Trash

Florida is windy, it is important to remember this fact.

Each and every morning when I arrive at my place of business, I step from my truck and begin my routine by cleaning my parking lot of wind blown trash. I have a nice collection of plastic market shopping bags. Daily I routinely bend to pluck plastic soda bottles and little brown sacks which contain glass bottles and aluminum beer cans.

I refer to these items, the trash, as 'democrat tracks.'

A fella once asked me why I call this roadside eyesore, democrat tracks. I explained if one were to follow the trail of trash it would, inevitably, lead one back to its source, and more than likely, the author of this discarded junk would be a democrat.

I further explained my business is located across the street from a city park. I watch this park. Within the park you will find democrats. I observe these democrats discard their trash on the ground...not within the large green trashcans placed about ten feet or so through out the park. Then the Florida wind gently takes this pile of rubble and sends it directly across the street to my business where tomorrow morning I will again walk about and gather their mess.

I hate it.

And just think - we're not allowed to shoot the sorry SOB's on sight.

Stephen

A Kiss

Early this morning I was just seconds from departure when, for some odd reason, I turned and walked back to the kitchen dining room. I bent and gave the mother-in-law a kiss. I stood and gave her smile as she remained speechless. 

I then turned and gathered my satchel and bag of lunch, gathered my keys and returned to the front door when I heard her say, "Well, thank you, Dear."

You must keep them on their toes, off guard.

Besides, I'm in a good mood.

Stephen

Have You Seen

My old soup thermos I asked Sweet Wife when I arrived home.

"No," she answered.

For some odd reason, today, I had a hankering for soup. During business hours I seldom if ever leave the shop which makes it very difficult for me to satisfy my cravings for certain food groups. Hence, I pack a lunch. Today, I wanted soup. This soup monkey rode my back for hours.

Then I remembered I had an old Aladdin soup thermos somewhere at home. I haven't used it in over thirty years (More like forty, truth be known.) and had long forgotten its hiding place.

I'm still on the hunt.

Really, no kidding, have you seen it?

Stephen

Home Invasion

Yes, I'm still alive. I've extended my business hours, for obvious reasons. My house has been converted into a tax office for my MIL. It's a long story...and I'm too tired to relate the details. Suffice it to say, my life has been turned inside out.

When sufficient time has passed I'll relate all the gory minutia.

(Next door a very nice house is for sale. Yesterday she mentioned she might walk over and write a check for its purchase. I fainted.)

Stephen 

On the Road

Her plans shift second by second, but as it stands, we should be on the road to Georgia within an hour, or two, or three. To refresh your memory we have agreed to move my wife's mother into our home.

Seems the MIL has issues with her taxes and is reluctant to leave until her accountant (By phone and fax.) toes the line and agrees with her numbers.

I've sent word her cell will receive and send just fine in other states. We even have a branch of the United States Post Office.

This will be a long, long day.

Stephen

Silver

Just an FYI.

Stephen

If You Want to Make God Smile,

It was close to 0300 when I climbed from bed. My sleep had been fitful and I had a taste, like sand, in my mouth and my shoulders ached. Standard procedure. Her side of the bed was empty. I threw on my robe and explored the house.

Our house is fairly large and there are many places to hide. I was worried for her. I checked the usual places and finally walked to the other side of the house and down the east wing. At the very end of the hall at the door of what we refer to as the antique room issued forth a soft toned voice.

I stood and listened. More clearly than her was the music of rain and our windchimes. For just a second I felt guilty I'd forced our old cat to spend the night outdoors. Finally, I placed my hand on the door and pushed.

I peeked inside and she was curled on the bed. The only light issued from a small night light I keep in all rooms of our house. She sensed rather than heard me and turned, flipped her long hair away from her face and her tears became visible. She smiled and held out the cell phone and mouthed the word, mother.

I made the sign of the cross.

I turned to leave, walked back to our family room and took a seat to wait the outcome. I lowered my head and listened to the rain and the owls. Some little something way back in the recesses of my mind told me to get ready.

She walked into the room, wet faced.

She tilts her pretty face at me, smiles gently, then said, "She's old, Honey. She has no family left around her and I need her. (And here she firms her shoulders, looks away and with determination continued.) So this Sunday, after church, I'm driving to Georgia and bringing my mother home to live with us."

The house is silent. In three hours I need to dress in order to take on another day of labor and I don't feel good and I quickly mentally inventory my stash of sleep medications. Far off, thunder.

I had to try. "Didn't you consider my thoughts"

"Please, Sweetheart. I need her, and she'd old and sick and lonely."

My wife's siblings are far flung, different states. We do not, as they say, get along. I'm former military, an outdoorsman, shooter. Even though the Lord and I have an understanding, I'm not extremely religious. I do believe in my Lord and Savior but her brothers and sister, as a standing rule, keep the Bible tucked under their arms as they follow their daily routines. They shun weapons. Her brothers, well, prance. They can't even bait a hook for goodness sake. We argue.

With this in mind, if we have her mother in residence, I could envision our home as the newest Motel 6. Not gonna happen.

Our prior plans were to drive north, later this month, and collect her mother for a trip to Atlanta  The old girl has surgery scheduled at Emory, a routine procedure on her eye, and I was fine with the plans. But this, to move her into my home for the rest of the month (And, probably afterwards.) doesn't set well with me. I like my routine, my peace.

So we both sat and listened to the rain. Her stoic  Me, quick little glances her way....it's the tears don't 'ya know, the tears. Here's a woman, the love of my life, that has had to deal with the loss of her only son and both of her grandchildren. A woman as sweet as the world to others that sat by my bedside as the doctors whispered in her ear I had about four hours to live. (I made liars of them, by the way.) Those tears melted my heart.

If you want to make God smile, whisper to him your plans.

Stephen