It is Theme Thursday and I just looked at my blog and realized I haven’t written in a week. I have been jonsing bad but I have been busy. I know you wonder what the heck could keep me away from you for so long. Honestly there is nothing more important than you. Well I have an excuse but it will have to wait until later because right now we must get out of park and put it into drive because this week’s theme is PARK. I know you know what to do. Read my story then click on the link back to THEME THURSDAY and go read all the wonderful other post. It is amazing how many different views there will be on the same word, Park.

Trooper Bob drove into the drive and slid the gear shift to “P”. He walked toward the house tired from yet another day of working the back roads and by ways. He unbuckled his Sam Brown and hung it in the closet and gratefully put on his well worn overalls. He knew there were a couple of little girls waiting to pounce on him.

He walked into the kitchen where Gladys sat at the counter doing her homework. “Hi Daddy” she yelled as she threw herself into him. “Whatcha doin? Whereyou been? Did anything funny happen today? Didju bring me sumin?” came rushing from his youngest daughter’s mouth. She never stopped talking, she even talked in her sleep. He laughed and grabbed her glass of tea and drank it to the bottom. “Naw, not much. Just a herd of elephants speeding out on FM603 but other than that a pretty slow day” he replied as he sat down the empty glass. “Hey” Gladys exclaimed as she picked up her empty glass and made her way to the tea pitcher. She carefully poured the thick sweat amber colored tea syrup into the glass and added water. She stirred the tea with a long silver spoon and handed the glass to her daddy “here have some more since you seem to be drinkin enough for them elephants.”

Trooper Bob took the glass and sat down next to her “whatcha workin on?” Gladys turned her big book full of numbers toward her daddy “fractions. I HATE fractions. They are soooooo lame. I mean it doesn’t make since turning numbers upside down and then figuring them by crossing out the others.” Trooper Bob eyed the book and looked at Gladys as if she had just spoke Martianese “yep, I guess they seem pretty lame if you put it that way but honestly I don’t know what the heck your talkin bout. Must be some of that new math.” Gladys took her number 2 pencil and scratched out a few more problems then stuck her paper into her notebook and declared “all done. What are we gonna do now?” Trooper Bob set his glass in the sink and looked out the window “guess we better get busy on that old Dodge out there. We ain’t never gonna be able to drive it if we don’t get it running.”

Gladys grabbed the step stool from the corner and scooted it toward the window “yep. She’s been parked out there way too long. I gotta run change into my play clothes then I’ll come help ya.” She ran from the kitchen before she could see her daddy shake his head and roll his eyes. He knew she meant well but she was like a bull in a china cabinet around anything mechanical. He walked out the door and onto the driveway where the old Dodge pick-up sat looking forlorn. He grabbed his tool box and noticed he was missing a screw driver or two. He made a mental note to check the plug covers in the house. Gladys had a tendency to screw and unscrew the covers from the wall. He grabbed a wrench and wiggled under the sturdy old truck.

Gladys hit the door running “I’m ready Daddy. What can I get you? Do you need a wrench? What size? Hey can I screw in the screws?” Trooper Bob jumped as she crawled in the cab and hit the horn. “Honey, can you go get me that left handed henway?” Now Gladys had been working on the old truck with her dad for several months and she had fetched hammers, tape, wire, wrenches, ratchets and washers but to her knowledge she had never fetched a henway. Gladys crawled under the truck got right in her daddy’s face and said “what’s a henway?” Trooper Bob bit back a snort and replied “oh a good one is about 6 pounds.” Gladys sat for a moment then he saw the light go on over her head “DAAAAAADDDEEEEEEE”. Bob finished replacing the oil plug and crawled out from under the truck “go get me that oil over there. We will fill this baby up then take her for a spin.” Gladys ran as fast as her PF Flyers would take her and grabbed the cans of oil. She lugged each one over to the truck and went back for the spout “okay Daddy, I got it all. Fill her up I want to drive.”

Once the Dodge was juiced up Gladys jumped on the big springy bench seat and planted herself squarely behind the steering wheel. “Scooch over Peewee” Bob told her as he climbed in the driver’s seat. “But you said I could drive” Gladys whined. “You can but I got to get it started up and work the pedals. You can’t see over the dash sitting on my lap much less work the pedals and see to drive.” Gladys knew he was right and relinquished her position. Bob fiddled and fussed and pumped the gas until finally the old engine roared to life. Gladys studied every move her daddy made knowing she would mimic each move. She watched as he moved the shifter from one position to the next and looked over his shoulder as he backed. She watched how he steered with the ball that was attached to the wheel, the one he called the suicide ball. She watched as he worked the foot pedals and glanced from mirror to mirror. She was ready. She could do this.

Trooper Bob stopped at the stop sign and signaled for Gladys to crawl over. She planted herself in her daddy’s lap and grabbed hold of the shifter. She nodded as he depressed the clutch and she moved it into first gear. She put one hand on the wheel and the other on the suicide knob as they eased into the intersection and she pulled the wheel to the right with all her might. The wheel barely moved. She grabbed the wheel with both hands and pulled with all her weight and still it barely moved. Then she took and deep breath and tried once again. Magically it began to turn. She thought it was from the extra muscles she was using then she saw that her daddy had helped her a little. She felt royal sitting up high in the old truck as they cruised down the road. She drove up and down the streets turning left and then right always with a little help from her daddy. “Hey we need to go pick up Matilda from the school. You wanna drive over there” Trooper Bob asked. Gladys looked up at him and replied “shoot yeah! Matilda will be so jealous that I’m drivin.”

They eased up to the school. “Just park right on over there in front of the school” Trooper Bob told Gladys as if she were the one really driving. Gladys held on to the wheel and turned and pulled and parked that Dodge truck right in front of the school house. She could see her sister and her sister’s best friend standing in the courtyard “Daddy, there she is. Can I honk the horn?” Trooper Bob saw Matilda look towards the truck and then away. “Sure go ahead. Maybe she doesn’t see us.” Gladys laid down on that horn and everyone in the school yard turned to look. Matilda looked stricken. She was red faced and began to run away from the truck. “Daddy, where is she going? I know she saw us. I’ll honk again just in case.” Once again Gladys pushed on the horn and allowed it to admit its obnoxious call. Matilda was nowhere to be seen now. Gladys was perplexed. Then she saw Matilda heading away from the school to the Park down the street. “Look Daddy there she is. She is going to the Park.” Bob started the truck and Gladys shifted into first gear the two of them working as a team putted down to the park.

There standing to the side was Matilda. She looked both ways then jumped in the truck. “Look Daddy let me drive all the way over here. Why did you run away when you saw us? Didn’t you know when you honk you’re supposed to come? Why is your face so red? Have you been runnin or something? Hey look see this thing right here? It’s called a suicide knob. Oh and see this the “R” means race and the “1” means slow and the “P”, well I don’t know what the “P” means but I got to drive. Hey can you look in the glove box and hand me that henway” Gladys said all in one breath. “Shut up” Matilda hissed “I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Everybody is going to think we are some kind of hillbilly or something. I can’t believe you picked me up in this nasty ugly old truck. I could have just died. DIED! Right there in the courtyard of Taylor Elementary School! DIED!” She sat back in the seat arms crossed seething.

Gladys looked at her daddy and then at her sister “what are you talking about? This truck in neato keen. It is just a little rough around the edges. You just wait until we get her painted up. She’ll be brand spankin new. What do you mean hillbillies? Like the Beverly Hillbillies? Movie stars…swimming pools, the next thing you know old Jed’s a millionaire, kin folks say Jed Move away from there.” Matilda started to get her color back as she watched her annoying little sister bounce up and down “Hey how come YOU get to drive” she asked. Gladys smiled “cause I helped Daddy fix his truck. I git to drive. Now can you git me that henway from the glove compartment? I can’t I’m busy driving.” Trooper Bob just watched as the older of the girls started rummaging through the glove compartment. Matilda removed papers and napkins and some little monkeys that they put on the side of your coke down at Kim’s Circus Drive-In. “What the heck’s a henway” she finally asked. That’s when Gladys and Trooper Bob said in unison “about 6 pounds.”

Help Me Jeebus

Here it is Thursday and I am just getting to the theme for this week’s THEME THURSDAY post. This week the theme is HELP. Lord knows I need all the help I can get. Not only do I need lots of help but I need it all of the time. Isn’t that true of all of us though? We all need help but few of us ever ask for it? Think about it, your husband is taking a 150 lb toilet off the shelf at the local Home Depot and will not even ring that little help bell and wait for Mr. Iselltoiletsatthehomedepot to come and give a hand in hefting the crapper onto the flatbed. I remember when heard the Beatles sing their song I thought Geeze somebody just help the poor guys! I was having a tough time coming up with a story for this week and then just when I thought I was done for I got by with a little help from my friends. When you finish mine go on over to THEME THURSDAY and help yourself to my compatriots entries.


I am going to preface this story with I don’t remember who told it to me and the names are totally my own but the events of the story are pretty much true, give or take a few fabrications. To the person who originally told me this story I apologize if I have totally bastardized it and made it my own. If it upsets you then go write your own dang story. With out anymore rigmarole, what exactly is rigmarole? Is it very stiff marole? What is marole? I digress yet again.

Bubba was a handy type of guy who often worked in his garage in his spare time. He enjoyed fondling and cuddling his Dremel. He patted and caressed his DeWalt router and he rubbed and polished his Skill circular saw daily. He salivated at the mere mention of power tools and was tossed into pure ecstasy upon entering the tool department at the local Home Depot or Lowes. Lord help us should he have the opportunity to visit the local Habor Freight tools. Yes Bubba was smitten with all manly things that ripped, tore, hammered, cut, dremeled and routed. He loved to find project with which he could spend hours utilizing his tools.

There was only one minor problem. Ok, maybe it was a major problem. Bubba was accident prone. Not only was he accident prone but he was downright deadly with his Dewalt. Oh not homicidal, no he was more suicidal. Bubba was also adverse to directions, instructions and manuals. “Hell, I’m a man” he would declare upon acquisition of a new implement “I don’t need no instruckshins nur nuthin.” Then he would push the on button and begin to terrorize oak, walnut, pine, metal, meat or the cat with his new toy. Yes Bubba was a man’s man.

One day as Bubba was slowly and sensuously unwrapping his new reciprocating saw he noticed a pipe sticking out of his garage wall. It was a big metal pipe seemingly coming from and going to nowhere. It was protruding from the wall but there was no destination. It was just capped on one end. Bubba being the curious type and not one to ask for help walked around his garage and saw that the pipe evidently went into the ground behind the wall since it did not extend to the outside wall of the structure. A light bulb went off. Bubba had an idea. It was a brilliant idea. One in which he could utilize his knowledge and skill of construction and his new reciprocating saw.

Bubba ran back into his garage/shop and fired up his new saw. He cut and sawed and sawed and cut until he had the wall board cut from around the insertion area of the pipe. Bubba knew he really only needed to cut a couple of inches wider than the size of the pipe but since a little is good well a lot is better. True to his believe Bubba cut an area four feet wide and five feet high for the 1 inch pipe. He cleared and tore all the sheet rock out and saw that indeed the pipe rose from the ground made a 90 degree turn and invaded his space. This would not do. Bubba could not let this assault go unnoticed and unrepaired. He vowed with fist in air “AS GAWD IS MY WITNESS I WILL DO AWAY WITH THIS AFRONT!”

Bubba but on his safety glasses with the Dale Earnhardt number 3 on the side and grabbed his Milwaukee reciprocating saw. He swaggered to the offending pipe and pushed the trigger. The saw began to vibrate and whir. Bubba was whirring a little too what with the six pack of Bud Light and the headiness of the saw. He wielded the saw as if it were Excalibur and the pipe the Black Knight. The saw came down on the metal with clash and sparks. Bubba jumped back quickly and realized as he did the cut through his left forearm and there was just a moment when bone could be seen.

It didn’t seem real. He could see the cut. He could see the bone. There was no blood and no pain. He was sure that it was just something on his Dale Earnhardt safety glasses.

He reached up with his right hand and hit the overhead light with the saw which caused it to crash and bang and pop and spark and darken. He sat the saw down and grabbed the golden shaded glasses from his nose. There looking back at him was the biggest gash he had ever seen and it was spewing blood like the Cold Duck fountain he had at his wedding.

Bubba looked around for something to stop the bleeding. He moved around like a drunken man squirting blood here and there like a child’s Spirograph. Finally on the corner of his bench he sees the perfect bandage. He reaches out and grabs the dirty red shop rag and wraps it around his forearm. The bleeding is profuse. He sits on his mechanics stool and looks for something else to help stop the bleeding. He sees his industrial size container of super glue. Hey Billy Mays hung from a steel girder it surely would stick some flesh and fat together he reasoned. He pinched the skin up slathered the super glue on the wound and held it together for what he figured was an appropriate amount of time. It worked. It was all good. The wound was sealed except for a few stray squirts of blood. He searched his table for a bandaid but found none. He picked up the brand new role of bright orange duct tape he had just purchased to complete his collection of colored duct tape. He had wondered what he could uses bright orange for and this was just the thing. He wound it around his arm six or seven times used his teeth to tear it off and wiped the blood stains from the rest of the roll. He sat a moment and studied his handiwork. Bubba decided not only was he one hell of a handy man but he wasn’t too shabby an E.R. doctor. Heck that George Clooney didn’t have nothing on him.

Bubba grabbed the saw and just as he was about to assault the offensive pipe again the door from the house opened. Out stepped his pretty little bride, Betty Jean. “Bubba honey, what was all that racket I heard out here” she asked as she stepped through the door in her favorite house dress carrying a big glass of sweet tea. She stopped just as her feet hit the rubber mat and screamed a blood curdling scream just like in the old horror shows. Bubba jumped and once again dropped his saw. “Dammit Betty Jean! You could have made me break my saw! What the hell is all that screamin” Bubba barked.

Betty Jean grabbed her chest and pointed toward the blood splattered all over her newly epoxyed garage floor. “Bubba, did you kill someone” she whispered. Bubba put the saw lovingly on the work bench and grabbed a towel “hell no! I jest cut myself up a little. No big deal don’t worry about it.” Betty Jean looked around the rest of the garage and saw the drywall cut away from the pipe then at Bubba and the blood. “Bubba what did you do to your arm? Why are you so pale” Bubba grabbed a red shop towel and wiped his forehead and sat down. “Well I was trying to cut that pipe and the saw slipped and I cut my arm. I think I saw bone. You know now that you mention it I don’t feel so good.” Betty Jean walked over and began examining Bubba’s arm. “Hun, we need to get you to the doctor. Why did you yell for help?” Bubba grabbed his arm away from his sweet little bride and replied “I don’t need no help. I fixed it up myself. Besides I’m not done cutting this pipe out of here so I can repair the wall.”

Betty Jean walked over to the pipe and gasped “you damned fool! That’s the gas pipe that used to go to the gas dryer before we built the laundry room on. That pipe has gas in it. You would have blown us to hell and back. Now let’s go get you some help for that arm.” Bubba looked at the pipe then at the saw. His shoulders sagged a little and he replied “well now that you mention it. I don’t feel so good.”

Lawrence of Suburbia Part V Oh Goddess!

Remember the old seriel stories?  Lone Ranger, Cisco Kid, King of the Texas Rangers (do you see a recurring theme here?) where there was this hero and he saved the village and restored law and justice?  Yeah this isn't one of those.  This is the misadventures of a young girl trying to figure out her place in things. 

This is part 5 of my story if you are following if not and want to catch up it starts here Lawrence of Suburbia or you can go to my sidebar and click on my tags: Lawrence of Suburbia and it will take you to the series.  Now return with me to those thrilling days of yesteyear... Hi Ho Gladys...



PART V: Oh GODDESS!

Gladys arrived at the beautiful prairie style house located just outside of town. She drove up the road marveling at the way the lights glittered in the windows and the smell of hay. Her little car eased up the caliche circle drive and she parked in front of the brightly lit porch. Gladys looked around and thought someday I want to have a house like this. Wouldn’t it be grand to be married to Omar and live here with Hawkeye? We could walk the fields and feed the cows and have horses.

She was awakened from her reverie “Hey Gladys! Glad you found the place!” Eunice dressed in a colorful caftan came down the steps from the porch carrying a margarita glass. She reached over and kissed each of Gladys’ cheeks “come on up here and bring that bucket of chicken.” They climbed the steps and settled into a couple of wooden rocking chairs on the porch. Gladys was overwhelmed by the hominess and comfort of the whole pastoral setting. It was as if she were in a movie or better yet a Laura Ingalls Wilder book. She could see it now Little Gladys on the Prairie. She would be in a skirt and apron waiting for Pa to return from getting supplies in town at the Olson’s General Store.

Gladys realized Eunice had asked her a question and she swallowed her gulp of tangy lime and tequila “I’m sorry what did you say?” Eunice patted her on the hand “Hun, what was all the water works about this afternoon? You got man problems?” Eunice’s question was a hot poker on the wound. “Yep” Gladys was able to choke out. Eunice picked up a heavy glass pitcher with a blue rim and poured more liquid into Gladys glass. She sat down took a deep breath and lit a little incense stick. The aroma of sage and patchouli saturated the early evening air. Then Eunice began to chant “ohhhhmmmmmkneeekholeee” over and over again. Gladys shifted uneasily in her chair and took another big gulp of the salty lime concoction. She watched as Eunice went through her ritual wondering if she were some type of witch doctor or voodoo lady.

When Eunice had finished her chant she leaned over and ran her finger through the ashes of the burned incense. She got up from her seat and walked over to Gladys. She began to chant “release this child from her heartbreak, release her from her suffering, and release her from the grasp of this man.” Gladys sat frozen in her chair unsure if she was a part of some type of satanic ritual or if her new found friend was crazy as a bed bug. Gladys watched intently and silently as Eunice lifted her hands over her head and cried out for the goddess’ protection. She wiped the ashes up Gladys forehead and down her nose. She swiped up another batch of ashes and shook them over Gladys head then fell to her feet and whispered “so it shall be”.

Gladys didn’t know what the proper etiquette here was. Had she been in her church back home she would have said a resounding AMEN. She was out of her element and just what goddess was Eunice crying out to? Should she make a comment or stay silent. Nurse Meme had always said when you don’t know what’s going on it’s best to keep your trap shut. That is precisely what Gladys did with the exception of downing the rest of her tangy drink.

Eunice once again took her seat and grabbed Gladys by the hand “Okay hun, nothing you say or think about this man will hurt you anymore. You are under the protection of the goddess. Go on and tell me all about this bastard who obviously broke your heart.” Gladys sighed and held her glass out for a refill; she needed some liquid energy to get her started. She took a drink and then told Eunice the whole story, well almost the whole story. She told her of the Sundays at the lake, the late night dinners and the trips to the afternoon matinees on her days off but for some reason kept both his occupation and name to herself.

They had been on the porch for several hours and had consumed several pitchers of margaritas yet Gladys still felt incredibly thirsty. “Hun, there is another pitcher of these in the freezer in the kitchen. You wanna get them” Eunice asked. Gladys giggled, hic-cupped “sure.” She stumbled from her chair and made her way through the tastefully decorated old farm house. She could feel the tequila taking over her body and mind. Her face was numb, a sure sign that she was tipsy. She found the kitchen and the big green refrigerator. She opened the freezer and found not one but three more pitchers of margaritas. Boy, Eunice must really like margarita’s she thought. She set the glass container on the table and turned to shut the freezer door when she heard a dog barking and whining at the door. Gladys walked over to the screen door turned the latch and was instantly assaulted by the biggest most beautiful Irish setter. He jumped on her and began to lick her face.

Gladys was instantly sober. How could this be? How could Hawkeye be here at this house? How could he be here at this house miles from anywhere? She looked around the kitchen and it didn’t make sense. Maybe he had escaped from Omar on one of his excursions. Omar must be mad with worry. He must be panicking. She had to get Hawkeye in her car and back to Omar. She grabbed Hawkeye by the collar and started back out to the porch to explain to Eunice why she must go.

She pulled the big dog through the parlor but as she did something caught her eye. There above the fireplace mantle as big as could be was a beautiful black and white photograph. Gladys stopped and gasped as she looked at the photo. It was taken outside on the porch steps of this very farmhouse. There was no mistaking that the dog in the picture was Hawkeye and that the other two subjects were Eunice and Omar. They were kissing with Hawkeye looking up at the two of them. The picture radiated happiness and love.

Gladys was paralyzed. Her pickled brain was trying to process what she was seeing. Hawkeye was trying to pull her back into the kitchen and her feet were melded into the floor. Then the light bulb illuminated and it all became clear. Gladys let go of the Irish setter and turned for the door. She ran as fast as she could through the house and out the door. She literally flew from the porch and was driving down the drive before the screen door shut. Her last impression was of Eunice standing on the porch mouth agape and margarita glass held up in a protest.

Tune in next week and don't forget to drink your Ovaltine....

Gladys Has A Thriftcatastrophe (A Rant)

Is it me or has Salvation Army lost their ever loving mind? No really are they batshit crazy? You are wondering what the heck caused this outburst aren’t you? You are thinking “Good Gawd Gladys what the hell did you do now?” Heck I’m wondering what the hell I did now.


I have a project I’m working on but I am a major cheapskate. Kahuna likes to say I’m frugal but really I’m just cheap. I take after my grandfather on my daddy’s side and I will rub two nickels together until they make a dollar.

I saw a bulletin board I want to use in the office. It was perfect. It was a large ornate white frame that had a cork board center. I found one at Pottery Barn but didn’t want to have to go sell my soul to the devil to buy it. I eyed it up and down, fondled it and fingered and grabbed my trusty Stanley measuring tape.

This is the one I want.

This is the one I lug arround that weighs a ton. 

Yes I keep one in my purse don’t you? It wasn’t the color I wanted the frame not the tape and I thought I could do better.

Sometimes I think I'm Junkrestore or Country Cottage Chic which I don’t know if I have told you but I am somewhat craft challenged. My family has banned me from hot glue guns, nail guns, hammers, staple guns, ladders, mod podge and most types of adhesives. Hey I didn’t know that you could super glue your eyelids together, but that’s a story for another day.

I rushed home dimensions in hand, okay they were really in my crackberry, and rushed in to tell Kahuna of my plan. I saw the fear and panic on his face. He began telling me that it would involve miter saws and staple guns and dildos or dados or some such something. I hugged him and patted his head and told him my plan.

I was going to go to the Salvation Army store and buy a pre-made frame. Now I have not been to the Salvation Army store since I had left the ex-asshole. I was so eager to get the heck out of there I left all of my furniture grabbed the dog and the kid and drove 1700 miles in 24 hours just to be free.  I left the ex-asshole not the thrift store, again another story for another day. Kahuna was so thrilled at the fact that I would not be wielding saws and hammers that he promptly drove me to our local SA store.

I just knew there was the perfect frame waiting there for me. I daydreamed all the way that I would walk in and sitting right in front of the store with my name on it would be a 4 foot by 5 foot gold gilt frame priced super cheap. We exited the vehicle and I all but skipped into the thrift shop. I began by looking at some tables out front; I have another scheme for another project which involves a dinning table. I felt the wood, inspected the legs and then checked the price. I looked at it a second time and grabbed Kahuna’s shirt sleeve “honey, would you read this price tag for me?” Kahuna pulled out his spectacles and looked at the tag. He looked at me then squinted his eyes and got his nose inches from the tag “does that say what I think it does” he asked. “Do you think it says $500.00” I retorted. He shook his head yes to which I answered “then it does.” He looked the well worn dinted dinged and broken table up and down and shook his head in disgust.

We entered the old grocery turned thrift palace with trepidation. I spotted in the corner a group of picture-less frames. I made a bee-line for the group and began to paw through them. They weren’t as big as I wanted but I figured I could make two of them and space them out. I found one that would suite my purpose perfectly and hoisted over my head like I was Spanish soccer player and the frame was the World Cup. I was charged and in my mind had already spray painted it stuffed it with cork and had it hanging on my wall. Then I looked at the little tag hanging from the corner.

I put that thing back down like it was on fire. Surely that couldn’t the right price for a peeling gilted picture-less frame. I pulled my granny glasses on the chain up to my eyes and took another gander. My eyes had not deceived me there it was in bold black numbers the price for this little jewel was almost as much as the completed cork board at the Pottery Barn.

How could this be? Isn’t this stuff donated? I know I have donated many, many items to this very store. Heck when I moved I hauled two complete sets of china, pictures of people I no longer wanted to have anything to do with in beautiful frames and a plethora of other items. Why would they have a price of well over $100 on a frame, an empty, peeling picture-less frame? I sighed in defeat and started out of the store when I spotted these barstools marked $50.00 each.

 I had just seen them at Wal*mart for $39.00.

When did Salvation Army Thrift store become Nordstroms? Aren’t they supposed to be cheaper so that the every day normal working stiff can buy things they need?