June 22, 2007


Cracker-jack plumber showed around 11 a.m. After Mr. Jack's early arrivals, no later than 8:30 a.m., I kind of figured he was going to be a no-show. He sent his sidekick into the pre-cut area and they walk around, shaking their heads. He announces that they can't find the leak and he is going to lunch. Lunch, lunch! He's going to lunch after an hour? Someone at the door. Mr. Jack has sent a young man to check and make sure cracker-jack was there. Seems Mr. Jack is highly and thoroughly pissed. My brother shows him where the water is leaking from the house to the outside. A phone call is made and instructions are given as to how best fix it. Oh, happy day! The young man, Mike, makes arrangements to come back the next day, Sunday. My brother agrees to dig the ditch. Not what he signed on, for sure.

Cracker-jack is getting fired when he comes back. No question about it. I decide to let friend handle it in his polite, courtly, professional way. I'm for doing a Donald Trump, "You're Fired!"

Mike will also install the lights. Good golly, does it get any better than this? You betcha. Here comes the delivery truck with the mattress. And, cracker-jack shows up, too. Turns out he and the delivery man are distantly related; they have the same last name. Well, how about that? How about you discontinue your conversation with the distant cousin and listen to why you are being fired? Would you believe he had the gall to charge me for the service call? Take it and be gone.

Brother is stepping high. Well, good googly moogly. The boy has bought himself a color-coordinated set of linens, right down to the shams. Talking about glad to get off the sofa. And the bed is high enough to require a step-stool for all you short folks.

Off to lunch at the grocery store, E. W. James. Understand they run a small cafeteria there. Sure enough. Smothered chicken livers? Alriiight. No rice, though. Aren't I in the south? They should know better. Black-eyed peas are out the can. They'll do but the peach cobbler? Oh, my. The cook stepped in that one. Stopped by a house I had been trying to convince my brother to consider. He concurs with friend, James. Too much work.

Scraper revealed that the wood underneath the layers of linoleum is not worth the effort of scraping, sanding, and refinishing. Oh, well. It was worth a try and, now, I know. Ceramic tile, here we come. Wallpaper coming down in the living room, under major duress. Not high on my list. Lips are pursed.

Can't convince the crew to go the festival that evening, featuring Bobby Rush. Never heard of him? Neither had we but he seems to be quite the thing in these parts. See him booked at several venues. Really didn't need to go--could hear most of it from the front porch. Still, it would've been nice to be sociable. And, I'm not meeting anyone outside of those providing services.

Darkness falls and they be jammin'. I'm rocking on the porch, listening, senior citizen that I am.

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