a bite to eat.

Yes, had I any decency I would have turned her down but I was in my twenties, she was downright hot, and I hadn’t had a date in a good while. So I was mortal, got in her car and we went out to a nearby deli. It was there I learned that her husband was a soldier and stationed in Korea. He had been there for six months and after a huge fight in which he admitted to Annette of doing something he shouldn’t with someone, along with getting emotionally attached with that someone, they had not talked for three months. Our conversation drifted for a good while until she brought me back to my car. I saw her again three more times until she called one day to tell me we shouldn’t see each other anymore. She had heard from her husband and wanted to work things out with him. I agreed, and never saw her again.

Random Thing Five:

We have had our new dog Sparky for several months now and I must admit to one bad thing. Please understand that I wouldn’t take anything for him and that he is a member of my family but Sparky is a hassle in that any activity we plan must work around him. I almost talked Dragonwife into going on a weekend trip to Charleston a few weeks ago with the whole plan falling apart because we had no one to take care of the dog. A kennel would have added a whole new expense that far exceeded the budget for the trip and we have no one that could have come to the house to take care of him. So we stayed home and instead my daughter and I just ended up walking him at one of the parks. Go ahead and shoot me I’m a terrible person, I know.

Random Thing Six:

Most everyone who has been a steady reader of my posts know that three members of my family passed away last year, my grandmother, my mother, and the man I called Uncle Paul in my posts. Never being someone who worries about such things I did come up with plans for my own passing. It has been arranged that when I do join the celestial reggae band in the sky I am to be cremated with my ashes spread over the marsh at Pawleys Island. Screw that expensive casket crap and other stuff. For anyone from Georgetown County that does stumble across my sad words hopefully far down the road just think, that grit you wash out of that flounder or shrimp you caught in the creek between the island and the mainland might be this Parrothead. This circle of life shit rocks, later y’all its late and I’m going to bed.

Okay, y'all saddle up and go random:

Lime

Colonel

Mike

Rose

C. Rag

oo7