this may not work for me...

The last move i made was a random ,messy affair and I've determined that this one will be more organized.

Famous last words, right?

Doing my best to cut back on stuff,  liquidate,  etc etc etc

But, I'm a flea market guy... i live on STUFF.

So...going through clothes as they come out of the dryer... it's my favorite hang around the house doing nothing shirt.   It's been washed a gazillion times, its all broke in and comfy... but can i really justify moving it across state lines?  I mean.. its my fave... that coffee stain down the front just gives CHARACTER,  right?
Ok.  Its gotta go.

And yeah... i know i have a good dozen pair of black dress pants, and i only really wear two of them.... but these are the ones I wear to funerals.  Even tho the other black ones are just as nice , these are the funeral pants.   You gotta have funeral pants, right?

And no, i havent worn that uber cool jacket since i quit the night club business... and yeah... its old enough to be retro now... and lets face it... I could probably sta k books on those shoulder pads, but that's my club jacket, dammit... and you may be starting to see why moving doesn't really go that well for me...

I just found out that Justin Bieber has a cologne out that smells like cotton candy.

So, at the end of my work day... i smell like a 13 year old female Justin bieber fan.

CHARMING

Plans...

So... it pretty definite.  I'll be moving to New Orleans at the end of August. I don't have a job lined up yet or even a place to live.  Right now I am focusing on getting all my money and resources together in one spot. When I get there I will sign up with the day labor folks and wash dishes, do warehouse work, etc until I can find something I like better. I'll probably rent a room, as rent is pretty cheap  & I will also be signing up with movie extra casting. I'm doing that because I found out that Louisiana, in particularly New Orleans, is filming in excess of 100 film projects a year. Therefore an experienced extra should be able to get some work.

I'm really impressed that American Horror Story will be filming in New Orleans this year even though this series of the show is actually set in Florida. Trust me. I will be on that set.  If I have to take out every working extra of my physical type to make that happen, so be it.  They're also currently filming NCIS New Orleans, which would be cool too.  Of course, a lot of these projects are just scenes rather than complete movies, but who cares? 

And that's the plan.

Haven't written much,  but it not because I haven't had anything going on...  one of my friends lost his mother last week and I attended the service on Friday. 

They should have warned me. 

I was kind of expecting a service mostly in Spanish, and I'm certainly capable of bowing my head when everybody else does and basically following along.  And of course I knew that the she had attended the Iglesia Baptista, and, living in Texas, I'm certainly familiar enough with Baptist services to basically know what going on, despite any language issues. 

What I didn't know is a nephew, a reverend in a fundamentalist church, would be conducting the service. 

Now, I'm pretty broad minded myself, and I'm certainly willing to tolerate others beliefs and traditions at their funerals and weddings and such... I'm just a guest as I didn't have to attend after all... but if your tradition includes altar calls... and your expecting me to bow down by a casket and have unknown persons pray for my sins in Spanish... you are going to be sorely disappointed.  I will stage my own little Episcopalian revolt right there... fortunately, it never came to that as I noticed the rest of the family and the other mourners seemed to be just as stubbornly sticking to the pews as I was and he moved on... a young lady sang a very good rendition of, "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" and he stood again.

Expecting that the service was winding down after the final hymn, I was disappointed. 

Now he began quoting the bible,  this was a verse about David & Bathsheba.  He then lapsed into Spanish,  so I'm afraid I cannot tell you how that adulterous relationship was relevant to the occasion, but I'm kind of fascinated to know.  And then another altar call.  Again, no takers... but that didn't seem to discorage him much... he's determined... finally,  an hour and a half later, about the time that smokers at the back of the room had begun sneaking out, an the smokers at the front of the room were gritting their teeth, we all stood up and paraded past the casket for the final viewing. 

She was a great lady.  I gladly and willingly endured this terribly uncomfortable service in her memory. 

But an hour and a half is pushing it.  And I'm blaming that preacher.  He's there comfort, not convert, and there's nothing comforting about staring at a coffin while being told the deceased is in heaven and you'd better repent right this second if you want to join her later.  (I'm not making that up... that was the message.  And I cannot for the life of me figure out how David and Bathsheba apply to that.)

So we joined the smokers outside and waited for the graveside service.  The groundskeepers were up to something, and we finally realized they was trying to chase off a coyote who was having a grand old time leading them on a merry chase among the tombstones.  We were all cheering the coyote on actually, for a few minutes there.  

My friend,  the son of the departed, came out, said "thank you for coming" then we walked to the graveside.

So, the coffin was there. 

The pall bearers all took off their (green?) Carnations and placed them on the coffin. 

Reverend stepped up and conducted a prayer. 

And he started talking.

And, I kid you not, ANOTHER altar call. 

I swear I could hear the sound of the entire crowd rolling there eyes.

This man was determined.

And I am not proud, but I distinctly remember thinking,  "if anyone is crude enough to stand up in this cemetery and have a graveside conversion... at least their soul will be saved before I hit them upside the head with a rock and push them in the hole."

Again... no takers. 

There was a lot of fingernail studying, and ladies found things to look at in their purses, and gentlemen gave serious consideration to their shoelaces.  

Finally we were released. 

There was of course food, in the fellowship hall of the Iglesias Baptista,  and my friend informed me that none of the family, nor his mother, had particularly wanted that particular nephew to perform the service,  but they were kind of trapped into it somehow,  and the actual reverend of her church, who had attended, was not happy at all... but there we were...

So.

That was my Friday.

It was an experience to say the least...

Flea Market Monolouge

Well, hey sweetie... come on in here boy and sit yourself down and talk to an old lady...

Don't start that foolishness, I've been an old lady for a long time now... Oh lord it's hotter than hell today, ain't it?  There ain't gonna be any business today.  Those first Monday sales over to Canton and Weatherford always take our business this first week of the month...

You just hold this little dog of mine.  All the other vendors out here got that little thing spoiled rotten... but that's the point of a chiwheenie, ain't it?  He'll settle himself down in a minute... just hold him tight and he'll go right to sleep...

Oh, nothing too special... we just went over to my oldest boys and shot off some fireworks for the grandbabies.  You know, it's only the past two or three years that I could even watch fireworks.  But it's nice to see the grandbabies get so excited. 

It's been 19 years now, since my husband shot himself on the fourth of July.  The mess.  You have no idea of how much blood and fragments and just stuff is inside a person... Oh you didn't know about that?  I thought about everyone out here knew that... I'm sorry...

No, I can talk about it now.  Only the past few years I could.  He just took a rifle, put it under his chin... took everything from his chest up. 

Everybody asks that... no, I don't mind... to tell the truth, we didn't have any real warning, nothing out of the ordinary.  He'd been bad for a few years before that, about five... but he'd been saying things for so long that it was just him... you know, it was just normal for him, he wasn't a happy person.  It was just who he was... the Doctor had given him something, but this was before Prozac and all those MAOI drugs they got now.  Oh, I know all about those drugs now, me and my youngest got what ya call EXPERIENCE with those now.  But they were too late for him. 

My boy, my youngest Sonny?  You've met him, he comes out here with me sometimes, well it about ripped him apart... He walked in on that.. you don't recover from that... he got on the meth after that.  I always knew he was just trying to get away from what was in his head.  He was what you call self medicating.  When I hear about somebody on it, I just say a little prayer for em now, cause I don't know what happened to get them there, what they running from...

Now don't get me wrong.  I ain't no angel.  When I was running around there wasn't none of that stuff though... there was the marijuana, and there was the beer.  Lots and lots of beer... but that meth got my Sonny... there were times I wouldn't hear from him and I'd go over, terrified of what I was gonna find in that trailer, and he'd be in an armchair not even able to get up.  Once, it took me close to an hour just to wake him up. 

Well you've seen him... he ain't quite as tall as you but he's a big boy... he was down to a 26 inch waist.  Just skin and bones. 

You hear them holier than thou types... what's that they say... Oh, 'You're just hiding from your problems but it's not a solution... the problems will still be there later...' 

I just want to slap the bitches. 

I didn't like Sonny on that meth, but I couldn't blame him.  I knew.  I'd laid in my bed and looked at a stark white ceiling and just knew what was under those three coats of paint and 2 coats of that KILLZ primer.

Blood don't come out.  It may have looked like a plain white ceiling to anybody else, but that blood was still there under that paint and I swear to God I could still see it. 

I'm not excusing Sonny, but I'm saying that I understood him... I know that there are times when five minutes of turning your brain off, of not thinking about it, are just a blessing.

What happened was this... We had folks coming over for the fourth, we was gonna cook hotdogs on the grill and light some fireworks, so I was gonna mow the yard but our mower was broke, so I was gonna borrow miss Suzies from down the road, so I got Sonny to bring over the truck and take me down to Suzies to pick it up...

You don't mind me talking about all this, do you? 

It's just for years I couldn't say a word about it... you sure? 

So anyway, what happened was Sonny came to get me, and I told Jack that I was gonna pick up the mower, and I'd appreciate it if he got the grill out of the garage and maybe got it started for the hot dogs...

Of course, we were at Suzies for a bit, you can't just go grab someones mower, you got to sit and visit for a few, but when we got back, I saw the grill weren't out. 

I was madder than fire.  Sonny was gonna mow for me, but I had to clean the kitchen and get a shower before people come over, I didn't have time to go digging through that garage for that damned grill... I was fit to spit nails. 

Well Sonny went in the house and the next thing I know he was out in the yard again, I don't even know how he got out... he didn't say anything though, he was out in the front yard hanging onto that old tree out there, giving it a bear hug, making choking sounds...

I didn't go to him.  To this day I don't know why I didn't go to my boy. 

I just walked in that front door, and I think part of me knew what I was gonna find in there. 

He'd shot himself in the living room.  They tell me he'd probably put the rifle under his chin, and I certainly don't know how they can tell because I'm gonna be honest... everything from the chest up was gone.  Except it wasn't gone... it was all over.  There wasn't a wall in that room that wasn't covered, and the floor and the ceiling too... and not just the living room.  They said he'd been standing up, and the body had ended up halfway in the kitchen, and since the door to the bedroom had been open, it was on the walls and ceiling in there too... you just don't know how much blood and everything there is in a person, and I'm telling you right now, I hope you never find out. 

All that mess, and we had to clean it up ourselves.  There's no one out there to help you... the coroner comes and gets the body and all the rest is up to you. 

And it don't come out.  The carpet, the furniture, everything had to go... there's no way to get that clean.  I scrubbed walls till my hands were raw, and it was still there.  You do not know how many times I wanted to just light a match and be done with it.  But I didn't.  I don't know how I didn't, but I didn't.  All  I can say is that no matter how much you clean... there's always still more. 

Sonny's trouble started after that. 

Three years later he was in jail, and my heart broke all over again.  I would sit and wonder how that could happen, how did I have any heart left, but trust me, you always got more heart to break.

They put him away for 7 months... it could have been ten years, he got off  lucky, and when he came out he said "Enough Momma, it's just Enough" and he's never been in trouble again, thank you Jesus.  He stopped talking to those people he was running with, he got him a good job, and he's been the best daddy to those kids of his you could ever hope for.  It couldn't have been easy, but he did it. 

And he tells his kids about his troubles. 

I wasn't sure how I felt about that... but Sonny says he tells them because he don't want his kids to go through what hell he went through.  He wants them to know what drugs really are, and how they destroy you, and how hard it is to come back, and I have to say he's probably right. 

I couldn't watch fireworks after that. 

I hear that loud bang and I swear I'd look into the sky and all I could see was someones head exploding.  I'm not making that up, I would literally see someones head exploding.  It's awful, but that's what I saw. 

Finally, about three years ago, I was able to bear it... but I still don't really watch them.  Instead I just look at my grandbabies.  I don't even look up, all I want to see is right down here on the ground. 

It can still get to me sometimes though.  I was reading on facebook about those veterans who've come back and how the exploding fireworks mess with their heads... and God love em, I feel for them.  They've got that Post traumatic stress disorder, and they think they're being bombed everytime they hear a firecracker, and I know how they feel.  Not exactly but close enough...

But I survived it.  I managed to get through it.  I figured I ain't got no right to ruin it for my grandbabies, so I pull through. 

NOTE:  I was told this story this weekend at the flea market, and I felt compelled to write it down.  I have given all the details to the best of my recollection, but please be aware that memory is not perfect.