🎕⚘🎕 2022
May FROM MY PERSPECTIVE
She was sitting in a chair writing letters in a pile of sand
I noticed as I approached her. I thought
it was rather odd for her to be doing that, but I knew there’d be a very good
reason for it. “Hi, Aint Daisy! You seem to be busy. Are you thinking of when you were a little
girl playing in your sandbox?” I gently questioned. She just smiled and continued to write words
in the sand. Every now and then she’d
look over to some irregular stepping stones placed around the yard. They, too, had some words written on
them. I waited for her to raise her eyes
and smile at me. I knew she was in deep
thought. “Hello, chile. I got a little lost in my thoughts. I hope I didn’t offend you none.” “Oh no, Aint Daisy. I doubt you could do that. May I ask what you were doing?” She put the stick down, got up….with a little
bit of my help…and walked to the porch.
She sat down in her favorite chair and poured some fresh sweet tea into
two glasses. She always had at least two
glasses on the tray with the pitcher just in case someone stopped by to
chat. “You asked me what I was
doin’. Well, I’m fixin’ to tell you. I got a phone call from an angry friend. Seems I had said something which she didn’t
take to. Even though I apologized---I
really don’t remember what I said that upset her---she still said some hurtful
things to me, so I started writing in the sand.
I learned a long time ago it helps.”
“I saw you looking at the stepping stones all around the yard, too. What is written on them?” I quietly
asked. “Oh honey, those are my smiling
stones reminding me of kind things. A
long time ago my grandmother told me, ‘Write your hurts in sand; write your
blessings in stone.’ So, that’s what I
try to do when I need to.” I had some
profound words to think about. Ahh, more
wisdom from the Lady of the Holler.
It had been a very windy day when I went to the
library. This was back in March where
the old saying, “In like a lion; out like a lamb” was true. I was hoping it would be reversed since
February had been blustery, but the lion won.
I struggled to open the library door.
Finally inside, I told the desk girls, “It’s times like these that I’m
glad I’m fat. I’m missing my ruby
slippers, though.” And then in April, my
area had very strong winds---up to 60 miles per hour. I had an appointment which I could not
cancel. I had to hold the steering wheel
very firmly so the van wouldn’t be pushed here and there by the wind. I got out and started walking toward the
doctor’s office. Gods, what a chore to
try to remain upright with the force of wind against me. I got in the office safely and greeted the
intake gal at the desk. “I’m so glad I’m
fat. That wind is fierce, and if I were
a skinny thing, I’d be greeting an airplane or the woman riding a bicycle with
Toto in the basket. Since the house fell
on my sister and the ruby slippers were ruined, I’d be a mess.” The gal at the desk lost it and started to
laugh out loud. “Girl, you have just
made my day with what you said. Thank
you so much for the laugh.” Little did
she know I was sort of serious.
It seems a teacher in Mississippi got fired for choosing the
book I NEED A NEW BUTT to read to his class. I'm sure it would have been
compounded had he, also, chosen THE DAY MY FART FOLLOWED ME TO HOCKEY. I
guess whoever decided to fire this teacher has cranial rectal inversion, has
let their importance (and other matter) go to their head, and probably has
never had flatulence. Toby Price, who has been teaching for 20 years, said the
district superintendent, Delesicia Martin, called him into her office and told
him he was being placed on leave. Two days later, Price said, he was accused of
breaking the Mississippi Educator Code of Ethics, and fired. In a letter to
Price, the superintendent reportedly called the book “inappropriate”, pointing
to references to flatulence and noting that it “described butts in various
colors, shapes and sizes (example: fireproof, bullet proof, bomb proof)”.
The Guardian publication March 12, 2022
While eating many slices of round, compressed lunch meat,
Albert Einstien was talking about his theory of relativity. His colleague got bored with Albert’s going
on and on. He said, “You are very smart
and full of bologna, Albert.”
Watermelons are called watermelons because they’re planted
in the spring. Think about it.
People who will not admit they’ve been wrong, love
themselves more than they love the truth.
Which, in my opinion, goes along with, “Truth is hate to those who hate
the truth”.
Brenduh came over with a sandwich. She sat down at the table with me. “Hi kiddo.
Would you like some sweet tea to go with your sandwich?” I asked.
“Yes, I would. You make the best
sweet tea around, Trudy,” she cooed. I
thanked her and poured a large mugs of the nectar from the South. As she bit into her sandwich, I noticed a lot
of bacon. “I thought you were a
vegetarian, Brenduh. Now you’re eating
bacon, which is a meat.” Brenduh didn’t
miss a bite and said, “Well, I still am.
I’m from the South where bacon is a vegetable.” “But, you won’t eat ham,” I mentioned. “Nope, that’s meat.” “Sweetie, bacon and ham are from the same
animal,” I mentioned. “Not in the South
and my mind,” she announced. I then
understood the thinking. She was quiet
for a moment then said, “Hey Trudy, you know that saying about ‘April showers
bring May flowers’? Well, it’s raining
and it’s not April.” I’d just taken from the oven some biscuits. So, I offered her some with honey and butter
to go along with our tea. I had trouble
controlling my eyes from rolling.
Those of us who have to visit the “petroleum one-arm bandit”
cringe just about every time, I’m sure.
I have a friend who has a vehicle which alerts her to various issues
with the car. She was driving when the
“voice” said, “Attention!! Fuel is low.
Get some soon.” She wished she
could reply, “Fuel is expensive; please activate the ‘will fill with air’
option.”
I was talking to a friend on a rainy day. She was complaining about the rain. I told her, “Well, rain makes the flowers
grow, ya know.” She frowned and said,
“It makes the weeds grow, too.” I told
her, “Weeds are unrecognized flowers.
What is a weed to one may be a flower to another. Think of dandelions in the hand of a child
giving them to a favorite person.”
A dear friend messaged me on my phone with indications of wanting to talk at that time. I had to tell her, “I have to go. I’m in the middle of being a domestic goddess (o.k., I’m cleaning). Thank you for the break. A goddess gets tired at times.” She said, “You needed that break. Now go back to being a domestic goddess.” I thanked her and told her, “The crown is being put back on.”
