Sister Sledge said, "We are family." Marvin Gaye said, "Let's Get It On." Our store says "we are family, bring it."
Lawd, lawd. I need a family tree to keep track of the relationships among the staff--mothers,daughters, sisters, nieces, nephews, brothers, cousins, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, sister/brothers-in-law, did I miss a link? And every day I learn of a new relationship. There are more family members in this store than Ripley even thought about having. If they aren't related by blood or law, then they live next door, around the corner...they can definitely carpool when the weather is bad. OR, Baby's daddy is now dating Mama's friend. Which brings us to the real subject of this tale.
Came in Monday to learn that there had been a real knock-down, drag out battle among "friends." I mean whaling the hell out of each other, not once but THREE times on their way to the office. And you know that it was over, who else, a MAN. Listen little girls, grown ladies, old women...it ain't worth it on any level. Didn't you leave that behind in GRADE school? Obviously not.
Common sense says that this had been simmering for a long time. Even though they hung out with each other, as I've been told. Clubbing in Memphis, etc. Both very attractive and neither giving the impression that they were capable. See, you can spot the sistahs that will wax your ### in a heartbeat. One squared up on another the other day, in fun, but the boxer's stance was perfect. Let me repeat--PERFECT! If it had been serious, there would have been no broken nails, clumps of hair--this woman can deal. But back to my ladies.
Lose your job over this????? With a baby to feed? You and I both know that baby's daddy ain't pulling his weight. Car notes? Strike that. Truck notes. Pulleeze. Going to college? Recounts of the Brownsville Brawl all over the store and the town. People that don't even work there know about it. 'Cause they are family. Lawd, lawd.
Be blessed.
October 29, 2009
October 24, 2009
Critters
Alrighty, then! Left a little early just in case. Cruising 19. Each trip up and back reveals something I hadn't seen before. Structures, ponds, more horses, more cattle, and as I crest a hill, a pack of dogs. Strange. Everybody has a dog, it seems, but the only packs I've seen have been Cindy's little posse. Three of them crossing the road, one behind the other. Oh, here comes a fourth one. Starting to slow down. Good thing, the dumb thing crossed and then changed its mind. Turned around and went back to where it started out. And they weren't dogs but deer. By now, I've slowed to two miles an hour--it might change its mind again. Abby may be dirty and have dings but I do NOT want to collide with a deer.
Now I'm trying to make up for lost time. Doing pretty good until...traffic (which is virtually nonexistent on this road) slows to a crawl. What now? HUGE farm machine is doing all of 15 mph. Think they call it a combine. How would I know? All I know is that it takes up both lanes of the highway and moves at a snail's pace, bobbing and weaving all over the place.
Now if the road had shoulders, we could go around, but it has ditches, some shallow, some very deep, on either side. Nothing to do but crawl along behind. Finally, the driver takes pity on us and pulls to the side in an area large enough for him to move over and give us a hair's breadth of space to go around. Really trying to make up time, now. But you know what they say--time and tide wait for no one.
These machines must have been the prototype for the machines in "Star Wars." Here's a cotton picker. They definitely need machines because the cotton plants don't even come up to my knees.
And most of the fields still aren't ready--is there such a thing as a bad crop of cotton? 
Once the plants are mowed down, they are compressed into bales.
I digress. Back to the critters. A gentleman is telling the story of how he and his daughter rescued this dog. She hit it, called animal control, and watched as they dragged it off onto the side of the road. She calls her father who goes and picks it up and takes it to the vet for treatment. When he called to check on it, he was told that it had serious internal injuries and needed to be put to sleep. "Your dog...it is a coyote." Good grief!
Maybe I should just move to Brownsville, around the corner from the store, within walking distance. Lawd, lawd. I'm dreading any kind of bad weather.
Be blessed.
Now I'm trying to make up for lost time. Doing pretty good until...traffic (which is virtually nonexistent on this road) slows to a crawl. What now? HUGE farm machine is doing all of 15 mph. Think they call it a combine. How would I know? All I know is that it takes up both lanes of the highway and moves at a snail's pace, bobbing and weaving all over the place.
Now if the road had shoulders, we could go around, but it has ditches, some shallow, some very deep, on either side. Nothing to do but crawl along behind. Finally, the driver takes pity on us and pulls to the side in an area large enough for him to move over and give us a hair's breadth of space to go around. Really trying to make up time, now. But you know what they say--time and tide wait for no one. These machines must have been the prototype for the machines in "Star Wars." Here's a cotton picker. They definitely need machines because the cotton plants don't even come up to my knees.
And most of the fields still aren't ready--is there such a thing as a bad crop of cotton? 
Once the plants are mowed down, they are compressed into bales.I digress. Back to the critters. A gentleman is telling the story of how he and his daughter rescued this dog. She hit it, called animal control, and watched as they dragged it off onto the side of the road. She calls her father who goes and picks it up and takes it to the vet for treatment. When he called to check on it, he was told that it had serious internal injuries and needed to be put to sleep. "Your dog...it is a coyote." Good grief!
Maybe I should just move to Brownsville, around the corner from the store, within walking distance. Lawd, lawd. I'm dreading any kind of bad weather.
Be blessed.
October 20, 2009
Take a Little Trip
Abby is not a low-rider. And, unlike WAR's song, I definitely needed gas as I took an almost two-hour drive to work this morning. See, you can't get there from here down in this neck of the woods. I'm sure you can if you know the back roads but...I only know one way. So take a little trip, take a little trip with meeee.
Set off just a smidgeon earlier this morning...just a smidge...and was feeling pretty good about myself. Out onto 19, cruising along (teeth hurting but that's another tale), laughing at crazy Steve Harvey, and enjoying the fall morning. Pass through Nutbush, Tina Turner's home "town", slightly above the speed limit of 45 mph. Pick it up to 61 mph and the oncoming car flashes its headlights. Now, I haven't seen that done too much down here. Where I come from, it means slow down. OK...I'm doing 61; not my usual 70, although the speed limit is 55, so I start slowing. Well! He wasn't letting me know that the police were around but that an accident was ahead. Good grief! What the hell is that tractor trailer doing skewed across the road? THE road to Brownsville, where I just happen to work? And, needless to say, the ONLY WAY that I know!
Make the uie and head back from whence I came. Good googlie mooglie! I was 15 minutes away from my destination. How am I supposed to get to Wally? Whipped out the cell which, fortunately, was working and called the store to let them know of the dilemma. The assistant, from L.A., but living in Jackson, doesn't have a clue but helpful soul pulls up Mapquest. Hmmm...19 is the only direct route but you can go through Gates, through Maury City, and over to Brownsville...OR...you can go through Henning, through Covington, and over to Brownsville. Both are MILES away and out of the way. All options lead back to Ripley as the starting point.
Look in the rear view and there is no one behind me. WHERE DID THEY GO??? The perils of being a foreigner in a strange land. Coming up on Nutbush. Oh, the owner of a restaurant in Brownsville is in her Nutbush locale. She can tell me how to get to where I'm going. IF only she would open the door. N-O-T! So back to Ripley and stopped for gas. See...I'd planned on filling up when I got to the store. Not enough in the tank to take an unplanned detour.
Now, we're headed through Henning. Maybe I should stop at the police station? Surely they can head off some miles. NAW. You've seen the signs for Brownsville in Covington, somewhere. Keep on pushing.
Stop at a gas station, in Covington, to make sure that I'm in the vicinity of Rte. 54. "Don't start me to lying. The way I go is over the railroad tracks, make a right at the Charms factory and then a left at the 4-way light. It'll take you right into Brownsville." Sure enough. A VERY scenic and long drive through Covington, a little unincorporated town called GIFT, and finally into Haywood County. Still a long way from Wally. I don't see a damned thing that I know but I do know that 54 eventually intersects with 19. So just keep driving.
Well, isn't that the cutest little thing? A "family memorial garden" aka cemetery. Hmm, here's a gin bearing the same name. And warehouses and a farm. Gee, these folks got money. And, look, they're starting to harvest the cotton field. (The cotton, in my humble opinion, is mighty late this year. The fields still resemble a light dusting of snow or frost; not the fully-covered fields of snow I've seen for the past two years.) Finally hit my intersection and I'm still 10 minutes away.
Walk through the doors at 9:15 a.m. I started this odyssey at 7:20 a.m. As I relay my tale, everyone tells me that I could have turned here or there and come back on 19, ahead of the accident. And where was Maggie, you ask? On the dresser. After all, I KNOW the way to get to work!
Oh...the family with the money? It's not only big money but also OLD money. And I also learned that there are several kinds of gins. There's the cotton gins and there are the grain gins, both of which I pass daily. At least I knew they were GINS! :-)
Be blessed.
Set off just a smidgeon earlier this morning...just a smidge...and was feeling pretty good about myself. Out onto 19, cruising along (teeth hurting but that's another tale), laughing at crazy Steve Harvey, and enjoying the fall morning. Pass through Nutbush, Tina Turner's home "town", slightly above the speed limit of 45 mph. Pick it up to 61 mph and the oncoming car flashes its headlights. Now, I haven't seen that done too much down here. Where I come from, it means slow down. OK...I'm doing 61; not my usual 70, although the speed limit is 55, so I start slowing. Well! He wasn't letting me know that the police were around but that an accident was ahead. Good grief! What the hell is that tractor trailer doing skewed across the road? THE road to Brownsville, where I just happen to work? And, needless to say, the ONLY WAY that I know!
Make the uie and head back from whence I came. Good googlie mooglie! I was 15 minutes away from my destination. How am I supposed to get to Wally? Whipped out the cell which, fortunately, was working and called the store to let them know of the dilemma. The assistant, from L.A., but living in Jackson, doesn't have a clue but helpful soul pulls up Mapquest. Hmmm...19 is the only direct route but you can go through Gates, through Maury City, and over to Brownsville...OR...you can go through Henning, through Covington, and over to Brownsville. Both are MILES away and out of the way. All options lead back to Ripley as the starting point.
Look in the rear view and there is no one behind me. WHERE DID THEY GO??? The perils of being a foreigner in a strange land. Coming up on Nutbush. Oh, the owner of a restaurant in Brownsville is in her Nutbush locale. She can tell me how to get to where I'm going. IF only she would open the door. N-O-T! So back to Ripley and stopped for gas. See...I'd planned on filling up when I got to the store. Not enough in the tank to take an unplanned detour.
Now, we're headed through Henning. Maybe I should stop at the police station? Surely they can head off some miles. NAW. You've seen the signs for Brownsville in Covington, somewhere. Keep on pushing.
Stop at a gas station, in Covington, to make sure that I'm in the vicinity of Rte. 54. "Don't start me to lying. The way I go is over the railroad tracks, make a right at the Charms factory and then a left at the 4-way light. It'll take you right into Brownsville." Sure enough. A VERY scenic and long drive through Covington, a little unincorporated town called GIFT, and finally into Haywood County. Still a long way from Wally. I don't see a damned thing that I know but I do know that 54 eventually intersects with 19. So just keep driving.
Well, isn't that the cutest little thing? A "family memorial garden" aka cemetery. Hmm, here's a gin bearing the same name. And warehouses and a farm. Gee, these folks got money. And, look, they're starting to harvest the cotton field. (The cotton, in my humble opinion, is mighty late this year. The fields still resemble a light dusting of snow or frost; not the fully-covered fields of snow I've seen for the past two years.) Finally hit my intersection and I'm still 10 minutes away.
Walk through the doors at 9:15 a.m. I started this odyssey at 7:20 a.m. As I relay my tale, everyone tells me that I could have turned here or there and come back on 19, ahead of the accident. And where was Maggie, you ask? On the dresser. After all, I KNOW the way to get to work!
Oh...the family with the money? It's not only big money but also OLD money. And I also learned that there are several kinds of gins. There's the cotton gins and there are the grain gins, both of which I pass daily. At least I knew they were GINS! :-)
Be blessed.
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